dalton344

[dalton344]

Would love a part 2 or any sort of follow up from this if possible! It was amazing!!❤️

WET INTRODUCTIONS

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: meeting your best friend's dad normally involves crying and flashing him all in the same night, right? based on this request. an | warnings: chat!! jack and reader are both in their twenties 4 this not to be weird, it still feels a little weird 2 me, hotch is however old u fancy him to be, r flashes hotch (just bra!!), activation of the sir kink, crying in the bathroom, r is just a lil lost bless her heart, hotch in that juicy half-zip sweater word count: 2.7k

✧ masterlist

Your shoes were near enough squelching by the time you made it to the apartment—not yours, but Jack’s. At this point, it was the better and closer option, and frankly, the only one that didn’t involve sitting on a train feeling sorry for yourself while dripping on the seat.

The rain had soaked you clean through, turning your clothes into second skin and your hair into a very clingy, tangled mess. No doubt the downpour also had taken it upon itself to act as micellar water, dragging your mascara into streaks that made you look part of a low-budget horror film. Honestly, the entire date might as well have been a paid actor.

You peeled your jacket off as you climbed the stairs, the fabric now three shades darker and twice as heavy. Your scarf followed, limp and defeated. Wet hair clung to your neck, and you pushed it away with a sigh loud enough that Emma, three floors up, probably paused whatever true crime doc she was watching.

Your jacket slipped from your arms an ungodly number of times as you rummaged through your purse, blindly fishing past gum wrappers and receipts while muttering curses at your keys for playing hide-and-seek at the worst possible moment. After what felt like five solid minutes of fighting the universe, you finally found the right key and shoved it into the lock with enough force to scrape your nail.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said the moment the door opened, “and yes, you were right, but I don’t want to hear any I told you so’s.”

You stepped into the apartment and immediately dropped your bag onto the floor with a sloshed thud. “He was an absolute dick. Like, the kind who stares down your top every time you reach for the menu. And then—get this—he orders three sides and calls it dinner, which obviously meant I had to get sides too or look like I was trying too hard.”

Your shoes were next to go, kicked off somewhere near your bag. “And he kept saying females like some gigantic weirdo. And then—” you paused to catch your breath, hanging your soaked jacket and scarf onto a hook nearby, “he started mansplaining crypto, and that was my cue to get the hell out.”

You turned towards the kitchen, swallowing down the scratchy tickle climbing up your throat. “If I knew dating was going to be this fucki—”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Because leaning against the counter was definitely not Jack.

Instead, you were met with a much older man, someone who looked far too sensible to be a burglar, yet absolutely like he’d know his way around a weapon if needed, with how he was holding what now looked like a comically small mug.

Ah. Must be Jack’s infamous FBI father.

“I am so sorry,” your words tumbled out faster than your common sense, raindrops hitting the hardwood floor as if to emphasise just how much of a mess you were. “Jack didn’t mention he had company. Not that I called ahead—which, yes, would’ve been smart—but I just needed somewhere dry, and it’s absolutely pouring out, and you must be Mr Hotchner—”

You extended a hand out of instinct, only to catch sight of your chipped nail polish and soaked sleeve. Immediately, you withdrew it again, cringing. He looked like the kind of man who shook prim and proper hands only. Not ones belonging to half-drenched disasters ranting about failed dates.

He said nothing, which, judging by the look of him, didn’t seem like a rare occurrence. His eyes swept over you slowly, like he was scanning for weak points. Lucky for him, he wouldn’t have to look very hard, the whole bane of your existence had always been a weak point.

Still, you silently begged the universe to cut the power, just for a moment, if only to spare you the full force of his gaze.

You swallowed, then cleared your throat as the scratchy feeling flared up again, determined to ruin what little composure you had left. All while standing in front of a man who clearly thought speaking was optional.

After what felt like eternity, he spoke, saying your name with the kind of authority that made you question whether you were being greeted or scolded. “…Jack’s told me about you.”

You offered the best smile you could manage, trying your hardest to ignore the feeling of wet clothes clinging to your skin. “Good things I hope?”

“Some.”

Ouch. Okay. Not exactly the confidence boost you were hoping for, and this probably wasn’t doing much to shift his opinion of you.

You felt a slow drip of water slide down the back of your neck. “I’m usually more… put together…ish,” you added, immediately cringing, again. “And significantly less soaked.”

He glanced at the growing trail of droplets surrounding your feet. “You’re dripping on the floor.”

Yeah. You were hoping to be tonight, just not in this kind of way.

You let out a breath that could’ve passed for a laugh. “Sorry about that.” You weren’t sure if you were apologising for being a walking hazard to the floors you were fairly certain he helped Jack pay for, or for the mildly inappropriate direction your brain had just taken things. “I’ll just dry off and be out of your hair.”

He nodded, and you couldn’t tell if it was meant to dismiss you or quietly judge you. Probably both. Being an FBI agent must come with excellent multitasking skills. Either way, you took it as your cue and made your way to the bathroom, your damp socks squishing softly against the floor as you went.

Inside the bathroom, you cursed—loudly—the moment you caught your reflection. Your makeup had been completely smudged and smeared, looking like some sort of tragic attempt at human abstract art.

And your top?

Completely see-through.

Not just kind of see-through. Full on hello, pink bow in the centre of your bra see-through.

You grabbed a towel and dried off as best as you could, still muttering under your breath. Fixing your makeup was next, though that just meant wiping away the worst of the smudges with a few torn bits of toilet paper.

And then, for the first time that evening, it felt like the universe finally threw you a lifeline. A hoodie hung on the back of the bathroom door, and you claimed it with little thought. Because if you had to walk back out there, you’d prefer not to half-flash your best friend’s father again.

Just as you pulled the thick material over your head, that same scratchy feeling clawed at your throat, this time triggering a full-on coughing fit that left you doubled over, wheezing through the hoodie.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the coughing turned into crying, it just…happened. One minute you were catching your breath, the next you were sitting on the closed toilet lid, your cold hands clumsily swiping at your cheeks, trying to figure out which drops were rain and which ones were tears.

“This is silly,” you whispered, blinking fast as you wiped your sleeve under your eyes. Like you weren’t already soaked enough. “Get it together.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, just in time for a knock at the door to follow, making you wince.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes. All good,” you called back a little too quickly. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

You turned back to the sink and ran cold water over your fingers. It did nothing for comfort, but it was your go-to trick for reducing the redness and puffiness that came with tear-stained eyes. The shock of the cold made you flinch, but you welcomed the small punishment.

Once your fingertips were numb, you dabbed them gently under your eyes until the worst of it faded. Not perfect. But not obvious. Good enough to do the awkward dance of sorry for barging in on father-son bonding time and also flashing you in the process.

You exhaled, pulled the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands, and gave your reflection one final, grimacing look before stepping out into the hallway again, slightly drier, but no less mortified.

He was still in the kitchen, his back to you, the clink of a spoon against a mug filling the quiet. You moved carefully, just about to slip past, grab your things, and make a quiet, hopefully unnoticed exit when he turned around.

You froze mid-step, again, and briefly wondered if this was a common side effect of being in his presence…sudden paralysis and poor decision-making.

“I was just—” you started, already edging towards the door, “—gonna head out. Get out of your way.”

Hotch’s eyes briefly fell to the oversized hoodie, now covering what had been a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction, courtesy of your poor weather-related outfit choices. Then he turned to the window, where the rain continued to lash against the glass.

 “Wait until the storm settles. It’s not safe out there right now.”

You opened your mouth to insist that it was perfect walking to the train station weather, but he cut you off before you could get the words out.

“And you don’t sound great.”

“I’m fine, really. I’ll go home, rest, drink fluids, do all the sensible things. I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr Hotchner.” You turned, already halfway toward the living room when his voice came again.

“Sit.”

You mentally added following orders to the growing list of things Jack’s father somehow managed to get out of you with minimal effort. With half a nod, you moved towards one of the bar stools and sank down onto it as he turned away again.

Technically, you could’ve made a run for it. A quick sprint to the door, barefoot and humiliated but free. But something about Aaron Hotchner kept you in place. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was exhaustion. Either way, you stayed.

“Not sure what time Jack’ll be back,” he said, turning to face you again, sliding a steaming mug across the counter. “He went out to pick up Sophie, but I told him not to drive back until the roads clear.” He paused, then added, “Chamomile with honey. Your throat sounds like it needs it.”

Observant too. Noted.

“Thank you,” you murmured, curling your fingers around the mug. The warmth felt weirdly personal, like something you hadn’t realised you needed until it was right in front of you. It seeped into your hands slowly, and you focused on that instead of the mess of your thoughts.

You took a small sip. Your throat burned a little on the way down, but in a good way. Like it was clearing something out.

“First time meeting Sophie?” you asked, figuring it was safer to bring up Jack’s dating life than circling back to your own train wreck of an evening.

“No. We’ve met a few times.”

Well that ends that conversation. Great.

“He, uh… talks about you a lot, you know,” you added, looking up. “Not like… in a weird way. Just—he really looks up to you. I don’t think he says it enough.”

Hotch nodded again, this time slower. More thoughtful. Like he wasn’t used to compliments being handed to him so directly and didn’t quite know where to put this one.

“Thanks,” he replied eventually.

You winced inwardly at the silence that followed.

“Sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m tired.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I really am more put together usually. I don’t make it a habit of breaking into people’s apartments.”

“You didn’t break in.”

“That is true,” you agreed, bringing the mug to your lips. “I do have a key. Guess that just makes it legal trespassing.” You glanced at him over the rim, catching the faintest trace of amusement in the lines near his eyes. It passed almost immediately, but it had been there.

“You’re not trespassing. If Jack gave you a key, you’re obviously welcome here.”

“Don’t say it with too much enthusiasm.”                 

That coaxed an almost smile from him, though you didn’t get the chance to study it before he turned away, rinsing something in the sink. You watched him move, orderly and specific, as if even washing a mug came with its own method and order. It made you acutely aware of how much noise you actually took up just by existing.

His shoulders were broad, the fabric of a brown half-zip sweater stretching clean across them. The sleeves were pushed up, forearms lean and steady. There was something beyond put-together about him, like someone who’d never once cried in a bathroom or forgotten to bring an umbrella.

“I’m guessing this wasn’t how you thought your evening would go either,” you sighed, setting the mug back down on the counter.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “No. But I’ve had worse.”

“Worse than a soaking wet twenty-something crying in your son’s bathroom?”

“Much worse.”

You let out a laugh, confused as to why those two words had managed to alleviate so much of the pressure in your chest. Maybe it was the calm in his voice, or the fact he hadn’t once made you feel ridiculous for the crying, or the soaking, or the rambling.

You went back to quietly ogling his back as he dried his hands until a ding from his phone broke the silence. He reached for it once the towel was hung neatly back in its place.

“It’s Jack,” he said, reading from the screen. “They’re on their way back.”

Your eyes moved to the window, noticing how the rain had eased into something gentler, making you shift from the stool.

“The rain’s calmed down, so I’ll actually get out of your hair now.”

“You don’t want to wait until they’re back?”

You shook your head, stepping a little closer, though you told yourself it was towards the sink, not him. “No, I think the only thing that’ll make me feel better is crawling into bed and not leaving it for the next twenty-four hours.”

He moved a fraction as you leaned over to place your mug in the sink, tugging your sleeves up out of habit.

“It’s alright, I’ll do it,” he cut in, making you pause. “Let me drive you home at least.”

You hesitated, hand hovering awkwardly over the sink. “You don’t have to do that. Really, I’ll just catch the next train.”

He didn’t budge, just continued to look at you in a way that was beginning to make your pulse skittish. “It’s late, and you’re still not feeling great.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something about not wanting to be more of a burden than you already had been, but the words didn’t quite form. So instead, you settled on a low, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

He nodded, reaching for your mug in the sink, and you took that as your window to quietly gather your things and slip your shoes back on, still damp, still squelch-adjacent, but you didn’t complain. Not when he'd offered you tea. And a ride home. And not once commented on your see-through top incident.

The drive back was mostly silent, save for your half-mumbled, delayed directions, which he somehow still managed to follow with ease. And then, before you even realised how short the distance had felt, he was pulling up in front of your apartment building, dimly lit and mildly depressing, but yours nonetheless.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with a tired smile. “Thank you, again. And I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Just make sure you rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, entirely joking—but froze the second it left your mouth, your eyes flicking to his, instantly regretting the awkwardness of it all. You cleared your throat, grabbing your bag and damp scarf. “Anyway. Goodnight, Mr Hotchner.”

His mouth twitched as if he were holding back a smile, or something that hovered a little too close to one. “Goodnight.”

You: Met your dad tonight after the world’s worst date. You: Also, I accidentally stole a hoodie from the bathroom—will wash and return.

Jack: Yeah, he mentioned. Jack: Wait… what hoodie?

You: Navy one. Found it hanging on the back of the door.

Jack: Yeah… that’s not mine. Pretty sure that’s my dad’s lol.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @kajjaka @khxna

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[dalton344]

Perfection 💋

Somethin’ Stupid

A/N: Ahhhh this one hit me like a sack of bricks and I just had to put it in words! It wasn’t thoroughly proof read but I do not care! I was too excited to post it! I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: While making up with Aaron after a fight, you almost say something you can’t take back. He’s determine to coax it out of you, his tactics are… interesting.

Warnings: This is probably the fluffiest fluff I’ve ever written. If you don’t like tickling this is probably not for you. Swearing, an argument, sexual tension. Unspecified age gap

Tags: Fluffy af, emotional hurt/comfort, established(ish) relationship

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word count: 3,565

Masterlist

AO3 link here

The chaos in the conference room of the local station had risen to near deafening decibels and it was only devolving. No one seemed to be capable of coming to a compromise, everyone had their own opinion of how the coming raid should be planned out, and none of the locals were listening to the team. Even amongst yourselves, you were divided.

You and Aaron were divided.

That almost never happened. Unfortunately, today it was happening. He was wrong, you were sure of it. He, Spencer, and JJ thought the best way would be to go in peacefully and talk the unsubs down. That didn’t match the profile. The profile that you all made and agreed on together. That profile says that the unsubs would not allow themselves to be taken alive, that they would go out in a blaze of glory, suicide by cop if they’re caught. You didn’t know how Aaron wasn't seeing that. You, Morgan and Prentiss had all been trying to make the case that you needed to go in hot and heavy, full tactical gear and at least a full S.W.A.T. squad as back up. Catch them off guard, by total surprise and make sure they did not have time to react.

Rossi, the poor guy, was playing the peacemaker.

“Let’s all just settle down…” You could hear his soft voice just barely through the racket. It wasn’t going well for him. No one else was paying him any mind.

You could feel Aaron’s gaze on the side of your face, even as he continued to argue his point to Morgan and the chief of police. You ignored him. In fact you’d started retreating from the room entirely.

He raised his voice at you, spoke to you as though you were a child. Not his… well… you didn’t really know what you were, but even when you were just his subordinate he had never spoken to you like he had a moment ago.

In front of everyone. You’d been humiliated.

Tensions had been high, to be fair, and he had immediately realized he’d hurt you. You could see the regret and repentance on his face, but that was just not good enough right now. You hadn’t meant to undermine him, you really hadn’t and you knew he knew that.

“Would you just give it a second thought Aaron?!” You had asked frustratedly, then pled your case. “If we give them half a second to react they’re gonna open fire and then everyone will be in danger! Especially the victim they still have!”

Looking back on it… You had called him Aaron, which to the police department probably seemed like disrespect. Not to mention that you had been standing toe to toe with him, and your voice had been slightly elevated as well. In your defense you hadn’t been shouting at him, more like speaking loudly in his direction, but it was only so he could hear you over the cacophony of voices that were also all raised well above indoor voices.

But Aaron had practically barked your name. You had been stunned into silence, and the rest of the room had fallen into a brief and awkward silence as he said, “Stand down, now. I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job, I’ve been doing it just fine for longer than you’ve been an agent.”

It felt like he’d sucker punched you, right in the gut. You’d seen the regret—the apology—flooding his eyes, he hadn’t meant it. But your pride was already injured. You hadn’t said another word since, making yourself as small as possible and fading into the background.

You were good at that, being a wallflower, being unseen and unheard.

It was just part of life for you. Until you met Aaron. He had never made you feel small, or insignificant. Not until just now. So you needed a minute to recover and cope, you had drifted slowly to the back of the room and decided to slip out as soon as you could without being noticed. As soon as he freaking looked away from you anyway.

He knew it too. Which was why he was keeping his eyes firmly on you, practically begging you to look at him. But you were going to cry if you did that, so you kept your eyes firmly on the wall opposite you. You’d know if he looked away, his gaze was burning into your skull with an intensity that was making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Someone whistled, LOUDLY.

“Alright! Knock it off! You’re all acting like a bunch of children, not highly trained professionals.” The Police Chief scolded the entire room, crossing his arms and scowling so grimly it almost gave Aaron’s signature scowl a run for its money.

Aaron’s shoulder dropped briefly as he took a deep breath and addressed the room.

“Okay, let's take a five minute break, cool our heads and come back.” He instructed, and you took that as the perfect opportunity to escape as the crowd began to move. But he was one step ahead of you and called out your name loudly enough that every eye was on you again. “Stay behind for a minute, I need a word.”

You cringed, bringing your shoulders up nearly to your ears as you stopped in your tracks. You had already made it to the door, so you had to turn around and face everyone as you stepped aside and let them all out. Your team gave you sympathetic glances as they exited, thinking you were either in trouble or there was about to be a fight of epic proportions.

They knew there was something between you and Aaron, there was no such thing as a secret in the BAU. You were profilers, you spent nearly every waking moment together for weeks at a time, there was no hiding anything and everything always came to light. So you had never tried to hide it, neither of you had come right out and announced it either but you hadn’t needed to. They often witnessed soft spoken words, gentle touches, sweet smiles and flirtatious banter between the two of you. They were surprised at first, but they really didn’t question it. Now though, you were wishing they didn’t know. Because they’re sympathetic glances held a little more concern than this warranted.

You could hear them, just outside the door, as you waited for the rest of the officers to exit so you could close the aforementioned door. (No need to air your grievances in front of the entire station. You’d had enough embarrassment for one day, thank you.)

“Uh oh, I think Mom and Dad are about to fight.” Morgan joked.

JJ and Rossi groaned, while Reid and Prentiss snickered quietly.

“It doesn’t feel correct to refer to her as ‘Mom’ in this family dynamic.” Reid said matter of factly. “We’re all older than her.”

“Well what should I have said, Pretty Boy?” Morgan asks, and you can feel the joke coming. “Referring to her as the ‘baby sister' makes things really weird, really fast if we consider Hotch the group Dad. ‘Controversially Young Stepmom’ is closer to the truth, but that makes her sound like his midlife crisis, and we know that’s not true. He loves her.”

Woah…

They think he loves you?

Neither of you have ever said the L-word. You didn’t even really know what you were to him. He’d never called you his girlfriend, he never said that you weren’t either. So you just went with ‘partner’ if asked and let people decipher the meaning of the word for themselves.

Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes snapped to his realizing you’d been staring into space as you listened in on your teammates discuss the nature of your relationship with their leader. He smiled softly, apologetically, but you didn’t return it. Not yet.

Your cheeks were burning as you turned to close the door, keeping your back to him a second longer than necessary. Regaining a little composure now that there weren’t any prying eyes on you but his, you took a deep breath before turning to meet his gaze.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” You said, with a little more attitude than you ever would have used in front of other people. To be completely honest, the ‘sir’ was petty, but you were unapologetically mad right now. The blow landed as intended, making him wince and take a barely perceptible step back.

“I deserved that…” He murmured, his eyes so full of regret and remorse it was becoming difficult to stay mad. He knew he had made a mistake and he was truly sorry. You weren’t done nursing the grudge yet though… it may have been a maturity issue, but you didn’t care at that moment. He rounded the table and came toward you, you took a step back, turning away from him slightly. The thing about you both being profilers, is that you could often communicate your emotions with body language alone. Which is why he knew that you weren’t as angry at him as you made out.

Your back was slightly to him, yes, but your chin was tilted in a way that exposed your throat and also allowed you to hear him approaching. You were willing to be vulnerable, to hear him out and make amends. Your arms were crossed, but they weren’t tightly clutched to your body, they were loose. Your shoulders relaxed and your stance relatively open and comfortable. You were playing hard to get, and Aaron was well aware.

His hands squeezed your upper arms gently and you didn’t flinch away, you leaned into his hands. He didn’t further the touch, not yet, he wanted your uncoerced forgiveness first. He just felt the need to be connected.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said it, and it isn’t true. Your opinions are always welcome and I value each one. I’m very sorry.” He said, his tone clear and even, completely sincere.

“Are you sure?” You asked, not ready to forgive just yet, he had embarrassed you. “You seemed pretty serious when you ordered me to ‘stand down’ and pointed out how young and inexperienced I am compared to you… in front of everyone.”

You felt him flinch slightly and then felt slightly guilty, but only slightly.

“I don’t have any excuses, I am so sorry that I embarrassed you–”

“Humiliated me.” You cut in.

“Humiliated you.” He admitted softly, and his voice cracked quietly. Was he? No…

You turned in his arms and faced him, shocked to find his eyes brimmed with tears.

“Aaron?” You whispered quietly.

“I- I didn’t mean to make you feel…” He takes a deep shuddering breath, glancing away for a moment and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to make you feel small or young or inconsequential. I know that I did, I saw it all over your face when I said it, and that kills me. I know how hard you had to fight and what you had to overcome to get here, and I never intended to treat you that way, I said it in frustration. I wasn’t even frustrated at you, I just happened to be speaking to you when it boiled over. I’m sorry baby, I was wrong and I need you to know that I think the world of you! You amaze me.”

Now you were nearly crying.

You reached up and wiped his tears away with your thumbs and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of forgiveness you could muster into him with your lips. You felt his body relax into yours, the tension fleeing like a rebuked demon. You let your body meld with his and his arms came around your waist as he kissed you back.

“I forgive you.” You murmured against his lips, just in case that wasn’t clear.

“Thank you…” He murmured back, deepening the kiss a little further and then pulling away to look at you. “I don’t deserve it, but I’ll accept it anyway because I don’t think I could bear to go into that raid without it. Without knowing that you and I are okay.”

“We’re okay.” You reassured him, then felt a little guilty yourself. “I– I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or to undermine you. Your name slipped out, I’m too used to saying it and I was frustrated as well. But I’m sorry, I should have been more tactful. It won’t happen again, if I have a concern about your decisions I’ll address it privately.”

He smiled at you, his eyes kind and full of… something similar to what was going on in your heart right now.

“Sweetheart, you can address your concerns whenever and wherever you please. My ego is not too fragile to handle that. In fact, I welcome it. I want to know if an order I’m giving makes you or the others feel like you’re not safe. It’s my job to protect you, especially you.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he cupped your head in his hands. “Truthfully, I didn’t even process what you said to me, I was too on edge. Could you tell me what has you concerned? I want to hear you out.”

You were absolutely sure that your pupils had shifted into big red hearts.

“God, Aaron. I lo–” You caught yourself, just barely, and bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out.

You couldn’t say that. No matter how true it was. Not when this whole thing was so… confusing? The lines were all blurred and you didn’t even know what this was.

Unfortunately, the pause and the panic in your eyes was telling enough. He was having a very hard time keeping a straight face. His lips twitching in open rebellion.

“You what?” He asked softly, but you could tell he knew exactly what you had almost blurted out with so much breathy adoration that you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

You shook your head and retreated a few steps.

“Nothing.” You said, too quickly, looking away from him to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not important.”

You hear him take a step toward.

“I beg to differ.” He murmured, pure elation in his voice. “I’m gonna need you to finish that sentence, Honey.”

You retreated another step, scrambling for anything to save you from having to admit what you almost said.

“I was only going to say that I love how… emotionally mature you are???” You cringed, and he was not at all convinced, chuckling softly at your fib.

“Well, first of all, I ought to be, I’m entirely too old for you. Second of all, that is not what you were going to say. It was close, but I think it was gonna be a little shorter than that.” He said smugly as he kept coming closer to you and you kept backing away.

“Umm, no you aren’t.” You scowled at him, sticking your arm out behind you to make sure you didn’t run into anything. Slowly making your way around the table. “And yes it was, you’re not a mind reader, just a profiler and even that can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking.”

He chuckles again, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement.

“Then why did you stop yourself from saying it? That was nothing I didn’t already know you thought, you’ve told that before. That you appreciate how I have more emotional maturity than guys you’ve been with in the past. So why not just say it?” He pushes, continuing his slow advance toward you.

“I- I- I just realized that I had said it before and it was a silly thing to say in this situation. That’s all.” You stuttered, then tripped over someone's bag that had gotten left behind.

He reached out to steady you but you recovered too quickly and darted back, knowing if he got his hands on you, he would coax the truth out of you. One way or another.

“You’re a terrible liar Sweetheart, don’t ever play poker. Especially not with Rossi.” He’s grinning ear to ear now and it almost makes you want to just blurt it out, but you’ve made too big of a show of lying to give in now. “Just tell me what you were going to say. I already know, I just want to hear it.”

You shrugged, shaking your head as you made it to the middle of the other side of the long conference table. All fifteen feet of it between you and the door that you were so desperate to escape through. “I don’t know what you want to hear, Aaron. I already told you what I was going to say.”

He shakes his head and sighs, but the grin is still there.

“Fine.” He tuts. “I guess I’ll just have to get it out of you the hard way.”

You saw his body stiffen just before he lunged for you, and you had just a split second to launch yourself off a pulled out chair and onto the table. You took two steps and used the back of a chair to vault yourself off of the table and toward the door.

You almost made it too.

Almost.

Somehow, somehow, Aaron’s arm caught you around the waist just as your fingertips skimmed the doorknob. He used your own momentum to press your chest against the door and pin you to it with his hips and shoulders.

“Goddamn! You are ridiculously fucking fast for a man your age!” You cursed, breathlessly panting from the sudden burst of exertion.

He laughed, his fingers skimming your waist lightly. Oh fuck, not this…

“You are terribly slow for a woman your age.” He teased, his voice rough as he murmured in your ear. “Now, tell me what you were actually going to say, Darling, or I’ll have to get creative.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get free. It was hopeless, he was much much stronger than you and he wasn’t even holding you tightly enough to cause any discomfort.

“I already told you!” You whined.

He clicked his tongue.

“Alright, you had your chance.” He warned cryptically, and then his hands were everywhere, squeezing and pinching and lightly brushing over you until he found exactly what he was looking for.

You let out a squeal of laughter when he found your tickle spot. There were several, but this one, this one was the WORST. You couldn’t stop laughing and he just doubled down.

“Aaron, please!” You squealed. “We can talk about this, like adults!”

He only tickled you more fervently.

“I tried to talk, you left me no choice.” He disagreed. “Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll stop.”

You knew Aaron well enough to know that if you said you were uncomfortable, he would stop immediately. But you weren’t uncomfortable and you wanted to see how this would play out.

“No.” You gasped, another peal of giggles ringing out as he tickled faster. “Aaron!”

“It’s just three little words, honey. That’s all it takes…” He taunted as you wriggled and squirmed like a worm on a hook.

“Aaron please! I cannot breathe!” You panted through your laughter, tears running down your face.

“I dunno, you sure are making a lot of noise for someone who can’t breathe…” He joked, his amusement blatantly clear in his voice.

You gasped, your stomach was tight, your lungs were burning deliciously, you were wildly turned on and that honestly did concern you a little bit.

“I’m literally gonna pee my pants!” You pleaded, laughing so hard that you actually feared that to be true.

“Uh oh, better say those words fast then…” He said, determined not to relent until you gave it up.

You had began to squeak now, you were gasping for breath so hard and you were terrified that you were going to snort if he didn’t stop.

“Aaron!”

“Yes?”

Smug son of a bitch.

“I love you…” You mumbled.

He stumbled briefly, but then redoubled his efforts.

“What was that?” He teased. “I couldn’t hear you. Someone is laughing too loudly. I wonder who that could be?”

“Aaron…” You groaned, and he chuckled, not stopping for a second making you cackle and you were certain the entire station could hear you. “Fine, I said: I love you.”

“A little louder, Honey? You know I’m hard of hearing…” You could feel the smile on his lips against your neck and you knew damn well that he heard you the first two times.

“You insufferable, stubborn, fucking gorgeous old man, I said: I LOVE YOU!!!!” You shouted as loud as your oxygen deprived lungs would allow.

“Finally!” He murmured, as he flipped you around, pressing your back to the door as he crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

Five very familiar voices began cheering just outside the door and you knew they’d been listening the entire time.

But you did not care.

Not as Aaron pulled away from you, just enough that he could look into your eyes.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.” He declared and the fire in his eyes let you know that he meant it.

[dalton344]

why has it been impossible lately for Criminal Minds writers to tag their fics correctly??

girl, if i wanted to read your Spencer x reader fic, i would go to the Spencer x reader tag.

for the absolute love of christ stop tagging Spencer fics with Hotch x reader. (looking at y'all, the atleast EIGHT accounts i've come across in the last 24 hours.)

TAGS EXIST FOR A REASON. if people wanna read specific things, they'll look for them.

same goes for some Emily Prentiss x reader writers lately. IF ITS EMILY X READER, TAG IT LIKE THAT.

[dalton344]

Absolutely love this!! This was truly amazing to the point I really hope you do a part two!! ❤️💚

Masquerade Ball | D.M.

summary: The Malfoys hold a masquerade ball in hopes of finding Draco a wife.

pairing: prince!draco malfoy x lady!potter!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mutual pinning, both oblivious, really just fluff with a tiny bit of angst

a/n: it’s like a mix of benedict’s story but not

As a child, Draco never understood how important he was to England’s society. He was always confined within the palace walls—forced to attend endless galas and balls hosted by his parents until his feet ached. Perhaps he could have escaped those obligations when he was younger, but now, he was trapped in a cycle of socializing with eligible maidens in hopes of finding a wife.

He had tried running away once at the age of seven but ran back to his mother the moment he encountered a beggar at the palace gates. It was then he realized how sheltered he truly was, unaware of the hardships beyond the gilded walls.

When Draco once questioned his status withing the kingdom, Lucius merely replied, "You will rule when you turn two and twenty." As the sole heir with no sibling, the weight of the kingdom rested squarely on Draco's shoulders.

Yet, as the years ticked closer to his inevitable coronation, he made no progress in finding a bride. Lucius' patience began to wane, culminating in the grand decision to host a masquerade ball to enhance his son's chances of courting a suitable queen.

And of course, Draco had words to say about the situation.

He adjusted his dark suit and spun the silver ring on his finger, meeting his mother's eyes through the standing mirror. "Mother—"

"Do not fuss, Draco," Narcissa chided gently, wiping invisible dust off her son's perfectly pressed suit. "Your father has made up his mind. You are to take the throne in two years. This must be done."

"And if I find no one?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head at the piece of hair sticking out. It wouldn’t lay flat if he tried gelling it down.

"Then we will try again next month," She said softly, squeezing his arm. She looked between his eyes and sighed, "Please, try, my love."

"They don't care for me, mother," Draco muttered and turned to face her, rolling his shoulders back—already dreading dancing with women who want the fame and fortune. "They care about being a queen."

"Which is why it is a masquerade ball," Narcissa explained and grabbed the mask that resembled a peacock. "You will blend with the crowd, your identity hidden." She slipped the mask over his head and patted his cheek. "Get to know them without the burden of your title."

"And you believe this will work?"

"I do!" She smiled brightly and stepped away from him, ready to make her arrival with her husband. Narcissa gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. "Tu es très beau, Draco. Just... be yourself."

Draco gave her a weak smile and watched her leave his room, letting his shoulders slouch down the second the door shut. He ran his fingers through his hair again and let his mind dwell on thoughts that were unbearable.

"When has that ever worked out for me?" He muttered underneath his breath, looking in the mirror again to notice the only identifiable thing about him was his piercing silver eyes.

"Papa, why are you staring at me like that?" You asked, adjusting your flowing gown while your mother fussed with your hair.

"Yes, James, what are you staring at her for?" Lily inquired with an arched brow, perfectly pinning your hair into a dolled up bun and slipping a silver rose in its center.

"Nothing." James grumbled and fiddled with the peacock feathers on the end of your mask, thumbing the string. "Just... be safe, alright? This is your first time attending one of the King's socials without us. What if you get kidnapped?"

"James!" Lily gasped and smacked her husband on the chest, snatching the mask from him and handing it to you instead.

"Papa!" You laughed and kissed his cheek, pulling the mask over your head. "I'll be fine. Hermione and Ginny will be there, and Harry too." You pull your curls free from the mask and tilt your head at the mirror, touching up minor details such as the skewed mask and stray pieces of hair. "Besides, I doubt I'll dance much. Champagne and people-watching sounds far more appealing."

"Maybe mingle a little," Lily suggested and pinched her fingers together, leaning into her husband’s touch. "It's for the young Malfoy to find a wife, after all."

"I'm not fraternizing with Draco," You huffed and adjusted the silver necklace resting on your collarbone, the setting sun shining across the jewelry. "Harry and he practically hate each other. Not exactly ideal courtship material."

"Imagine you as queen," James mused and pretended to command a group of handmaids to fetch more books for your extensive library. You were always going to be a bookworm like your mother and he bet you would do anything to have a room the size of the palace for your books.

"James!" Lily scolded jokingly once more before smiling softly at you, clasping your hands in hers. "Just be safe, Y/N."

"Of course," You squeezed her hands and smiled back before heading out the door, tilting your head as you called out for your brother. "Harry!"

James winced as your voice echoed throughout the foyer, Lily letting a small laugh slip through. "Bloody hell, that girl can shout.”

"Why does this place look fancier than usual?" Ron grumbled, glancing around the grand ballroom adorned with glittering chandeliers and cascading drapes.

It wasn't odd to see the palace all dolled up, but everything looked so much more expensive and one of a kind. Like it was an even more special experience. There were pyramids of champagne in every corner and in the center of the ballroom was one of the largest orchestra groups you’ve seen in years.

"Because it's a masquerade ball, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his arm, making him kiss her cheek to make up for his remark. "Honestly."

"So, Y/N," Ginny nudged your shoulder—a mischievous smile decorating her face—ignoring Harry’s warning look. "Anyone you're hoping to dance with tonight?"

"I don’t think so, Gin.” You push your mask up and stare at all the people entering the palace. Even they were surprised at all the added decorations.

"Boring," Ginny teased before leaning into Harry and whispering something inaudible, making you roll your eyes at the two of them. If they had to be so in love, they shouldn’t do it in front of you.

Just as you opened your mouth to retort the sickening sweet scene, trumpets blared from the top of the staircase, redirecting everyone's attention to the far end of the ballroom where Lucius and Narcissa stood—the couple adorning their own masks.

"Please welcome His Majesty, the King, and Her Majesty, the Queen!"

Lucius made quick remarks about the importance of the evening before a sly grin appeared on his face, earning quiet whispers from the audience. "Enjoy yourselves tonight! For who knows when the prince will arrive..."

The whispers only intensified at the mention of the prince arriving at a later time. Could he possibly be avoiding the event himself? But that would make sense, not when the event was for him.

"Interesting," Hermione murmured as if she read your mind, making your brows raise in amusement.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"Draco isn't here for his own ball," She noted, glancing around the room for any signs of the prince.

You huff and push her toward her beloved. You would make sure Hermione had a good time rather than dwell on something that didn’t matter too much. If you had to see your brother and Ginny be all lovey, you would have Ron and Hermione do the same.

"Go dance with Ron."

Hermione sighed and took Ron's outstretched hand before looking back at you, narrowing her eyes. "Do not be a wallflower tonight. I expect you to dance with someone at least once.”

You shrug your shoulders and watch her disappear into the dancing crowd before spinning toward one of the many towers of champagne. Unfortunately, someone just had to come find you.

"Lady Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, making you freeze at how awful this coincidence was. It wasn’t like you could’ve avoided the man for too long, especially when the whole bloody kingdom was invited to the ball.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath and presented a fake smile to him, hands clenching by your sides in annoyance as you gave him a short curtsey. "Lord Cormac."

"How delightful to see you!" Cormac grinned and eyed you up and down like you were his next meal, your mind and body hating everything about him. "Would you like to accompany me this evening?"

Your eyes widened in fear and disgust, mind racing millions per hour to find a plausible excuse. “Actually—“

"Is there a problem?" A smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupted your pathetic excuse, allowing you to recollect your thoughts.

Cormac's grin faltered at the sudden interruption, taking a short step back at the sight of the taller man. "We were talking."

"I believe the lady declined," The newcomer said evenly, keeping his face as schooled as possible.

Cormac huffed but retreated in annoyance, making you grin. You turned to the stranger to find him staring McLaggen down until the boy finally moved to the other side of the ballroom. His mask obscured most of his face, but his silver eyes gleamed with amusement and victory. Funny, you found his McLaggen’s obedience quite amusing as well.

"My knight and shining armor." You quipped and tucked your hands behind your back, taking small steps toward the champagne tower you were supposed to be minutes ago. "Have we met?"

"Not officially," He smirked beneath his mask and followed, copying your small movements. "A masquerade ball is about knowing someone without truly knowing them, isn't it?” He took two glasses from the tower and handed you one—doing his best not to knock any other glasses down. “Forgive me for keeping my identity a secret.”

"Then I'll do the same, my knight." You give june a curt nod before taking a sip, the drink fizzing down your throat.

"Is that what I am now?" He chuckled and looked at you from above the rim of his own drink, silver eyes shining with interest.

You grin, "Yes."

He hummed and tilted his head at you, "Then you shall be my Ivy.”

"Unique." You raise your brows and take another sip of champagne. "Why Ivy?"

"You're dressed in a deep green," He noted. "And as unassuming as you may look, I sense there's poison beneath."

"You say that like you know me already," You narrowed your eyes playfully, placing your glass back on a passing tray as a song finished.

"A quick interaction is all one needs." He countered and finished off his champagne. He waited for the music to start up again before offering you a hand, "Care to dance?"

Without a second thought, you took his hand and readied yourself in the starting position, joining the rest of the partners on the floor. Your right hand was gently clasped in his left and his hand was warm on your waist.

It all felt different than the other times you’ve danced. It felt comfortable.

You tilted your head up as he spun you around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I’m an only child," He said as you moved to walk around one another, eyes still locked onto yours. "Rarely left home unless dragged to events like these. Not much of an exciting life."

"Surely there's more. Friends? Acquaintances?" You press and take hold of his hand as he glides you across the ballroom—each note from the orchestra filling the background.

"Most used me for status." He admitted and quickly adjusted his mask and hold on you. "I learned from it.” You nodded and lightly held onto his arms when he dipped you, faces mere inches from one another. He pulled you up, “And you?"

"One older brother. Protective to a fault. Thinks every man is a threat." You rolled your eyes and separate yourself from him, letting him follow before clasping his left hand again. "I’ll admit, I came to the ball to be with friends.” You follow his steps as the dancers created a gorgeous pattern from above. “Dancing wasn't on the agenda, but... this isn't terrible.”

He smiled at your confession before remembering what the point of this ball was for. "What are your thoughts on the prince?"

"He can be...” You hesitated and looked around like the prince himself could hear you. “Difficult."

"Difficult?" He echoed and tilted his head to the side in interest.

"My brother has always had a grudge against him." You explained before spinning, heels clicking against the marble flooring. "I've had to endure their spats. Not the best memories. But it's not like I'll speak to him tonight."

He chuckled softly, silver eyes glinting behind his mask. "You never know. Masquerades are full of surprises."

And as you danced together, the room blurred began to blur, the weight of titles and expectation fading into the music and laughter. You found yourself relaxing, allowing the mysterious man to guide you across the floor with ease. His hand on your waist was steady yet respectful, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying a ball.

"You're a good dancer," You remarked, glancing up at him through your mask—his blonde hair perfectly combed except for a small curl at the front.

"I've had years of practice," He replied smoothly. "Though I usually find these events unbearable. This is... different."

You smiled. It’s like you had the same thoughts. "Perhaps the mask makes it easier to be yourself. No judgements. No expectations."

He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps. Or perhaps its the company."

Heat crept up your neck, and you glanced away, spotting Ginny grinning at you from the sidelines. You shot her a playful glare before focusing back on your partner. "Careful, my knight. Flattery might get you into trouble."

"Is that a risk you're willing to let me take?" He teased and dipped you, your eyes quickly darting to his lips before meeting his eyes again with your wide ones.

Before you could respond, the music shifted, signaling the end of the dance. He gently released you, bowing with a flourish. "Thank you for the dance, Ivy."

You curtsied in return, heart pounding from whatever feeling you just experienced. "The pleasure was mine, Knight."

As you parted ways, you found yourself glancing back at him, only to see he was doing the same. You quickly turned, chastising yourself for the flutter in your chest.

Draco leaned against a column, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was something about the girl—the way she challenged him, spoke without pretense. He shook his head. It was foolish to dwell on a fleeting interaction. Yet... He couldn't ignore the way his chest tightened at the thought of her laughter.

"Enjoying yourself?" Blaise sidled up next to him, nursing a glass of champagne.

Draco kept his eyes locked on the many guests in the ballroom, scouring the place for his Ivy. He wasn’t sure if this was what his mother told him about when he was younger. That maybe those silly fairy tales were true.

"Surprisingly," Draco admitted and let out a small chuckle. "Met someone... intriguing."

Blaise arched a brow, "Do tell."

Draco merely smirked, "Just someone worth dancing with.”

The night wore on with more dances, laughter, and champagne than you anticipated. Yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to the silver-eyed stranger. When you finally decided to seek fresh air, you slipped out to the palace gardens, the cool breeze a welcome relief.

"Running away?" A familiar voice drawled, your insides warming at the sound.

You turned, finding him seated on a marble bench beneath a canopy of roses. "Escaping," You corrected and fiddled with your necklace. "Balls can be… suffocating."

"Agreed," He nodded and patted the space beside him, tilting his head at you. "Care to join me?"

Hesitating only a moment, you sat down, the silence between you comfortable. Stars glittered above, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It felt nice.

"Why Ivy?" You asked suddenly. You were sure there was something more to the nickname than what he previously said.

He chuckled and leaned back on the bench. "Told you. Your dress. The presence you carry. You cling to walls but have thorns when approached. Fascinating contrast."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, humoring him. "And you? You're alright with Knight?"

"You said it yourself. Rescuing you from McLaggen was quite the heroic act." He grinned and met your eyes.

Laughing, you nudged him with your shoulder. "Hardly slaying dragons."

"Ah, but you never know." He mused, gaze drifting to the sky and tracing the stars his mother taught him about all these years. "Like I said, masquerades are full of surprises."

You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by that, but the sound of the final dance being announced interrupted your thoughts.

"One more?" He offered, standing and extending his hand.

"Why not?" Taking it, you let him lead you back inside with a smile your swore would hurt your cheeks the next day.

The ballroom felt different this time. More intimate. As you danced, you realized you didn't want the night to end. There was something inexplicably magnetic about him, something you couldn't place but didn't want to let go of.

"Do you think we'll meet again after tonight?" You ventured and glance between his eyes.

He hesitated, something flickering in his gaze. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's best we don't. Some things are better left as a beautiful memory."

Your heart sank at the thought of truly knowing who your knight was. "I suppose that's true."

As the music reached its crescendo, he leaned in, voice a mere whisper against your ear. "Thank you for tonight, Ivy."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, bowing deeply. And then, just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen, scanning the room, but he was gone.

"Y/N! There you are!" Hermione’s voice suddenly filled the space as she grabbed your arm. "The prince is about to reveal himself. Come on!"

Reluctantly, you followed her to the front of the crowd, mind half-heartedly paying attention to the reveal of the prince. Trumpets blared once more, and the King stepped forward, his wife grinning brightly by his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending. Now, allow me to present my son, your future king. Prince Draco."

Your breath caught as a figure ascended the stairs. The crowd parted, and there he stood—silver eyes, blonde hair, and the very same mask now resting in his hand.

Your heart stopped.

No. It couldn't be.

His gaze swept over the crowd... and landed on you. His expression mirrored your shock, realization dawning.

You were Ivy.

And he was Draco.

Neither of you spoke. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the grand ballroom.

Masquerades, you thought dazedly, really were full of surprises.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[dalton344]

One of the best stories I’ve ever read! 100% worth the read!

The Girl who Shattered Time.

Tom Riddle x Reader-long slow burn fic-requested

Warnings; Tom Riddle, single mention of suicidal thoughts/implication, shit ton of Fluff, angst. Happy ending. Rivals to lovers, no smut.

77 pages. 26,278 words. i am...very happy with how this turned out. enjoy!!!

=

Wind whipped in her hair, tossing her about as the broken time turner flew from her grasp-sending her off somewhere in time, she screamed as she twisted and turned, feeling herself being pushed and pulled through the very fabric of time.

It had been May 2, 1998, the battle of Hogwarts had been in full swing-fire and destruction everywhere, death eaters and dark creatures invading the once pristine grounds of the school.

She’d been fighting some snatchers, and had been blasted back into the DADA classroom-hitting the old desk and it fell with her weight, sending everything clattering to the floor.

“Nowhere to run mudblood.” The main snatcher of the group sneered, the others laughing cruelly, the one in front raising his wand. “Avada-“

Her hand moved and something turned and cracked under her weight, and then it was a whirlwind of magic and-everything in the room. She was lifted off her feet, screaming as everything went to madness, the snatchers disappearing from her sight like ink smearing as she was tossed and turned. She looked at her hand-seeing a cracked time turner, but it soon flew from her grip from how out of balance she was.

She screamed again and then she hit the floor, groaning as her body flared with pain from where she landed on her side and back. Her vision swam as she opened her eyes, her brows furrowed as she took in the thankfully familiar sight of the DADA classroom but it…looked different. It wasn’t…decorated how it was supposed to be. Things of course were strewn everywhere due to the chaos that just happened.

It took her only a moment to realize she’d been flung through time, the broken time turner sending her…somewhere in the past or future, she didn’t know yet. She still lay on the floor, her ears still ringing as her head pulsed with pain, her vision still swimming as she tried to regain her bearings.

Her eyes flicked to the office door as it clicked open and she saw an unfamiliar face-obscured by light and her motion sickness, rushing towards her. Unconsciousness took her before she could even see who the professor was.

-

She woke up in the familiar bright natural light of the hospital wing, whenever she was-the hospital wing sure didn’t change. She blinked and slowly sat up, the itchy fabric of the blanket falling from her shoulders she looked around, her blurry vision clearing as she rubbed her eyes.

“Finally awake I see,” she heard a friendly voice of an older witch and she turned, seeing, definitely not Madame Pomfrey, walking around the medical bed. The older witch, maybe in her late 50s, was in the same uniform (y/n) had gotten used to, but her hair was in that v-line bun style the working women of the late 40s wore during World War 2.

“Yeah-sorry for crashing in,” (y/n) said, her voice croaky as she was handed a glass of water and she greedily gulped it down. The older witch hummed, waving her wand in front of (y/n)’s eyes to check for any brain injuries and found nothing. Another wave confirmed no other bodily harm-though there was a cut on (y/n)’s hand that was already healed up and scarred over.

Magic was awesome.

“Well, miss…” the medical witch gave (y/n) a glance and (y/n) said her first and last name. “(y/n), now how exactly did you end up in the defense room? Out of thin air?”

“I crashed into the desk, time turner broke under my hand,” (y/n) explained simply and the medical witch nodded, that was a very simple explanation, and the witch was thankful for it, this would be hopefully easy to remedy.

“I see, if I can ask what year you were in before you were sent to this time?” the medical witch asked and (y/n) told her 1998, the medical witches eyes widening slightly, though she took a second look at (y/n)’s clothes, hairstyle, and realized that made sense.

“I see, well, welcome to 1943 miss (y/n).”

…1943?!?!

-

(y/n) flattened the skirt of the 1940s-era Hogwarts uniform she’d been given, curling her lip to the side a bit as she looked at the grey-toned blazer and skirt, far different from the black/deep charcoal color of the modern uniform she’d been used to. This uniform was heavy and almost a bit-itchy-being made of heavy cotton and linen, probably due to the war so more comfortable fabrics were less available.

(y/n) looked at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair to cover her left eye a bit more, as she preferred it to be covered due to a gnarly scar there, and usually she got way too many questions about it when it was uncovered so she kept it covered just to avoid all the drama.

She looked down at her skirt again, sighing-she’d begged the headmaster of his era, headmaster Dippet, to wear the pants since that’s what she was more comfortable with, but this era of the school was a bit more… conservative, though the current deputy headmaster, Dumbledore-which it felt so odd to see him so young and alive again-winked at her in that familiar way and she had a feeling she might get an exception from the dress code.

She grabbed the familiar black robe of the Hogwarts uniform and slipped it on, looking at the Hogwarts crest on the left side of the chest area, from what she was gathering, in this era, there was less obvious colors on the uniform, something about ‘encouraging cross house unity’ so instead of the house crest on the robe-it was just the Hogwarts crest, the house colors were instead just on the tie and vest.

Which right now, she was about to be resorted so she could blend in with the other students, as currently-Dumbledore nor Dippet knew exactly how to send her back to her time yet, as the time-turner that sent her here had been broken and lost during her accidental trip.

In the meantime, she’d join the students of this era and try not to cause trouble or change anything that could harm her future.

(y/n) turned as the door of the room she’d changed in was knocked on and after she confirmed she was decent, Dumbledore stuck his head through, his auburn hair a slightly weird sight since she’d gotten so used to his old wizard features.

“All ready?” Dumbledore asked and (y/n) nodded, stepping out of the room and towards the familiar headmaster's desk that had the sorting hat on top of it. She watched as Dumbledore took the sorting hat and put it on her head, the old leather hat coming to life once again.

“Curious, very curious-misplaced through time I see. Hmmm, well, what house were you before?” The hat muttered in its gravelly voice and (y/n) didn’t answer, knowing the hat could read her thoughts anyway. She’d been a Ravenclaw before, which had been fun-she’d made friends with Luna Lovegood her first year as they were both seen as ‘weird’, (y/n) being the roughhousing tomboy and Luna being…Luna.

She hoped Luna was okay back in the 90s, during that war-she hoped Potter would win.

“Mmm, let’s see let’s see, cunning, thinks outside the box, plenty of courage I see, not bad not bad, passionate, kind but not weak-willed, mmmm not one to let others change you, how interesting…I know where to put you-Slytherin!”

(y/n) swallowed a bit harshly, feeling the hat being pulled from her head.

Slytherin.

Well fuck.

-

As Professor Dumbledore walked her to the great hall, he told her some more information about when exactly she was.

It was early in the school year thankfully, just barely into November, which meant she hadn’t missed too much of their curriculum-she supposed she should be thankful for that-she didn’t have months to catch up on and most likely their basic lesson plans followed the same as her worlds-though much less dark arts and more defense against it since there were no death eaters teaching any classes and no Voldemort pulling the strings.

She shuddered, remembering the class that had been earlier that day-the DA professor, one of those Carrow twins, had made them use the torture curse on first years-thankfully she had never been picked to cast it as some other 6th year had outright said no, resulting in punishment for him and the rest of the class had to watch.

She shook her head to rid herself of that memory, it was no use thinking of it now, even though it made her feel more��resolved, to get back to her time so she could help fight the death eaters probably still invading Hogwarts and destroying it.

She hoped she’d get back home one day.

Dumbledore led her into the great hall, and it was just barely beginning to be filled up with students for dinner, the familiar sight of all the tables and the lights and the enchanted ceiling made her body ease up-it felt like coming home again after being in such a terrifying version of Hogwarts.

“Now, Slytherin table is just over there, and I’ll have one of the prefects guide you around, to make sure you know your way. Perhaps tutor you, if need be,” Dumbledore said and (y/n) nodded, fixing the bang over her left eye as she looked towards the Slytherin dining table, seeing groups of them all sitting down together-no doubt most of them purebloods and half-bloods.

Dumbledore gently gave her a little tap on her shoulder, and she sighed, walking towards the Slytherin table, making her way towards the end where no one was sitting yet and all eyes drew to her.

She knew why-she was a new face, unfamiliar, with hair different than theirs(she’d refused to let anyone touch it to make it more ‘40s’. She liked her hair very much and liked how it was styled to hide her eye.), and probably held herself very differently than how they were used to.

New sudden students always drew attention.

She sat down, crossing her arms on the table-elbows and all, staring up and around the ceiling of the great hall, admiring the night sky above. More students filed in as dinner time grew closer, and she could feel eyes on her as Slytherin students came and sat down. A few sat around her, but she still kept her gaze to herself.

She felt a sudden shiver run up her spine and she turned her head-peeking out from her bangs to see a tall pale boy with dark wavy hair that was styled to perfection, with dark deep eyes and lips in a slight pout. He had a prefect badge on his uniform robe and walked with a purpose, heading straight for a group of boys that sat in the middle of the table, boys she swore she had seen before-or well, maybe their grandchildren that went to school with her for the last 6ish years.

She could pick out a few, like maybe the one with brown hair and beauty marks was Theodore Nott’s grandfather, and she thinks she can see Goyle and Crabb’s grandfathers sitting a few seats down-not really a part of the group of boys but also clearly interested in being a part of it.

The group of boys seem to watch the tall perfect one with high interest, almost looking to him like a leader-none of them take their eyes off him, watching his every move and when he speaks-cockney she hears-they hang onto every word.

She frowns a bit, it almost reminded her of how Draco Malfoy acted with his own group of goons/friends, like Blaise, Theodore Nott, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle-they all followed him around like some sort of leader, even though he was pretty pathetic. She smirked a bit to herself remembering the ferret incident a few years back-that was a super funny day, even though it had been a death eater turning the blonde prat into one.

…yeah no, still funny, honestly even funnier when one considers the connection between the Malfoys and other death eaters.

She felt eyes on her again and she looked up, seeing that tall pale boy looking at her now-his gaze seemingly looking right through her and she felt a slight pressure in the back of her mind and she instantly pulled her occlumency walls up-having learned that just before the school year started to protect herself-and the pressure stopped-the pale boys brows furrowing ever so slightly, so slightly it was nearly impossible to see if one wasn’t watching for the micro-expression.

(y/n)’s gaze turned away from him as the dinner feast appeared on the table and she let the few students around her grab their food first before she began to eat.

She looks around at the many plates that decorate the table and has a short realization that the house elves really just-didn’t change the menu at all, she wonders if they ever had.

Whatever, at least she knows what she’s eating.

She feels someone sit right next to her and she looks, seeing a girl-obviously from Slytherin-staring at her with a smile. She looks nice enough. “Hi, are you new?” the girl asks and (y/n) nods, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Uh, yeah,” (y/n) mutters, setting down her fork. The girl smiles, holding out her hand.

“I’m Lucy, Lucy Flint, and you are?” (y/n) smiles back, shaking Lucy’s hand.

“I’m (y/n), (y/n) (l/n),” (y/n) says, hoping Lucy wouldn’t clock her muggle last name, since her father had been muggleborn, her mother half-blood-and she recognized Lucy’s last name, Marcus Flint from her era-a mean, and bit ugly, Slytherin boy who had been quidditch captain until he graduated a few years back.

But Lucy seemed nice, with short bobbed hair that curled at the ends, pretty brown eyes, and a very sweet smile. Marcus couldn’t have been descended from her, must’ve been his great aunt maybe.

“I don’t recognize that last name? im pretty familiar with all wizard families.” Lucy asked and (y/n) lightly hissed through her teeth, giving a shrug.

“Uh, my great grandad was muggleborn, my grandma married into a pureblood family-I forget which one though since my granddad took my mom's name, thought it was-cooler, or something.” (y/n) said/lied, fumbling a bit, hoping that her explanation didn’t sound stupid.

Lucy laughed a bit, shaking her head. “How curious, you say you don’t remember which pureblood family your grandmother married into?” Lucy asked and (y/n) shook her head. Oh she knew exactly which pureblood family her ‘grandma’ had married into, except that was all bullshit and her actual pureblood granddad was probably in the school right now and it would be really stupid of her to try and pass herself off as some distant relative of his when he probably knew every crook and cranny of his family line.

Lucy only hummed and nodded. “All right then-oh, may I ask which school you transferred from? Especially with it nearly being the end of the first term.” Lucy asked and (y/n) came up with another lie.

“Oh uh, I was being homeschooled,” she said plainly, picking at her thumb under the table. She was talking herself into a corner here-she really wished she could just start talking truth soon instead of trying to lie about her family and her background. “My granddad, on the pureblood side, wasn’t a big fan of Hogwarts, something about the-muggleborns, n stuff.” (y/n) said, only half lying now since one of her family members had tried to convince her parents not to let her go to Hogwarts and be homeschooled by him so he could teach her the dark arts.

(y/n) swallowed at the memory of that family member, brushing her bangs over her eye again.

“Ah, my grandfather was the same way, but my father insisted my brother and I attend Hogwarts, social development and connections as he said.” Lucy said with a dismissive wave of her hand, and the casual way she said it made the tightness in (y/n)’s chest ease up and she took a breath, straightening her shoulders out as Lucy continued to talk.

“I’m sure you’ll love it here anyways, while the classes can be quite boring-especially history of magic-Hogwarts has much to offer and the Hogsmeade weekends can be very entertaining.” Lucy rambled on, the tension (y/n) felt since sitting down at the table eased up and she nodded, feeling hopeful for her first friend of the past.

It was sort’ve funny to act like as if she’d never stepped foot in Hogwarts before as Lucy prattled on about the school and everything about it, including the enchanted ceiling, but (y/n) just smiled and nodded, nibbling at a buttered roll as Lucy pointed out the professors and which class they taught.

Dumbledore was the transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor house, Slughorn was the potions professor and head of Slytherin house, Diggory was the herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff house, and Vassy was the charms professor(as well as the flying teacher) and head of Ravenclaw hours, and so on and so forth.

(y/n) only knew two of them, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn, though Dumbledore had passed the year before and Slughorn was once again head of Slytherin house with Snape now being headmaster-well, in her time. Now everything was…normal, the halls weren’t dark, the magic of the castle wasn’t suffocating anymore, and the professors all looked bright and proper.

Hogwarts felt like home again, and (y/n) had a feeling she wasn’t going to mind being in the past all that much.

-

(y/n) let Lucy begin to drag her up from the table and towards the doors of the great hall, glad to already have a friend who seemed nice, when the voice of Professor Dumbledore caught her attention. “Miss (l/n),” she turned, Lucy turning as well as Dumbledore summoned her forth and (y/n) let out a low sigh, letting go of Lucy’s hand-or well tried, Lucy was now holding her arm-walking up to Dumbledore.

“Yes sir?” (y/n) asked, looking up at the old wizard(though he didn’t look as old as she was used to.) Dumbledore glanced between her and Lucy.

“I see you’ve made a friend already, wonderful. I assume now you won’t need someone to show you around?” Dumbledore asked and (y/n) nodded, Lucy clinging tighter to her arm, as if to claim the ‘honor’ of showing her around.

“No sir, I think Lucy has taken on the job for herself,” (y/n) said, seeing Lucy smiling out of the corner of her eye. Dumbledore nodded.

“Very well, I’ll leave you in her hands. Goodnight you two, sleep well.” Dumbledore said with a nod of his head and (y/n) and Lucy nodded, bidding the professor goodnight as well, Lucy tugging (y/n) out of the great hall, giving a short tour on the way to the Slytherin common room. It was in the lower levels of the castle, near the dungeons and the potions classroom. (y/n) held Lucy’s hand as they walked amongst the crowd to the common room.

Everyone walked up to a solid brick wall, and the prefect at the front-leading the first years-said the password and a snake that had been carved into the floor slid up and formed into an arch that revealed the door to the common room. (y/n) whistled under her breath, blinking a bit, well-that was impressive.

Lucy laughed at her reaction and pulled her into the common room. It was very green, and silver and opulent, with large windows that viewed into the black lake…and had multiple rooms-wow.

“Wow,” (y/n) said under her breath as Lucy pulled her around, showing her every nook and cranny of the common room, eventually pulling her towards the grand set of stairs that led to the door rooms-tugging her up the right staircase and into the halls with all the dorms.

“let's see if we can find yours,” Lucy said, trailing her fingers under the silver plaque on each door-each one having the name of its occupants on it. They passed Lucy’s dorm that she shared with four other girls, until they reached a door that had only one name on it. “(y/n) (l/n), oh how lucky! you get a private room!” Lucy gasped, (y/n) opening the door to step inside.

Wow, she really did get her own room, considering there was only one bed and everything else was pretty standard room décor. Lucy admired the room, looking around-frowning when she didn’t see (y/n)’s trunk for the rest of her clothes.

“Where's your trunk?” Lucy asked, peeking under (y/n)’s bed to look for it. (y/n) shrugged a bit, she didn’t have one-considering she’d come to this time with nothing but her wand and the clothes she had on during the battle.

“Don’t have one…don’t have extra clothes now that I think about it,” (y/n) mumbled, jumping as Lucy gasped and jumped up-grabbing her arms.

“You know what that calls for right?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide as (y/n) blinked, before shaking her head. Lucy grinned, almost crazily. “Shopping spree~”

“Oh-I don’t have any money-“ (y/n) said weakly, her mouth being covered by Lucy as she shushed her.

“Don’t worry about it~ I’ll handle it, besides-I’ve been dying to go shopping at the new store at Hogsmeade.” Lucy said enthusiastically, squeezing (y/n)’s shoulders after releasing her mouth. (y/n) sighed, but nodded with a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Lucy,” (y/n) said softly and Lucy grinned brightly.

“You’re very welcome (y/n)~ oh! Let me introduce you to my friends-and roommates-c’mon!” Lucy said, taking (y/n)’s hand and dragging her back out of her dorm and to Lucy’s dorm, there she met the four girls that made up Lucy’s roommates: Bella Lars, Iridessa Hawthorn, Alice Macnair, and Julia Nettleskip

By curfew, (y/n) had a whole new group of friends, all of them much nicer than she had ever expected.

-

That night, after learning she didn’t have any roommates and she’d been ‘homeschooled’ before transferring to Hogwarts-all her new friends brought their pillows and blankets into her room and they had a sleepover-Alice, one of her new friends and Lucy’s roommates, letting her borrow some sleepwear since they were the same size and (y/n) didn’t have any sleepwear to begin with.

“Have you ever had voice-changing chocolates before (y/n)?” Bella asked (y/n) as she held out the box to (y/n) who was sitting on the footboard bench at the end of her bed. She nodded, taking one and popping it into her mouth-the chocolate melting on her tongue and her voice changed to make bird noises as the other girls all giggled.

Iridessa was the one who brought all the snacks, (y/n) being told she hoarded candy every Hogsmeade trip ‘just in case’, which meant there were several piles of sweets and snacks to choose from.

(y/n) was having a blast, she couldn’t remember the last time she had this much fun at a sleepover, much less with a group of Slytherins.(especially within the last year)

After a few hours, (y/n) fell into an exhausted but happy sleep, arms clutching her pillow as she relished in the cold of her room-the perfect sleeping temperature. Spread out on the floor, on top of pillows transfigured into mattresses, were her new friends, all sleeping soundly-the night well spent.

-

The next morning was a slight rush-they’d all slept in since they’d all stayed up late and so-when the clock struck for half past 7-half past breakfast more like it-the group of girls scrambled to wake up and get ready for the day, (y/n) being left in her room alone as she washed her face and put on a fresh uniform, adored in the emerald green of Slytherin instead of the sapphire blue of Ravenclaw. It was a bit odd to see herself in that color, but it didn’t look too bad.

She did her hair-making sure her bangs were over her left eye-hiding the scar, and quickly grabbed her bag and books and rushed out of her room-her arm interlocking with Lucy’s as she and her new friends rushed to the great hall to make the last 20 minutes of breakfast.

They got there with 13 to spare and ate what was left of the breakfast feast, (y/n) wiping syrup from her chin as Lucy grabbed her hand again to drag her to the first class of the day-which was Charms. Lucy quickly led (y/n) to sit next to her, knocking into the tall brooding boy who had been staring at (y/n) the night before at dinner.

“Sorry!” (y/n) rushed out as he stumbled, his dark eyes landing on her again as she stumbled into the seat next to Lucy, taking a breath since they’d made it just in time before the professor strolled in. The boy with dark eyes sat down as well-directly across from (y/n), but (y/n) paid no mind to him, taking out her grade 6 ‘standard book of spells’ from her bag, along with her wand and her notebook.

The professor, Tryphena Vassy, taught charms differently than Professor Flitwick did but it was refreshing to learn charms differently, it helped that she had already learned most of the charms of her 6th year curriculum-well, before she got blasted into the past by a snatcher and a broken time turner.

Still, (y/n) listened and wrote down notes, simply enjoying a calm and proper class after so long. After a bit she looked up from her notes, locking eyes with the dark-eyed boy from earlier-and he was staring back at her, his wand between his thin fingers, slowly spinning his wand around his knuckles-his other hand serving as a chin rest.

(y/n) blinked, glancing away at the professor and then back at the boy, he was still staring at her.

She ignored him the best she could and went back to listening to the professor and taking notes. While she and Lucy left class, she grabbed Lucy’s wrist to pull her close and spoke quietly to her. “Hey Lucy, who’s that?” (y/n) asked, pointing to the dark-eyed boy who had been staring at her in class, who was once again surrounded by a group of pureblood boys.

“Hmm?” Lucy hummed, looking to where (y/n) was pointing, gasping with a dreamy smile. “Oh, that’s Tom Riddle~ one of the Slytherin prefects, rumor is that he’s actually a pureblood, despite being an orphan.” (y/n) frowned a bit, mulling over the name Tom Riddle in her head.

She felt like she should know that name-it was on the tip of her brain-she swore she’d heard that name before, but from where? “Okay?” (y/n) mumbled and Lucy giggled, wrapping her arms around (y/n)’s arm and leading her through the hall to their next shared class.

“He’s a dreamboat, isn't he?” Lucy sighed as they passed by the group of boys, Tom, as she learned the dark-eyed boy’s name was, glanced at the two as they walked past-his eyes locked onto (y/n) before returning his attention to his friends.

“He’s, pleasing to the eye I guess?” (y/n) mumbled, shrugging a bit as Lucy gasped as if those words offended her. “What? I said he’s pleasing to the eye! I didn’t call him ugly!” (y/n) said, defending her lack of attraction to Tom as Lucy huffed, and then laughed, the two continuing down the hall as Tom’s eyes drifted back over to (y/n), keeping his gaze locked on her as she and Lucy walked away.

-

(y/n) decided she hated Tom Riddle. No-better word-she LOATHED Tom Riddle. He was just such-an asshat!! Ever since she’d caught his eye in charms class, he was constantly one upping her in all their shared classes, especially in potions and defense against eh dark arts, if she tried to answer a question or-even do anything! He had to be mr-correctal and either speak over her or correct what she was doing.

It reminded her of Hermione Granger, who was very well known for being high strung about all her classes and could be quite annoying about anything to do with academics-she remembered Hermione even correcting her once about her wand movements back when she was in 2nd year.

Hermione, however, did all that to at least try to be helpful, even if it was annoying. Tom? Oh, she knew he was doing all this on purpose-doing it just to annoy her, because she swore he wasn’t doing it with anyone else!!

It had only been a week since landing back in 1943 and she loathed Tom Riddle, she needed to kick him down several pegs or she swore to Merlin she was going to implode.

She got the first chance to do it in potions class, they’d all been tasked with making the draught of living death-and lucky for (y/n), she’d already done this class with professor Slughorn in her time, so with the knowledge from that, and having some extra knowledge from a potions ingredient book she bought before her original 6th year started-she got to work.

The class was only an hour long-some of that being spent with Slughorn talking at the start, but now (y/n) and the rest of the students had less than an hour to make a decent attempt at the potion, to which Slughorn had said he expected no one to get a perfect potion.

She glanced up, seeing Tom following the instructions in the advanced potion-making book, trying to cut into the Sopophorous, his lip curling as the bean just bounced around instead of obeying his whims.

(y/n) turned her knife to use the flat side of it, crushing the bean as everyone else struggled to even nick it. Tom must’ve heard her do so because his head snapped up, eyes locked onto her as she crushed the bean and put the juice of it into a small glass bowl to use for later in the potion-getting all her ingredients ready before beginning.

(y/n) looked up, smirking as she caught Tom’s eye, and then continued on with making the potion. Tom’s nose twitched, as did his lip, and he looked back down-turning his knife to crush the bean.

Within the hour, (y/n) would glance up every once in a while, seeing how disastrous everyone else’s potion-making was going. She could see Lucy-whose hair was frizzing at the ends as she stressfully stirred the potion, trying to stop it from boiling over the lip of the cauldron, and Tom-oh Tom.

His hair was a curly mess, and if (y/n) didn’t usually seethe at the sight of him, she would dare say it was cute, because clearly he tried to hide those curls more often than not-with all that hair gel he used.

(y/n) looked back down at her potion as Tom’s eyes flashed up, and he huffed a bit, gritting his teeth as he looked at his potion-and while it wasn’t a bad attempt, it was clear (y/n)’s potion wasn’t fighting her as much as his was.

Tom wiped his nose with his wrist and went back to work.

Soon Slughorn called for everyone to step back from their potions so he could review them, starting with Tom’s of course-(y/n) had quickly learned Tom was practically a golden child in Slughorn’s eyes, with all the praise he gave him, even calling Tom ‘my boy’ a lot, in pretty much every sentence.

“let's see, let's see, ah-of course, Tom my boy, practically perfect.” Slughorn praised and Tom smirked, his head tilting up a bit with pride-his hair now back into its slicked style after he got a moment to do so. Slughorn continued around the room, encouraging those who hadn’t exactly done well with the potion-as it was extremely difficult.

Finally, he reached (y/n)’s worktable and examined the potion, nodding. “Color is correct, and thickness is just right. But let's see,” Slughorn hummed, dropping a leaf into the cauldron and it burned into nothingness almost instantly, making Slughorn gasp-not even Tom’s had made the leaf disappear that quickly! “Merlin’s beard, it's perfect! So perfect I say a drop would kill us all!” Slughorn said, looking back at (y/n) with wide eyes as she smiled with pride.

Her eyes locked with Tom’s, his dark eyes full of shock and almost fury at being upstaged, and (y/n) only smirked back, rolling her head away from him.

Take that sucker. She thought, soon reuniting with Lucy as they walked out of the potions classroom to enjoy their double class for defense against the dark arts. “Flint.” They both paused, turning to see Tom walking towards them, hands behind his back as his robe billowed behind them. “May I take a moment of Ms. (l/n)’s time?” Tom asked and Lucy seemed a little hesitant but when Tom gave her a little smirk she folded like laundry and let (y/n)’s arm go.

(y/n) tried to grab Lucy again but Tom was already grabbing her wrist and dragging her off. “Let go of me-you git!” (y/n) hissed, Tom rolling his eyes, pulling her into an alcove.

“Oh stop, I’m not going to hex you,” Tom huffed, blocking her from leaving by standing in front of her-his arms crossed. (y/n) glared back, rubbing her wrist. “How did you do it?” Tom asked, his expression intense but very curious, leaning towards her. She put her hand on his face-pushing him back-which left him stunned because no one had ever done that before.

“Do what? Oh-show you up? Maybe you’re just not the best at everything as you think you are.” (y/n) said with a huff, putting her hands on her hips as Tom scoffed.

“Please. I’m the top student Hogwarts has seen in decades-not even bloody Dumbledore got where I am in all the classes-now tell me-where did you learn potions like that? You must’ve been cheating-no one else was crushing the beans.” Tom said, pushing her shoulder to make her look at him and she glared.

“I didn’t cheat! how dare you! Just because someone Is better at you at something doesn’t mean they’re unfair at it, I just happened to have gotten a potions textbook about ingredients and the best way to utilize them-it’s not my fault no one else knew to crush the beans instead of cutting them!” (y/n) hissed back, pushing Tom’s shoulder in retaliation.

Tom’s nostrils flared and his jaw clicked. “Perhaps you’re getting too ahead of yourself Ms. (l/n).” Tom hissed, getting in her face, his teeth nearly bared. “I would watch your mouth if I were you.”

“And if I were you-perhaps, I’d stop being a know-it-all cunt!” (y/n) snapped back, Tom gasping and then being shoved back, stumbling into the wall as (y/n) stormed away from the alcove, turning around to flip him off before catching up with Lucy-who had waited for her.

“Oh, it is game on little girl.” Tom growled beneath his breath; his hands clenched at his sides.

Game on indeed.

-

Tom had never felt so-invigorated before. This feeling, he’d felt it before, but not this strongly, not even towards Dumbledore, who had always made Tom feel on edge the moment he’d come to see Tom at the orphanage before Tom’s first year at Hogwarts.

But this? Oh, this was a breath of fresh air, a thrilling race to his heart-a skip in his step when he battled wits with one (y/n) (l/n). This-loathing-was almost…fun.

“How do you deal with her Tom?” Nott asked as they left transfiguration class-where he and (y/n) had fought for a good seat upon arrival, Tom having lost it because (y/n) had some better muscles on her. She’d boxed him right off the seat, smirking down at him as he fell to the floor-looking up at her shocked, and a bit impressed.

“What he said, she’s a terror!” Avery said, glaring back at (y/n) as she and Lucy walked the other way down the corridor. Tom only hummed with a small shrug, a smirk on his lips.

“Well, such things are sent to try us, make us try to break, to show weakness.  I won't allow such things, soon she’ll know her place.” Tom said, his ‘friends’ all nodding to his wise words.

Their rivalry continued, especially during dueling class-the two usually trying to get paired up so they could hex and curse each other to high heaven without getting in trouble. Usually-Tom would take the win since he was quite adept in dueling-but (y/n) soon learned his tricks, how he would slightly show what spell he was about to cast with a step, or a look in his eyes.

That’s when she started winning, blasting him off his feet right when he was about to cast a hex at her-mid word and everything. “Oh my,” Professor Merrythought mumbled under her breath as Tom tumbled off the dueling mat, (y/n) grinning with victory as Tom flipped over himself, his robe fluttering over his head.

“And that’s-10 to 7 now,” (y/n) hummed, bowing to Tom as he flung his robe end back over his head, glaring at (y/n), though he was impressed how she’d learned his tells, before her-no one had beat him in dueling since 3rd year.

“Rotten luck,” Tom grumbled under his breath, accepting her handshake-hissing under his breath as she gripped his hand a little too tight, shaking it a bit as she released it and turned around, heading back into the line of students watching the duels going on in the classroom.

“How's that-making her learn her place-thing going?” Nott asked Tom as they met up in the corridor, Tom staring at (y/n)’s back as she walked the opposite way with her head held high, clearly running off the high of beating him at a duel.

“I’m working on it.” Tom huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he crossed through the garden courtyard, his breath coming out as a slight fog since it was getting colder as winter reared its head. “Unfortunately, she’s stubborn as a mule and resilient as an ox, hard-headed and foolish-nothing I could do could take her down a peg.” Tom grumbled, mostly to himself.

Nott hummed from beside Tom, looking back at (y/n), her friends walking with her, his eyes zeroing in on Alice-someone he knew very well. He glanced back at Tom, smirking to himself. Maybe all the girl needed was a little-push.

-

(y/n) had never noticed that Alice and Nott knew each other-but she supposed all, or most, purebloods knew each other. But they’d been hanging around each other more often, and that gave (y/n) a weird queasy feeling in her stomach, she did her best to brush it off, since the other girls didn’t seem all too weirded out with Alice hanging out with one of Tom’s friends.

But still, it made her feel like something was off, like she should watch her back-a feeling she hated.

The feeling reached its peak when she and her friends were hanging out in the main courtyard at the front of the castle, sitting at the fountain, waiting for the Hogsmeade carriages to be ready so they could head out for the afternoon. Nott was with them, Alice hugging his arm as he smirked down at her. (y/n) glanced at him every so often, not really trusting his closeness to her-but she wasn’t going to ruin Alice’s fun by asking her to make him go away.

(y/n) turned as the other students hanging out in the courtyard began to head out to the carriages, gasping as she was suddenly shoved and went right into the fountain that had just started to freeze over from the recent cold weather.

Her friends all gasped her name-Alice shoving Nott away to step forward, (y/n) shoving her hand away as she sat up out of the fountain, soaking wet and freezing. She glared at Nott, slicking her hair out of her eyes. There was laughter from the other students, quiet and snickering, Nott the loudest of them all-Alice turned to glare at him, before everyone went quiet as Tom emerged from the school-having seen Nott push Audrey into the fountain, his gaze locked onto her as she pulled her legs in from the fountain edge to stand up.

Nott grinned, expecting some sort of acknowledgment from Tom but Tom paid him no mind-heading right for (y/n), holding out his hand. She looked up at him-he kept his hand out, staring right at her.

He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like seeing her like this.

(y/n) clicked her jaw, taking his hand and he helped her out of the fountain, taking his coat off to set it around her shoulders to keep her warm. “Tom-“ Nott protested-not expecting this move from Tom, so clearly denouncing Nott’s humiliating move against (y/n). Tom gave him a silencing glance, and took (y/n) from around the shoulders, leading her back inside the warm castle.

“Why?” (y/n) asked as soon as they entered the castle, her friends following not too far behind.

“I would prefer to humble you, not humiliate you.” Tom said, so quietly as if he didn’t believe it. He walked her to the Slytherin common room, quietly staring ahead of him-calculating everything in his head.

He’d seen Nott get too close to (y/n), it had made him angry-he didn’t understand why-but he saw him touch her, that’s when he began to move-but then Nott had pushed (y/n) into the fountain and that’s what made him shove through students to get to her.

He didn’t know why he hated seeing (y/n) so…pathetic. He was so used to seeing her so-prideful, strong, unrelenting, so…similar to him, but in her own way.

He hated seeing her look so…hurt.

Tom sighed, catching (y/n)’s attention as she went to hand him his coat back. “It wasn’t my idea, what Nott did.” Tom said, quietly, avoiding her gaze. “Despite our…rivalry, I do not wish to see you harmed, or…humiliated. I…” he swallowed the lump in his throat-a new feeling. “Apologize, for his behavior, I’ll keep him, and any others, in line.” Tom said, looking at (y/n).

She looked, surprised, her eyes widened-then her expression softened in a curious thought.

“Huh.” She mumbled, watching him intently. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought,” she said to herself, and then handed over his coat, nodding-his eyes drifting to the scar that went from her forehead down to her cheekbone on the left side of her face. He didn’t mention it, because usually (y/n) had her hair covering that side of her face, a scar she probably didn’t want pointed out.

“Thanks…Tom.” (y/n) said, heading up to her dorm room, her friends all close behind as they entered the common room after letting Tom and (y/n) have their conversation.

Tom took a deep long breath, clutching his coat in his hands, staring down at it.

Maybe this feeling, wasn’t loathing after all.

-

Of course (y/n) had ended up sick, when one gets pushed into a freezing fountain in the open air, they were bound to get sick. In the morning, Lucy had come to check up on her-as did Alice, with an apology gift for letting Nott get so close-when (y/n) hadn’t woken up for breakfast, finding (y/n) in her bed, sounding congested and miserable.

“Oh (y/n),” Lucy said, walking up to her bedside, seeing (y/n)’s flushed face, putting her hand on her forehead-feeling her high temperature. “c’mon, let's get to you madam Tegner,” Lucy said, her and Alice helping (y/n) out of her bed, putting a fluffy robe around her, before helping (y/n) out of the dorms and up the many stairs to the hospital wing-where the head healer, Madam Tegner, took (y/n) in and got her set up in one of the many medical beds.

“Here you go dear,” Madam Tegner said, giving (y/n) a few potions to help fight the nasty cold she’d gotten. (y/n) let out a small grumble, hardly feeling up to even speak, but she swallowed down the potions and went right back to sleep, her friends bringing down a comfy blanket and one of her fluffy pillows from her room.

She woke up every now and then, vision blurry and throat hurting like hell, coughing up her lungs with every raspy breath. This was probably the sickest she’d been in a long time, enough to where she missed a whole week of classes.

When she regained her senses, long enough to actually look around her little area-she saw get-well cards from her friends and a few gifts on the end of the bed table-one of them from...Nott?? she sat up, moving to sit on her knees as she leaned forward to grab the wrapped gift, looking at the tag.

‘sorry-C.Nott.’ the tag said, (y/n) quirked her lip, Tom must’ve made him apologize properly, merlin knows Nott would’ve never done this out of his own free will. Either way, she unwrapped the gift, finding a pair of well-made winter gloves, white in color.

“Soft,” she murmured under her breath, trying them on. A perfect fit. She took them off, putting them back in the box, reading the get-well cards from her friends and opening the other gifts. One was from Lucy who got her a new winter coat after the original one from lucy-from their shopping spree-had been ruined by the fountain, getting all gross from the ice and mud. The others were from her friends, Alice had gotten her warming chocolates, Bella had gotten her a few sugar quills, Iridessa of course had gotten her crystalized flowers, and Julia had gotten her a cute snowflake necklace that changed shape every minute.

(y/n) smiled, putting on the necklace and eating a warming chocolate, which felt like sipping on a mug of coco by the fire, and turned to lay down again, realizing there was one more thing on her bedside table.

Notes? She tilted her head, sitting up again to grab the stack of papers-they were all in Tom’s handwriting, each meticulously written and sorted, and even double proofread, with small notes in the corners of the pages for which books she’d need for all the classes she’d missed over the week.

(y/n) smiled, she’d said it before, but maybe Tom wasn’t so bad after all.

Madam Tegner soon cleared (y/n) to leave the hospital wing since she was feeling better, and (y/n) took all her things back to her dorm room, tossing her blanket and pillow onto her bed as she dumped her presents and cards onto the lounge chair by the space heater.

She checked the clock, glad to see it was lunch time, so she changed into some fresh clothes, put on a cozy jumper, and headed up to the great hall, unable to help her smile as her friends jumped up to greet her. “(y/n)!” “How are you feeling?” “Are you okay?” “Do you need any water?” “Did you get enough sleep?”

(y/n) laughed gently, sitting down between Lucy and Julia, Lucy clinging to her arm-which (y/n) allowed, since her dominant hand was still available to use. “I'm okay, I feel much better, I had plenty of water, and yes, I had plenty of sleep. Thank you for the cards and bringing my blanket and pillow-it helped.” (y/n) said with a smile and her friends smiled back, Alice apologizing again for letting Nott get so close.

“It's okay Alice, I know you didn’t know his plan; besides, Tom actually made him apologize too, got me a nice pair of gloves.” (y/n) said, sipping at some pumpkin juice as Alice sighed with relief, glad she didn’t lose her friend.

“Really? Tom Riddle made Nott apologize?” Iridessa asked, her brow raised-she was probably the only one other than (y/n) not to ‘fall’ for the glamour of the dark-eyed boy, seeing him as just a fellow student who happened to be good-looking.

“Yeah, he left a whole stack of notes for me too,” (y/n) said, digging into a sandwich from the lunch feast set out on all the house tables. “From every class we share-it was like 10 pounds, very detailed too.” Her friends all glanced at each other, and then back at (y/n). “…what?” (y/n) asked, not knowing why they were staring, looking so...shocked.

“Tom Riddle…wrote notes…for someone other than himself??” Julia said slowly, her brow raising, her voice full of near awe and disbelief.

“…yeah?” (y/n) said, sipping at her pumpkin juice again. Iridessa looked at the other girls and they looked back. “With how you’re all looking at me, I'm going to guess he’s never done that before and I'm somehow special because he did it for me?” (y/n) drawls and her friends nod, Lucy shrugging a bit.

“Well, yeah, he hates letting anyone borrow his notes, usually only offers it for a price, like for a few Sickles.” Bella said, having actually asked Tom for a copy of his notes from a shared class they had-one she’d missed one day, and she knew Tom had the best notes in the class, so she’d asked him, but he only let her have a copy for a few coins. “So, him writing a week’s worth of notes, from multiple classes, for nothing? Is a bit…new.” Bella finished, (y/n) shrugging.

 “Perhaps it was his way of apologizing,” (y/n) muttered, not thinking too deeply into it. Her friends all shared a glance-thinking it was much more than a simple ‘apology’ for what Nott had done. But they left it at that, just happy (y/n) was feeling better.

-

Tom’s notes helped (y/n) a lot more than she thought they would, they practically saved her ass as end of term tests came around, (y/n) flipping through page after page of perfectly written notes to study for hours on end to catch up so she didn’t fail any tests.

So as the week before holiday break came around, and (y/n)’s results came in, she slumped in relief, she passed each and every one of them, all of them having either Exceeds expectations(since, she had been sick for a week and missed a bunch of classes) or outstandings. (y/n) bit her lip in thought, glancing down the table at Tom, who smirked at his test results and slipped them back into the envelope, continuing to eat his dinner.

Ever since she’d gotten better, her and Tom hadn’t…been at each other’s throat as much-in fact, he almost seemed to…try to be pleasant with her. He stopped correcting her in class and didn’t interrupt her when she raised her hand. It was sort’ve…nice.

Even then-it came as quite the shock when-

“Accompany me To Slughorn’s Christmas party?” Tom asked (y/n) as they left potions class, just after Slughorn had announced his yearly Slugclub Christmas party. (y/n) blinked, staring at Tom as he stared back at her, looking calm as ever-but if one looked closer, they would see the twitch of his fingers. He was nervous.

“Uh…” (y/n) mumbled, furrowing her brows in thought. The last time she had gone to a Slugclub party was her 5th year, back in her original time, and it hadn’t really been…good. “I dunno, last couple Christmas parties I went to weren’t really…fun.” (y/n) said awkwardly. Tom cleared his throat, shifting his bookbag as he thought quickly.

“Slughorn’s parties can be dull, but I believe the right company can make anything entertaining.” Tom said smoothly, looking right at her and she felt like she was in some sort of fever dream-because if she didn’t know better, she’d say Tom was flirting with her.

But Tom Riddle didn’t flirt-at least not for real.

But, honestly, Tom wouldn’t be the worst to accompany to a party, perhaps he’d be able to sneak some good drinks while there-since he was Slughorn’s golden boy and all.

“Okay, I’ll go with you. Uh-should we match?” (y/n) asked, tilting her head and Tom nodded.

“Yes. Green, black, and silver; the Slytherin colors. I’ll escort you from the Slytherin common room-ten to.” Tom said, and then he walked off, looking like he was on a mission. (y/n) blinked at his back and licked her teeth, turning as Lucy exited the classroom-giggling about how she’d been asked to Slughorn’s Christmas party by Albertson.

“Tom just asked me to accompany him to it.” (y/n) said, apparently too casually from how Lucy’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Tom Riddle just asked you out?! How are you not freaking out! Oh, my morgan! we have to get you a dress-c’mon let’s get the girls!” Lucy said rapidly, grabbing (y/n)’s hand and quickly dragging her down the hall-finding her friends and they all freaked out like Lucy did.

“I don’t get why this is such a big deal?” (y/n) said after a while after she’d been pulled into the girl’s dorm, sitting in front of Lucy’s vanity as Juila put different sets of earrings into her ears to match the dresses Bella and Lucy were pulling from Alice’s wardrobe since she and (y/n) were the same size.

“Are you joking? It’s Tom. Riddle. He never asks ANYONE out! Never! Especially to a Slug club party, much less the Christmas party!” Lucy exclaimed, pulling one of the several green dresses from Alice’s wardrobe, some of them in the current muggle fashion of the 1940s, the rest being witch dress robes-all of course the ‘modern’ fashion for young witches.

“To be clear, he asked me to accompany him to the party, not to go with him as a date.” (y/n) said with a sigh, closing her eyes as Iridessa began doing her makeup to see what look would suit her best.

“Oh, come on (y/n), that’s so Tom Riddle talk for ‘please please please go out with me-I’m so in love with you it hurts and if you reject me I couldn’t bare it~!” Lucy acted dramatically, hand on her head and chest and everything, flopping dramatically back onto the nearest bed as (y/n) snorted, the other girls all laughing.

“yeah, I don’t think he was thinking that,” (y/n) chuckled, shaking her head, staying still as Iridessa began to style her hair, putting in hairpins and décor to match which every dress was pulled from Alice’s wardrobe, Lucy and Bella holding them up to (y/n) for her to pick, but none of them really caught (y/n)’s eye. “I don’t think we have to do all this now, the party isn’t for another week and a half, holiday break doesn’t start till next week too.” (y/n) said and Lucy huffed, she and Bella hung the dresses back up-none of them really hit the mark for the Christmas party with Tom anyway.

“(y/n), seriously. Tom Riddle has never shown interest in anyone. Ever. Not for real, but here he is-asking you to ‘accompany him’ to Slughorn’s Christmas party. Slughorn has been gunning for Tom to be with a girl-he hounds him every time he’s seen slightly near anyone of the opposite sex-I mean, why do you think you’ve been partnered together for the last few potion assignments?” Lucy said, putting her hands on her hips. (y/n) rose her brow.

“Because I’m competent and Tom and I work well together, regardless of the rivalry we had for the last two months?” (y/n) said and Lucy huffed, shaking her head.

“No! Because Slughorn’s trying to set you and Tom up! Slughorn loves doing that, I mean-I’m not kidding- it's how my cousin got with her husband because Slughorn kept putting them together for partnered potions.” (y/n) sighed, lifting her hands in surrender.

“Okay okay, I can believe that, it’s…Slughorn, but still! That doesn’t mean Tom likes me, I mean it’s…Tom.” (y/n) said, though now she really wasn’t believing her own argument. Her friends all sighed, glancing at each other.

“Whatever you say (y/n).” Alice chuckled, Iridessa wiping her face free of makeup again. “Whatever you say.” (y/n) rolled her eyes fondly at her friends, even if they could be pushy about the Tom thing, she was glad they were her friends.

“Yeah, yeah-shopping time!” Lucy cheered-grabbing the witch weekly magazine from her pile on her bedside desk-it had been delivered by owl only the day before-so it was the most recent issue with all the recently released dress robes for witches.

(y/n) was crowded by her friends after moving to one of the beds, Lucy laying between her legs with her elbows on (y/n)’s knees, flipping through the pages as the others all crowded around-pointing at all the articles and pictures in the issue.

“Oh! That one! That one would look so good on you (y/n)!” Iridessa said with a gasp, pointing at the dress that was featured on the page. It was a very gorgeous emerald dress robe. There were technically two necklines-one was on the neck which was made of sheer shimmering fabric that went down into flowing sleeves that bunched at the wrists, the 2nd neckline was straight across at the upper chest, with a corset style bodice and a flowing soft tulle skirt with a silver décor separating the hem of the bodice and skirt.

“It would,” (y/n) agreed with Iridessa, taking the magazine to look at the dress closer. It looked amazing-but-wow, expensive. “But I can’t afford it, I barely get a pound of galleons from the school fund for school supplies-how in the hell could I afford this dress?” (y/n) sighed, handing the magazine back to Lucy, she and Alice looked at the price and smiled at each other.

That weekend, the girls went out to Hogsmeade like they did every weekend, going Christmas shopping and-eventually-(y/n) was tugged into the dress shop by Alice and Lucy, her eyes widening as she spotted the dress on display, the girls already asking for one in (y/n)’s size. “Guys-no-c’mon-you don’t have to,” (y/n) tried to decline their far too generous offer but Alice nor Lucy would take no for an answer; Iridessa and Bella pushed (y/n) into a changing room with the dress and Julia handed her some cute black heels.

(y/n) sighed, looking at the dress, it was very gorgeous, that was true-but it was so expensive, and such a high fashion dress-she felt like she would look out of place in it.

She sighed again, undressing from her winter coat and clothes to put the dress and heels on, pulling back the curtain to show it to her friends-who all gasped and squealed.

“Oh, my, merlin! (y/n)!!! you look so good!” Lucy gasped, jumping on her toes, Alice clapping excitedly as Bella’s jaw dropped, Iridessa and Julia fake fainting from the sheer beauty of (y/n).

(y/n) blushed, doing a little twirl as Lucy gestured for it, the girls squealing again. (y/n) looked into the mirror, moving the skirt around and making sure the sleeves fit right. It did look really good on her, she had to admit.

She let Lucy and Alice buy the dress for her-but she did try to stop Julia from buying her jewelry and the shoes-but Iridessa and Bella held her back from stopping her, (y/n) sighing as she accepted her fate of being her friend’s sugar baby.

“You guys are the best, I wish I could pay it back.” (y/n) mumbled, her cheeks flushed as her friends giggled, Lucy kissing her cheek.

“Don’t worry about it (y/n), just give us all the details after your date with Tom and we’ll call it even.” Lucy said and (y/n) sighed, refraining from saying it wasn’t a date.

-

Holiday break started only a few days later and Christmas was the upcoming Friday. (y/n) had always loved Christmas at Hogwarts, at least before it stopped being celebrated once the death eaters took over, but now she could enjoy it again-admiring all the décor and grandeur Hogwarts and its professors could offer.

Soon-it was the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party, December 20th, the Sunday before Christmas day. (y/n) got ready in her friend's dorm, letting them doll her up and everything. Lucy was getting ready herself, also having a date to the party, while after Iridessa got ready-she did (y/n)’s hair and makeup while (y/n) waited to put on her necklace and earrings, not wanting to mess Iridessa’s work up.

“Wow,” (y/n) muttered to herself, looking at the soft yet elegant makeup and hair style Iridessa had chosen for her. She looked like a storybook princess or something. “I look…”

“Beautiful,” Iridessa said, holding (y/n)’s shoulders as she smiled at her in the mirror. “Riddle won’t know what hit him, I bet he’ll be on his knees by the end of the night.” Iridessa teased, Alice gasping at her double meaning.

“Dessa!” Alice laughed as Iridessa chuckled, waving her fake scolding off.

“Oh, shush were all thinking it,” Iridessa laughed, helping (y/n) to her feet, (y/n) walking to the nearest full body mirror. She looked…for a lack of better word, amazing. The skirt ended at her ankles, allowing for her black heels to be shown along with the silver snake anklet she wore to compliment the silver accent that was around the waist of her dress.

She smiled at herself, turning to grab the clutch bag that Lucy had paired with the dress and she was the first to leave the dorm room-heading down the curving hallway to head back to the main common room, her free hand gently trailing on the metal rail. She entered the sitting room of the common room that was connected to the 1st-6th year dorm rooms, seeing Tom on the other side of the room outside the boy’s dorms.

She stepped into the light and Tom’s eyes locked onto her-ever so slightly widening. He seemed frozen for a moment, his lips parting as she stepped closer to him. It took until she was only a few feet away from him for him to snap out of his stupor, looking at her with his usual expression.

“Well, I believe there will be no competition for best dressed.” Tom said with a smirk, holding out his arm to her like a gentleman would. (y/n) felt her cheeks flush and she rolled her eyes, taking his elbow.

“Alice and Lucy insisted I wear it,” (y/n) said, walking with him through the common room, catching many the eye of Slytherins who had stayed for Christmas, and up the curving stairs to exit. Tom hummed, glancing at her appreciatively again. He was wearing a handsome black dress robe with green accents, complimented with silver rings-probably borrowed from his friends since she’d never seen him wear rings before.

“They have a good eye; I assume you’re keeping that dress?” Tom asked, and (y/n) nodded, she hoped she’d get her friend's money’s worth out of this dress, it was too beautiful not to wear multiple times. “Good. It suits you.” Tom said and (y/n) glanced at him out of the corner of her eye-wondering where this… soft-spoken Tom had come from.

They traveled through Hogwarts till they reached the room where Slughorn was hosting his party in-his actual room being far too small to host a full-fledged Christmas party.

Tom and (y/n) entered, Tom now holding her hand as they opened the door, it was a bit tacky-Slughorn’s taste meshed with Christmas décor. There were plenty of guests already, a mesh of Hogwarts students and adults-who were most likely a part of the Slugclub once upon a time.

“Ah-Tom, my boy!” Tom closed his eyes for a moment before turning to Slughorn with a charming smile.

“Professor Slughorn,” Tom greeted, tensing up only slightly as Slughorn pulled Tom forward for a weird hug, making (y/n) snicker-her hand still being held by Tom which he was squeezing tightly-probably to ground himself.

“Glad you see you make it my boy.” Slughorn said with a beaming grin, his round face already flushed red from champagne. He turned to (y/n), his smile widening. “And I see Ms. (l/n) is accompanying you?”

(y/n) nodded, Tom stepping back next to her, still holding her hand. “Yes sir,” Tom said, and (y/n) thought she could hear…pride in his voice? She gave him a side glance but couldn’t think on it longer because Slughorn was ushering them on either side of him so he could take a picture with them both.

“Perfect, now-go on-enjoy-I’ll be around.” Slughorn said, waving his hands in a general direction before he went to greet more guests as they arrived. (y/n) took a breath, smoothing out her skirt-feeling Tom’s hand wrap around hers again as he guided her towards a server with drinks, taking one for each of them.

“Thanks,” (y/n) murmured, taking a sip of the champagne, looking around the party. She recognized some fellow students, but hardly anyone else other than the professors who had most likely only come out of politeness to Slughorn.

(y/n) looked around again, but found nothing particularly interesting, much like the Slughorn party she’d gone to in her 5th year in her original time.

Tom seemed to share the sentiment that the party was lackluster, his dark eyes gleaming boredly as he looked over the crowd. Barely anything was happening, there were some conversations here and there, some high-class guests were being schmoozed by some opportunistic students and Slughorn, and students-who hadn’t made the Slugclub invite-were acting as waiters, holding trays of horderves and drinks.

Tom sighed softly, sipping at his champagne before setting the glass aside on the window sill behind him, looking over at (y/n), once again admiring the way she’d been dolled up for the party-most likely by her friends since before now, he’d never seen her wear makeup before, or seen her with her hair styled.

He knew (y/n) was what some called a ‘Tomboy’, a girl who acted more like a boy than a girl, but that didn’t take away from her natural beauty and charm. Tom had to admit, even back when they were at each other's throats, he thought she was pretty. The fact that she was able to keep up with him academically-and then surpass him-only made her more attractive.

His gaze turned back to the party as someone turned a gramophone on, soft Christmas music playing through the crowd, encouraging many to begin dancing as it-really was the only thing to do. Tom turned to (y/n), holding out his hand to her as she watched the other guests begin to slow dance. She glanced at him, her brow raising as Tom smirked.

“Shall we?” Tom murmurs, and (y/n) huffs, holding back a smile as she takes his hand, setting down her drink as he leads her out to the dance floor-Slughorn smiling as he watches his two top students begin to dance, Tom’s hand on her waist while she rests her hand on his shoulder.

“Boring so far, isn’t it?” Tom murmured halfway through a song and (y/n) huffed, nodding. “I suppose I’ll have to admit to you, that you were right.” Tom said with a soft chuckle that had (y/n) smirking.

“Right about what?” (y/n) inquired and Tom tilted his head down at her, his eyes gleaming under the slowly moving lights that illuminated the dance floor.

“About Christmas parties not being fun,” Tom chuckled, slowly turning them to follow the music, (y/n) snorted to herself, letting him lead her in the dance.

“Then I guess I’ll have to admit that you were right too,” (y/n) mumbled, Tom tilting his head at her curiously. “That the right company can make anything entertaining.” (y/n) said and Tom smirked, though it seemed more like a bashful smile that he attempted to hide as they continued to dance.

Slughorn attempted to have some games be played but by the time that was happening, many guests had left and Tom and (y/n) were quite bored. “Have a good evening professor, we’ll be turning in.” Tom told Slughorn, who was quite drunk by now, and bid Tom and (y/n) goodnight before bumbling off somewhere else as Tom took (y/n)’s waist to lead her from the party.

It was quiet between the two of them as they walked the corridors back to the Slytherin dorm. They hadn’t spent much time at the party, maybe only two hours, no more than two and a half, and the night was still early since the party started around 6 pm. “I apologize for the lack luster night,” Tom said as they passed by the kitchens, which was quiet now that the house elves had retired for the night.

“Oh, it was fine, not exciting, but fine.” (y/n) said with a shrug, not minding that the party wasn’t some adrenaline pumping bash, besides-somethings had to be boring once in a while to find excitement in other things.

“Will you be staying at Hogwarts for the holiday?” Tom asked next, his eyes locked straight ahead, hiding the twitch of his finger as nerves bubbled in his throat.

“I will be, I don’t exactly have anywhere to go for Christmas.” (y/n) murmured and that made Tom pause, looking at her with a curious gleam in his dark eyes.

“Are you an orphan (y/n)?” Tom asked, his voice softer than it had ever been and (y/n) pursed her lips, unsure of how to answer that. She wasn’t, not really, but she wasn’t in her time anymore and her parents had yet to be even born-her grandfather currently her age.

“In a way yes,” (y/n) murmured, playing with the clasp of her clutch. “My parents aren’t exactly available, even if I wanted to contact them, and I have no other family around I can reach, so in a way I’m an orphan.” (y/n) said softly, unsure if she explained her thought process correctly.

Tom hummed again, walking next to her with his hands behind his back, his gaze locked onto her in deep thought. “So, you have no one to spend Christmas with, correct?” Tom asked and (y/n) gave a slow nod, as she didn’t think any of her friends were staying for the holiday. “…we could…spend it together, as most of the Slytherins are going home for Christmas, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

(y/n) blinked, not expecting the invitation to spend Christmas with him…alone. “Do you not have anyone to spend Christmas with?” (y/n) asked and Tom nodded, looking to the side, his eyes catching onto the painting of a wizarding family.

“I am an orphan as well, my mother died giving birth to me. My father…is a muggle who has no clue I exist.” Tom said quietly, (y/n) knowing this was very…momentous information Tom was telling her. Perhaps information he’d never told anyone else before. She stepped closer to him, this time, she took his hand-squeezing gently.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind the company either,” (y/n) said softly and Tom looked at her, a quirk at the corner of his lips.

-

The next day holiday break officially started, with Christmas in only 4 days. Her friends all bid her a happy Christmas and that their gifts would be under the common room tree Christmas morning. “But you’ve guys have already bought me so many things! How can you even think of anything else?” (y/n) laughed, being squeezed by Lucy as the girls prepared to board the Hogwarts express to head back to London for Christmas.

“Because we love you and one can never have enough stuff.” Iridessa said, pinching (y/n)’s cheek and she snorted, smacking her hand away, waving to her friends as they got on the train. “Have a good Christmas (y/n)!”

“Have fun with Tom~!” Alice teased, the girls settling back into their seats as the train moved away from Hogwarts, heading back to Kings Cross Station. (y/n) playfully rolled her eyes, heading back to the school on the carriages and getting back into the castle as quickly as she could, since it was freezing cold outside with a fresh sheet of snow drifting from the sky.

There were younger students, first through third years, all in the courtyards-of all houses-playing in the snow, making forts and throwing snowballs at each other, two little Ravenclaws making snow angles by the tree.

(y/n) stepped into the warmth of the corridors of Hogwarts, heading down towards the Slytherin common room. Christmas was in only four days, and she was going to be spending it with Tom Riddle, a thought that was almost daunting as the day approached.

Should she try to get him a gift? She didn’t know if she had time or even money to do so, with no Hogsmeade trips planned until the weekend. Perhaps she could convince one of the remaining professors to take her.

What would Tom even want for Christmas? He did seem to like material things-from what she noticed. He had a nice quill-probably a Christmas present from past years, and his eyes seemed particularly fixated on shiny things when they were in view, like a fancy pocket watch or a shiny signet ring.

She couldn’t afford things like that, but perhaps she could find something-with only four days to Christmas.

Then again. With what money? She was broke. She sighed, heading up to her dorm room-blinking when she saw a small brown leather bag on her bed, she walked over to it and picked it up-it was heavy. She opened it, jaw dropping. Money. A note accompanied the galleons, knuts, and sickles, it was from Alice.

‘Happy Christmas (y/n)! Don’t go spending it all in one place! Or on one person!’ the note said and (y/n) sighed with a chuckle. How lovely were her friends? She set the note on her bedside table and pocketed the leather bag into her winter coat, heading back out to find a professor that would be willing to take her to Hogsmeade to get a last-minute gift.

Perhaps Slughorn would be easy to convince-considering who her gift was for.

-

Slughorn had happily taken her down to Hogsmeade, which was always so pretty at this time of year-everything, from the streetlamps to the doorways were all decorated for Christmas.

(y/n) wandered from store to store, looking for a gift for Tom. She didn’t want to get something too extravagant, that would be too weird, but she didn’t want to get something basic-that would be too…insensitive??

Oh, she didn’t know, but she needed to get something that would be worthy of a Christmas gift of two…acquaintances??? Rivals that were also friends now?? She didn’t even know what their relationship was now, but for the last few weeks-ever since the fountain incident, Tom had been…nice.

She sighed, rubbing her face. Think think think, there had to be something good to get Tom. She ventured into a magical antiques store, it almost seemed like a muggle thrift store with how everything was set up in sections.

She wandered the store, going through every aisle and section, making sure to look at everything to make sure she didn’t pass up something perfect.

“Are you looking for anything in particular deary?” the old shop keep asked, she was an old witch; probably in her 100s, with a kind grandma-type demeanor.

(y/n) shrugged a bit, messing with the scarf around her neck. “Not really sure, late Christmas shopping. He’s a fan of antiques I think, I don’t know him super well but we’re spending Christmas together.” (y/n) said and the shopkeeper nodded, pointing towards the back.

“There will be some more valuable antiques in the back, perhaps you may find something appropriate there.” The old witch said and (y/n) thanked her, heading towards the back in hopes of finding a gift for Tom.

There were necklaces, rings, vases, books, knives, quills, glass ink pens, all sorts of things. But (y/n)’s eyes landed on a small box that looked like a treasure chest. It was beautiful, with a curled snake as its latch and more snakes lining the rim and hinges, and a snakeskin pattern carved into the wood.

(y/n) smiled, picking up the small chest and bringing it to the front to buy it.

“10 galleons,” the shop keep said and (y/n) nodded, handing over the galleons and the shopkeeper put the chest into a large brown bag wrapped in brown paper and (y/n) took it, going to find Slughorn, who had spent his time at the three broomsticks, and he accompanied her back to Hogwarts.

(y/n) knew her friends had some wrapping paper in their dorm room so she went in there, knowing they wouldn’t mind, and grabbed Iridessa’s wrapping paper and ribbon from under her bed, borrowing Alice’s scissors and Bella’s Sellotape, getting to work on wrapping the chest.

It was a bit of a bitch to wrap a chest, but she didn’t want to try and find a box to put it in nor did she just want to leave it in the bag, but eventually she got the box wrapped, tied with a ribbon, and tagged-ready for Christmas morning.

(y/n) smiled to herself, proud of what she got for Tom and left the gift in her room for the house elves to take on Christmas eve night to put in the common room under the tree.

-

Christmas Eve was fun, the professors had a party in the great hall for all the remaining students-and it included games and a whole feast(which wasn’t new, considering there was a feast for every meal of the day). The younger students loaded up on sugar, laughing joyfully as they pulled poppers apart and wore the little paper crowns that came with them, eating pudding and looking for the coin in each bite they took-Dumbledore ended up finding the coin at the teacher's table, while a young Weasley Gryffindor found the coin at the house tables.

(y/n) greatly enjoyed herself too, happily watching the younger years have fun on Christmas Eve, playing games and eating sugar to their heart's content. She sipped at some warm cider as she sat at one of the tables, wearing a green paper crown and a plate of mostly eaten Christmas pudding in front of her.

“Better than Slughorn’s party,” Tom commented as he sat next to her, also holding a mug of cider. He was also wearing a paper crown, red in color-which she thought was funny-but his was probably forced onto him by Slughorn, the professor insisting on Tom showing some Christmas spirit.

“It is,” (y/n) chuckled, finishing off her pudding and pushing the plate away-the plate disappearing a moment later, thanks to house-elf magic. “Thankfully we won’t have to deal with their sugar crashes, eh?” (y/n) joked, nodding towards the 1st and 2nd years that were eating sugared plums and apples to their hearts content.

Tom snorted, hiding his smile behind his mug of cider. “Thankful indeed,” he mumbled, raising his brows as the professors, the tipsy ones, began to sing carols while Dumbledore turned up the volume on the gramophone, directing the professors with his wand, (y/n) giggling from beside him as Tom watched, almost bewildered.

He'd never actually attended the Hogwarts Christmas Eve party, not since first year, so seeing his professors act like this was quite a shock. Well, minus Slughorn.

The party went on for a little while longer before all the students were sent up to bed, the younger students who still believed in Father Christmas nearly running over each other to get to bed before Father Christmas arrived at the castle.

“I remember believing in that,” (y/n) said softly, setting down her empty mug and standing up. Tom humming a bit. “Did you ever believe in Father Christmas?” (y/n) asks and Tom shook his head, standing with her.

“Never had a reason to,” Tom said and (y/n) hummed, tilting her head, but unsure how to respond to that-so she didn’t. They walked back together to the Slytherin common room. It was nearly empty-as most of the Slytherin students had gone home for Christmas, maybe only her, Tom, and three others had stayed for the holidays, and those three were already up in their dorms.

“Night Tom, sleep well.” (y/n) said and Tom nodded, returning her words, watching her disappear down the girl's dorm corridor, before turning to head down the corridor towards his dorm.

-

Christmas morning felt like a childhood Christmas morning. Presents appearing under the three-courtesy of the house elves, warm treats on the coffee table in front of the fire, stockings full of treats and small gifts, and soft music playing from somewhere as (y/n) quietly walked into the main part the Slytherin common, tying her warm robe tightly around her waist, her slippers soft against her feet as she walked towards the fireplace.

It was early, barely 630 am, but early Christmas mornings were the best thing.

(y/n) settled down on one of the loveseats near the fireplace, taking one of the mugs of hot coco that the elves had set out and letting it warm her up, the liquid filling her chest with warmth as she sipped at it, the light of the fire and the Christmas tree gently illuminating the space.

Eventually, the few younger Slytherins who had stayed for Christmas came rushing in, eagerly opening their stockings and presents, and were out by the time Tom came wandering it, wearing his own warm robe, but he wasn’t wearing slippers-just his bare feet padding against the floor as he made his way into the main common room where (y/n) was.

“Happy Christmas,” (y/n) said quietly as not to break the comfortable quiet that had settled in the common room once the younger Slytherins had left to go get dressed and play with their new Christmas gifts.

“Mmm, morning,” Tom mumbled, sitting down on the couch, grabbing a mug of still steaming tea from the coffee table, (y/n) noticing he put quite a bit of sugar and cream in it, (y/n) didn’t mention it, sipping at her hot coco.

Tom settled back into the couch, eyes on the fireplace. He seemed tired still-it reminded her of how her parents would be Christmas morning, when she and her siblings got up way too early for Christmas and her parents would be exhausted from wrapping gifts only a few hours before.

(y/n) decided to take the initiative, getting up from the love seat to grab the still full stockings, the younger Slytherins had already grabbed theirs, but there were still two stockings left-and she handed one to Tom-who seemed surprised.

“I got a stocking?” Tom asked, his brows pinched together as he held the black and green stripped stocking in his hands-it was bulging, he could feel the small treats and gifts within the fabric. (y/n) shrugged, not commenting on the fact that he was surprised he got a stocking.

The two opened their stockings, (y/n) got the usual stocking stuffers she got almost every year-but just a 1940s version of them. Hair ties, a tooth brush, candy canes, chocolates, wand polish, and many other small items suited for a stocking gift.

She looked up, seeing Tom had poured out his stocking onto the couch beside him. She saw chocolates, candy canes, wand polish, a glass pen, a small carving knife, hair gel, a toothbrush, and a small wooden snake that was bendable.

Tom stared at his stocking gifts for a moment, picking up the small wooden snake and moving it between his fingers, fixated on the small toy.

(y/n) got up, grabbing for the first present under the tree. She frowned lightly, noticing the only gift for Tom was from her, so she picked it up and handed it to him. “Happy Christmas Tom,” she said softly, feeling her heart ache just a bit by the way Tom looked at the gift-as if it was the very first time he’d gotten a Christmas gift.

“For me?” Tom asked her, his brows pinched in what seemed like confusion. (y/n) nodded, and Tom took the wrapped gift from her gently, setting it in his lap with a look of confusion, shock, and a bit of awe.

(y/n) grabbed one of her gifts from her friends, the tag saying it was from lucy, sitting back down on the loveseat, undoing the ribbon as Tom quietly opened his gift from her. He gently set the ribbon at his side, and then began to open the wrapping paper-almost trying not to rip it as he turned the gift over in his hands.

He took off the wrapping paper, holding the small chest in his hands, admiring the snake carvings that lined the curves of the chest. His thumb smoothed over the metal snake latch, glancing back at (y/n) as she opened her gift from Alice-a pair of heeled boots; sturdy and fashionable.

“Thank you,” Tom murmured under his breath, and (y/n) turned to smile at him, Tom’s heart feeling as if it was beating out of his chest at the sight of it. He held the chest tightly through the rest of the morning, watching (y/n) open her gifts from her friends-feeling bad he hadn’t gotten her anything.

He wasn’t used to feeling bad for not doing something-unless it was schoolwork.

“I didn’t get you anything, I apologize,” Tom said as (y/n) began to throw out wrapping paper, and she shook her head with a smile.

“I don’t mind, besides-I got plenty of gifts from the girls, one less gift doesn’t disappoint me. I don’t think you expected me to get you a gift anyway, so I wasn’t expecting one in return.” (y/n) said, rambling a bit as she trashed the wrapping paper and sorted her gifts into a pile, smiling back at Tom-which made his ears turn hot.

Reactions like this, for Tom, had been happening for a bit-feeling things he never felt before. Nervous, sometimes anxious, even flustered-all because of her. He’d never really show it, of course not-he was still a very controlled person and hated having his emotions show.

But right now, he was sure he looked like a unicorn in headlights.

-

After Christmas breakfast in the great hall, with all the professors drinking Christmas punch and wearing funny hats, (y/n) finds a new gift under the tree after getting back to the common room. It’s addressed to her and as she picks it up-she feels the magic interwoven into every part of the wrapping-including the ribbon.

She looks at the tag, it’s from Tom, and she smiles, sitting down by the tree and opening the gift gently. It was a simple black box, and when she opened it, she found a silver snake bracelet inside, with small protection runes carved into the metal on the inside. The metal was interwoven with magic-it was a transfigured gift-not rushed but quickly made with perfection since it was such a last-minute gift.

(y/n) smiled, slipping the snake bracelet onto her left wrist and it magically tightened to fit snugly, and then easily became loose when she went to take it off just to see if she could.

She smiled warmly, getting up from the floor and cleaning up the wrapping paper and ribbon, admiring her new bracelet as she headed back to her dorm.

-

“Thank you for the bracelet, it’s lovely.” (y/n) said to Tom as she passed by him in the common room, Tom coming in from the library while (y/n) was heading out to go to the Christmas dinner feast. Tom blinked at her and nodded.

“Of course, I’m glad you like it.” Tom said calmly, giving her a small smile in return as (y/n) beamed at him. Something from above caught her attention and Tom looked up as well-the two freezing as mistletoe began to appear. “House elves.” Tom murmured under his breath, preparing to step back to not make anything awkward but he felt a warmth on his cheek-his ears heating up as (y/n) stepped away from him, still smiling, her cheeks warm.

“Happy Christmas Tom,” she said softly, turning on her heel and heading out the common room door to go to Christmas dinner.

“…Happy Christmas (y/n),” Tom murmured after a few solid moments of him standing completely still in shock, his breath still caught in his chest, books held in his arms.

He just got kissed on the cheek…

-

“That’s so pretty (y/n)!” Julia gasps the night everyone came back to Hogwarts after break ended, just about a week after Christmas day. (y/n) smiled, looking down at the silver snake bracelet on her wrist.

“Thank you, Tom gave it to me,” (y/n) said and her friends’ jaw’s dropped, their eyes wide. “Always the look of surprise when I mention Tom doing something nice.” (y/n) joked, chuckling a bit as Lucy scoots as close as she can-her friends asking for every little detail about anything that happened between her and Tom during Christmas break.

“Not much, we had a nice quiet Christmas morning together, I gave him his gift-he said he was sorry he didn’t have one for me, and then after I came back to the common room after breakfast there was a gift for me under the tree from him. It was a last-minute thing girls, probably a pen or a ring he had transfigured to make it the bracelet. It’s a sweet gift nonetheless I will admit.” (y/n) said, pushing Lucy’s face away from her gently as Lucy squealed in her ear.

(y/n) then remembers the mistletoe. “Oh yeah, I kissed his cheek.” (y/n) says offhandedly and Lucy nearly squeals her ear off. “Ow!”

“Sorry-oh my merlin you kissed his cheek?! How-why? When-how did he react?” Lucy gasped, the other girls leaning in to devour each word (y/n) was about to say, but she only lifted her hands in surrender.

“It was just a kiss on the cheek! There was mistletoe-I think he was even going to step away to not make it awkward but I went for it because-you know, bad luck n stuff.” (y/n) said in her and Tom’s defense so her friends didn’t go ballistic and Lucy groaned, shaking (y/n)’s shoulders.

“(yyyy/nnn) c’moooon! There's so much tension between you two it’s gonna make me pop!” Lucy dramatically said and (y/n) snorted, rolling her eyes.

“What tension?” (y/n) asked and her friends just looked at each other and back at (y/n) with clear expressions of ‘seriously??’ (y/n) shrugged, sighing softly. “There's nothing going on between Tom and I girls, seriously. Just a few weeks ago we were at each other’s throats and now that we’re not you all think there's something there?”

Lucy snorted and Bella smirked. “C’mon (y/n), you know rivalries are just crushes you’re mad about having.” Bella laughed and (y/n) rolled her eyes again.

“He started it to be fair, and no-I don’t have a crush on him. He’s pleasant now but at most-he’s an acquaintance.” (y/n) said firmly and Alice giggled lightly.

“Whatever you say (y/n), but he’s the one who asked you to Slughorn’s party and asked you to have Christmas with him, and he never asks anyone to hang out with him-not even his friends. He prefers being alone.” Alice said and (y/n), again, rolled her eyes.

“Fine fine. Whatever, it doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.” (y/n) sighed and her friends laughed, but left the topic alone, for now.

-

January had come and gone and soon it was February, and Valentine’s décor was popping up all over the place. It was much better than the way that one professor-Lockhart she thinks his name was; the DADA professor from her first year-did decorations at the castle. Back then everything was puke pink and hearts everywhere with those dwarfs running around giving sung Valentine’s to everyone.

But the way the professors did it in this era-was nice. The great hall was enchanted to have snow falling from the ceiling with the ceiling looking like a perfect pink sunset sky and there were floating hearts on the window tops. But otherwise Hogwarts was normal, minus all the guys running around as Valentine's day drew closer.

(y/n) wandered through Hogsmeade, only a few days to valentine’s day, watching guys running around buying flowers and chocolates and cards for their girlfriends, or hopefully girlfriends. Her friends were with her, giggling at the way boys were shoving each other to get into honey dukes and trying to get reservations at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

“Oh, I’d love to go there,” Iridessa sighs, the other girls humming in agreement as (y/n) fake gags, making them laugh. “(y/n)! you don’t like Madam Puddifoot's?” Iridessa asks and (y/n) shakes her head.

“Not my style,” (y/n) chuckles and Alice giggles in agreement, tugging at the winter trousers (y/n) was wearing.

“Can’t argue with you there (y/n), c’mon-let’s see if the boys will let us into Honeydukes,” Alice says, intertwining her arms with (y/n) and Bella as the group of friends walks towards the crowded candy shop.

-

It’s a week later, only the day before Valentine’s day and (y/n)’s friends are all in the library, studying for upcoming exams when (y/n) storms up to them, looking flushed in the face and nervous. “There you all are-I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” (y/n) gasps, quieting herself as the librarian shushes her.

“What’s wrong?” Bella asks quietly and (y/n) huffs, planting her hands on the table, her cheeks hot.

“Tom just-“ (y/n) takes a huffing breath, glancing back towards the doors of the library where she had just entered. “-just asked me out on a date.” She looks back at her friends and they’re all staring at her wide-eyed, as if they couldn’t believe her.

“No. way.” Lucy gasps, grabbing (y/n)’s hand to tug her down to sit. “How? When?” Lucy prods and (y/n) swallows, her whole face hot and it felt like her heart was in her throat.

“He just-walked up to me a few minutes ago-and-and asked me to go out with him-well he said ‘accompany him tomorrow’. But tomorrow’s Valentine’s day! Theres no way he didn’t mean what I thought he meant.” (y/n) stutters, her friends all scooting close to listen in.

“He definitely asked you out on a date.” Iridessa said, rubbing her hand on (y/n)’s back as she breathed heavily. “If he didn’t, then he’s oblivious as a mountain troll.” (y/n) snorted a bit, rubbing her face.

“What am I even going to wear, I don’t even know where he’s taking me.” (y/n) muttered and her friends gasped, realizing she’d said yes to Tom asking her out.

“I have-just the dress for you.” Alice squealed, taking (y/n)’s hands in her own to pull her up and drag her from the library, her other friends close behind.

-

What Alice had picked out for (y/n) for her date with Tom was an evening dress, very 1940’s, with long sleeves and the skirt went just below her knees and flared out just a bit-a good dancing dress as well, was what Alice said as (y/n) tried it on.

Now if (y/n) was in her own time again, the 90s, she would’ve worn pants or something, and a nice blouse, but it was the 1940s and there were expectations. And her friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. (y/n) sighed, flattening down the skirt, looking at herself in the mirror. She did look very pretty, with the light makeup Iridessa had put on her and the simple silver jewelry she wore, borrowed from Julia.

She spun the silver snake bracelet around her wrist and left her friends’ dorm room, giving them a smile as they all grinned back-Alice and Lucy giving her two thumbs up each.

(y/n) walked down the girls dorm corridor, entering the common room, seeing Tom waiting on the other side of the room, a jacket over his arm, dressed in dark trousers, a buttoned dark green cardigan, and a button up with a black tie; his hair styled as it usually was, though it looked just a bit messy-like he’d run his hand through it nervously.

He also had flowers, and a small box of chocolates.

He hears her approach and looks up, and she can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows-his gaze drawing up and down her figure and she fidgets with her bracelet as she steps in front of him.

 “You look-“ Tom murmurs, his gaze still examining her, his pupils growing larger against the darkness of his eyes. He clears his throat and hands her the flowers and chocolates, the tips of his ears pink. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” (y/n) murmured, taking the flowers, and admiring them. They…they were her favorite; she didn’t remember mentioning her favorite flowers to him? She’d told her friends a week back when they’d been talking about what flowers they’d like to get from a date.

Tom must’ve overheard, since they hadn’t been in private when discussing their favorite flowers.

The fact that he remembered what was possibly a second of overheard conversation made her chest feel warm and her cheeks flush. “I like the flowers, thank you.” (y/n) says, hugging the flowers and Tom’s lip quirks at the corner, it seems real and (y/n) smiles back.

She looks at the chocolates and notices they were all marshmallow caramels, her absolute favorite chocolates. “How did you find a box with only the Scotchmallows?” (y/n) asks Tom, since she herself had never been able to find a box with just that type of chocolate. Tom only smirked and (y/n) shook her head. He had his ways. “Thank you, I will be devouring these.” (y/n) said with a full grin, heading back into her dorm just to leave the flowers and chocolates there and then going back out to Tom, curling her arm around his as he offered it.

Before they left the castle Tom gave her his jacket that he’d been holding and then took her to the Hogsmeade carriages, opening the door for her and holding out his hand to help her inside. “Why thank you,” (y/n) chuckled and Tom smirked, climbing in after her and closing the door.

(y/n) watched the scenery go by as Hogsmeade came closer and she turned to Tom, jolting a bit as she met his eyes-he’d been staring at her. “Hi,” she murmured and Tom chuckled, deep and low and…real that it made her blush a bit.

“Hi,” Tom murmured, smirking, his head resting against his fist-his elbow against the ledge of the carriage window.

(y/n) sighed, pushing down the fluttering in her chest. “So, question,” she began, turning her knees towards Tom, her foot brushing against his-his leg crossed over his knee. His eyes flicked to her foot and then back up to her eyes, his tongue brushing against his bottom lip quickly. “Is this a…date?”

Tom’s eyes widened and he lifted his head from his fist for a moment, staring at her. “You…thought it wasn’t?” he asked, awkwardly-looking almost…scared now. “Are you not interested?” he nearly began to ramble if (y/n) didn’t put her hands over his mouth, silencing him in a way he’d never been before.

“No! I mean-yes, I am-I just…only a few months ago we were at each other’s throats and now you’ve asked me out on a date? I mean-it just feels…sudden to me I suppose.” (y/n) muttered awkwardly, pulling her hands away from Tom’s mouth as he raises his brow at her.

“…I assume this means you did not take us going to Slughorn’s party together as a date either, correct?” Tom drawls and (y/n) feels her cheeks grow hot.

“You meant that to be a date?” (y/n) murmurs and Tom lets out a low chuckle, nodding. “I’m so oblivious.” (y/n) groans, burying her face in her hands.

“I believe I wasn’t obvious enough, I apologize, but, I…did mean that, and this, to be date, if you’re willing.” Tom said, his hand brushing against hers and she pulls her face away from her palms, her cheeks flushed as she looks at him-his eyes were soft, though his expression was calm as ever.

(y/n) swallows, taking his hand.

“I’m willing,”

-

She heads back down the girl’s dorms corridor, her face flushed and she feels light on her feet as she heads to her room. Her friends are all waiting for her as she enters, Lucy putting the flowers in a vase while Bella and Iridessa were sitting on (y/n)’s bed with popcorn and fizzy drinks, Alice ready with makeup remover and a hairbrush.

“How’d it go?!” Alice was the first to speak, jumping up from her seat on the floor to rush over to (y/n), taking out hair pins and allowing (y/n) to scratch at her slightly sore scalp.

“It went…good, really good.” (y/n) said softly, her cheeks still hot. “He took me to that cozy restaurant just past honeydukes, I forgot the name-“ Lucy’s voice teasingly interrupted just then.

“So, he didn’t take you to madam Puddifoots?” Lucy cooed and (y/n) scrunched her nose in disgust, making her friends burst into laughter.

“No no, thank merlin-I think he has a habit of listening into my conversations because he didn’t even suggest it, just took me right to-uhm-oh! The Pheonix tear, it was really nice-not fancy, but cozy-like a slightly fancier version of the three broomsticks-they had this cheesy artichoke dip that was served in a bread bowl seriously it was so good I’d go back alone just for that,” (y/n) rambled and her friends laughed again, Alice wiping the makeup from (y/n)’s face.

“Back to the date (y/n),” Iridessa teased, handing her one of the chocolates Tom had gifted her earlier. (y/n) nodded, biting into the chocolate-humming at the taste of marshmallow and caramel.

“Okay okay, well-he was a gentleman, he pulled out my chair and everything and opened every door for me,” (y/n) said, beginning to tell her friends about her date with Tom, which was possibly to be the first of many with how well it had gone.

“So, what happened to him being a know-it-all prat?” Julia teased, resting her head on (y/n) shoulder and (y/n) rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Haha, he’s still a know it all, he’s just less of a prat.” (y/n) chuckled, standing up from her bed to take off her dress, changing into some comfy PJ’s and then settling back onto her bed as her friends surrounded her, ready to hear the rest of what happened on the date.

“A handsome prat~?” Lucy cooed and (y/n) shoved her face away, grabbing a handful of popcorn to toss it at her, making Lucy laugh. “Admit it! You think he’s attractive now!”

“Fine fine, I take back ‘he’s aesthetically pleasing’ comment, he is very pretty.” (y/n) dramatically admitted, giggling as Lucy flopped on top of her to shove her back onto her bed, her other friends all laughing as well.

“Go on (y/n)! what happened at the restaurant?” Iridessa asked as Bella opened a fizzy drink, handing it to (y/n).

“Okay okay, so,” (y/n)’s friends huddled close as she began to tell them how the date went, from when Tom had met her just outside the dorms to when he had kissed her hand dropping her back off only a few minutes ago.

-

He waits for her the next morning, standing at the doorway of the girl’s dorms corridor and (y/n) can’t help her shy smile, brushing her fingers through her hair, making sure her scar is covered. “Good morning,” (y/n) said softly at Tom smiles at her, a warm look she didn’t know he was capable of.

“Good morning, (y/n).” Tom said softly in return, offering his arm and she takes it, looking over her shoulder at her friends who all give her big grins and thumbs up as Tom walks her out of the common room and to the great hall, and she can see him smugly grinning to himself as many stare at the new couple.

Tom makes her sit with him at the table, his friends looking at her with barely hidden…relief? “Finally!” Nott groans, his head hitting the table as the rest bury their faces in their hands or look up to the ceiling as if to thank god.

“Finally?” (y/n) questions Tom, smirking when she saw him look away from her, his ears turning red. “I see I’ve been a discussion in this group.” (y/n) chuckles, resting her elbows on the table as Nott nods, Lestrange groans.

“Non-stop really, I swear-“ Lestrange seemed about to go on a rant about how much Tom talked about her but a swift glare and a toss of a grape right at Lestrange’s forehead quiets him, but not without a snicker from (y/n).

“Cute.” (y/n) murmurs, smirking at Tom as he seems to sink into his seat, his fist hiding his pout. She taps his thigh and his dark eyes flicker to her, she smiles at him.

And he smiles back.

-

Dating a highly respected prefects comes with its perks, Tom takes her on his patrols through Hogwarts, usually sneaking her into the library and he shows her the restricted section books-books she had only glanced at in all her years at Hogwarts, even after death eaters invaded the school.

Their first kiss is in the restricted section, hiding from the caretaker. Tom pulls her below the table edges of the bookshelves, his long legs stretched out to the other side-feet just barely against the other bookcase.

“Your spider ass legs are gonna get us caught,” (y/n) whispered to him, snickering and he covers her mouth with his cold hand, making her narrow her eyes at him as he shushes her gently.

“We won't if you stop talking.” Tom whispers back, looking over his shoulder to see Mr. Canker-the caretaker of this era-just about to walk by with his lamp, his old grouchy face illuminated by the oil lamp.

(y/n) huffs, smirking. “But where’s the fun in that?” (y/n) whispers back and then Tom looks at her, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clicked. His legs hunch in towards them and her hands land on his knees, guiding his legs around her so they can fit together under the table edge.

(y/n) snickers as Mr. Canker passes by and then Tom’s lips are on hers, silencing her as she breathes in the scent of his cologne, hair gel, and toothpaste-her eyes fluttering shut as his soft lips move against hers.

His knees brush against her sides as his hands hold her face-cupping her jaw gently, fingers just barely in her hair. He pulls away-breathing quickly-she follows him, nearly landing on top of him as her lips chase his.

She likes kissing Tom, he tastes cold and feels warm, his touch lights her skin on fire and makes her feel like she’s taken an ice bath at the same time.

It’s intoxicating.

He feels the same way about her, their lips pressing together like teenagers on firewhiskey-which they are teenagers, but they aren’t drunk, this is something that’s conscious, feverish, real.

His tongue goes against her lip and she lets him in, letting out a soft sound as his tongue invades her mouth-pushing against her tongue and she pushes back, finding herself completely on top of him under the table edge of the bookcase as his thigh slots between hers, bumping her up higher as his hands find her waist.

Her head hits the leg of the table and she bursts into giggles, breaking the kiss and flopping sideways as Tom’s hands grab her tightly, his head snapping up to glare at the table leg that hid them from view. “Shush,” he tells her, his hand covering her mouth as she giggles, tears in her eyes as the top of her head aches momentarily. “(y/n) quiet,” he tells her, though she can hear the amusement in his voice.

He sighs as she continues to giggle and grabs his wand. “Silencio.” Tom commands, his wand pointed at her and she goes silent, still giggling. He tugs her up onto his chest again, legs on either side of his hips and scoots them out from under the bookcase table. He glances around for Mr. Canker and when he finds it clear-tugs her up and out of the restricted section, booking it out of the library without a moment to lose and back to the Slytherin common room.

As soon as they’re inside he lifts the charm and (y/n)’s laughter fills the room and Tom’s senses, and he shakes his head. “Remind me to never make out with you in small spaces,” Tom huffs, leading her over to one of the couches, the fire still roaring, sitting her In his lap.

“So there’s plans to make out with me again eh?” (y/n) teases and Tom rolls his eyes, his head falling back onto the couch, leaving the perfect opportunity for (y/n) to kiss his jaw. Tom lets out a huff, his hands gripping her waist as he pulls her up and closer to him. “Cheeky.” He mutters, their lips connecting again, softer this time-as if to savor the kiss.

The clock chimes from the corner of the room and they pull apart, Tom huffing quietly as he looks at the clock. 2am. “I’m going to bed,” (y/n) says with a yawn and Tom grips her hips for a moment before allowing her to climb off him, taking her hand as she offered it. “Goodnight, Tom.” (y/n) said and he squeezed her hand as she left his side to go to her dorm, his gaze locked onto her until she disappeared into the darkness.

“Goodnight, (y/n).” he murmured, turning on his heel to head down the boy’s dorms corridor till he reached his room, running a hand down his face as he closed his door behind him. “Merlin.” He huffed under his breath, toeing off his uniform shoes and sitting down on his bed, his thumb rubbing hard against his other hands knuckle.

He never expected to feel like this, to feel so-electrified and…alive with someone. To feel giddy when he saw her, or hell-bashful when she teased him. He sighed, flopping back on his bed, his eyes closing as he remembered the feeling of her lips on his less than 30 minutes before.

“Fuck,” he chuckled breathlessly, turning over on his bed to hide his smile in his bedding. He was utterly gone for this girl, plans and ambitions gone with the wind the moment she’d caught his eye so many months ago.

He remembered spotting her at the Slytherin table, all alone-a sudden new student caught many eyes but him? She felt so odd, so different, so…interesting. He’d tried to go into her mind, using his legilimens skill to look into her memories but she so quickly blocked him out that he nearly fell out of his chair, feeling the doors of her occlumency slam in his face.

From then, she’d really captured his interest. He’d watch her during classes-wanting her attention so he’d interrupt her and correct her, quite a childish reaction he would admit. Then began their rivalry and it had been exhilarating, having her full attention, she snap and spit and snarl at him and all he felt like was grinning with victory.

Yes. Pay attention to me, see me, ignore everyone else; he would think, even though he would get angry sometimes, especially that first time she showed him up in potions. He’d been impressed, perhaps smitten, but still he was academic to his core-he wanted her secrets, he wanted to know how she ticked.

So, he’d cornered her and asked her how she’d known how to brew that potion, better than even Slughorn-she just shoved him away, calling him a ‘know it all cunt’. He’d been angry then, but later, he just recalled the way her hands felt against him, how good she smelled, how feisty she really was.

And now, she was his, he’d tasted her lips and felt her against him, had his hands on her waist and her ass against his thighs. He sighed with a smirk. Today had been a good day.

-

Tom stared at her face with a soft gaze, watching her from his desk as she rested on his bed, her hair pulled out of her face-even her bangs-as she did some Charms homework, using a book to write on. His gaze went to the scar that went from her forehead down to her cheekbone on the left side of her face.

He'd always been curious about it, wondering what happened-if it was an accident or if someone had given her that scar. He stood up from his desk, sitting beside her on the bed, his arm reaching around her to take her quill from her hand.

“Tom?” She mumbled, her eyes blinking away the focus she’d been deep in. “What’re doin’?” She asked, and Tom took her homework, setting it aside with the book she’d been using.

“May I ask a possibly personal question?” Tom asked and (y/n) furrowed her brows at him and then huffed, turning to face him, curling her legs onto the bed.

“Only if I can ask you one back.” She said and Tom huffed with a nod, and then his fingers gently ghosted over her scar, making her freeze up a bit.

“What happened?” he asked, quietly, holding her gaze. (y/n) swallowed harshly, letting out a soft breath, letting him trail the long thin scar with his thumb.

“My…my uncle did it, when I was a little kid, I hardly remember it-i mean, I do but at the same time I don’t…you get what I mean?” (y/n) said, looking up at Tom, with an almost shy gaze and Tom nodded. He understood. “Well, when I was young, my uncle-who is a very…proud blood purist, didn’t like the fact that my grandfather, a pure-blood, had fallen in love with my grandmother, a muggle-born.” (y/n) paused, searching Toms’ gaze for a reaction, he didn’t give her one and she continued.

“He hated my mother for being a half-blood-he hated my grandmother for being muggle-born and he hated my grandfather for being a blood traitor, he and his mother-my grandfathers ex-wife-separated themselves from my family and shunned my grandfather for being a blood traitor and having a ‘half-blood daughter’ when he already had a pureblood son.” (y/n) swallowed, getting to the difficult part of the story.

“My mom fell in love with my dad when she was in school, around my age, he’s a muggle-born, they had me, so I’m half-blood. My uncle returned around this time because my grandfather had died from dragon pox, saw that my mother had married a muggle-born, and had me-he got…angry, enough to kidnap me to try and blackmail my mother, to make her more ‘pureblood’. He was mad-from what I was told-demanding my mother leave my father and marry back into the pureblood family-he was holding me, he had a knife and…he cut me-“

(y/n) mimicked the blade going up her face, she remembered feeling very scared and feeling her face burst into white-hot pain-she remembered screaming. Tom held her face gently yet tightly, his hand tight around hers. “My dad saved me, I don’t remember much after that.” (y/n) said, she remembered waking up in a hospital with her vision half dark because of the bandages. “My uncle got sent off to Azkaban for multiple reasons, but kidnapping me got him arrested finally.”

Tom stared at her for a very long moment, his nostrils flaring with anger at her uncle. She gave him a weak smile, reaching up with her free hand to pat his hand that held her face. “I’m okay now, really, it was a long time ago-he’s dead, died in Azkaban a few years after being sentenced.”

Tom slowly nodded; his eyes dark as he stared at her scar-as if he was trying to erase it from existence so she couldn’t be burdened with that memory anymore.

“your turn,” (y/n) said softly and Tom’s eyes met hers, confused for a moment. “You tell me something personal,” she said and he remembered their deal, having forgotten about it in such a short time with her traumatic story.

Tom sighed, looking up at the ceiling of his bedposts, biting his inner lip. “I…don’t know what love feels like,” he said quietly, looking down at his lap. “I didn’t grow up with it. The caretakers at the orphanage…despise me, I was an odd child, I’ll admit, but apparently, I was too odd for them. Too…creepy, too…intense, I scared the other children-I used my magic, which I didn’t know was magic at the time-to hurt them, to keep them away from me. To keep myself safe. I didn’t have any friends, or anybody to tell me I would be okay during thunderstorms, or someone to put a Band-Aid on my scraped knee.”

Her hand wrapped around his and he squeezed back, taking a short breath. “I never knew what love felt like, so I thought it was a waste of time, something I shouldn’t bother myself with. Because if I knew I was never going to get it, why try wanting it? But…” he looked up at her know, his dark eyes open and vulnerable. “you…you make me want it, to…try feeling it. And its terrifying.”

He whispered and (y/n) squeezed his hand again, scooting closer to him, his other hand brushing against her scar again. “it is…” she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder-his arm wrapping around her, his head on top of hers. “it really is…but…its really exciting, feeling it, with you.” she admitted and she felt him smile against her hair, and he kissed the top of her scar.

“Thank you for not being scared of me,” he whispered and (y/n) snorted, rubbing her head against him.

“I could never be, you’re too nerdy.”

“Okay, low blow.”

(y/n) burst into laughter at his dry reply and he smirked, turning to press her to the bed and attack her jaw and scar with kisses.

-

“Now that’s just stupid,” (y/n) chortled, Tom huffing from beneath her, his arms around her waist-gripping her sweater vest.

“Is it?” Tom murmured against her shoulder, looking quite content from his spot beneath her on the couch, both being warmed by the common room fireplace.

“It is! No person with any brain cells would use a bloody troll snot in a potion! It’s like corn starch it’d ruin the whole thing.” (y/n) said while Tom snorted, hiding his smile in the back of her neck, hands pressing into her stomach. “Why would you even suggest it? Mr. 2nd in potions grades?” (y/n) asked, poking fun at the fact that she’d topped him in potion ranks for a while now.

Tom only smiled-he’d said it to rile her up, he liked it when she was passionate. (y/n) rolled her eyes, poking his nose, snickering as he scrunched it and shook his head lightly, pulling his head away from her neck. “Cheeky.” He muttered and (y/n) stuck her tongue out at him, laying back as Tom’s friends entered the common room, one giving Tom a meaningful look that (y/n) had barely caught.

Tom sighed, kissing her neck and sitting them up. “I'll be back,” he said and (y/n) raised her brow as he pulled his legs out from either side of her and kissed her hand before leaving with his friends, some already starting to whisper to Tom.

What in the heck was that? (y/n) thought to herself, a weird pit of anxiety dropping into her chest.

She recalled that some of Tom’s friends, or well their sons or daughters really-were death eaters, like Lestrange, Nott, Rosier-all famous death eaters.

She didn’t know why this memory came up now, when it felt unnecessary, but something told her to follow them, to see what the boys were going to talk about.

She did so, quietly following the group of boys-blending in with the other students footsteps that roamed the halls until the boys had gone into an empty classroom-a muffling charm placed so no one could overhear them but (y/n) was within the bubble without noticed, carefully standing just outside the door-cracking it ever so slightly to hear them.

They were whispering still-which was odd because especially with a muffling charm people didn’t whisper unless whatever they were talking about was not…good.

“And the mudbloods?” Tom spoke louder and (y/n)’s chest froze at how he sounded, so cold and…dark.

“Those pesky first years? Boiled and lock-legged, deserved it for spilling that porridge on you.” Rosier snickered, a nasty look on his face and (y/n) felt the anxiety in her chest grow into dread. Tom looked satisfied and (y/n) felt like she was going to throw up.

She’d been sitting with Tom when a first year-a shy boy with big square glasses-had accidentally spilled porridge on Tom when trying to get to his friends. Tom hadn’t reacted but now (y/n) knew it wasn’t something that was brushed off, he’d gotten his friends to pull a mean ‘prank’ on the poor 11-year-old just for accidentally spilling porridge on Tom, something (y/n) had cleaned up in seconds!

“Good. Did anyone see you hex them?” Tom asked and Rosier shook his head, smirking.

“Of course not, I’m a master of stealth.” Rosier snickered, giving a small bow of his head to Tom. “Anything else, Voldemort?”

(y/n)’s entire heart stopped beating, what did-what did he just call Tom? She peeked through the crack, seeing Tom’s eyes gleaming with satisfaction being called that.

‘Once there was a young man, who, like you, sat in this very hall, walked this castle’s corridors, slept under its roof. He seemed to the world a student like any other. His name? Tom Riddle. Today of course, he’s known all over the world by another name.’

Dumbledore’s words echoed in her head on repeat-she remembered the opening feast speech from her 5th year, how Dumbledore had told them about Voldemort and who he used to be.

That’s where she’d thought she’d heart Tom’s name before…Tom Riddle was Voldemort.

She took a shuddering gasp and slipped away from the empty classroom-rushing back to the Slytherin common room-vision blurring with tears as it felt so hard to breathe suddenly, she tripped down the stairs and spoke the common room password in a single breath-shoving open the doors and racing up the steps and-after only a moment of hesitation-booked it down the boy's dorm corridor.

She opened Tom’s door-he’d given her a key to it a bit ago-breathing heavily as she looked around.

Her eyes landed on his diary, something he’d gotten for himself as an early birthday gift from a muggle bookstore. She snatched it up, opening it with a sense of dread she’d been feeling since hearing Tom say the words ‘mudblood’.

Instantly, she felt sick.

She found pages and pages of the truth-of who Tom really was, his name written out and rewritten till he landed on the name Voldemort, scribbles of what would eventually become the dark mark, a whole chunk of pages dedicated to whatever the hell horcruxes were-including a plan to use the chamber of secrets to create his first one out of the very diary she held.

She remembered her first year-when the chamber of secrets had been opened and Ginny Weasley had been taken into it, rumors went around about how Voldemort had possessed her to open the chamber.

Tom Riddle was Voldemort, her boyfriend was the dark lord.

She snapped the book shut-letting it drop back onto his desk and left the room, slamming the door behind her and rushing across the hall to the girls dorms. She stumbled through her door, closing it and locking it.

There, she let it all crash down on her, she sank to the floor under the weight of it all. Her boyfriend, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was the same terrifying snake like dark lord that had terrorized the wizarding and muggle world for nearly two decades, the man who had killed thousands, destroyed hundreds of homes and families-killed Cedric Diggory in her 3rd year.

Her charming, nerdy, handsome Tom Riddle…was the very man who ruined her life, who had caused her uncle to become so-mad with blood purity-to be so bold to take her and give her a scar.

Her boyfriend was the dark lord.

Her head dropped between her shoulders and she sobbed, letting out a hoarse scream as she remembered everything with him over the last six months, their rivalry, their first dates, their first kiss, her telling him how she got her scar and him telling her about how he was afraid of love but was willing to brave it for her.

Was it all a lie? A manipulation? A long con?

Did he even want her? Was this just a ploy to hook his dark roots into more and more people until he had his army of death eaters?

She sobbed so hard she felt she might throw up-she did, racing to the bathroom to puke her lunch, bile burning her throat as she continued to sob. She ripped off her snake bracelet and chucked it at the bathroom mirror-it shattered and (y/n) screams again, slumping back against the wall as glass clatters to the counter and floor, (y/n)’s hands getting cut up as she slides down to the floor, the mirror shards cutting into her skin.

She doesn’t care, she doesn’t move.

The boy she’d fallen in love with was lord fucking Voldemort.

She has to go home.

-

“Please sir.” (y/n) begs Dumbledore, who was the only one besides Dippet who knew that she wasn’t from this era, who knew she had to get back to her time. “I have to go home, I can’t stay here anymore.” (y/n) said-her voice aching from crying as Dumbledore looks at her from behind his half-moon glasses.

“I understand miss (l/n),” Dumbledore says softly, standing from his desk in the transfiguration classroom, rounding it to stand close to her. “Weeks ago I finally received word back from the ministry about acquiring a time tuner to send a time-misplaced student back to their time, they’ve finally got one ready for you. only took weeks of convincing them I wasn’t joking.”

(y/n) lets out a shuddering breath, wondering why he hadn’t told her that when originally getting the letter. “I didn’t tell you because you seemed…happy here, with your friends and Mr. Riddle.” The mention of Tom nearly sends her into a fit and her hands shake as she breathes heavily. “Oh,” Dumbledore mutters with surprise as she begins to sob, taking her hands that she hadn’t healed and were shaking. “Has something happened (y/n)?”

He says her name like a grandfather, tugging her close for a hug as she ugly cries, her face hot and tears streaming down her cheeks as her eyes ache.

She can't tell Dumbledore what she’s discovered-she knows she’s probably screwed up enough just by existing in this era, but she so badly wants to tell him about Voldemort, about the horrors that await the world.

She can't. It could do something disastrous to the future, to her time.

“We broke up,” she says instead, even though that’s not true-at least not officially, she’d been avoiding Tom since overhearing the conversation between him and his frien…followers. Avoiding him since finding his diary and looking through it.

He always looked so confused when she’d run from him, his hand reaching out towards her as she turned tail and ran from him like he was dangerous.

He was, he was Voldemort.

“There there young one, it’ll be okay, affairs of the heart can always be confusing,” Dumbledore said softly as she sobbed her heart out for the 5th time that day. “One day, it won't hurt so much.” She sniffled and pulled back to look up at him, swallowing harshly.

“When will I’ll be able to go back?” she asked and Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought before remembering.

“On the weekend, so you can have time to say goodbye to the friends you’ve made in this era.” Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye as (y/n) sighed, three days. Only three days left before she could go home and forget this time travel mishap ever happened.

Three days before she’d disappear from Tom Riddle’s….Voldemort’s life for good. She just hoped this didn’t cause some sort of obsession with the dark lord when she was back with her time-she didn’t want to deal with all that.

If it did, she’d probably kill herself.

Dumbledore sent her back to her common room as it was late-she’d waited until nearly curfew to see him so no one would interrupt. She walked through the torch-lit corridors slowly, sniffling quietly as she wiped her face of tears. Three days, she just had to avoid Tom for three more days and then she’d be home, away from him.

“(y/n).” She hears his voice from behind her and she runs. “(y/n)-wait! Stop!” He yells after her, his footsteps following her quickly as she runs through the halls-racing back to the common room to try and get to her dorm before he can catch her.

“(y/n) please!” he cries out-she ignores the hurt in his voice, the desperate tone. It was fake, it was all fake-he was just trying to trick her. “(y/n)! love! Please! Talk to me! What did I do wrong?!”

She can only thank the gods as someone entered the common room right before her-leaving the doors wide open. She shoves past the 4th year and races up the stairs, Tom at her heels.

He just barely grabs her robes and she yanks them off before escaping down the girl's dorm corridor-protected by the barrier. She barely looks to see him slam into the barrier-his dark eyes heartbroken, confused, sad. “(y/n)…” he says softly, sinking to his knees as she disappears into her dorm room.

His eyes haunt her in her sleep-flashing between those dark sad eyes and the horrifying snake-like ones of Voldemort. Tom Riddle and Voldemort-one in the same.

Morning comes and Lucy gently knocks at her door, opening it when she receives no response. “(y/n)?” Lucy asked softly, her other friends all just behind her. They see (y/n) curled up in her bed, the curtains drawn and lights off. “(y/n)?” Lucy said again, the girls filing in and Julia closed the door behind her as they all gathered around (y/n)’s bed, Lucy and Alice climbing into it.

“(y/n) what happened? Tom’s been asking for you?” Iridessa asks and they all freeze as (y/n) sobs, the girls going into instant comfort mode as they huddle up to hug (y/n) as she sat up and curled into Lucy’s arms, her face flushed and puffy. “Oh, (y/n),” Iridessa sighs, brushing her hand down (y/n)’s back.

Her friends lay with her and hold her as she cries, but shakes her head each time they ask her what happened between her and Tom. All she offers is that they broke up, and that she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I have to tell you guys something,” she says, gaining control of her sobbing after a half hour. Her friends all nod, gathering closer to her, Alice and Bella holding her tight from behind as Lucy holds her hand. “This weekend, im leaving.” She says and her friends gasp.

“What-why?” Julia asks, grabbing her free hand and (y/n) struggles to explain, but eventually does.

“I’m not from this era. I’m from the 90s,” she reveals, and her friends hang onto every word she says. “I fell on a time turner and it broke-sending me here with no way to get back, Dumbledore finally heard back from the ministry and this weekend, I’ll be sent back home.”

Her friends take this with surprising grace but not without disappointment. “we’ll miss you, so much.” Lucy said softly, her cheek squished against (y/n)’s as they all hug her. “Let’s do something before you go, one last hurrah,” Julia suggests and (y/n) smiles weakly, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds fun,” she said softly as her friends hug her again, determined to make her last three days better than just hiding from Tom and crying about the reality of it all.

-

Her friends keep Tom away from her, though the confusion and heartbreak in his eyes haunt her every step. He tries to approach her nearly every hour, in the common room, at breakfast, between classes, in their shared classes, at lunch-he tries and tries and tries but she doesn’t let him get close-always just out of his reach.

He doesn’t understand-one minute they were happy, blissful-Tom hadn’t even known the meaning of the word till he was with her, but now…now she looks afraid of him, like he’s dangerous, venomous.

She wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him-she was supposed to be the only one not afraid of him. He can't even get close to her, her friends keep him away and she runs away when her friends can't guard her.

Was this what heartbreak felt like? So achingly and painfully deep it felt like you might die? He waited for her every morning outside the girl’s dorms, making himself small as he sat in front of the doorway-hoping she’d stop, let him talk to her, to try and figure out what he did wrong to make her like this.

She never stopped, she took one look and ran-her friends stopping him from following even as he begged for her to just talk for a minute. He never begged, but he would, for her.

He’d never seen her scared of him, even when they were rivals, even when he’d raise his wand at her during dueling practice. But to see her so frightened, of him…he felt sick.

‘id never be, you’re too nerdy’

Her words echoed in his head and he feels like crying-he never felt like crying, not since he was very young and still had hope of being cared for. What happened? What did he do to make her scared of him? Did someone tell her something? Did one of his followers fuck up? Had she overheard something?

She was a good person, spunky and snarky and perfect, she had a soft good heart-opposite of his. He was cruel and mean and vile-he planned to be the most powerful dark wizard in the world-he planned to make the world fear his chosen name.

But no one but himself and his followers knew of this-to everyone else he was a golden boy, maybe a bit weird sometimes, but he was smart and charming and powerful-respected.

What happened to make (y/n) so scared of him?

He had to find out-he just had to-he had to he had to he had to.

-

He cornered her, getting her right after potions ended and he wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her backwards. She tried to scream but he quickly silenced her with the silencing charm. “Please-I just want to talk to you-(y/n) please-don’t be scared of me-please!” he begged, he never begged-she continued to try and get out of his grip, even hitting him-shaking her head. “You’re not supposed to be scared of me!” he yelled, and she glared at him-tears in her eyes and he grabbed her hand, forcing himself into her memories.

He sees it all-her heartbreak, begging Dumbledore to send her back home, finding his diary, overhearing him with his friends-her heartbreak when he says mudblood, their soft kisses and whispers, hanging out after curfew, cuddling by the fire, their first date, Christmas, the party, her friends, the broken time-turner, the snatchers, Hogwarts bathed in darkness, death eaters, Dumbledore dying.

…Voldemort.

He pulls back from her-choking as she slams her elbow into his gut-she’s crying, he can't breathe-eyes wide as her memories flash through his mind again and again.

She knows everything and more-because she’d lived through the nightmare he planned to bring to the world, she knew it all-she knew his plans, she knew his name, she knew the darkness he hid from everyone but his followers. She knew because she lived through it, suffered under his rule.

He looks up at her, she’s terrified-sobbing.

He reaches out and she runs, his heart shatters.

“(y/n),” he breathes out pathetically, tears burn in his eyes as he sits on the cold floor.

He caused her scar.

-

She’s leaving tomorrow, going back to her time where Voldemort controlled Hogwarts, Dumbledore was dead, and Harry Potter was nowhere to be found-rumored to be out hunting something to kill the dark lord.

Her friends had taken her out to Hogsmeade with special permission from Dumbledore, treated her with pints of butterbeer and lamb, let her have a run of honeydukes and get whatever sweets she liked, she tried on suits and dresses at the clothing store next to madam Puddifoots, and Julia got her a new bracelet to replace the one from Tom-one she’d buried somewhere in her room, next to the dying flowers; also from Tom.

It had been a good day, a long good day, Tom hadn’t bothered her, she hadn’t even seen him once-and that left her a bit unnerved-wondering if he was plotting something.

Knowing who he was going to be, he probably was.

She got ready for bed soon after returning from Hogsmeade, taking a long shower and cutting her hair back into the style and length it had been May 2nd 1998. She found her old uniform and got it ready for tomorrow, ready to go back home-ready to re-enter the war.

A knock sounded at her door, she opened it to find a nervous first-year girl, looking up at her. “The-the prefect wants to talk to you.” the girl said, handing (y/n) a bouquet of flowers, her favorite flowers. (y/n) slowly took them, the first year rushing off as (y/n) turned the bouquet in her hands, finding a tag with Tom’s handwriting on it.

“Please. Just one talk.”

She stood there for a long time, maybe 8 minutes, staring at the flowers and the note. Should she? Maybe he’d hex her, or love potion her, or curse her, kill her, feed her to the basilisk.

She wouldn’t know unless she found out.

She sighed, summoning all her bravery and stepping out into the corridor, walking down the hall until she reached the doorway out of the dorms, spotting Tom sitting at the fireplace-alone, no one else in the room.

In his hands was his diary. He seemed nervous, visibly nervous; his leg was bouncing, his hair a mess-wild and curled up, no product in it. She stepped out, walking towards him, he saw her and sat up straight, swallowing harshly and he said her name-so breathlessly and hopeful that it made her stop.

He quickly averted her eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered, the diary clutched at his side, his hand gripping it so tight it bent.

She stared at him, his eyes were on the diary. There was no sound other than the fire and their breathing for a very long minute. Finally-Tom looked at her and he looked tired, so exhausted and heartbroken and defeated. “Please stay,” he said, achingly, pleadingly, his jaw clenching horribly as he stepped towards her-she stepped back-he stopped.

“What?” she asked, and she watched as the sound of her voice made his eyes flutter and he took a deep breath, holding the diary with both hands.

“Stay. Please.” He said again, begging. “Don’t go back to your time-don’t go back to…that war. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered, looking up at her.

“How can you ask that?” she whispered, clenching her jaw, fists tight at her sides. “You saw it all, you know why I can't stay, you know why I’ve been avoiding you-why I want to go back.”

Tom’s eyes were hard yet sad-anger, not at her, filling his face.

“I won't stay with someone who becomes…him.” (y/n) said, not even daring to say the name and Tom nearly flinches, his eyes going back down to his diary, trembling.

He throws it into the fire and her eyes go wide. “What the hell are you doing?” she asks and then Tom is on his knees in front of her, holding the length of her robe-tears are in his eyes-his voice cracks as he speaks.

“Stay with me, please.” He begs, his hair a mess-looking so different from the nightmare in her dreams-seeing him with red eyes and a cruel smirk. “Please, please stay. I don’t want that anymore, I don’t want to be him anymore-I only want you. You have brought me joy and sorrow and pain and love and I don’t know if I can function without you-please. Please. Stay. Don’t leave me.”

Tom begs, burying his face into the fabric of her robe, his shoulders jumping with a sob. Her eyes turn to the fire, watching as the drawings of the dark mark burn up with the rest of the book.

Voldemort burning to death right before her eyes.

“I love you (y/n), please don’t go.” He begs again, tears soaking her robe and she doesn’t know what to do.

She’s supposed to leave for the ministry at sunrise with Dumbledore, she supposed to go home tomorrow morning, she’s supposed to fight against Voldemort's forces.

She looks down at Tom, he’s crying, ugly crying-not caring who saw him on his knees for her. “I’ll disband the knights, I’ll burn all the books I have of dark magic, I won’t hurt anyone ever again, just please. Stay.” He begs again, looking up at her, eyes shining with tears-his eyes completely brown, lit amber by the fire.

She doesn’t know what to do.

Tom sounds terribly dependent on her right now, giving her a strange ultimatum.

Stay with him, and Voldemort never happens. Go back to her time, and Voldemort happens, possibly even worse with the ache of teenage first love heartbreak.

She needs to think about this.

Stay and leave behind her time, her home, her family, her friends; all of it-for the possibility of Tom keeping his promise. Or go home, and risk Tom becoming even worse, possibly making herself a target for Voldemort. But also leave behind her friends here, and a version of Hogwarts that hadn’t been touched by Voldemort yet.

She looks down at Tom 

Stay with Tom, Voldemort dies. Go back home, Voldemort gets worse, and she becomes a personal target.

“i…I can’t,” she whispers, and Tom looks utterly lost, like she’d pulled his heart out and ripped it in front of him, or split apart his soul and stomped on it. “i-I,” she can’t finish her sentence, she needs to think about it.

It’s a big decision, she can’t make it right now-she needs to clear her head. She pries his clammy hands off her robes and goes back to her room. Tom curls in on himself, holding himself as tears trail down his face-gasping for breath as his diary burns in the fireplace behind him.

“(y/n),” he says so quietly, heartbroken.

-

Her fingers rub over the silver metal of the snake bracelet, the one from Julia is snug on her wrist now, the one from Tom held in her hands tightly as she waits for Dumbledore to come back from the ministry with the time turner-she had to be in the exact place she’d left, the DADA classroom. She’d be leaving within the hour, going back to her time.

To her home, her family, her friends, to war…to Voldemort. She knows things are going to be different, teachers will suddenly remember a version of her from decades ago, especially Slughorn. Voldemort might come after her personally, he might try to force her to be with him, might try to carve out her heart to keep it, might love potion her to stay with him.

She swallows again, looking up as Dumbledore emerges from the fireplace along with a ministry officer, who holds the time turner. and offers a smile. “it’s all ready,” he says, leading her and the officer to the DADA classroom. The officer hands her the time turner, it’s set for May 2nd, 1998.

So, she was going 55 years into the future, back to her time, back home. To war. To Voldemort.

“It’s all ready, just put it on and twist the rings back together, and then when you’re back in your time, leave it in a safe space and it’ll come back to us within an hour.” The ministry officer said, his arms crossed as (y/n) reached out and put on the time-turner, her hands shaking as she takes each end between her fingers.

Stay or go home.

….

Stay or go home.

-

Tom felt like he was dying. He sat in front of the common room fire, where he’d tossed his diary-his diary filled with all his plans and ambitions. The dark mark, his chosen name; and all the diary entries about (y/n).

About when she first arrived, about how he felt about her, about how nervous he was to ask her to accompany him to the Christmas party, how gorgeous he thought she looked, how wonderful it had been to dance with her. He wrote it all down, the pages overtaking every single one of his plans, to the point where he nearly forgot it all, only thinking about it when his followers had brought it up.

And now…now he’d never see her again. Not until he was already old, he’d bee in his 50s when she would be born, 1981. 40 something years from now. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes, willing back the tears in his eyes.

Maybe he should’ve offered to go with her instead, he’d truly leave it all behind-he’d go to her Hogwarts with her, learn her time, leave the knights behind, leave dark magic behind.

But she left him. It was past sunrise now, he heard her leave the common room a bit ago-he hadn’t slept, sitting by the fireplace the whole night, watching her go.

Maybe he should’ve tried to convince her one last time, maybe tried to get a goodbye kiss.

He’d never kiss her again he realized just then, never hold her hand or hug her, or even see her smile.

Tom’s lip wobbled and he shoved down his emotions, or well he tried to. It was no use, he was going to miss her so damn much that he felt like dying, was this what heartbreak felt like? The feeling of his heart aching so hard that he wanted to rip it out? The feeling of being unable to breathe and his eyes aching so badly he wanted to fall asleep forever?

If this is what heartbreak is like-he never wanted to feel it again.

He stands up, jaw clenched with anger now. She didn’t want to stay, she didn’t want to love him anymore-too scared of him, too scared of what he could be.

He still had his books for horcruxes-perhaps he’d make one early, get rid of this painful feeling in his whole body-remove his soul to remove her from his heart.

He turns, heading back to his dorm but before he can even leave the main room of the common room-arms wrap around him-stopping him in his tracks.

A head rests on his back, they take a shaky breath, he looks down at the hands on his stomach-his heart skipping a beat at the familiar silver snake bracelet around their wrist.

He turns, there she is.

“You-“ he breathes out, about to cry again and she takes a shaky breath, looking up at him.

“I’m staying.” She whispered and he can’t help his smile-big and watery and full of relief-his heart beats rapidly in his chest it might explode with happiness and he takes her into his arms, spinning her around as she gasps-which turns into shaken laughter as he holds her impossibly close.

He collapses back onto the couch-having not eaten or slept the last day and she gasps, landing right on top of him-where she should be. “Thank you, thank you thank you,” Tom whispers out shakily into her ear and she swallows, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his-he squeezes her like he’s trying to melt into her body.

“Don’t make me regret this?” She whispers, and he nods against her, already planning their life together. They’d graduate together, get a home together, marry one day, have kids-he’d become the DADA professor, perhaps the minister, she’d boss him around and he’d smile; he’d dote on her and she’d roll her eyes.

“You won’t, I promise.” He whispered back.

-14 years later-

The sun rose on a countryside home, dew drops gently reflecting the sunlight as morning came upon the family of four, soon to become five. A 31-year-old Tom Riddle, and his wife (y/n) Riddle, were still asleep in their comfy bed, buried under quilts and a soft blanket, (y/n) snoring softly as Tom slowly awoke with the morning sun, tightening his grip around his wife, his bleary vision still able to appreciate the view.

He smiled softly looking at her, her face half buried in the fluffy pillow, drool dried on her chin since her mouth had opened during sleep, her hands curled up under her chin and neck, her body stretched out with one leg hiked up towards him-her knee against his hip.

Tom quickly closed his eyes, hiding his smirk as the patter of feet came bolting down the hallway and the bedroom door opened-a bright eyed boy who seemed to be an exact copy of his father bounding onto the bed. “Dad-dad! Dad dad dad! It’s today!” 10-year-old Mattheo Julius Riddle tried to shake his dad awake, bouncing on his knees as Tom hid his smile in his pillow-pretending to be asleep. “Daaaaad c’mon! it’s the first!”

September 1st 1958, Mattheo would be going to Hogwarts today-a day he’d waited for the last 9 years since learning about the school-he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter at the start of July, he’d proudly shown it off to anyone that would listen, and (y/n) had pinned it to the bulletin board that was in the kitchen that held many drawings and report cards from the last 10 years.

 Tom faked a sleepy hum, flinging his arms up-covered with the blankets-and drawing his son into the blankets, holding him close. “Daaaaaad!” Mattheo laughed, wiggling in his dad’s arms as Tom fake snored, (y/n) waking up from all the ruckus. “Mooom! It’s the first!” Mattheo said-spotting his mother sitting up from the small peek in the blankets.

“It is?” (y/n) hummed, only half awake, holding her rounded belly as she hobbled out of bed, heading right for the bathroom. Mattheo let out a whine; his parents were not taking this day seriously! Tom turned a bit and looked at the clock.

“Matt it’s six am, the train doesn’t leave till eleven.” Tom groaned, his voice rough with sleep, releasing Mattheo as he continued to wiggle. Tom’s body bounced slightly as Mattheo began to jump on the bed.

“And!?! It’s too important to miss! Get up get up get up! Mom make waffles please!?” Mattheo said, spinning while jumping on the bed, and (y/n) made a noise between a yawn and a groan, muffled by the bathroom door.

“Is your sister even up?” Tom asked as Mattheo jumped off the bed and began to tug Tom out of the bed, Tom groaned as he allowed his son to pull him out of the warmth of the bed.

“I’m up daddy,” A squeaky sweet voice came from the open doorway, Tom’s 6-year-old daughter, Aurora-named after (y/n)’s favorite Disney movie from her time(which was about to release next year if (y/n) recalled correctly, she was very excited.)-standing in the doorway with her stuffed pink bunny held in her arms, looking adorably sleepy with her hair that matched her mother’s all a mess from sleep.

“Good morning my sweet, did your brother wake you up with his chaos?” Tom asked Aurora and she nodded, reaching her arms up and Tom scooped her up happily, kissing her chubby rosy cheek. “I’m sorry princess, are you hungry?” Aurora nodded again and Tom walked to the kitchen that was just down the hall from the bedroom-Mattheo already getting out what his mother needed to make waffles.

“Eggs, flour, sour cream,” Mattheo muttered, reading off the recipe card that was on the fridge. Tom set up the table and helping Mattheo get out the waffle maker, Aurora sitting in her chair at the breakfast nook table, drinking some water to start the day while Tom poured her a cup of pumpkin juice.

“Mom! Waffles!” Mattheo yelled down the hall and Tom pinched his ear for yelling at his pregnant mother. “Sorry!” Mattheo yelled again as he dodged another ear pinch and Tom huffed with a smile, shaking his head as he cracked eggs into a bowl and waved his wand-bacon lining up onto a pan and sliding into the preheating oven.

(y/n) soon emerged from the bedroom, her hair brushed and looking a bit more awake, putting on Tom’s jumper, a sight Tom adored since it hardly hid her baby bump. “Good morning my bride,” Tom hummed with a flirtatious smirk and (y/n) rolled her eyes, kissing him as she passed by him.

“Good morning babe,” she murmured, grabbing the metal bowl Mattheo had gotten out and she began to make the waffle mix, plugging in the waffle maker as Tom got the skillet ready to make scrambled eggs.

The two worked like a well-oiled machine to make breakfast for themselves and their children, and soon they were all sat at the breakfast nook table, Mattheo eagerly digging into his favorite breakfast while Aurora carefully cut apart her waffle-only butter no syrup- Tom putting a strip of bacon on her plastic plate. “Thank you mum!” Mattheo said with his mouth full and (y/n) snorted while Tom tapped his chin.

“No talking with your mouth full Mattheo, it’s not see food.” Tom scolded and Mattheo struggled to swallow before apologizing. Tom nodded and Aurora nibbled on her bacon, scooping eggs onto her waffle before stuffing it into her mouth.

When breakfast was finished Tom waved his wand and all the dishes began to wash themselves. “No running while dishes are flying!” Tom yelled after Mattheo as he jumped from his chair and raced back to his room, Aurora sleepily rubbing her eyes as she carefully got down from her chair.

“C’mon sweetie lets go pick an outfit for you for today,” (y/n) told Aurora and she nodded, walking beside her mom as they went to Auroras room at the end of the hall, across from the nursery.  Tom smiled at his little family, looking around his home with a sense of peace and comforting purpose.

After dishes were done and the breakfast mess was cleaned up-Tom picked up toys and blankets that were scattered about in the living room, putting everything away and heading into his and (y/n)’s bedroom, making the bed and cleaning up the bathroom before getting dressed and setting out an outfit for (y/n), knocking on Mattheo’s door to check on him.

“Ready!” Mattheo said excitedly, opening the door to reveal him wearing his Hogwarts uniform, though it was without his house color as he had yet to be sorted.

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need to wear your uniform right away, you’ll have time to change on the train as it’s an eight hour ride. Get dressed casually, you’ll get restless wearing your uniform.” Tom said and Mattheo huffed, closing his door again to change.

He checked on his daughter and wife and Aurora was sitting still on her bed as (y/n) styled their daughter’s hair, making sure to put Aurora’s favorite hairpin into her hair. “There you go,” (y/n) said with a smile, Aurora turning to Tom to show off her hair and outfit; Tom smiled, crouching to kiss his daughter's rosy cheek.

“Beautiful my princess,” Tom murmured and Aurora kissed his cheek in return, Tom scooping her up as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ready my dear?” Tom asked (y/n) and she nodded, heading past him to go into their bedroom to change.

She closed the door behind her, sighing softly as she passed by her dresser, the light catching onto the wedding photo that sat on her vanity.

12 years ago, she married Tom, 13 years ago her memories began to fade and change. She brushed her fingers over the faded scar on her face-so faded she sometimes forgot she even had it. Staying with Tom had changed the future, meaning the reason she even ended up in the ‘past’ changed-it was an accident now, she’d been sneaking around on a dare and knocked the time turner over.

Voldemort was now a forgotten name, a memory that only Tom knew now, her scar had changed-faded so much that it was nearly gone, the memory and knowledge of how it happened disappearing 6 years ago.

So many things had changed over the years in her memory, there was no boy who lived, or wizarding war, or dark lord. Now there was just her and her husband, who’d been working as the Defense against the dark arts professor for the last 9 years after briefly working as an auror.

(y/n) sighed, it was strange, to no longer remember who she once was-from the old timeline, she still remembered bits and pieces, but now it was all fractured, dreamlike-faded.

She didn’t mind, she was happy where she was now, a mother of 2 and pregnant with their third, wife of Tom Riddle who kept his promise.

She didn’t regret a thing.

-end! Thank you for reading!!-

[dalton344]

Loved this so much!!!!

Child abductions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 1.1k  | CW: Angst, no use of Y/N.| Summary: Hotch yells at you and you get sad and a little scared so you retreat. Hotch come to apoligize once he cools down. |

A/N: This is kind of inspired byt Hotch and his little temper tantrums in Gabby…. God I love when he gets angry.

It had been a long case. The kind that gnawed at your spirit and left a dark weight hanging in the air. A child had gone missing. The team had been running on fumes for days, chasing down every lead with increasing desperation. Hotch had been especially on edge, cases with children always hit him the most, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders. Every dead end, every false lead - he took it all personally.

You knew he cared deeply for every case, but this one was hitting him harder than usual - even more so for a child abduction case. The little girl’s face was plastered across every screen, her eyes a constant reminder of what was at stake. You’d been there, trying to support him as best as you could, offering quiet reassurance when he needed it. But you knew it wasn’t easy to get through to him when he was like this - focused, intense, burdened by the responsibility of finding her in time.

You’d seen him upset before - frustrated, tired, worn down from the endless stress of your work - but this was different. The raw fury in his voice when he’d been interrogating the unsub had left everyone on edge, including you. When the team returned to the precinct, there was a heaviness in the air as Hotch began debriefing. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in a way that made everyone stand a little straighter.

You tried to be helpful, stepping in with a small observation about the evidence, your voice gentle but sure. Before you even finished speaking, though, Hotch snapped.

“Not now!” he barked, his eyes blazing with an anger that wasn’t meant for you. “Just - stop. I don’t need you interrupting right now.”

The sudden harshness of his words cut through you like ice, freezing you in place. You stood there, stunned, feeling the weight of his anger crash over you like a wave. He had never raised his voice at you like that before. Your heart pounded in your chest, your throat tightening as you nodded quietly, retreating from the room without a word. You didn’t want to make a scene, but the sharp sting of his outburst lingered, burning in the pit of your stomach.

The team fell silent, watching you go, but no one dared to say anything. They could tell Hotch was too far gone in his anger to realize what he’d just done.

You found a quiet corner away from everyone, sitting down as you tried to calm your racing heart. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from swirling in your mind - Hotch had never spoken to you like that, and the way his voice had cracked with frustration scared you in a way you hadn’t expected. He had always been your steady, composed rock. Seeing him like this, so consumed by his anger, made you feel small like you’d done something wrong even though you hadn’t.

Time passed in a blur as you sat there, staring blankly at the floor, trying to push the hurt away. It was hard to shake the sting of his words, though, and harder still to quiet the nervous flutter in your chest every time you thought of facing him again.

It wasn’t until later, when the case was starting to wrap up and the tension in the precinct had lifted, that Hotch realized what he’d done. The anger had drained out of him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake, and as he replayed the events of the day in his mind, his heart sank. He remembered snapping at you - remembered the look in your eyes, how you’d gone silent and withdrawn so quickly. It hit him like a punch to the gut.

He searched the precinct, looking for you, dread building with every step. When he finally found you, you were sitting alone, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to make yourself smaller. His heart clenched at the sight.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room. His voice was gentle now, but you stiffened at the sound of it, your eyes darting up to meet his before quickly dropping back to the floor. “Can I… Can we talk?”

You didn’t respond at first, your hands gripping the edge of the chair like you weren’t sure what to do. He could see the sadness etched on your face, the way your shoulders were tense, and it broke something inside him.

He crossed the room slowly, careful not to crowd you. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean it. You didn’t deserve that—none of it. I was angry, and I took it out on you. That was wrong.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You’ve never… you’ve never yelled at me like that before,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know what to do.”

The pain in your voice was like a knife to his heart, and he knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “I know,” he said, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you understood. “I was an idiot. I never want to hurt you like that again. You mean too much to me.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the regret in his eyes. The weight of his apology settled over you, easing some of the hurt in your chest. Slowly, you nodded, your body relaxing just a little.

“I just… I didn’t know what I’d done wrong,” you admitted, your voice small. “It scared me.”

Hotch’s expression softened, and he reached up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “I let my emotions get the better of me, and I’m so sorry. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the silence between you softening as the tension eased. You leaned into his touch, your heart finally starting to slow, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “I’m here, and I’m not going to let anything come between us. Not even my own stupidity.”

A small, shaky smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you nodded, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his presence. “I love you too.”

Hotch pulled you into his arms, holding you close, and you felt the last of the fear and sadness melt away. You weren’t afraid anymore, not with him holding you like this. And as the two of you sat there in the quiet, you knew that no matter what, you would always find your way back to each other.

[dalton344]

In love with this!!

"I'll be here. Always."

pairing: Harvey Specter x f!lawyer!reader

description: You struggle with the pressure of a high-stakes lawsuit. When you break down late one night, Harvey finds you and offers you the suport you never knew you needed. Reassured, you regain your strength to face the challenges ahead.

warnings: fluff, love confessions, mutual pining, use of Y/N, age gap and Harvey (yes, he's a warning)

word count: 1708

A/N: this is my first fic! hope you'll like it and I accept any constructive criticism 🫶🏻 i also take requests, so feel free to ask me! i'm down to almost everything :)

────────────────────────

You were staring at the wall in front of you, sitting on your expensive sofa in your office at Pearson Hardman.

Everything was great, right?

Except it wasn't.

You were stuck on a case, and you didn't accept anyone's help. It was your victory if you win, or your shame if you lose.

Your first major assignment is to represent HarperTech, an innovative startup that developed a groundbreaking algorithm to predict consumer trends. However, just as HarperTech prepares to launch, tech giant Dynasoft sues them, claiming HarperTech stole their proprietary code.

Dynasoft, a powerful corporation with a history of suing competitors, alleges that HarperTech's founder, a former employee of theirs, stole their code.

You were excited to make your mark with such a high-profile case, but as soon as the documents start piling up, you realised you're in over your head. You need to navigate complex tech jargon, a formidable opponent, and the high expectations of the firm - all while you sense Harvey Specter watching from all the sidelines, assessing your every move.

Dynasoft is not just any client; it's a Goliath in the tech world, with resources and a team of high-powered attorneys. You know that Harvey was the firm's go-to litigator for cases like this, but you're determined to handle it yourself and prove your value.

Suddenly, a knock pulls you out of your trance.

"Come in." you speak softly, looking at the door.

Harvey leans against the doorframe, watching you struggle for a moment before saying, "Careful, Y/N. If you stare at those files any harder, you might actually scare Dynasoft into settling."

Harvey was good at reading people. Maybe too good, because he knew every little thing about yourself that you don't even notice.

You look up, surprised. "And if you had any real advice, I'm sure you'd be the first to keep it to yourself."

Harvey raises an eyebrow, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "Oh, I have advice. But then you wouldn't have the pleasure of figuring out you need me." He pauses, holding your gaze with a slight grin. "So... ready to admit it yet?"

You roll your eyes, but you can't hide a small smile.

You lean back in the sofa, crossing your arms, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "Admit what? That I can handle this without you?"

Harvey chuckles, strolling closer and casually picking up a random file from your desk, flipping through it like he's just browsing. "Sure, you can 'handle' it," he says, using air quotes, "but the question is—can you win it?"

You pause, and he notices the sudden silence.

"I'm... not sure." you sigh.

The HarperTech case has pushed you to your limit. You've poured everything into it, but the constant pressure and the weight of possible failure have finally taken a toll.

You look up, trying to mask the emotion in your eyes, but Harvey catches the telltale signs. Harvey doesn't say anything, just crosses the room and stands beside you, his expression softening as he sees his colleague—and friend—on the edge.

Without hesitation, Harvey reaches out, pulling you into a steady, reassuring embrace.

At first, you stiffen, but then you let go, allowing yourself to sink into the warmth and support. The weight you've been carrying finally breaks, and your shoulders start to shake as you fights back tears.

Harvey gently runs a hand over your back, holding you tighter, grounding him in a moment of pure, quiet comfort. As you let the tears come, Harvey leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering.

"You're not alone in this. I'm here. You don't have to carry it all yourself."

You nod, your voice barely a whisper. "I just—I can't mess this up, Harvey. Not this time."

Harvey pulls back slightly, keeping his hands on your shoulders, looking directly in your eyes. "You're not going to. You're stronger than you think. And I trust you." He brushes a tear off your cheek, a rare vulnerability in his expression. "And when you feel like you can't, I'll be here. Always."

You take a deep breath, grounding yourself in Harvey's words, and finally manage a small, grateful smile.

"I think you've stained my suit with your running mascara." Harvey speaks, looking down at his blazer.

"Get out of my office." you laugh.

After a moment of silence, Harvey steps back slightly, still holding your shoulders. He looks at you with a mixture of warmth and playful arrogance.

"You know what? This isn’t a night for drowning in paperwork. Let’s hit that new Italian place downtown. I can’t let you suffer alone. Bring your papers too." Harvey speaks.

You raise an eyebrow. "Dinner? With you? Are you sure you want to share a table with the girl who's still learning the ropes?"

"Oh, please. Sharing a table with me is the best decision you’ll make all week. I promise I won’t judge you too harshly if you order spaghetti." he grins.

You laugh, shaking your head. "I might just take that as a challenge. You do know I have taste, right?"

"Sure, but let’s be honest—your taste is probably in line with whatever you discuss with Rachel. Tonight, you’ll get the real deal."

As much as you don't want to admit it, he was right.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a playful sparkle in your eyes. "Alright, let’s do it. Just don’t expect me to hold back on the critiques when you order the wrong dish."

You pack your things and leave the building, going there with Harvey's car.

As he drives through the city, the soft glow of streetlights flickers across the dashboard.

"You know, you really held your own in there today. I’m impressed." Harvey speaks.

You turn to him, a smile forming on your lips. "Thanks, but I couldn’t have done it without your support."

Harvey smirks, but there’s a warmth in his gaze. "That’s the thing, Y/N. You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for. Sometimes, you just need a little push.”

As he reaches a stoplight, Harvey leans in slightly, his voice lowering just enough to create a sense of intimacy. "And I’m always going to be here to give you that push."

You nod, looking forward.

When you arrive at the restaurant, your mouth almost drops.

"Harvey, this... this is a beautiful place." you smile. It reminded you of your early memories from Italy, when you were just a child.

"I know." he smiles, looking at an empty table. "Let's go." he signals you to come with him.

As you settle down, you reach into your bag for your papers. Before you could even find them, Harvey puts his hand on top of yours.

"You think I brought us here to work?" Harvey raises an eyebrow.

"But- at the office-" you start.

"What I said at the office remains at the office." his voice is steady, yet calm.

"Mr. Specter..." you smile. "Is this a date?" you tease him.

He clears his throat.

"Take it as you want." he tries to hide his smile, looking down at the menu.

As you finish your pasta, you cross your legs and look at Harvey.

God, the soft lit room highlights his masculine features, making him even more beautiful.

"I really needed this tonight. It’s nice to just… be here." you speak softly.

Harvey nods, a soft smile forming. “I know."

Harvey leans forward slightly, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve always believed that life’s too short to get lost in the grind. We need to make room for the things and people that matter.”

You nod.

The moment hangs in the air, filled with unspoken connection. Harvey’s gaze softens as he holds your eye, the weight of his words settling between the both of you.

You blush slightly, looking down for a moment before meeting Harvey’s gaze again. "You make things interesting."

"Good. Because I plan to stick around for a while. Just think of me as your personal cheerleader—minus the pom-poms, of course." Harvey speaks.

You both laugh, the lightheartedness returning, but the warmth of your earlier exchange lingers, deepening your bond.

Harvey pays and you both leave.

As you exit the restaurant, you're greeted by a sudden downpour. Rain pours down in sheets, the sound of water hitting the pavement creating a soothing rhythm. You glance up, surprised.

"Oh, no... I didn't bring an umbrella." you face palm yourself.

Harvey chuckles, taking off his blazer and draping it over both of your heads as a makeshift shield. "Who needs an umbrella when you have me?"

You laugh. "You're going to get soaked!"

"As long as you’re under here with me, I don’t mind. Besides, I like a little adventure." he winks.

You and Harvey start walking, the rain soaking through your clothes, but you don’t care. The atmosphere is electric.

"You know, this is definitely not how I pictured our dinner ending." you pout.

"Yeah? What were you expecting? A boring dinner and a handshake goodbye?"

You speak. "Maybe just a nice chat. But this is much better."

Harvey glances at you, the playful banter shifting to something more serious. "You really mean that?"

"Absolutely." you smile.

You reach a quieter part of the street, the rain still falling heavily around you. Harvey stops and turns to face you, his scent filling your senses

Before you can respond, Harvey gently cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The rain continues to pour down, but neither of you cares.

Harvey takes a step closer, the air thick with tension. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod, breathless, your heart pounding. "Yes. Please."

Harvey leans in, your lips meeting softly at first, then deepening as the kiss becomes more passionate. The rain cascades around you, soaking you both, but all you feel is warmth. It’s as if the world has disappeared, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pull back, you both are breathless, smiles lighting up your faces.

You chuckle, still feeling the warmth of the kiss. "I think I could get used to this kind of adventure."

"Good, because I’m not letting you go. Not now." and he kisses you again.

[dalton344]

Dying for the next part!!! This is amazing ❤️

Heart on Trial | part 1

pairing: Harvey Specter x f!lawyer!reader

summary: Harvey Specter doesn’t let anyone in. But when his trusted associate starts slipping past his defenses, he’s forced to confront the feelings he’s tried to ignore. Torn between pride and desire, Harvey finally faces the truth—and this time, he’s willing to risk everything for you.

warnings: angst, mild language, slow burn, explicit content, smut, dirty talk, extra fluff, use of Y/N

word count: 2399 (bruh)

A/N: i came up with this idea after the first episode with Scottie; i kinda hate but love her at the same time (pls don't kill me) and i already feel Christmas coming so i wanted to make something winter themed ❄️ requests are open!

You always knew Harvey Specter was dangerous. Not in the obvious ways—the smug smirk, the razor-sharp suit, the ego big enough to fill his corner office. No, what made him truly dangerous was the way he could make you feel with just a look.

As his associate, you’d gotten used to being his confidante, his sparring partner, and sometimes the one person he could depend on when things got messy. But lately, it’s been different. There’s a spark simmering under every exchange, a tension that neither of you wants to name. And yet, every day, you find yourself pulled back into his orbit, craving the thrill of his attention while knowing it can never go further.

Until it does.

The stack of case files on your desk seemed to grow every hour. Between prepping depositions, reviewing contracts, and tackling the endless demands of high-profile clients, you barely had time to breathe. Pearson Specter was always high stakes, but today felt like a marathon. You glanced at the clock—already well past the time any sane person would have left the office.

In the quiet lull of the late evening, you caught sight of Harvey’s empty office across the hall, lights off, door slightly ajar. It was rare to see his space unoccupied; his presence filled the floor even when he wasn’t around. You tried to shake off the thought.

Tonight, though, you pushed those thoughts aside. You had your own cases to handle, and letting Harvey Specter occupy any more space in your mind was a risk you couldn’t afford—especially when your work was demanding every last bit of focus you had left.

You were deep in thought, lost in a mountain of documents, when you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. Glancing up, you saw Mike Ross heading your way, a lopsided grin on his face that made it impossible not to smile back.

“Hey, do you have a second?” he asked, leaning casually against your desk, his eyes sparkling with that hint of mischief you’d come to love.

“Always for you,” you replied, raising an eyebrow playfully. “What’s going on?”

“I need your genius brain for a minute,” he said, feigning seriousness but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’m trying to figure out the Thompson case, and I think I might be missing something important. Can you help me out?”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you regarded him with mock suspicion. “You mean you just want to avoid doing all the hard work yourself?”

“Hey, I thought we were friends!” he laughed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “But seriously, I’d really appreciate your input. You always see things I miss.”

“Alright, alright,” you said with a chuckle, pushing aside the files in front of you. “Let’s take a look."

Time passed away fast. The soft hum of the office lights felt more pronounced in the quiet, and you could sense that it was time to wrap things up.

"Alright, I think we’ve gone through enough for tonight," Mike said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

You chuckled, glancing at the scattered files on your desk. "Yeah, I guess we’ve done enough detective work for one evening."

Mike stood up, pushing his chair back with a grin. "I’ll race you to the elevator. Loser buys the first round of drinks next time we go out."

"Oh, you’re on!" you replied, jumping to your feet. You both made a break for the door, laughter hearing in the empty office as you raced down the hallway.

As you walked toward the exit, you could feel the chill in the air creeping in through the glass doors. When you pushed the door open and stepped outside, you were greeted by a breathtaking sight. Snowflakes were falling gently from the sky, blanketing the city in a soft, white layer. The streetlights cast a warm glow on the freshly fallen snow, making it sparkle like diamonds.

“Wow, it’s snowing!” you exclaimed, momentarily mesmerized by the beauty of it.

“Looks like we’re in for a winter wonderland,” Mike said, a grin spreading across his face. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. “Well, I should get going before the roads get too bad. You’ll be okay getting home?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you assured him, though you were aware of the distance you still had to walk.

“Alright, see you tomorrow!” he called, giving you a quick wave as he turned and started down the sidewalk, his figure slowly disappearing into the snowy haze.

You watched him go, the thrill of the snowfall filling the air around you. Just as you were about to head in the opposite direction, you heard a familiar voice call out.

"Hey, Y/N!"

Turning, you saw Harvey striding toward you. He looked effortlessly handsome, even in the cold, wearing his tailored coat with a purposeful air.

“Harvey!” you replied, a smile breaking across your face. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just heading out and thought I’d check in,” he said, his gaze flickering to the snowfall around you. “I see you’re still working. You shouldn’t be out here alone in this weather.”

“I was just about to head home,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Mike just left.”

“Let me give you a ride,” he offered, the warmth in his voice making you feel at ease despite the cold. “It’s not safe to be out in this.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the snow piling up on the sidewalk, then nodded. “Okay, that would be great. Thanks.”

With a slight nod, Harvey led you back toward his car.

Harvey opened the car door for you, his hand brushing against yours as you slid into the passenger seat. The warmth inside was a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

As he drove, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminated his profile, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and his gaze.

“Here we are," he said as he pulled up in front of your building. The snow continued to fall.

“Thanks for the ride, Harvey,” you said softly.

He just nodded and looked at you with those beautiful, brown eyes.

As you stepped out of Harvey’s car, the chilly air hit you, but you still felt a bit warm from the ride. You wrapped your scarf tighter and waved goodbye.

Once inside your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and tossed your coat over a chair. You wandered into the kitchen and made a cup of tea, breathing in the warm, cozy smell.

You plopped down on the sofa with your tea in hand, feeling finally relaxed.

The next morning, you arrived at the office. As you settled into your desk, you barely had time to open your laptop before Jessica’s voice rang out.

"Y/N L/N. Come in my office. Now."

You felt a jolt of nerves and quickly made your way to her office, knocking lightly on the door before stepping inside. Jessica was already on the phone, concentrated. She ended the call and gestured for you to sit.

“I need you to take on a case,” she said, her voice firm. “It’s time-sensitive.”

You blinked, processing her words. “What kind of case?”

“It’s against Harvey’s client,” she replied, locking eyes with you.

You felt your stomach drop. “But… that means I’m going to work against Harvey.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jessica said, her tone unyielding. “I need someone I can trust, and you’re the best fit for this. Here’s the situation: the client is being accused of fraud in a high-profile deal, and the evidence is stacked against them. We need to prove their innocence quickly, or they could face serious consequences.”

You blinked, trying to process the implications. “What exactly do I need to do?”

Jessica leaned forward, her expression serious. “I need you to gather evidence, interview key witnesses, and build a defense strategy. You’ll have to dig deep, and it may involve getting information that’s tightly held. It’s going to be challenging, but I believe you can handle it.”

Your heart raced as you considered the weight of the task ahead. “But working against Harvey—”

“I know it’s complicated,” she interrupted, her tone softening slightly. “But this isn’t personal. It’s about doing what’s right for our client. And if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words. “Okay, I’ll do it,” you said, though uncertainty hung in your throat.

"Good. I’ll brief you on the details and put you in touch with our investigators,” Jessica said, already pulling up the case files on her computer.

You nodded, steeling yourself for what was to come, knowing you were about to step into a conflict that could change everything.

You returned to your desk, feeling a mix of determination and anxiety swirling within you.

You opened the case files Jessica had given you and immersed yourself in the details, focusing on the accusations of fraud and the evidence against the client. With each page you turned, the weight of the situation pressed down harder, but you pushed through, reminding yourself that you had a job to do.

As the hours passed, you stole glances at Harvey’s office, half-expecting him to come out and greet you with his usual confidence. But he was deeply engrossed in his own work, the door mostly closed, leaving you to your thoughts. You didn’t have the courage to approach him, not when you were about to undermine everything he was working on.

You were on opposite sides now, and that realization stung more than you expected.

Lunchtime came and went, and you barely noticed as you powered through your research. The few times you encountered Mike, he greeted you.

By the time the clock struck six, you had gathered a solid amount of information but felt drained from the emotional toll. You stood up, stretching and rubbing your neck, ready to head out for the day. Just as you were about to grab your things, you looked over to Harvey’s office one last time.

He was still there, leaning over his desk, completely focused on his work. A small part of you wanted to go in, to say something, but you hesitated, knowing you couldn’t. Instead, you sighed softly and walked toward the exit, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders.

As you left the office, the snowy streets greeted you once again, but this time, it felt different. The magic of the snowflakes didn’t reach you the way it had the night before.

Days passed, each one feeling heavier than the last. You worked diligently on the case Jessica assigned you, but every time you passed Harvey’s office, your stomach twisted with guilt. He was busy with his own cases, and you were careful to avoid him.

Finally, one evening, the office was quiet. Most of the staff had gone home, and you were focused on your work, buried in documents, when you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. You looked up just in time to see Harvey standing in front of your desk, arms crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you replied, feeling your heart race as you tried to maintain your composure. You stand up and look at him.

"You’ve been avoiding me for days,” he said, his tone sharper than usual. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ve just been busy with my new case,” you said, hoping it would suffice.

“Busy? That’s it?” He stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “You don’t just ignore someone like this without a reason. What’s really going on?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you couldn’t keep avoiding it. “I… I’m working against your client, Harvey. Jessica put me on the fraud case,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression shifted, the anger giving way to disbelief. “What do you mean? You’re working against me?”

“I didn’t want to!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling over. “Jessica needed someone to take the case, and she thought I could handle it. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“By completely avoiding me?” he shot back, his voice rising. “That’s not how this works! We’re supposed to be a team, and you’ve turned your back on me.”

You felt your heart race, anger flaring in response to his accusation. “I didn’t turn my back on you! I was trying to protect you! I thought it would be easier if I just stayed away.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away before turning back to you, frustration etched across his face. “Easier for who? Because it’s not easier for me, standing here wondering why the hell you won’t talk to me. I thought we had each other’s backs, no matter what.”

“We do!” you argued, your voice rising as the tension crackled in the air. “But this situation is complicated. I didn’t want to create conflict between us. I thought if I just kept my head down, it would be less messy.”

His eyes softened slightly, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “Less messy? This is a mess. You should have come to me, talked to me. Instead, you chose to shut me out. Do you even understand how that feels?”

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of guilt crashing over you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it on my own. I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

He stepped closer again, his voice low and heated. “You think this is just business for me? You think I can separate this from everything else? I care about you, and it hurts when you act like I don’t matter.”

“Maybe we both need some space,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper, feeling the weight of those words settle between you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied, his eyes searching yours as if looking for an answer neither of you could find.

As he stepped back, the moment fractured, leaving a lingering ache in the air. You knew this was far from over, and the unspoken feelings hung like a storm cloud, threatening to burst at any moment.

To be continued ...

[dalton344]

Could you please write an imagine based on the episode where Greg House gives a lecture about the three cases and he's one of them (where we first see Stacy).

Reader is one of the students there, gives the correct answers, therefore grabs his attention and he offers a job and they end up dating

Thanks in advance!

chasing you ✩ gregory house

“What color is your pee?”

You watched House interrogate one of the few students that had been giving input on his three stories.

“Yellow,” she replied with a sharp tone.

“And what color is your blood?”

“Red.”

House nodded. “Yes. And what colors did I use to make this tea color?”

The female student stammers as she replies with “red, yellow, and brown.”

The man clicks his tongue. “And brown. How do we get the brown color?”

“Waste-“

“Thank means the kidneys are shutting down,” House cut in. “Why?”

“Could be damage done by the self injection. He has no history of trauma.

“Treatment?”

House’s rapidfire questions had rattled the woman, but she stiller answered. “Heat and rest-“

“Other possible causes?”

“Infection.”

House nodded. “Start him on antibiotics. What else?”

Silence filled the room. House looked around, expecting an answer. “Come on! What is it?”

“I-I don’t know,” the student admits. She looks away.

House sighs and walks down the steps. The paper with the tea color crumpled in his hand.

“You know, it’s hard to think with you in our faces,” starts the annoying student right up front.

“Yeah?” House scoffs. “You think it’s gonna be any easier with a real patient really dying?”

The guy looked down. Once again, silence reigned over the room as House prepared himself to speak. Until… you opened your mouth.

“The unknown factor would be muscle death.”

House looks up. Near the back of the auditorium by the window on the far left. A student House originally thought was uninterested. Sure, House had seen you around the hospital- practically every wide-eyed intern or student had met the witty man but he had never spoken to you.

Which was odd considering he took a little joy in making the interns and students squirm- especially the pretty ones. House was surprised he’d never even caught your name.

When House’s mouth opened and closed twice, you resumed carefully. “The dying muscle leaks myoglobin which is toxic to the kidneys. There’s your brown, Doctor.”

“Brilliant,” House murmured. He eyed you carefully as he went on. “MRI the leg. See what’s killing it.”

The Heath Ledger dupe spoke up again. “Why is the girl getting the MRI?”

“Because the neck skan revealed nothing and her doctor’s way more obsessive than she thinks she is.”

Heath tilted his head. “But you said the guy needed the MRI.”

“Because the mysteriously smart girl over there said muscle death. Not one of you came up with that. Not one of this guy’s doctors came up with it either,” he replied harshly. “They gave him bed rest and antibiotics- just like you guys would’ve.”

“Does he get better?” The female student from before asked.

House clicks his tongue. “No.”

“How long-“

“Three days.” He looks around the room, stalling when he made eye contact with you. “It is in the nature of medicine that you’re going to screw up. You are going to kill someone. If you can’t handle that reality, pick a new profession. Or finish medical school and teach.”

The female student from before spoke up. “It took three days for them to figure out about the muscle death?”

House shook his head. After heaving a sigh he answers “No, it took three days for the patient to suggest muscle death.”

“What caused the muscle pain?” You asked. “Was it- was it a clot?”

House nodded. “Don’t steal my thunder, young padawan. But… yes. A clotted aneurysm lead to an infarction in the patient’s leg.”

You nodded as House examined you intently as he went on. “After the surgery to remove the clot, the patient went in to wide complex tachycardia… The patient was technically dead for over a minute.”

“Do you think he was dead? Do you think those experiences were real?”

Every head in the room turned to the back. There stood James Wilson, leaning on the door. He looked knowingly at House, like he knew something everyone didn’t.

“Define real,” House shot back. “They were re experiences… What they meant- personally, I choose to believe that the white light people sometimes see, visions this patient saw… They’re all just chemical reactions that happen when the brain shuts down.”

“You ‘choose’ to believe that?” You ask curiously.

House’s eyes dart back over to you. “There’s no conclusive science. My choice has no practical relevance to my life,” he replies. As he starts to pace slowly around the front of the room, he proceeds. “I choose the outcome I find more comforting.”

“You find it comforting to believe that this is it?” Wilson asks accusingly.

House blinks. “I find it more comforting to believe that this isn’t simply a test.”

Everyone sat, listening closely to House’s every word. No other sounds could be heard despite House’s cane movement. He explained how, once the patient was put into a medically induced coma, his trusted proxy had made the decision to remove the dead muscle from his leg.

“Because of the extent of the muscle removed, the utility of the patient’s leg was severely compromised,” he told everyone slowly. “Because of the time delay in making the diagnosis, the patient continues to suffer chronic pain.” He tilted his head up to look at the crowd in front of him and then dropped his head to look at his hands.

“She had no right to do that,” piped up a different female student.

Heath Ledger look-alike scoffed. “She had the proxy.”

The woman argued back, “She knew he didn’t want the surgery!”

“Well, she saved his life,” Heath Ledger responded.

“We don’t know that,” the guy in the front row cut in. “Maybe he would’ve been fine.”

“Still, it’s the patient’s call!”

Heath Ledger shrugged. “Patient’s an idiot.”

“They usually are,” House agreed. “Do you have a buzzer? What time does this class end?”

This time, a mew voice answered House’s question. “20 minutes ago.”

For a moment, House looked at Cuddy with an unreadable expression. Then he clicked his tongue and stood up. “I’m not doing this again,” he informed Cuddy. “And this guy is not the world’s greatest dad- not even ranked. Who the hell let’s their kids play with lead based paint? That’s why he’s always sick. Find him some plastic cups and the class is all his again,” he told Cuddy, placing the yellow hand-painted mug in her hands. He started to walk out, but paused and hobbled back to point his cane directly at you. “Except you. Come with me.”

With haste, you gathered you books and writing utensils and shoved them into your bag. As you followed the limping man out of the classroom, you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

“I have a job for you if you want it,” House tell you finally, stopping in front of a door. “It’s tough, people lie to you every day, and we don’t even have decent coffee.”

You look from him to the door that reads ‘Gregory House M.D. - Head of Diagnostic Medicine’. “I have literally spoken to you three times. How do you know I won’t accept the job, wait until you trust me, and then steal all your money and leave?”

House paused. “Good question. Will you accept the job, wait until I trust you, and then steal all my money and leave?”

“Probably not,” you reply.

“Great!” House exclaims. “You’re hired.”

Over the course of the next few month, you had clicked immediately with Chase. You spoke passionately about different types of literature with Cameron, and joked with Foreman about anything and everything.

Your relationship with House was complicated to say the least. During your first official case, House insisted he followed you everywhere. You more than understood his hesitance to let you do tests completely on your own. But when he limped around, tracking you like a damn dog… you wondered why he still hadn’t trusted you enough.

To your fortune, Wilson had cornered you in the cafeteria as you were getting lunch. “We need to talk,” he had said before plopping down next to you.

You paused, looking up from your cafeteria spaghetti. “About what?”

“House.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Wilson looked at you with an expectant expression. “Because I want to know what you said. Duh.”

“I think I’m missing something,” you told him. “What was I supposed to say to him? What was he supposed to say to me?”

Wilson dropped his silverware. “Are you serious? He didn’t- You don’t- What?”

“I’m lost here, Wilson,” you tell him.

Wilson looks around suspiciously before licking his lips. “So… you know how the medical gala is coming up?”

Nodding, you shove a forkful of noodles in your mouth. “Chase won’t shut up about seeing ‘all the hot babes in tight dresses’ or something,” you inform Wilson.

After guffawing over your imitation of Chase’s accent, he gets serious. “It’s in a week. Are you sure he hasn’t talked to you?”

You throw your hands up and sigh. “Just spit it out already, Wilson. I feel like a high schooler trying to get my friends tell me who they have a cute little crush on. Tell me or I’m gonna pop a blood vessel!”

Wilson looks away. “I can’t. I’m scared of House.”

With that, he picks up his tray and goes to leave.

“Bye bye, Willie!” You call.

James turns and glares at you before walking out of the room. You chuckle and attempt to finish your meal before your beeper will inevitably go off.

You just start chowing down on the garlic bread (read: bread with butter and garlic) when you hear the dreaded beeping. You bite off a large chunk of the bread and dump your tray before reading the ‘MY OFFICE- EMERGENCY’ that was from House.

When you finally pushed open the door, you saw House facing the window outside.

“Is our patient with the living?” You ask, taking a step towards House.

House doesn’t turn around. “I need you to go to the winter gala thing with me.”

You stiffen up. Throughout your whole body, your muscles tighten as your freeze midstep. Your face drains of blood and your heart feels like it just dropped into your stomach and was dissolved by the acid. Bile had just started rising up your esophagus when House turns.

“Don’t look so excited,” he insists sarcastically. “But seriously. Why are you looking at me like I have a tumor growing out of my eyeball?”

“No,” you mutter raspily. “Take Cameron.”

House’s eyebrows furrow as you turn on your heel and start to leave.

“Why won’t you go with me?”

You gnaw deeply at your lip as you turn. To your surprise, House was standing- watching you leave without his cane in his hand. “Go with Cameron,” you say again. “I don’t- I’m- No. Just no.”

“Y/n, why-“

You practically run out the door before Greg can even say your name. He stands by his desk, staring intently at the ground where you just stood. “Hm,” he hums. He sighs and thinks about what to say to you next.

The next three days consist of House trying and failing to speak to you. To his own surprise, you have completely stopped talking about personal matters with him and have withdrawn any of your own opinions except for facts having to do with the patient.

House had just finished off another bottle of pills when Foreman barged into the room. “What did you say?”

House blinks. “Uhh… to who? Where? When?”

“To y/n, House. What did you say to y/n?”

“I told her that I needed her to go to the winter gala with me,” House answered truthfully. “Why? Has she said anything to you?”

Foreman flops down in the chair facing House. “Do you like her?”

“Well, I hired her, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, House,” Foreman snaps. “Answer me. Do you like her?”

A moment of silence fills the air. House thinks back to the first time he interacted with you- how confidently you completely the puzzle that certified doctor’s couldn’t figure out. How you had matched House’s wit on your very first day. How you- despite being babysat- had completed every test and blood swab and every challenge House had put in your way. How your face often spoke before you did, how House unconsciously searched for you in a crowd, how House looked for your input after almost anything is said, how House wants your company.

“No,” he answers. “Yes. Maybe. Why?”

Foreman looks at House like he’s stupid. “Because she likes you! How have you not figured that out?!”

“Uh, maybe because of the fact that she seemed to want to projectile vomit all over me and then sprinted out of the room? Sorry, I was too focused on the horror in her eyes to consider the fact that y/n really wants that enemies to lovers trope in real life,” House rambled.

“She thinks you’re gonna make a fool out of her, House, and I think you are too,” Foreman answers. He stares at House, searching for information he won’t get. “But… you’re less abrasive when she’s around.”

“You’re acting like she’s your precious little baby sister about to be wed to an evil ogre in the woods,” Greg mutters.

Nodding, Foreman quirked his eyebrows. “I feel like I am.”

House looks at Foreman for a long moment. “Why did you come here to tell me this?”

Eric heaves out a sigh heavy enough to know down an elephant. “Because she wants you to mean it. Y/n wants you to want her. To show her that you want her.”

“I see.”

Foreman nodded. “Don’t tell her I conversed with the enemy.”

Greg scoffed. “As if she’d voluntarily talk to me.”

Eric’s face turned sympathetic. “Just talk to her. Show her this isn’t some whim to- I don’t know, win a bet against Cuddy. Show her you feel the same.”

It was the day of the gala when House found you testing a patient’s blood. You whispered lyrics to a song Greg didn’t know as he stealthily approached you.

“Y/n.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a weird choking noise as you leapt back. “Christ, House!”

“Sorry,” House said with a very unapologetic tone. “I want to talk to you.”

“About what?” You ask plainly, looking through the low power lens of the microscope.

House leans on the table as you adjust the stage. “About… the dance. Tonight.”

You adjust the fine adjustment knob slowly, clicking your tongue unconciously. “What do you have to tell me?”

Greg looks around the lab awkwardly. He silently tried to encourage himself, mentally recalling the nights before, thinking about what to say to you. “I want to formally ask you to go to the gala with me.”

You stand at full height, facing him directly. House held his breath. He was so close to you, he thought he felt your breath on his face. “I don’t want to go. With you, Cameron, Chase, or Foreman. I don’t want to go.”

“Why?” House asked immediately.

You shake your head. “I’m-These things never go well for me House. Besides, you could just go with Cameron. I know she’s dying to go with you.”

House watches you watch him. “I don’t want to go to Cameron. I want to go with you,” he admits lowly.

“And why do you want to go with me?”

House pauses to see your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips- so fast that he almost didn’t notice. “Because I don’t like her the way I like you.’’

You swallow. “How do you like me, House?”

“Like this,” he tells you before dropping his cane and grabbing your waist. Hearing no complaints from you, Greg pulls you close to him and brings his face close to yours. At this point, House swears his vision is blurred by how fast his heart his pumping. House’s hold on your waist is possessive, protective. He hesitates, hoping you won’t reject him now.

You- thankfully- understand the words House is trying to tell you through his eyes. You carefully let your hand cup the nape of House’s neck and pull his lips down to yours. A breathless moan escapes your lips as Greg pulls you flush against him.

House’s head- for once- is silent. And his leg doesn’t seem to hurt quite so bad with your hands on his body: feeling him like he’s only dreamt about before.

And then- when you do pull back- House keeps his grip on your waist as he looks you in the eyes. “I want to go to the gala with you. If you don’t have a dress, then we can just go home.”

Your flushed lips pull into a dazed smile. “How much cleavage do you want to see?”

House groans and lets his head fall back as his eyes close. “As long as I can take it off tonight and any other day I don’t care.”

“Is that- Are you- Are you hinting at commitment? Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?”

House guffaws sarcastically. “Careful, there. I could get you fired.”

You just laugh. “Yeah, and have the others bicker like siblings and let patients almost die thrice before diagnosing them? I don’t think so.”

“You know, you have a pretty big ego for someone who hasn’t worked here for a full year, yet,” House chides.

Scoffing, you attempt to return to the blood you were looking at before House interrupted you. “First of all, you would know about egos. Second of all, I’m good. Cuddy has spoken to me… about other positions,” you tell him vaguely.

House is taken so off guard, his arms go limp. “What?”

“Nothing I accepted,” you answer, turning back to the microscope.

House just hums. “Good.”

You murmur a quiet ‘good’ in reply. “I know how to cure this guy,” you breathe quietly. With a growing smile, you take the slide off the stage and turn off the microscope before discarding the bio-waste.

House struggled to keep up with how fast you were walking, but your kiss had definitely left him chasing you- literally and figuratively.

[dalton344]

Can you write for me Amnesia trope from Marvel Bingo with Tony/Fem reader? Tony is a little injured after a mission and he loses his memory, when reader is going to see him (wife or girlfriend) he won't recognize her but he'll immediately fall for her all over again 🥺 she thinks it's absolutely cute that he didn't recognize her but soon he'll recover his memory and blush so hard when reader shows him his videos of him all smitten by her hahahaha ❤️ and Tony saying he'll alwyas fall for her 🥺 (some spicy kisse maybe?)

ALWAYS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Because of an injury Tony temporarily loses his memories of you, his wife, and you're determined to make him gain them back. Do you really need to do so when he has already fallen back in love with you?

ᯓ★ TW(s): memory loss and clingy Tony

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The beeping. It’s the first thing you notice when you step into the hospital room—the insistent, steady beep of the heart monitor that Tony’s hooked up to. It’s steady, strong, and for that, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The smell of antiseptic stings your nose, reminding you that, despite Tony's resilience, he's as vulnerable as any of them in situations like these.

The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t see coming. Stark Industries had developed tech that a rival group decided they wanted to “borrow”—forcefully. What was supposed to be a simple extraction turned into a messy firefight. But, like always, Tony had pushed you to evacuate, promising he’d be right behind you. Instead, an explosion threw him from his suit, leaving him vulnerable to the final assault. He had barely gotten out before going down hard.

Now, you’re here, nerves raw and trembling as you hover by the doorway, watching him.

Tony is sitting up, but he seems…distant. Disoriented, maybe. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he’s trying to make sense of something in the middle distance. It’s unnerving because you’re used to a Tony whose attention burns, even when he’s exhausted, half-buried in his lab, or just waking up. He sees everything.

But not this time. And for some reason, he doesn’t see you.

“Mrs. Stark?”

You turn as the doctor enters, offering you a sympathetic look. It’s a look that’s meant to ease you into news you know you don’t want to hear.

“Is he…awake?”

The doctor nods, gesturing you toward the chair by Tony’s bed. “He’s stable. His vitals are strong. The issue, Mrs. Stark, is that there appears to be some level of memory loss.”

The words clang in your ears, foreign and cold, completely out of place in the world you’ve built with Tony. “What do you mean by ‘memory loss’?”

She sighs, glancing at Tony before she speaks. “Memory loss is complicated. From what I’ve gathered, Mr. Stark has retained his long-term memories and most of his professional knowledge. But, due to the trauma and subsequent disorientation, there’s a block on more recent events…particularly in his personal life.”

Your stomach drops, and you take a deep breath, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t remember me, does he?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says softly. “In many cases, memories return with time and familiar cues. Given Mr. Stark’s particular cognitive resilience, I have high hopes for recovery. But until then, he may…struggle with recognition and personal connections.”

You nod slowly, trying to take it all in. In all the battles, the missions, the threats, this is somehow scarier. Because it’s not just his body that’s wounded; it’s your life together that’s fractured.

When the doctor leaves, you take a step forward, but your feet feel leaden, hesitant. And for once, you don’t know what to say. This isn’t just Tony after a rough mission. This is your husband, and he doesn’t know you.

Finally, you muster the courage and approach the bed, offering him a soft, tentative smile. “Hey there, stranger.”

He looks up, his gaze sharp but confused, and something in his eyes flickers with a shade of recognition—a spark that leaves you hoping. But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“Do I, uh, know you?” His tone is polite, curious, but there’s a guardedness to it, as if he’s unsure if he’s supposed to recognize you. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart over you, taking you in, and a pang of sadness tugs at your heart as you realize he’s assessing you the way he might a stranger.

You laugh softly, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You could say that. I’m…” You hesitate, wondering if it’s too much to say it outright, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I’m your wife.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he stares at you, stunned. “My wife?”

“Yes.” You smile, more gently this time, as though that will ease him into the idea. “For almost three years now.”

Tony blinks, and you can see his mind racing, struggling to process this unexpected piece of information. He gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I…you’re telling me I’m married to you?”

His shock is genuine, and for a moment, a bubble of laughter escapes you. It’s that classic Tony Stark reaction—equal parts disbelief and awe, as if he can’t quite believe his good luck.

“Yes,” you say again, and this time, there’s a hint of amusement in your voice. “You managed to convince me somehow.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a lopsided grin that’s both endearing and achingly familiar. “Wow. I must be one hell of a salesman.”

“Oh, you are.” The laughter fades from your voice as you take a step closer, unable to resist the need to be nearer to him, even if he doesn’t remember you right now. “You’re the best.”

For a moment, he studies you, his gaze flickering with something like curiosity, maybe even admiration. It’s a glimmer of the old Tony, the man who made you feel like the only person in the room, no matter the crowd or chaos. But here, with him looking at you as a stranger might, there’s something raw and beautiful about it, too. He’s falling in love with you all over again, right in front of your eyes.

“Well, I guess I should feel lucky,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “If you’re half as amazing as you look, then…yeah. Lucky guy.”

The words make your heart flutter, and despite everything, you feel a warmth spread through you, easing the tightness in your chest. He’s still Tony, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Want to know a little about us?” you ask, hoping that maybe, somehow, it will trigger something—some hidden memory or spark of recognition.

He nods, settling back against the pillow. “Please. Enlighten me. I’m curious how a guy like me managed to marry someone like you.”

“Well,” you start, a smile tugging at your lips as you pull up a chair beside him. “For starters, we didn’t exactly get along at first.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Did I say something to offend you?”

“You…may have.” You grin, remembering the banter, the stubborn disagreements, the sparks that seemed to ignite every time you were in a room together. “You were cocky, stubborn, a little arrogant.”

He chuckles. “That sounds about right.”

“But somehow,” you continue, your voice softening, “you managed to break down all my walls. You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered, even if you acted like you were just being yourself.”

His gaze lingers on you, and there’s a warmth there, something cautious but undeniably present. “I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”

“Don’t be.” You place a gentle hand over his, feeling the faint warmth of his skin against yours. It’s a familiar gesture, one you’ve done a thousand times before, but this time, it feels different—new, almost shy. “You’ll remember. And until you do, we’ll make new memories. Starting right now.”

He looks down at your hand on his, and you can see the faintest flush of color in his cheeks. For a man who’s usually so sure of himself, so confident in every move he makes, it’s endearing to see him look almost…nervous.

“So, tell me more about this…our life,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s trying to hold onto the pieces he has left.

“Well,” you say, smiling as you think of the little things that make up your life together. “We spend a lot of time in the lab together, actually. Even if you’re always tinkering, working on some new project, you always have time for me.”

“Do I? Sounds like a good husband.” There’s a touch of pride in his voice, and it makes your heart ache a little—because he doesn’t even know the half of it yet.

“A very good husband,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with all the love you feel for him. “The best.”

And there it is—that flicker in his eyes, like he’s starting to see it, to feel it. It’s as if, for just a moment, he knows you, feels that connection.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “For being here. For…all of this.”

You squeeze his hand gently, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. “You’re my husband, Tony. I’d do anything for you.”

And as you sit there, hands entwined, you realize that even if he has to fall in love with you all over again, you’ll be right here, waiting.

The drive back from the hospital is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Tony stares out the window, taking in the blur of city lights as you weave through the streets toward your shared home. Occasionally, you catch him glancing at you, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief, as if he’s still wrapping his head around the idea that you’re his wife, that he’s returning to a life he doesn’t remember but that he somehow…wants.

When you finally pull into the long driveway leading up to your home, his eyebrows shoot up. Stark Tower looms ahead, its sleek, modern design stark against the night sky. The iconic "STARK" sign gleams with familiar grandeur. He lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, too—something like pride.

“So, this is…our place?” he asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Well, your place, technically. But I’ve definitely made it my own.”

Tony chuckles, the sound low and warm, and you’re reminded of all the times he’s teased you about “taking over” his tower with touches of your personality: the cozy reading nook in his office, the garden on the roof you insisted on installing, even the art pieces scattered throughout the building. And despite his teasing, he’d always seemed proud of how much of yourself you’d poured into his space.

“Well,” he says, stepping out of the car, “if you’re half as great at interior design as you are at, uh, marrying billionaires, I think I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you say with a playful smirk as you lead him inside.

The entryway is a testament to the sleek, modern style Tony’s known for—polished floors, clean lines, an air of sophistication mixed with warmth. But there are little touches here and there that mark it as your home too: framed photos from the missions you’ve tackled together, a throw blanket draped over the couch, even a small shelf of books beside the entrance to the main living area.

Tony follows you, his gaze flitting over each detail with that trademark Stark intensity, taking it all in as if he’s studying a new project. When his eyes land on a photo of the two of you at a beach, he pauses. You remember that day so vividly: you were laughing, caught in a candid moment as he held you close, your hair whipped by the wind.

“Is that…us?” he asks, a softness in his voice that tugs at your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping closer to him. “A couple of years ago. We were on a vacation you forced me to take.”

“I forced you?” he repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “Was I…was I that difficult?”

“Only a little,” you tease, nudging him gently. “You hated the idea of not working for a few days. But we made the best of it.”

His lips curve into a small smile as he stares at the photo a moment longer before turning his gaze back to you. “I look…happy. Really happy.”

“You were,” you say softly. “We both were.”

He swallows, his gaze lingering on you, and for a moment, you can almost feel the weight of all the memories he’s lost. But there’s a warmth in his eyes, a flicker of something that feels like a connection—even if it’s new to him.

You clear your throat and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

You lead him down the hall, pointing out the various rooms, each one filled with a mix of his tech and your touches: the library with shelves overflowing with both your favorite books, the small lounge you use for watching movies together, and finally, your bedroom.

When you open the door, he stands in the doorway, taking it in. The room is a blend of Tony’s sophisticated taste and your own comfortable style, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the neatly made bed, the nightstand stacked with a few of Tony’s reading materials, and the little tray of lotions and skincare items you keep on your side.

“This…feels nice,” he murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the room. He takes a step inside, running a hand over the bedspread, almost as if testing its texture. “I don’t know why, but I feel…calm here.”

You smile, moving to stand beside him. “It’s our space. Your favorite spot after a long day, whether you’d admit it or not. You always said it’s the one place that lets you truly relax.”

He chuckles, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, well, if you say so. I…believe you.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and you can feel the weight of the day settling over both of you. He’s exhausted, and so are you.

“Do you…want to rest?” you ask, realizing he might be overwhelmed with all of this new information.

“Actually, I think I’d like to keep looking around,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I just…don’t want to miss anything. It feels like I’ve lost a huge chunk of my life, and I want to piece it together, however I can.”

You nod, understanding. You feel a pang of sadness but try to hide it. “Well, I’ll be here. We can take it slow. One room at a time.”

Together, you move back down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen next. Tony’s gaze catches on the coffee maker, and he raises his eyebrows with a look of genuine excitement. “Please tell me I still drink coffee.”

You laugh, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Oh, you drink enough coffee to fuel a small army. In fact…” You open a cabinet, revealing an impressive array of coffee beans, grounds, and Tony’s prized espresso machine. “You’re particular about it. You like to experiment.”

He nods, visibly impressed. “I see I have good taste. I’d like to think I’m a genius when it comes to coffee.”

“Among other things,” you reply, grinning as you start to brew a fresh pot, the familiar hum of the machine filling the room.

As the coffee brews, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with that spark of interest you remember so well. But now, it feels new, raw, as if he’s falling for you all over again and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes, “you said we didn’t get along at first. How did I change your mind?”

You chuckle, handing him a mug and savoring the warmth as you lean back against the counter beside him. “It wasn’t any one thing. You…surprised me. I kept expecting you to be this arrogant genius with no time for anyone, but then you started showing up at my door with random inventions, making coffee runs at three a.m. with me, and bringing me little gifts from your travels.” You smile, remembering each moment as if it’s engraved in your memory. “You just…wore me down, I guess.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, mulling over your words, and you see the warmth in his expression, a flicker of understanding, even if it’s only a shadow of his former self.

“Well, then,” he says, his tone soft, “I’m glad I wore you down.”

His words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen feels smaller, more intimate, filled with a sense of closeness that’s been there since the moment you met but now feels refreshingly new.

Tony shifts his weight, looking suddenly unsure. “So…do I get to sleep in our bed tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling a little as you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you walk back to the bedroom together, side by side, you feel a quiet sense of peace settle over you. Tony might not remember you—at least not yet—but he’s here, and he’s yours, and somehow, you’ll find a way to rebuild together.

You slip into bed, settling under the covers, and Tony follows suit, lying beside you with a soft sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches over, his hand brushing against yours beneath the covers. You entwine your fingers with his, and even though he doesn’t remember the countless nights you’ve fallen asleep like this, it feels natural.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you murmur back, your heart swelling with hope.

As the city lights outside cast a gentle glow across the room, you lie there, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of him beside you. And for the first time since the accident, you feel a flicker of reassurance.

The days start to blur together in a rhythm that feels both familiar and new. Tony’s memory isn’t coming back all at once, but he’s recovering it in little flashes, bits and pieces of who he used to be, of who you are to each other. And even though some of these memories are fleeting, almost insignificant, they build something solid between you—something that’s real and growing stronger with every passing moment.

It begins with breakfast one morning.

You’re standing at the stove, cooking eggs and listening to Tony talk about his latest gadget idea. He’s been getting back into work, tinkering here and there in the lab, and he always comes out in the morning with some grand plan or concept. It’s one of the things you’ve missed most—his enthusiasm, his endless curiosity, the way he lights up when he talks about creating something new. You smile, flipping the eggs onto plates and setting them on the counter.

“You know, I don’t think I ever realized how much you put up with me,” he says, leaning against the counter with that lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “All my late nights, random ideas, and, uh, probably a few accidental explosions.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you hand him his plate. “Oh, trust me, I’ve put up with plenty. But you make it worth it.”

He takes a bite, nodding as though savoring the taste. “You know…this feels familiar,” he says after a moment, frowning slightly. “Mornings like this. I used to sit here and watch you cook, didn’t I?”

“Every morning you didn’t have your face buried in a new project,” you reply softly, watching him carefully.

He pauses, that spark of recognition in his eyes growing, as if he’s trying to hold onto the memory, to make it solid. And then he’s looking at you, really looking at you, with a tenderness that feels almost shy. It’s a vulnerability you rarely see from Tony, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

“I think I remember something else,” he murmurs, stepping around the counter to stand in front of you. “I remember sitting here and…thinking about how lucky I was.”

Your breath catches as he reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch is tentative, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Tony…” you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that’s both familiar and electrifying, like he’s rediscovering you for the first time. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer as his mouth moves against yours, slow and intense, like he’s savoring every second. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, filled with something that looks like a mix of wonder and awe.

“I don’t remember everything,” he says softly, his voice rough, “but I don’t think I need to. This feels right.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “It is right,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him again.

The memory flashes continue over the next few days, each one bringing him closer to the person he used to be. They’re small, fleeting things—a song that triggers a faint memory of a dance in the living room, the scent of his cologne reminding him of the night you first told him you loved him. Each one brings with it a sense of déjà vu, a feeling that tugs at his heart and pulls him closer to you.

One evening, you’re both sitting on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as you watch a movie together. It’s an old favorite, something you’ve watched countless times, and Tony seems to relax into the familiarity of it. His hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your thigh, and you can feel his warmth, his closeness, and it makes you feel grounded, steady.

Suddenly, he chuckles, looking down at your legs. “I remember this. You used to do this all the time. You’d kick off your shoes and practically sprawl across the couch.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “And you used to pretend to be annoyed, even though you secretly loved it.”

He raises an eyebrow, that playful smirk you know so well tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure I did.”

You shift, leaning closer to him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, his eyes filled with both affection and curiosity, that makes you feel bold, like you’re rediscovering each other in a way that’s fresh and exhilarating.

“Can I tell you something?” you murmur, your voice soft.

“Anything,” he says, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“When we first met, I thought you were this…impossible genius with no time for anyone,” you confess, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “But then you’d look at me like this, with this softness, like I was the only person in the world.”

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe you are.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, capturing you in a kiss that’s anything but shy. It’s slow and deep, his hands sliding up your back as he pulls you into him, your bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly. His kisses are gentle yet intense, each one leaving you breathless, as if he’s trying to make up for all the lost time, all the memories he doesn’t yet have but that you both feel so deeply.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing. He smiles, that teasing glint in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why do I feel like I’ve kissed you a million times?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “Like I can’t get enough?”

“Maybe because you have,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. “And I’ll never get enough of you, either.”

He chuckles, a sound that’s warm and filled with affection as he kisses you again, softer this time, more lingering, like he’s savoring every second. His lips move slowly over yours, his hands gentle as they cradle your face, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you, the way you fit together.

Over the next few days, the memories come more frequently, little fragments of your life that make him pause, that bring a flicker of recognition to his eyes. Sometimes it’s just a look he gives you, a soft smile that feels so familiar it makes your heart ache. Other times, it’s a touch—a hand on your back, a gentle brush of his fingers against yours—that reminds you of all the little ways he’s shown his love over the years.

And every time he remembers something, he falls in love with you a little more.

One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you reach over to turn off the light, but Tony stops you, his hand catching yours. He turns to you, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

“I might not remember everything yet,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but I know that I love you. I don’t need memories to know that.”

You feel a lump in your throat, a warmth spreading through you that’s both comforting and thrilling. “I love you, too, Tony,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “No matter what. I always have, and I always will.”

His smile is tender, filled with a gratitude that makes you realize just how lucky you both are, how strong this connection is between you. He leans in, kissing you with a softness that melts away all the uncertainty, all the fear that’s lingered since the accident.

And as you lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this isn’t just a return to the life you had before. It’s something new, something deeper and more meaningful, a love that’s growing stronger every day. It’s a love that doesn’t need memories to survive because it’s written into every touch, every glance, every kiss you share.

The morning Tony’s memories come flooding back, it feels both surreal and inevitable. He wakes up beside you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he turns to look at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, relief, and something deeper—something vulnerable. When he speaks, his voice is low, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell.

“I remember everything,” he murmurs, his hand finding yours beneath the covers. His thumb traces gentle patterns on your knuckles, as though he’s grounding himself in the reality of the present. “Every detail, every moment. I remember…you.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to spill over, smiling as you reach up to cup his face. “You’re really back,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I missed you.”

He gives a soft laugh, his hand covering yours as he presses his forehead to yours. “You never really lost me, you know? And I… I missed you, too. Even when I didn’t remember all of it, I knew. I knew you were everything to me. I'd always fall for you.”

You fall into his arms, both of you holding each other tightly, like you’re afraid to let go. And in that embrace, you feel the weight of all those lost days lift, leaving only a warmth that radiates between you. He’s here, fully, and the two of you are whole again.

Later, you’re curled up on the couch together, a blanket draped over both of you, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as you cuddle into his side. You’ve both been talking, recounting memories, laughing at the more amusing fragments that came back to him in flashes. And then, an idea strikes you.

“Tony,” you say, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin, “there’s something you need to see.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, really? And what might that be?”

You grab your phone from the coffee table, pulling up a series of videos you took during his days without memories. Each one holds moments that, at the time, you’d been scared would be all you had left—little fragments of his affection, of the new ways he showed his love for you while he was rediscovering himself.

“Brace yourself,” you say, hitting play on the first video.

In it, Tony is sitting across from you at the kitchen table, his eyes sleepy and his hair a mess. He’s holding a mug of coffee, and he looks up at you with the softest, most adoring expression, blinking slowly like he can barely believe you’re real. “You’re so pretty,” he says, his voice a murmur, his gaze fixed on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world. “How did I get so lucky?”

The Tony beside you lets out a surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever looked that…well, cuddly before.”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning,” you say, grinning as you play the next video.

This one shows him lying on the couch, his head in your lap as you’re reading a book. He’s practically burrowed into you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried against your stomach. Every now and then, he looks up at you with these wide, affectionate eyes, and even without memories, he’s the picture of absolute adoration.

“Is that…me?” Tony asks, a touch of disbelief in his voice as he watches himself look up at you like that. “I’m like a…like a giant puppy.”

“Oh, you were,” you laugh, rubbing his arm affectionately. “I have so many videos like this. You’d barely let me out of your sight. I think losing your memories made you even clingier.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he pulls you closer. “Well, can you blame me? I mean, look at you. Not remembering you was bad enough—I guess I was just making sure I didn’t forget you again.”

The next video is of him in bed, lying half-asleep with his arm stretched out, reaching for you. His voice, groggy and low, calls your name softly, and you hear yourself laugh from behind the camera as you step into view. When you do, he pulls you into the bed, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go. He sighs in contentment, pressing his lips to your forehead and murmuring something unintelligible, and even watching it now, you feel that familiar warmth spread through your chest.

Tony, watching beside you, is silent for a long moment, his gaze softened as he watches himself cling to you like that. When the video ends, he turns to you, a tenderness in his expression that takes your breath away.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember you,” he whispers, his fingers brushing your cheek. “But even when I couldn’t…I needed you.”

You place a hand over his, smiling softly. “I think a part of you did remember, in a way. You were still you—maybe a little cuddlier than usual,” you tease, “but you were still you.”

His lips curve into a playful grin. “So, I was clingy, huh? Was I any good at it?”

“Oh, you were very good at it,” you say, laughter bubbling up. “I mean, I kind of got used to waking up with you practically draped over me. I’m almost going to miss it.”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. “Well, if you liked clingy Tony, I think I can accommodate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he tightens his hold on you.

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck as he presses a series of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “Mmm, maybe I did like clingy Tony,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair.

He chuckles, his lips trailing down to your neck, his hands running up and down your sides as he nuzzles into you, his warmth enveloping you. “Well then, Mrs. Stark, it looks like you’re in luck.”

His mouth finds yours, and he kisses you deeply, his hands gentle but insistent as he pulls you closer. The kiss is soft and tender, but there’s an intensity to it, a passion that feels even stronger now that he has all his memories back. It’s like he’s making up for lost time, savoring every second, every touch, every shared breath.

When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur. “I don’t think I could ever let you go again,” he says, his hands sliding to your waist as he holds you close. “Every second without you felt…wrong, somehow. Now that I know everything, it’s like my whole world is back.”

You smile, brushing your fingers along his jaw as you gaze into his eyes. “Then don’t let go,” you whisper, your heart racing as he closes the small distance between you again, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that’s both familiar and exhilarating.

soft Tony is just a baby <3 if you liked the story leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more!

[dalton344]

I absolutely fell in love with this story!!!

Could you make an imagine where Klaus Mikaelson is the father figure to the reader despite not being her real dad? And her birth father came back trying to take her but Klaus wouldn’t stand for it and wouldn’t let him take the reader?

Home

Klaus had just been taking a stroll through the woods when he finds himself walking towards the sounds of a beta's broken sobs. Seeing the little abandoned wolf, Klaus takes her home with him, hoping that he'd be able to become her safe place -- which he very successfully does. But what happens when Y/n's biological father returns after ages in hopes of getting her back?

Warnings - None really, other than the fact that it's quite sad (but with happy outcomes I promise <3) Word Count - 4.0k

I'm so so so sorry for my absence the past whole week but hey, this is quite literally a 4k worded fic! So hopefully that makes up for it? (Also, thank you for the request, lovely anon. Please do tell me if you like it!!)

Also! I took the idea of Y/n's wolf being a little out of control from this very very amazing fic written by the truly talented @klausysworld Please do give the fic a read, if you haven't already that is, hahah <3

Klaus had been taking a stroll through the woods, his feet carrying him just about anywhere while his mind sped through thoughts a million miles an hour. He made plans, then backed them up with another one, and then made another one, just in case. And he'd just lifted his leg to cross over a fallen tree when his body came to an unnatural halt.

He was never caught off guard, but right now, as he heard hushed sobs and a heart that was beating in a painfully broken rhythm, he couldn't help but gently continue his stroll – in a particular direction with an aim, this time.

His head tilted as he neared the source of the sound, his nose picking up on a beta scent. It had been way too long since he had come across a beta, his major interactions occurring with either other Alphas or Omegas, or Vampires. As well as some other species that rather got on his nerves, such as the witches. It intrigued him.

From quite afar, his eyes finally caught sight of a rather small frame crouched against the rough bark of a tree, a jerk shaking their body every time their back accidently met with it, followed by another painful but gritted howl.

But what made Klaus' frown deepen even further, was the sight of wolf ears growing from the person's head. He felt as though his eyes were deceiving him; he had never come across something like this and if he wasn't mistaken, he was pretty sure that this was just an untrained little wolf -- or perhaps it was the strangeness making him think that there couldn't possibly be another mythical creature that was actually all too real.

So, he walked closer, his head a little ducked and shoulders bunched up on either side of his neck as he tried not to make any sound as that would surely startle the ...child, he realised.

The little frame, sobbing into their hands with their knees bunched up against their torso, belonged to a child. A werewolf child who was beginning to lose control of their wolf, and just then Klaus noticed a tail curling up against the little one's back in order to provide comfort.

He flinched when some wood broke unde his step, alerting the little girl and his heart cracked like a drought-stricken land when she jerked and looked up at him with eyes so big, full of fear swarming them and so much sadness that he could drown in it and not be found.

She immediately backed up into the tree, hissing sharply when her back met the unruly surface but not once did her eyes move away from him. Her lips trembled, a fat tear rolling down her cheek against her will and Klaus noted that the girl could not be older than a decade.

Taking another step towards her, Klaus froze when her wolf ears went back in, and a sob broke out of her mouth.

"Please, sir! I will do whatever you ask of me, but please don't hurt me," she shouted at him, fully breaking down into heart wrenching sobs as she tried to get up on wobbly legs but fell to the ground right away due to the tremor coursing through her body.

Tears blurred his vision for a second before he took the final step toward her which brought him close enough to sit on his knees beside her and rest his hand on her head.

"It's alright, little wolf. I'm not here to harm you," Klaus whispered, feeling her body falling into shambles under his touch. But when she looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes, he couldn't help but pass her a reassuring smile.

"You are safe with me, sweetheart," he said, now weaving his hand across her forehead to brush away the hair that stuck to it. "Yes?" He asked her with a soft nod, bringing her closer to his chest when she too, nodded. Her eyes were still uncertain but he could tell that it won't take long for her to let go.

This was a child, full of enough naivety to trust a stranger and Klaus was more than glad that he’d found her before someone else could’ve. And maybe his Alpha scent provided her with the extra comfort that she most likely needed, but Klaus wasn’t complaining.

So he rested his back against the tree this time and let her sit in his lap, his arms around her in a way that cocooned her away from whatever that had pained her so terribly, and ready to protect her from anything that came her way with poisonous intentions.

His heart clenched inside his chest when the little girl curled up against him, finally letting the sobs rake through her body and for all the sadness to cause havoc inside her little heart before it left her alone for good.

And for some reason, Klaus just knew to avoid her back. It was clear that she was hurt over there somehow, making him rub his hand up and down her arm instead, and rock the two of them side to side for a little bit. Slowly and slowly, her wails turned into softer sobs and then finally, Klaus heard her heartbeat go back to a normal pace again.

He looked down to see if she'd cried it all out, wanting her to tell him about the culprit who had hurt her like this but when he found that she had slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber, he didn't even think once before carrying her home with him, covering her up under his duvet while he sat on the sofa across the bed, looking at her and telling himself that there was no way he was going to be able to let her go.

He just felt something between them, something that brought them closer in a way he had never experienced before. He felt like he was supposed to love her, care for her, teach her all about the world and show her the wonders. He felt like taking her responsibility, giving her his last name and raising her protected from the world.

Perhaps it was because he, somewhere, saw his inner child in her. The child that so helplessly begged for just some love from his father and got the horrifying abuse instead. 

Klaus wanted to take her under his wing and be there for her while she grew up. He wanted this very clearly abandoned little wolf to call him her father, and his brothers her uncles and his sisters her aunts.

He couldn't sleep all night, fearing that she'd wake up and ask for her actual parents. And he knew he'd take her back in an instant if she wanted to, but it would tear him apart into uncountable and unrecognisable shreds.

And so, he waited all night for her to wake up and hopefully deny him when he'd ask her if she wanted to go back home. And Klaus would go to hell and back to build her a home; to become her home.  

But despite his stubborn decision to stay up and look after her, Klaus awoke to something soft and comforting touching his whatever exposed skin. And as he cracked open his eyes, the sunlight was already pouring inside his room and one of his blankets was draped over him. And he knew it hadn’t been on him for long as he had felt it sliding across his frame, and yet he couldn’t catch sight of the carer. 

That was, until he began getting up and he looked down to find the little girl, sitting beside his feet and looking up at him with doe eyes full of ...joy. He noted that the girl was happy to see that he was finally awake, her heartbeat picking up just a little as a smile slid on her mouth. 

“Thank you, Alpha,” the girl mumbled shyly, placing her hands on his knees while she began standing up. And Klaus’ arms instantly went ahead in order to prevent her from falling but she didn’t stumble once, reminding him that she probably had werewolf healing powers that performed with a slight delay due to her young age. 

Klaus opened his mouth to say something but when the girl warily wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on the very tip of her toes to do so, he found himself caught off guard, once again. But regardless, he hugged her back rather tightly, lifting her off the ground and bringing her on the sofa. 

“Are you okay now, little wolf? Does it still hurt?” Klaus asked her, one of his hands cupping her face while the other cradled her. And his heart swooned when she curled up on him just like the night prior, but this time only soft breaths passed through her mouth. 

“The wounds have healed, Alpha,” she mumbled, almost hiding her face by tucking it away in his chest. “But my heart still hurts, I think,” her voice wavered as she confessed, now clenching his henley in her fist due to the unease it brought to her.

“Oh, little wolf,” Klaus sighed, his eyebrows turned into an upside down frown as he looked upon her with pity. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” He whispered, cautious so she wouldn’t shut him off, even though she was too young to know of such a thing.

“My father, he – he kicked me out of the pack yesterday,” she told him with a quivering voice, tears beginning to pool in her eyes once again. “He told me – he said that he doesn’t love me… that – that he never has!” She cried out, a sob aching her throat and wrapping itself around it so tightly that it was almost beginning to choke her. 

“He said he doesn’t love me,” she repeated, her body now shaking in Klaus arms as his heart crumpled inside his chest as he noted just how much she cared and felt, and that she was having to relive it again right now. 

“Why did he kick you out, darling?” Klaus asked, wanting to end her misery and just a one line answer would be enough for him to go over and slaughter the entire pack.

“He wanted me to learn how to handle the pack once he wouldn’t be there anymore, how – how to be an Alpha,” she told him, tears flowing out of her eyes that had now grown bloodshot red. 

And just then, her ears popped out of her head once again, and Klaus couldn’t help but pet the welted ears in order to help her calm down. 

“But I didn’t want to! I – I don’t want to take charge after him!” She told Klaus, this time her voice changed its tone to be more convincing and desperate. She sat upright, trying to show Klaus just how much she’d rather work behind the scenes than take the lead officially.

“It’s okay, little wolf – you won’t have to anymore,” Klaus reassured the girl, weaving his fingers through her hair and pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll be here with me, safe and sound, and I will love you, sweetheart,” he whispered, looking into her eys with the purest sincerity.

“I truly love you, little wolf,” Klaus said softly at recieving a questioning look from her, asking if he honestly meant what he was saying. “And I will always show you love.”

She brightened up at that, the shine of a couple stars returning to her eyes as she got up, but then saddened again. “But what about home?” She asked, her tears beginning to dry up on her cheeks as she wiped them away. 

“Do you wish to go home?”

“No,” she trailed off, looking away from his eyes as if guilty, causing Klasu to cup her cheeks and turn her back to face him. 

“Then I’ll be your home, little wolf,” he smiled at her. “Yes?” 

The girl nodded, quickly leaning in to press a kiss on his dimpled cheek. 

“What’s your name, darling?” 

“Y/n, Alpha,” she answered him, and Klaus wanted more than anything for her to call him her father or dad, but knew that he should give her some time. 

“Lovely,” he grinned, taking her in his arms and getting up to let her in the shower and then introduce her to the rest of the Mikaelsons. 

And it wasn’t long before Klaus found himself officially adopting Y/n, making her  a Mikaelson and his heart had swollen inside his ribs when she’d so shyly asked him if she could finally call him her father. 

Over the first couple months only Klaus noticed that her gentle and empathetic nature valued deep and personal connections with people over power and attention. He also learned that the reason she hid her high intelligence and outstandingness in whatever field she chose, was because that was simply ingrained in her beta personality. 

So, gradually, books all about betas began to fill shelves in their library quarter of the house. 

“Father!” Came in a shrieking voice, followed by his ears picking up on a rapid heartbeat and he was out of the bed in an instant, checking her over to see if she was hurt and he only shook his head when he found that Kol had just been chasing her around the house, early in the morning to keep her interest while Freya made breakfast for her. 

“Good morning, little wolf,” Klaus grinned, picking her up off the ground and spinning with her in his hold, pressing as many kisses as he could all over her face as she pressed her palm against his face to keep his stubble away.

Loud giggles and squeaks echoed throughout the mansion as Klaus brought her back to bed with him, letting her lay on top of him.

It quite hurt him that she was too tall to curl up on him now, but it still felt good when her heart pressed up against his despite the many layers of bones and skin and clothing keeping them apart. 

“Uncle Kol was chasing me with his vampire speed! Tell him that that’s not fair!” She whined, looking pointedly at Kol who was shaking his head at the door. 

“You’re a wolf, little one,” Klaus began, pulling her attention back on him. “You can outrun anyone,” he smiled. 

Y/n contemplated that for a second before she moved to sit upright beside him with a pout on her mouth. “Anyone but you, father.”

Klaus laughed at that, tackling her back into bed. “You do not wish to outrun me, now do you, little wolf?” He asked her, getting out of bed and letting her cling to him on his chest as he went downstairs. He knew that as a wolf, she preferred to nuzzle anywhere she found warmth, and that his chest was one of her favourite places. 

Sitting her down on the chair next to him, Klaus let her eat her food by herself. Sure, the honey did drizzle down her chin once but he didn’t mind, instantly cleaning it up with his thumb before it could’ve slipped down any further. 

Elijah asked her questions about the storybook he had bought her a couple days prior, Rebekah asked her if the girl wanted to help her aunt pick out a dress, Kol warned her against it by threatening to chase her and Freya smacked all of them on the back of their heads, telling them off to let you eat.

“Father, are you free to paint with me after this?” Y/n asked, looking at him with eyes that had truly unintentionally turned similar to a little puppy’s. 

Klaus finished his food, noting another thing that her shyness had truly dissipated into thin air. And all that it had left behind was politeness and some convincing eyes that could get the devil to let go of a deal.

“Of course, Y/n,” he smiled, getting up and grinning when she trotted behind him happily with her own empty plate in her hand. He watched as she put it in the sink and washed her hands and mouth, letting her chug down her orange juice for once as he wiped his own mouth. 

Once again, she followed him back inside his studio like a lost puppy. Klaus came back out with the heavier and the majority of supplies in his hands while Y/n skipped behind him with the paints and the brushes in hers.

Walking into the front yard, Klaus set down all of their stuff and sat himself in front of her, chuckling when he noticed that she’d already begun twirling her brush around on her canvas, not a single thought in her mind as she let out anything that flashed in front of her eyes, onto the paper. 

Klaus on the other hand, decided to make a painting of colours chosen from her hair. Every colour he saw in the midst of her hair strands, he put it on his canvas, slowly and slowly morphing into a tree’s bark.

And when he checked upon her canvas to see where her painting was going, he felt his dimples dig inside his cheeks at the sight of every and any shade of green that she could find – perhaps in his eyes, Klaus realized when she raised her head to look into his eyes and went back to working. 

Almost all of his days went like this, waking up to her running into his room after having had a shower, holding her in his arms for a little then taking her down for breakfast, where she would convince him to paint with her for a little.

After that he’d let her go off with Eilajh to read and learn some other things by Freya that she probably needed to learn. He would be out of the mansion during that, out to mind his business and kill his own minions because of their brave stupidity. 

When he’d return to the mansion, Y/n would sleepily trod out of her bed and into his arms, let him pick her up and take her to bed where he’d just hold her and tell her how much he loved her, because someone had probably already read her a story or two. 

Some nights she would wake up crying from a nightmare about her biological father, and then she would find herself running into Klaus’ arms which were already open, having heard her rushed footsteps and broken sobs. 

Her wolf ears no longer popped out since Klaus had spent an insurmountable time helping her take her wolf under her control, but every once in a while, depending upon how bad the nightmare was, her tail would creep out of her shirt and curl itself either around Klaus’ arms or her own back, which Klaus didn’t object at seeing that she only did this when she was crying in his arms.

But once they’d finish painting, Y/n would run into the house with her and Klaus’ painting to show them off to her uncles and aunts, leaving Klaus behind to clean up the mess. But he didn’t mind it one bit, only laughing when she’d come back looking guilty and saying that she was sorry that she’d once again forgotten to help him clean up in her excitement. 

And that’s exactly what had happened just now. 

“It’s okay little wolf,” Klaus assured her. “You know I don’t mind it,” he said and let her hug him to show him just how bad she felt.

He rubbed her back, and got up with her hand in his, looking down at the back of her head and smiling as she led their way back inside. 

“Wait father!” She paused her walking. “Look, the weather has taken a turn,” she stated, pointing at the sky in which angry clouds had begun swirling, the fluffy white ones long gone. 

“Does that mean it’s reading time?” 

“Yes!” The girl shrieked, jumping up and down, making Klaus laugh as she ran off to meet up with Elijah. 

He caught himself grinning long after she had left his line of sight and shook his head, a smile still pasted on his mouth as he turned around to rule over the so-called supernatural adults whom even Y/n was smarter than. 

“I see you’ve taken a liking to playing her father, Niklaus,” a rough voice said from behind, and while it hadn’t caught Klaus off guard, what had was the fact that this man was brave and dumb enough to step a foot in such close proximity to him. 

Surely, he must have come with a death wish. 

“Roman,” Klaus said out loud the name of Y/n’s biological father, his voice full of venom and he could’ve spat at the man in front of him. “I see you’re feeling daring today, perhaps even like dying?” He proposed, taking a threatening step towards the man. 

Klaus had, the very next night of when he’d found Y/n, went on to slaughter Roman’s entire pack. He had let the man live since he wanted him to see and live through his own daughter's hatred towards him. So much hatred that she didn’t even look his way anymore, let alone call him her father.

“Let’s not get this messy, Niklaus,” Roman started but before he could’ve finished, Klaus had him pinned against the very door frame he was leaning so cockily on. 

“I’m not your friend, Roman,” he gritted through his teeth, knowing that he didn’t need to clarify any further as to what he meant by that. 

“Sir,” Roman started, stretching his neck. “I want my daughter back,” he said.

Red flashed in front of Klaus’ eyes as he sped towards Roman, tearing through his flesh and ribs to clench his heart in his fist. “I would’ve been a fan of such bravery had you not made the mistake of calling her your daughter when she fucking refuses to even recognise you,” Klaus finally spat at him, his grip on his heart so tight that it could burst due to the pressure. 

“I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat if you dare once again to call my daughter, yours, or call your lame excuse of a self, her father,” he said, pulling on his heart lightly. “She is mine, and I love her and this is her home now.”

“I am her home,” he gritted his teeth so hard that they could’ve shattered. 

Roman’s frame was beginning to get blue, knocking the realisation into Klaus that his hold on his heart was so hard that it was struggling to beat. “Go to the opposite side of the world and never look back here again,” Klaus compelled him, finally taking his hand back out of his chest. 

“Now off you go,” he said, maybe shooed. “I am sure you know that a wolf bite can only be cured by my blood,” he hissed venomously, his eyes shining golden as vampire streaks drew themselves through his skin.

And once Roman had finally sped out, Klaus let out a breath and his heart to rest again, his hands trembling at the thought of what could’ve happened right now had he not been who he truly is. 

Rushing into his room to clean himself off, Klaus rushed back out to Y/n who was currently sitting in front of Elijah. 

“Little wolf!” Klaus called for her as he stood at the doorway of the room, his vision getting blurry when she came running to him with the biggest smile on her face. 

“Yes father? Missed me, didn’t you?” She giggled teasingly, wrapping her arms around him and Klaus couldn’t help but nuzzle in the nape of her neck, holding her tightly against him as he kneeled on the floor and felt a tear slip past the slit of his eyes. 

“I love you, my little wolf,” he said, whimpering. 

“Oh, I love you too, father,” she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “You should know that I’ll always be your little wolf.”

“Forever and always, my precious” Klaus breathed, pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek before resting his forehead against it for a moment, breathing in her scent and reminding himself that she’d also become his home now. 

[dalton344]

Work of art.

Push-ups

Jake hangman Seresin x f!reader!pilot(roosters cousin)

Your call sign: y/cs

“So how about we make this interesting.” Coyote asks before getting up. “What do you have in mind?” “Push ups 200, you get shot down you do ‘em.” After everyone agrees, you all get ready and head out to your jets.

The first three get shot down fast, next up is Coyote and fanboy. They also got shot down very fast. The last ones going up, were you and hangman. You’d always been very competitive, especially when it came to your careers. You were all three up in the air for the longest and it was clear that hangman thought he’d win. His attitude worsening by the minute, you’d all been up there for 15 minutes when hangman finally got shot down, now just ‘cause hangman was dead and had to do 200 pushups and there was nothing you’d rather see than see him struggle you also really wanted to win.

After being in the air for 5 minutes after hangman left, you were getting tired but continued anyways. Right when maverick thought he had you, you pulled a stunt that no one other than the man himself would do, and therefore he wasn’t prepared for it. You ended up getting a lock on him and when the two of you got back down to solid ground every one congratulated you. You all stood and counted as maverick did his push-ups.

It only was there the bet that Coyote and maverick had made, and everyone else had joined in on, you and Hangman had also agreed on making a bet but you would only say it out loud once you’d won. And well since you’d won, you could now do whatever you wanted to hangman and while that sounded very nice, you ended up with a saying that you remember your aunt Carol always saying to your uncle goose.

So while at the bar, after getting a little tipsy. “So what’d you win?” Hangman asked. “Take me to bed tonight or lose me forever” clearly that caught him a little of guard since he almost choked on his beer, “excuse me, what’d you say?” “I’m sorry that was totally out of line, uh you don’t need to do anything” you answered now very embarrassed.

Hangman pulled you out the back door, “what’d you say?” “Take me to bed tonight or lose me forever.” You answered barely above a whisper. But soon you felt Hangman’s lips on yours, moving in sync. You moved your arms up to meet behind his neck, biting st his bottom lip.

[dalton344]

Everything Has Changed

sam winchester x fem!reader

5.1k | fluff

summary: the love story between you and sam winchester, starting only at the age of six.

*buckle in everyone, this is the longest fic i’ve ever written

age six:

you didn’t want to be here. you wanted to be back home in massachusetts, sitting on the living room couch and watching morning cartoons with your mother.

but that would never happen again, not after what happened last week. not after that evil man with black eyes broke into your home and killed your mom while you hid in your bedroom closest, hearing everything while silent tears rolled down your cheeks.

now your father had taken you to south dakota, rambling on and on about the nice old man named bobby who would be watching you for a while. you didn’t want to stay with bobby. you wanted your mom, and your dad hauling every one of your belongings and shipping you off to another state was not helping your six year old brain cope with the pain.

looking out the window as your dad drove up a long driveway, the only thing you could see for miles was cars; junk cars to be exact. when the car finally rumbled to a stop, the home in front of it was anything but the one you had grown accustomed to.

your hand was clutched tight in your fathers as he rang the door bell. the disney princess suitcase by your feet was the only thing you could look at as the door swung open and your dad conversed with who you assumed was bobby. the older man seemed nice enough. his accent sounded funny, and the bowl of ice cream that greeted you when you walked in the kitchen had you enjoying this house even more.

when your dad kissed your head and told you he’d be gone for a few days, you didn’t know what to think. you were so young that the notion of your dad going out and hunting the demon that killed your mom was completely out of your headspace. you just thought he had obligations with work and was needed away for a couple of weeks.

those couple of weeks turned into two months. soon those two months turned into six. it dawned on you at such a young age that your father was probably not coming back, that both of your parents left you in the span of a week and you were stuck with a total stranger.

it was an awful thing for a mere kindergartener to comprehend, and it absolutely pained bobby to watch that realization slowly slip into your face day by day as you sat on the porch, awaiting for your dads non existing arrival.

when the seventh month mark had hit, the rumble of a car was heard from the front of the house. an excited smile lit up your face. your dad was finally back. after so long he was here to come get you and take you to wherever he has been for all these months.

the shear disappointment on your face when you realized it wasn’t your dad was palpable. but the confusion that followed it when a strange man and two young boys came into view was even stronger.

the taller of the two children looked to be a couple years older than you; maybe ten or something around there. his face was stoic and the way his steely gaze swept over you— clutched to bobby’s side, was something that made you nervous.

when you looked over to what you’d assumed was his younger brother, you were instantly drawn in to how this boy was a complete 180 from his brother. he seemed more timid, shy in how he walked with his head down and lip drawn between his teeth, gnawing at the skin as he looked up to switch his gaze from bobby, to you.

for as long as he could, sam would go on and on about how he fell in love with you from the very first time he saw you. that breezy day in late ‘89 was the start of his never ending admiration and love for the girl who he’d met on bobby’s porch at the young age of six.

that day was the start of a whole new beginning. who knew what would’ve happened if john winchester didn’t drop off his two sons that day. no one could guess if you and sam would somehow find a way to each other. but the universe sure forced you together at a young age, and you would be forever greatful for that.

age nine:

the wind blew back your hair, rustling the trees in the tree line as you and sam sat on the grass, silently reading.

it had been three years since your dad left you at bobby’s, and after about a year, you’d realized that he wasn’t coming back. it was hard at first, the tears didn’t stop coming for at least a week after the realization set in. but you had bobby, who’d stepped up and been more of a father than your own ever could’ve.

there was also the factor of sam and dean winchester, but they were a little more complicated than your father/daughter relationship with bobby.

dean winchester was like an older brother to you. someone who annoyed you like hell but would always be there to protect you when needed. he cared about the people he loved more than he could breathe, and you were grateful to have someone who would always be there for you.

sam, he was a little different then his brother. while dean was four years older, you two were the same age. you always felt a different bond with sam, something that was less brotherly and more shy smiles and rosy cheeks.

you’d harboured a crush on the youngest winchester boy, you just didn’t know what to do with it.

that crush didn’t blow away with the wind, it stayed while you sat side by side with sam, knees brushing as you both turned the pages of your corresponding books.

you didn’t know what to do. hell you were only a kid, merely in the fourth grade and not even double digits yet. the relationship you shared with sam was too precious to you for it to just be ruined by your stupid blabbing mouth. so you kept quiet, simply enjoying the time you spent with sam as friends and hoping that someday this crush would go away.

“have you ever wondered what it’s like to be an adult?” sam’s question startled you from your reading, the silence between you two going on for so long that his voice was quite jarring.

softly closing your back and moving over to face sam, you looked up at the blowing leaves on the trees, truly pondering your friends question. “i don’t know.” you responded after a long while, looking back down at sam and his expectant eyes. “i’d like to think that being an adult would be better, but then i think of my dad, and your dad even, and i wonder if being a kid forever would be so bad.”

you were young, but you weren’t stupid. you saw how aggressive sam and dean’s father was, you saw all the arguments him and bobby had about adult stuff you couldn’t understand. though, most definitely you understood the cowardly actions of your dad running away, leaving his adult duties of being a dad and dumping his own child with another. you vowed to never be like him, to never leave the people you love behind.

it seemed as though sam was truly thinking about your words, really diving deep into what you meant and if his ideologies aligned with yours.

fiddling with his fingers, sam looked down at his lap, biting his lip as he always did when he was nervous. “well i’m just wondering because dean told me he had his first kiss, and when i asked him when it was my turn, he said when i was older. how old do we have to be to have our first kiss Y/N?”

sam’s question caught you by surprise. you never really thought about the notions of a first kiss. sure you’ve thought of kissing sam before, but that was just the crush talking. it would never happen, and sam just asked from a place of curiosity and wonder, not because he wanted to kiss you.

“maybe junior high? i’m really not sure.” your head had been down while speaking, picking shreds of grass as you responded to sam. though, when you looked up, you were met with the feeling of sam’s lips on yours, and your whole world completely stopped.

it wasn’t a long kiss, just a second long peck. but even then, the feeling of sam gently and nervously pressing his lips to yours had blood rushing to your cheeks and a weird fluttery feeling in your gut.

you hadn’t spoken yet, and the mixed in with the wide eyed expression on your face started to make sam worry. “oh god, i’m so sorry Y/N. i should’ve asked if that was okay first. i’m a gentleman i swear! dad and dean taught me better. please don’t be mad at me, please.” sam’s ramblings had a quick smile spreading on your face.

even after something so innocent as a quick, childlike kiss on the lips, sam still worried for your well being, for how you felt in all of it. his strong need to always make sure you were okay made you feel so comfortable with him. even though you were so young, you remembered feeling happy and content about that moment many years later.

sam winchester innocently stole your first kiss, and you wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

age thirteen:

middle school sucked, and you were fully prepared to beg bobby to let you be homeschooled if it continued to be like this.

the people in your school weren’t nice at all. making jokes about how you lived on the town dump and how your father was a drunk weirdo. though, when stupid clara riggs found out bobby wasn’t even your dad, she made it her mission to go around and tell everyone that your own parents hated you so much, they left you on the doorstep of the first ‘trailer trash’ they could find.

her words made you angry. bobby wasn’t a drunk or trailer trash, he was far from it. and so what if he wasn’t your father? he took that position when your own dad couldn’t, and you would like to see the look on clara’s face when your whole grade found out her dad was cheating on her mom with their babysitter.

though they say the words of a middle schooler still stings, and they had bobby finding you curled up in your bed, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clung onto your little bunny plushie.

he tried to make you feel better, telling you that kids could be mean sometimes and the best thing you could do was ignore them. but you wouldn’t listen, and bobby knew that a visit from sam and dean was long overdue.

you hadn’t seen your two best friends in almost six months. john had them hauled around half of the united states, putting dean on his first solo hunts and allowing sam to finally join when he and dean went out. they’d missed you though. even dean who’d recently turned seventeen was missing some time with his built in little sister.

a couple of hours later, a knock on your door interrupted the silent tears streaming down your face. you were fully prepared to tell bobby to go away, but when the door opened slightly and revealed a lanky sam winchester in it’s frame, you couldn’t resist springing up and running to give him a hug.

the force at which you ran at sam had him stumbling to steady himself, arms going around your waist and socked feet slightly slipping against the hard wood. he didn’t want you to fall, and if you did, he’d rather himself break your fall then risk you having a nasty bruise.

when he finally steadied the both of you, sam reacted in hugging you back. the feeling of your face in the crook of his neck had him feeling at peace. all he could do was grip onto you tighter, hoping that his presence would help with whatever pain you felt.

as he pulled away, sam moved the hair away from your face without a second thought, not thinking anything of it as he wanted to properly see your face. “what’s got you so upset, ladybug?” the nickname came from a hike that you and sam went on when you were eleven. a ladybug landing on your finger and a bright smile adorning your face right after.

sam would say that was the most beautiful you’ve ever looked. but hell, you look beautiful every time he looks at you.

when you were through with explaining what had made you upset, sam could feel himself garnering sympathy and anger towards your situation. he felt bad, knowing you did not deserve any of those words said to you for they were far from the truth. though he was also angry because clara riggs had no right to talk. her family was more dysfunctional than his and that was really saying something.

“hey don’t listen to her.” sam soothed, hands no rubbing up and down your back to calm you down. “she’s always been cruel, her words should mean nothing to you.”

they did mean something to you, but you didn’t want to worry sam with all your constant worrying. so you just smiled, nodding at sam and half heartedly agreeing, you knew that this was something you’d have to get over on your own, that your dad left you with bobby and your mom was dead. but it was starting to get better, and you knew you had to thank bobby, dean, and especially sam for it.

“c’mon,” sam smiled, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “dean’s dying to see you. he’s been dying to take you on a ride in the impala now that he has his license.”

age seventeen:

high school had gone by in a blur, and suddenly, you were in your senior year. life didn’t feel real. it didn’t feel like you were about to graduate and move onto university in a mere couple of months, but you also accepted this change, knowing that it was good for you.

“bobby can you stop worrying, i’ll be fine.” the older man had busied himself with helping you sort out all your back to school essentials, fussing over your backpack and what clothes you were going to wear. it didn’t matter that you didn’t have a mom or dad, for bobby was basically a two in one with how he handled clothing emergencies and the practical stuff.

huffing, bobby straightened out your jacket one more time, stepping back and finally taking a good look. “god Y/N you are so grown up. i can just picture your tiny little legs running around these halls, making a mess of all my books.”

scowling, you playfully threw a throw pillow at him. “it’s not my fault you left your ancient mythology book right on the table. who knew john needed it for some pesky siren.” the look in bobby’s eyes were deadpan, almost like he was daring you to finish your sentence. “i did, you idjit. that’s why i left it there in the first place.”

“well,” you sighed, leaning against the front door. “we live and we learn.” bobby just grumbled as he shoed you out the door, rambling on about how if you didn’t leave now you’d be late to your last, first day of high school.

the day had gone by pretty quickly, uneventful classes that just had teachers rambling on about college and how now that you were in grade 12, you had to smarten up and focus on your grades.

you were focussing all right. focused on helping bobby with a gnarly werewolf who’d hopefully be the first creature that you’d get to shoot.

you’d known about the supernatural since you were ten, an bobby had you training with a gun since you were fourteen. he still didn’t let you frequently go on hunts, only allowing if it was something small and he’d know you’d be safe.

that didn’t matter though, because at least you got a taste of how it felt. it was nice, but you knew that college was definitely something that you’d want to explore, and it was great that bobby was on board with it.

the man didn’t want you getting swept into the hunter life, explaining how getting out as fast as you can would be the best scenario for you. you understood, agreeing with bobby that getting a couple hunts in before you left wasn’t such a bad thing.

unlike you, sam wasn’t as fortunate to have such an understanding parental figure as you did.

he explained to you how is father was hell bent on sam staying with him and dean, not leaving the family business until their mothers killer was avenged.

you knew sam didn’t want that. he expressed to you so many times how he dreamed of going to university, getting out of the hunter life so he could live normally for once. you were supportive of him, silently cursing john for his terrible ways of treating his sons.

so walking into your bedroom to see sam winchester sat on your bed watching buffy the vampire slayer was not something you were surprised by. him running away from his dads antics had been happening more often lately, and you really didn’t blame him. john was getting even more out of hand then he already was, and the mentions of sam leaving for university wasn’t helping.

his head turned as you closed the door behind you, eyes softening to that golden hazel that you could never resist. but sam looked so sad, and you wanted to help him for all those times that he’s been by your side wiping your tears.

“sammy, what’s wrong? was it your dad again?” all he could do was shake his head no, sniffling slightly while his hand moved up to whip his tear stained cheeks.

you softly sat down beside him, hand instantly finding his and squeezing, letting him know you were there. “it’s me Y/N, it’s all me.” his words had you cocking your head in confusion, but as he continued, you felt your heart break even more. “dad wants me to follow him and dean, but i don’t want to! anytime i bring it up he gets so mad, and i can see how upset it makes dean. if i leave, dad said i’d be disappointing the family. i don’t want to disappoint my brother Y/N. ever.”

as he continued to speak, you could feel your heart go from breaking to falling completely out of your chest. the pressure that john winchester was putting on his young son was unacceptable. sam wanting to go to college was normal, and telling him that him leaving would disappoint his family was absolutely vile and disgusting.

“sam,” you whispered, head leaning on his shoulder so he could feel some semblance of comfort. “you have every right to want to pursue a higher education. dean will come around eventually, you know that. me and you both know that your dad is very stuck in his ways, but if you want this to happen then you’ll fucking make it happen. am i clear sam winchester?”

his laugh brought a smile to your face. sam being happy made you happy. and knowing that you made him laugh after he was so torn up and sad inside made you feel a warm and fuzzy feeling.

“trust me, i know how crystal clear you are.” his giggle died down as a contemplative look dawned on his face. “i even have a slight idea of where i want to go.”

humming slightly, you heard sam sigh as he continued. “i think i want to go to stanford, for law.” lifting your head from his shoulder, you cracked a smile as you jokingly punched him on the shoulder. “oh sammy, you pretentious snob. you’ll fit in there perfectly.”

“not as perfect as you at clown college.”

“okay now your pushing your luck, winchester.”

age twenty three:

those crucial moments in yours and sam’s story has always been something that made you smile. even now, when you haven’t seen the younger winchester boy in almost five years.

the last time you saw him, you were helping him move into his stanford dorm. john was absolutely out of the picture, and dean was still wound up over the whole thing. the only person that sam knew would help him and guide him through the day was you.

you’d gave him a massive hug, kissing him on the cheek and reminding him that he would do great things, that you would always support him.

as you left, a single tear had raised to your water line. but you wouldn’t let it fall. sam was finally doing what he always wanted to achieve. leaving the family business and living a normal life. if that meant not seeing him for a while then so be it.

though, these past five years have been torture without him.

you saw dean here and there. though the last time you crossed paths was when him and john were working a case down near your college campus in seattle washington, and even that was around two years ago.

dean was doing fine. he was coping with sam’s departure and seemed to really get a good grip on the whole hunting thing. it was like there was no time between then and the last time you two saw each other. it was like old times, laughter ringing through your small apartment and dean still being a major pain in your ass.

but now you were twenty three, in grad school and still living in washington state. your apartment was small, but manageable, and the job you had working as a barista in a coffee shop down the street from where you lived was going fine.

your life was doable, normal with no monsters lurking around. and you felt very content with that.

well, of course, as stories go, that was until dean came around calling your home phone and asking you for help with a case him and sam were working on.

yes, sam. he’d come back into the hunting scene around a year ago. you weren’t completely out of the loop, you still kept in touch with some hunters here and there. then there was bobby who was always on you, calling your phone every week to have your weekly gossip hour as he liked to call it.

all you knew was the sam was hunting again and john winchester had passed about two months ago. you hadn’t seen the older man in well over six years, and you weren’t completely fond of how he treated his boys, but that didn’t mean you were going to speak ill of the dead.

even if the dead was a borderline abusive dickwad.

now, you found yourself waiting out in front of your apartment building, bags in hand as you anticipated the familiar sound of the roaring chevy impala.

you didn’t know how to feel. you hadn’t seen dean in almost two years. hell, you hadn’t seen sam in five, and you knew all these nervous feelings were because of him.

when you were a kid, you always waited on the day that your crush on sam would go away. you wanted to view him like you viewed dean; like a brother. you knew how complicated things would get if you confessed to sam and he didn’t like you back. but even now, those feelings still rumbled in your gut, and you were hoping and praying seeing same again wouldn’t dredge them back up.

as the car pulled in front of you, and you saw sam’s figure in the front seat, those feelings sprung up your throat like a weekend bender when you were nineteen. he looked even more beautiful. hair grown out longer, face more mature. sam had grown into a fine looking young man, and you were cursing yourself for even thinking such thoughts.

the car ride to indiana wasn’t terrible. you and dean talked for a bit, caught up on all the things that had happened in the past two years. sam on the other hand was more quite. he chimed in once in a while, not shying away from saying hello to you or smiling at you through the rearview mirror, but you knew he was waiting for a time more intimate. a time were he could look you face to face and indulge in a five year long due conversation.

dean finally stopped outside a gas station in the heart of this towns square, letting you and sam know that he was getting more road food and stocking up on gas.

as dean disappeared into the store, you felt a slight tug on your arm. turning around you were instantly ambushed by the feeling of sam’s arms wrapping around you and his body eclipsing yours. he hadn’t hugged you this tight in such a long time, and the feeling had you so overwhelmed with joy that a couple of tears slipped onto your cheeks.

“how’ve you been, ladybug?” the nickname had you gasping out a sob, not that it was a sad one, you were so happy that tears of happiness had fallen and you were full on laugh crying into sam’s chest.

dean usually took an abnormally long time in the gas stations, so you and sam prioritized on that time to catch up on all the things you both missed. he told you about california, you told him about washington. he mentioned all the crazy things he got up to and you told him about all the late night tv show binges you’ve done in the years.

you two had been so caught up in talking, that when the family of three passed behind sam, you didn’t even think much of it. that was until you noticed how familiar the father looked.

oh god, no, it couldn’t be. walking behind sam was your dad, rocking a full blown wife and a daughter, who couldn’t be any older than thirteen.

that’s where he went for all those years? he started a whole new fucking family? you just happened to be so repulsive that your own goddamn father couldn’t stand to be around you? he had to fuck off to indiana and get a whole new family to replace you and your mom.

the world felt like it was spinning. you didn’t even notice sam’s confused glance, or his widened eyes as he finally realized what you had seen. all you remembered was the feeling of his hand on your back, guiding you into the backseat of the impala. he was telling you that everything was okay, but you didn’t know if you believed him or not.

dean coming back and driving to a motel was all a blur. the next thing you remember, sam was helping you walk to a bed, sitting you down and going to grab you a glass of water.

he was worried. you hadn’t moved a muscle since you saw your dad. it was justified though, for you hadn’t seen him in almost seventeen years. he’d walked out on you, and now you had to see him with a whole new family. sam couldn’t even begin to comprehend the pain you were going through.

all sam could do was sit with you. hand rubbing your back as the other mindlessly twirled with a strand of your hair.

dean raved on about how he was going to go find your dad and beat his ass, though sam assumed he was going to give up after maybe ten minutes and end up plastered at a bar.

“oh sweet girl.” you heard sam murmur, moving his arm so he could allow you to rest your head on his shoulder. “why can’t you see how perfect you are? why can’t you see that your dad leaving doesn’t define you.”

quietly sniffling to yourself, you nuzzled your face in sam’s chest even more. “but it does.” you mumbled, playing with a lose thread on sam’s coat. “ever since i was a kid that’s all anyone could talk about. how my dad left me cause he didn’t love me anymore. well guess what? now i know it’s true.”

sam abruptly standing up had you almost falling sideways onto the bed. his hand blocking your head from the fall wasn’t what surprised you, but the anger that was radiating off of him.

“goddammit Y/N. your dad is a jackass, plain and simple. he left and with that left the most amazing and intelligent woman i have ever met. i’ve been so enthralled by you since the day i fucking met you when we were six. i’ve loved you since we shared our first kiss when we were nine, since i wiped your tears at thirteen, and especially when you encouraged me to follow my dreams when we were seventeen.”

“you have been by my side for ever major moment in my life, and i would be a fool to not tell you now how much i am in love with you-“ sam didn’t have time to finish, for you were leaping off the bed and smashing your lips on his. promptly cutting off his sentence.

the two of you hadn’t shared a kiss since you were single digits, but something about sam’s lips and touch felt so familiar. all of the pent up emotions and feelings went into the kiss. years and years of holding back and keeping each other at an arms length was finally being thrown out the window.

both you and sam had been waiting for this moment since you were kids, and you were glad to say that the fluttery feeling you had in your chest whenever he was near wouldn’t be going away soon.

all your days, you’d known sam’s face, and for the rest of your days you still would. sam winchester was your constant, your blinding light of hope in the shit storm that was life.

you possibly couldn’t ask for anything better.

[dalton344]

Maths Book

- they are both 18 here -

Y/N: - near tears looking at his friend - Y/N: I have the sex appeal of a maths book Beau: I don’t know man, I’ve never met anyone that opened a maths book and didn’t say "fuck me"

Masterlist

[dalton344]

hey girlyyyyy could you maybe write for Tim Bradford from the rookie and like the reader is his rookie and while they’re on patrol they run into someone who knows the reader’s abusive ex bf and he makes threats against reader and after their shift reader is super scared so he escorts them home and stays with them idk just an idea 😅

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • john nolan fic  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you encounter a man while on patrol who has a threatening message from your ex, your TO, Tim, offers to spend the night with you

word count: 10.3k

warnings: abusive past relationship, reader kind of has a panic attack, mild language, blood, guns, inaccurate police stuff

a/n: ahhh i had so much fun writing this, love!! i took your idea and also added some stuff so i hope you like what i did. i also apologize for the length, i kinda went wild. i imagine this to take place in s1. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “7-Adam-19, armed shoplifter, Radcliffe Complex, 718 Oscar Road. Respond.”

     The dispatcher’s voice filled the silence of the car.

     “7-Adam-19 responding.” Officer  Bradford set down the radio and replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

     “What’s the most important thing to remember when dealing with an armed shoplifter, Boot?” Tim asked you after a moment. 

     “Why did I think that when I was in short-sleeves I would get a break from your Tim Tests?” you muttered.  

     You’d been Bradford’s rookie for seven months now and some days he still treated you like it was your first day on the force. You appreciated him trying to teach you so thoroughly, but did he have to be so Tim all the time?

     “Is that your answer, Boot?” 

     “No, um, I guess it would be that he’s armed. But no, that’s too obvious for you. Ok, what about what they’re stealing? Their physical state? Keeping their hands in sight at all times?”

     Tim sighed, looking bored. “Wrong. It’s—”

     “Suspect on the move, heading east on Apple Boulevard,” came the dispatcher’s update, interrupting your TO’s answer.

     “Looks like we’re headed east,” Tim said, turning sharply in the direction you’d just come from. 

     “Saved by the suspect,” you joked. 

     “Don’t think this is over,” Tim narrowed his eyes at the road. “Lessons don’t stop for crime.”

     “Ok, batman.”

     Tim glared at you.

     “I mean, Sir.”

     After you’d first been assigned to Officer Bradford, you’d been told stories of his ruthless training style. Your first thought was that you needed to impress him from day one.

     Well, technically your first thought was damn, because you’d have to be insane not to notice how objectively attractive he was. But you’d quickly quelled that thought—crushing on your TO was not how you wanted to start your career as an officer. 

     So, impressing him was your second thought. And you had been more than a little terrified of not impressing him. 

     You would be lying if you said that wasn’t how things still were between you two, to a degree—you trying to prove yourself and him making it as difficult as possible. 

     But, at least after several months, you felt like your TO trusted you more. 

     “There!” You pointed to a man running down the street, duffel bag in hand.

     Tim hit the gas, surpassing the suspect, and skidding to a stop in front of him, effectively cutting him off. 

     You both hurried out of the car, weapons drawn on the man who was currently aiming his gun back and forth, between you and Bradford. 

     “Police! Drop your weapon!” Tim shouted at the man. 

     The man hesitated, seeming to be weighing his options—how easily he could take out two cops. 

     “Set the weapon down, nice and easy,” Tim ordered, his own gun still pointed at the suspect.”

     The man, seeming to sense the inevitability of his capture, sighed and set his gun on the ground. 

     “The answer was dialogue, by the way,” Tim addressed you, his eyes still on the suspect. “Dialogue is the most important  thing when dealing with an armed suspect.”

     “Good to know,” you acknowledged, before ordering the man in front of you. “Hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

     The man’s gaze shot to you as he obeyed your commands. 

     “Hey, lady cop, you look familiar,” the criminal squinted at you. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said. You’d never seen this man in your life. 

     “I swear—”

     “Hands on the car!” You ordered 

     The man reluctantly did what he was told, placing his palms on the side of the shop. 

      “Wait a minute,” the man sized you up before smirking slowly. “Your Paul Cranston’s girl, ain’t ya?”

     You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said again, robotically, grabbing one of his arms. 

     “No, no I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere,” the criminal whispered. “He told me all about you. Hey, why don’t you let me go and I’ll give you a friendly tip?”

     You responded by twisting his arm behind his back even harder.

     He winced. “So you didn’t hear then? Paul’s out.”

     No. That couldn’t be true. Paul wasn’t supposed to be out for—

     “Boot, you going to cuff him or not?” Tim called impatiently.

     “Right.” You shook off the stupor and began handcuffing the suspect. Your mind was still on that name, however, and your reflexes were slowed.

     Which is how the suspect was able to rip his arm from your grip and shove you to the ground as he tried to make a break for it. 

     Tim tackled him almost immediately, wrestling him into the cuffs that were dangling on one of his wrists where you had started to restrain him, and pushing him towards the shop.

     “Wait, Paul’s got a message for you!” the man hurried out, looking only at you as Tim waked over and shoved him into the backseat. “He said you best watch yourself, because he has connections, and he still hasn’t gotten his revenge. He’s out—and he’s coming for you.”

     “That’s enough, get in the car.” Tim slammed the door shut, and the echo of it rang in your ears as the man’s words played over and over again.

     He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     “What the hell was that?” 

     You looked up to Bradford’s questioning—and furious—face. He offered you a hand and you took it, standing up to face him. 

     “Sorry, I—”

     “‘Sorry’ doesn’t stop criminals from escaping,” Tim shouted. “Get your head in the game. You do want to be a cop, don’t you, Boot?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     So much for Tim trusting you. You couldn’t believe you’d almost just let a suspect get away. That had never happened to you before. But, that name—

     Your TO shook his head, walking to the drivers side and opening the door. “You know, I should write you up for that.”

     You noticed his wording. “But you’re not going to?”

     He waited for you to get into the passenger seat before saying, 

     “I didn’t say that. First you’re going to tell me what just happened between you two.”

     You flinched. “It—nothing. It was nothing.”

     “Uh-huh. It didn’t sound like nothing. Who’s Paul Cranston?” 

     You swallowed hard. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

      A million images flashed through your head. Paul’s face looming over you. The flashing lights and sirens. Waking up in the hospital. 

     You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to talk about this now. You swore you’d never talk about it again. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we get back to the station. Don’t we have to book this guy?”

     Tim sighed, started the car, and re-entered traffic. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

     “Control, this is 7-Adam-19. I need an ID on a Paul Cranston,” Tim spoke into his radio. 

     And so much for not talking about this now.

     “Can you do that without suspicion of a crime?” You asked him.

     “You can when dispatch loves you.” He winked at you. 

     You rolled your eyes at him as the radio began speaking. 

     “Paul Cranston: caucasian male, date of birth 8/4/92, recently released on parole, history of theft and domestic violence.” 

     Tim turned his gaze to you. “How do you know this man, Boot?”

     “It’s—a long story,” you told him. 

     “Well then you better start talking if you want to finish before we reach the station,” Tim commanded, making a left turn.

     “Can’t you just let it go?” You asked him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

      He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     You couldn’t fight the shiver that racked your body. 

      Tim’s eyes flicked to you, before returning back to the road. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, shifting the car into park before turning to you. 

     “If this is another one of your ‘I’m dying, where are we’ tests—”

     “Boot, focus,” Tim barked. 

     “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s really any of your concern if—”

     “Of course it’s my concern!” Tim shouted. His expression was so intense, you squirmed under his gaze and you felt your face heat. 

     He looked torn for a moment, before sighing and saying, “It’s my job as your TO to train you to the best of my abilities, and I can’t do that if you’re withholding information that may affect your performance as an officer.”

     “Fine,” you breathed. “It was a long time ago. I was 18, Paul and I met freshman year of college. We started dating and things were fine, good even, for a while.”

     “Until?” Tim prompted.

     “Until he got pissed one night because I caught him coming home really late with a ski mask and a bag full of stolen cash. Cliche, right?”

     You looked to Tim, but his expression was as stony as ever and you continued.

     “Apparently, he’d been stealing since high school and turns out he’d lied to me about working in retail and a whole bunch of other stuff. I threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop and—”

     You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You watched the houses and trees and cars pass by as you drove towards the station. 

     “—and he hit me. It didn't stop after that—once he knew he could get away with it. He said if I ever told anyone—about the robberies, the beatings—that he’d kill me. And I let him go on like that for months. I was so scared that if I called anyone, he’d make good on his promise.”

     Tim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his fingers turning white, but he didn’t speak.

     “But then, one night, it got so bad that I thought he might actually kill me anyway. So I waited until he left the room for a minute and I called 911. He was arrested and—and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital the next morning.”

     You kept your voice even, trying not to let the emotion show through your story. You were just recounting facts. This was almost 10 years ago, and you’d moved on with your life. 

     But reliving it all was hard, even after so much time had passed. 

     “It’s actually why I joined the academy,” you finished. “I wanted to save people, the way the officers that night did for me.”

     You were both silent for a moment. 

     A muscle in Tim’s jaw ticked. “Does the department know?”

     “Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s all part of my file.”

     “And the guy back there?” 

     You shrugged, glancing back at the suspect and lowering your voice. “He must be one of Paul’s partners or goons or—I don’t know. I guess he’s been in contact with him since he was released, if he knows what I look like.”

     The thought made your skin crawl. 

     “I don’t know what came over me,” you kept going. “It’s been years, I just—I didn’t expect to hear about him out of the blue from a criminal on the street, you know? But, I promise it won’t happen again.”

     Tim ignored that. “Do you think it was an empty threat?”

     “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I sure as hell hope so.”

     Bradford was silent for a long moment, his expression tense.

     The radio crackled to life. “7-Adam-19, we have a 215 in progress near your area, 239 West Armston Street. Respond.” 

     “Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call. 

     You stared at him, shocked. “Why aren’t we taking that? We can drop this guy off afterwards.”

     “Yeah, I agree,” the suspect chimed in from the backseat. “I think you should take that first.”

      Tim payed him no attention. “They’ll have someone else over there in minutes. We have more important things to do.”

     “You’re not even going to ask me if I know what a 215 is?” You joked. Tim never passed up an opportunity to quiz you. 

     “What’s a 215, Boot?” 

     “Carjacking.”

     “Correct.” Tim nodded. “And we’re going to have a talk with Sergeant Grey.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

    “Paul Cranston, released on parole from a thirteen year sentence three days ago, currently believed to be residing in the Woodland Hills area.”

     You sat in the briefing room, surrounded by other officers, as Sergeant Grey read out your ex-boyfriend’s file. You stared into Paul’s face on the screen, his mugshot visible from all angles. 

     Bradford stood near the front of the room, leaning against the wall. 

      “The department is aware of Officer (Y/l/n)’s history with Mr. Cranston,” Grey continued. “And will take necessary action should the situation progress.”

      “So, what’s the course of action here?” Tim crossed his arms. 

     “I’m afraid, as of now, there isn’t one,” Grey said. “Since there is no direct proof against Paul Cranston, we’d essentially be taking the word of a petty thief and wasting resources on what most likely was a desperate attempt to escape arrest. The department doesn’t exactly consider it a threat.”

    “Doesn’t consider it a threat?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous. “How about a charge for threatening an officer?”

    “But Paul didn’t threaten an officer,” you sighed, thinking. “The armed robbery suspect did.”

     “Exactly, Officer (Y/l/n),” Grey agreed. “Basically, our hands are tied.”

     “Then untie them,” Bradford snapped, beginning to pace. “There’s gotta be some technicality we can get him on. Violation of parole, conspiring with a felon, failure to—”

     “That’s enough, Officer Bradford,” The sergeant fixed your TO with a firm look. “I appreciate your concern for (Y/l/n)’s safety, but we’ve done all we can do. And, for now, that’s nothing.”

      Tim’s concern for your safety. That thought had been in the back of your mind since the ride to the station. You couldn’t figure out why Tim was so determined about this. You supposed you were his rookie and was his job to look out for you. It was just, up until now, he hadn’t exactly done anything to make you believe he’d care so much.

     “Failure to take action could be endangering one of our officers,” Tim said, his jaw clenched. “Who’s to say this guy won’t make good on his threat? At least increase security at (Y/l/n)’s residence.”

     “Tim, its fine,” you said, your voice firm. “Let it go.” 

     They were making a big enough deal about this already. It probably was just a case of a criminal trying anything to get free. You doubted Paul even cared about what happened to you anymore. He probably never wanted to see you again—and that was a good thing. 

     But, then, you couldn’t get those words out of your head.

     He’s out and he’s coming for you.

     Bradford turned to you, his chest rising and falling. He looked so…resolved. Like he did when chasing down a suspect or that time when you’d walked in on him in the training rooms.

     Images of Tim shirtless, the muscles in his back tight as he pushed himself harder filled your head and you quickly shook them away. Definitely not the time. 

   “We’ll send a surveillance team to Paul’s location in the morning,” Grey said, turning to address you. “But for now the best thing you can do is to go home, get some sleep, and not let this rattle you. Understood?”

     “Yes, Sergeant.”

     “Good. Because the last thing the L.A.P.D needs is a cop who lets their personal life get in the way of their ability to do their job in any way that’s less than exemplary. I trust that’s not the case?” 

     You glanced to Bradford, certain he was going to mention your mistake with the suspect earlier. 

     “No, Sir,” Tim said instead. “My rookies don’t do ‘less than exemplary’. Don’t worry about (Y/l/n)—she’s proved to me she has what it takes to be an officer.”

     “Glad to hear it. Shift over. Everybody else, back to work,” Sergeant Grey waved everyone away. 

     You walked towards the front of the room, hearing grumbled complaints about midnight shift from the unlucky officers who still had to do patrol as you did so. 

     You stopped in front of your TO. His eyes were on you, his brow drawn in something that looked like concern.

     “Thanks,” you said. You couldn’t believe he’d told Grey all that—it was the most complimentary thing he’d said about you in your whole time riding with him. 

     “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim stated, shrugging. “I expect you to live up to any praise I’ve given you.”

     “Yes, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling.

     “Besides, you’re being trained by me. You’d have to be royally screwed up not to become one of the best on the force.”

     “And he’s humble too,” you teased. “But I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

     “Whatever, Boot.” Tim smiled, shaking his head. 

     “Be nonchalant all you want,” you said, feeling brave. “I know you like me.”

     For a brief moment, Tim looked like you’d slapped him. But then, the flash of—whatever that was—was gone and his expression was replaced by one of cold indifference. 

     “In your TO not your friend, (Y/l/n),” he stated. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about training you.”

      You sighed inwardly. Just when you thought you were making ground with Tim, he treated you like you’d just met. “Of course, how could I forget.”

     Tim stayed silent. 

    “Well, I should head out,” you told him, “I’ve got a busy night ahead me. You know, trying not to get killed by my ex and all.”

     You’d meant it as a joke, to make light of the situation that left you feeling more uneasy than you’d care to admit. Tim, however, just shook his head and brushed past you, out of the briefing room. 

     You stood there for a moment, trying to work through what had just happened, before turning around and taking a step in the other direction. Only to find Officers Lopez and Bishop standing in front of you, staring between you and Tim’s retreating figure. 

     “So how’d you do it?” Bishop looked you up and down.

     “Do what?” You asked, confused. 

     “Get Tim wrapped around your finger,” Lopez answered for her, smirking. 

     You felt your eyes widen. “Tim’s not—” 

     “Please,” Lopez put her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched him train dozens of rookies and he’s never stood up for any of them like that. So naturally I figured you’re either blackmailing him or sleeping with him.”

     You blanched, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you let what Angela said sink in. You knew she was just teasing you, but the statement caught you off guard. You imagined you and Tim—together. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thought. And then you realized what you were thinking and you chided yourself, hurriedly un-imagining it. 

     “No, that’s not—neither one of those things,” you answered quickly. “Trust me, Tim doesn’t give me any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. I actually can’t tell if he hates me half of the time.”

     “We’re not implying anything,” Bishop replied. “Only observing. And he doesn’t hate you.”

     “How can you possibly know that?” You were suddenly insecure. You still held on to a secret dread that you were going to wildly disappoint Tim—that you already had. Sure, there was all the stuff he had just said. But there was also months of him being hard on you and saying that you weren’t friends. 

     “Because I’ve seen him hate plenty of people,” Bishop spoke. “And he definitely didn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”

      The way Tim looked at you? You weren’t aware he looked at you in a way that was different from the way he looked at anyone else at the station.

     “What are you guys trying to say?” You asked them. 

     “I’m saying watch out,” Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Because Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.”

     Could there be any truth to what the two officers were saying? Was it wrong for a small part of you to hope there was?

     “Um, ok,” you said, blinking. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

     “Don’t believe us if you want, it’s your call,” Bishop shrugged, backing up. “But I’m telling you, you mean something to Tim that the rest of us can only guess at.”

     And with that she walked out of the room.

    “Bishop can be intense,” Angela said when the woman was out of earshot. “She’s got that whole ‘anti-cops-dating’ thing going on—but I do think she’s right about this. Tim’s tough, and I’m sure he gives you hell—but it’s not because he doesn’t like you. I actually think it’s quite the opposite. ”

     Was there really something that everyone saw between you and Tim except for you? You still couldn’t even entertain the thought that Tim had feelings for you that were more than TO and rookie. 

     “Well you’ve certainly left me with a lot to think about,” you said finally.

     “Then I’ll let you start thinking—you’re welcome for the peace of mind.” 

     You wouldn’t have used the phrase peace of mind, yourself. Sure, it was nice to know that the officers who had known your TO for years were confident that he didn’t look down on you. But, this conversation also had left your head swimming with conflicting thoughts about Tim that you didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

     “And take care,” Lopez said knowingly. “We have your back if anything happens.”

      With that, your thoughts slammed back to the current situation.

    “Right, that. You—you think something’s going to happen?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

     “I think in this job we have to be prepared for the worst,” she corrected. “But I also think that bastard would have to be pretty stupid to mess with you.”

     She smiled at you and you smiled back. After watching her leave, you followed her path, heading towards the locker rooms.

     You thought about what she had said about you and Tim, about Paul.

     You hoped she was right—you just couldn’t say which you hoped she was more right about.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     Your thoughts bounced between your conversation with Talia and Angela and the message from your ex as you walked to your car minutes later. 

     When you woke up this morning, you thought the most stressful part of your day would’ve been a police chase or a shootout.  You never would’ve expected it to be my ex-boyfriend is out of jail and could be hunting me down and my training officer might have feelings for me.

     Funny how things could change so fast.

     Suddenly, you heard a bang. You spun around quickly, your heart in your throat. But it was only a car door being slammed shut from across the parking lot. 

     Get a grip, you told yourself. 

     You rounded the corner, running a hand through your hair.

     You stopped. Tim was leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked you up and down.

     “What are you doing?” You asked. 

     “Driving you home, Boot,” Tim said. “Get in the car.”

     “Tim, you don’t have to—”

     “That wasn’t a question, give me the keys.”

     There was no point in fighting him. Besides, there was a small part of you that didn’t really want to fight him. 

     You tossed him the keys to your car and got in the passenger seat with a sigh.  

     Tim started the engine. 

     “If this is about Paul, this really isn’t necessary,” you said after you’d been driving for several minutes and the silence became too much. “I can handle myself. I am an officer, in case you forgot.”

     “You’re a rookie,” Tim corrected, eyes never leaving the road. “And if the department won’t do anything, then I will.”

     “What—we’re not going to go looking for him, are we?” You asked.

     “Of course not,” Tim scoffed. “I’m not a vigilante, Boot. Where do you live?”

     “Take a left at the light,” you guided. 

     Neither of you talked for the remainder of the drive, save your occasional directions. When you pointed out your apartment building, Tim parked the car and handed you the keys. 

     “Thanks,” you mumbled to him as you got out of the car, grabbing your bag and heading towards the building.

     You heard a door shut behind you and turned to find your TO standing on the sidewalk, an eyebrow raised.

     “You didn’t think I was just going to let you spend the night alone with a target on your head, did you, Boot?” 

     “Tim—”

     “No more protests,” he said firmly. “As your TO, I—”

     “No, I was just going to say that if you were planning on staying here, why couldn’t I have just driven my own car?”

     “I don’t let my rookies drive,” Tim walked past you and to the front door. “Even off-duty.”

     You followed him quickly, getting out your key and letting you both in.

     When you reached your apartment you did a quick scan of the space—it wasn’t exactly like you’d been expecting company, much less your training officer. You cringed at the messiness.

      “How many entrances and exits are there?” Bradford asked. 

     “Um, just the front door. And there’s windows in the kitchen and the bedroom,” you said. 

     You skimmed past everything in the place, looking towards the window in your bedroom. Your eye caught on one of your bras hanging from your bedpost. You quickly ran over and shut the door, blushing and hoping Tim hadn’t noticed.

     “Please, Boot,” Tim made a face. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

     “Ok no offense, but I usually don’t let guys see my bra the first time I bring them to my place,” you joked.

     “If that’s an offer, I’m going to have to politely decline.”

     “What—no,” you hurried out, worried your voice sounded wrong. “I just meant—”

    Tim interrupted. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place, make sure everything’s as it should be.”

     “Is that really needed?”

     “I’m not taking any chances.” He left the room and you sunk down onto the couch, letting your bag fall to the floor. 

     Your TO returned a few minutes later. “All clear.”

     “See, everything’s fine,” you said, speaking just as much to yourself as you were to Tim. 

     “Well,” Bradford started, amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say everything is fine. Your storage closet’s a fire hazard.”

     Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

     “I’ll be sure not to exit through the closet in the events of a fire,” you said sarcastically. “And if you keep insulting my living space, I’m going to be forced to kick you out.”

     “Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

     “You can’t end my career for that,” you shot back. Paused. “Can you?”

     Tim raised his eyebrows.

     “Only one way to find out,” you said enthusiastically, teasing him now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let the closet trap you on the way out.

     “Nice try, Boot. But you’re still stuck with me for,” Tim checked his watch. “eight hours.”

     “Nine hours,” you corrected. You had to leave for work in nine hours.

     “You’re right, I should get us drinks,” Tim joked.

     You rolled you eyes and he shot you a look. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

     Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.  

     “Is all you own ginger ale, Boot?” He called. 

     “There’s six year old tequila in the cupboard,” you suggested.

     “Ginger ale it is.”

      Tim joined you in the living room again, carrying two bottles. He handed one to you, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. 

     You noted the careful distance he put between you. 

     “What’s this thing made of, Boot? Plywood?” Tim asked, inspecting the couch.

     You smothered a laugh.

     “Get comfortable. It’s where you’re sleeping,” you answered. 

     “Won’t be necessary. If you’re not awake you’re not aware.”

     “So, what, we’re taking shifts on guard like this is a stakeout?” You asked.

     “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t come here to sleep.”

     “Tim I can’t let you stay up all night while I’m unconscious.” you sighed.

     “You can if it’s an order. Besides, no offense, but rookies are historically less vigilant and have a slower response time…” 

     You tried not to take offense at that. “Right, Eagle Eye.”

     Tim glared at you. 

     “Angela told me.”

     “Of course she did. And at least I didn’t leave valuable evidence on the street to chase after a dog wearing a top hat.”

     “Sparky could’ve been involved in the crime,” you said, indignant. “And that was one time!”

     “One time too many,” Tim mumbled, lifting the bottle to his lips, his eyes sparkling. 

     “Ok, so when you were a rookie you were, what, perfect?” You shot back.

     “Damn straight.” Tim nodded. 

     “You made no mistakes, at all?” You prompted.

     “Well,” Tim took a sip of his drink. “There was one thing.”

     “Aside from the graffiti incident?”

     “That wasn’t a mistake because it wasn’t my fault. I was following direct orders and—you know what, never mind. If you don’t want to hear it—”

     “No, no, I do!” you scooted towards the edge of your seat in anticipation. “And none of that ‘I worked too hard and too efficiently’ crap.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically. “My first week on the job I was put on paperwork duty, which was—”

     “Boring and tedious? I can imagine,” you deadpanned, having been put in charge of paperwork by Tim many times.

     “I was going to say necessary and a valuable skill to have,” Bradford corrected. “But anyways, we had just got done booking a couple suspects and I was working on the reports. A triple homicide and a prostitution case. It was a long day and I was tired and I guess I got sloppy—”

     “You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

     “Do you want me to tell you this story or not?”

     “Right, sorry. Continue.”

     Tim did. “I’d just finished tagging the evidence for both cases and when I was filling everything out I somehow got the numbers mixed up. Long story short, according to my report, the homicide gun ended up being linked to the prostitution case and the weapon allegedly used in the triple homicide was…a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs.”

      You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you now.

     “Forensics caught it before it was sent to the judge, thank god,” Bradford sighed. “But the next day when I was getting ready for my shift, I was greeted by dozens of similar handcuffs in my locker—apparently Smitty has a guy.”

     “Tell me you kept them,” you begged, pulling your knees up to your chest.

     “Of course not!”

     Tim blinked.

     “Well, not all of them—Isabel made me take a pair home. I found out later that she was the one who orchestrated the whole prank. She used to do stuff like that all the time before she, uh,—”

     “Tim—”

     You’d heard about Bradford’s ex-wife. How she’d become an addict, gotten herself mixed up with bad people. You knew how much it had affected Tim, even if he hadn’t said so. 

     She was in rehab now, getting her life back together. You were glad she was finally getting the help she needed. Still, you knew how much she meant to Tim. How much it had hurt him to move on from her and let her start a new life without him. 

     “I’m fine.” Tim said firmly, clearing his throat. “It’s good to talk about her…before. She’s on the right path now.”

     You stared at the ground in front of you, picking at your fingernails. 

     “Are you still in love with her?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You didn’t know why you asked—didn’t know why you cared what the answer was. Ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have even dared to ask that question.  

     But he was being so uncharacteristically open and you seemed to be getting along well. You reluctantly brought your eyes up to Tim.

     His eyes had gone wide. He looked like he wanted to leave or yell at you or both, and you immediately regretted it.

     But then his eyes softened and he opened his mouth. “No. I’ll always care about her and she’ll always be someone that I did love. But relationships change—people change.”

     You nodded. “I get it—I mean, I’m kind of rusty on relationships—but I get it. I actually haven’t dated anyone since Paul. I guess it was just hard to trust someone after that. I kind of sabotaged any relationship that had any chance of starting.”

     It was the first time you’d admitted that to anyone. You wouldn’t have pegged Tim as being so easy to talk to. You had almost forgotten about the whole Paul situation before you’d just brought him up. You had been enjoying hanging out with Tim, no matter the circumstances. He was actually pleasant to be around when he wasn’t on the clock. 

     You imagined this happening more often—you and Tim, not just coworkers but friends. Maybe even more. Maybe this was one relationship you didn’t have to end before it started.

     You dared to let yourself think about it. You watched Tim process your words. Saw the emotion clearly written in his face as he looked at you intensely. 

     “Hey, thanks again for not letting me be alone tonight,” you told him, you’re voice soft. 

     “Don’t take it personally, Boot,” he said. “My house is being repainted and even your place beats breathing in paint fumes all night.”

     “I’m honored,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But you have to admit this has been fun—hanging out.”

     Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

     Tim, however, looked like a switch had been flipped inside of him. You watched as he clenched his jaw, leaning almost imperceptibly away from you 

     “Listen, Boot—”

     He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and a loud thumping sound. 

     You both shot up off the couch, abandoning your drinks. Tim’s hand went to his gun. You did the same. 

     Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

     “Like hell,” you shot back, following him as he started to do a sweep of the main room.

     If that sound was someone—Paul—breaking in, you weren’t going to sit here and let Bradford fight your battles for you. 

     He signaled to let you know he was moving to the kitchen. You nodded, following. 

     “Clear,” he muttered, and moved on towards the bathroom. You were right behind him when you heard another noise, like the muffled sound of scraping of furniture, and you spun around.

     The bedroom. It was the only room in that direction that you hadn’t checked yet. 

     You glanced to Tim, but he hadn’t heard it. He was a few feet ahead of you, just now entering the bathroom. 

     You slowly stepped away from him and made your way across the apartment, down the hall and over to the closed bedroom door.

     Holding your weapon in one hand, you opened the door with the other. But, you barely had time to see what was on the other side before you were grabbed and a cloth was shoved into your mouth. 

     Your gun was ripped from your hand, and you were pushed hard onto the ground. Your wrist burned where you landed on shards of glass from the broken window

     Something smacked into the back of your head and you were dragged and thrown onto the bed on the corner. You heard the door shut. 

     Squinting up into the light, rubbing your throbbing head, your heart dropped as you saw who was in front of you. 

     “Did you miss me?” Paul sneered, spinning your gun in his hand. 

     You froze. Everything crashed into you at once. The events of the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend sped through your mind. Suddenly, you were scared and 18 again, at the mercy of this man. 

     “I guess you got my man’s message,” Paul continued. “Because you don’t exactly look shocked to see me. Scared, of course, but not shocked.”

     Coming back to yourself, you scrambled up onto your knees, ready to knock him out.

     Paul shook his head, laughing. “No, no. If you move even an inch I’ll shoot you right in the forehead.”

     You sat back down, your heart thumping in your chest as you scanned the room for a way out. Some way to get the upper hand on him. You had been trained for this.

     “Listen to me,” he continued, his hand coming to the gag in your mouth. You flinched away from him. “I know there’s someone in here with you. If you try to scream to alert them, I will also shoot you.  I’d like to play with you first before I put a bullet in your brain but, hey, I’m not picky. Is that clear?”

     You nodded, trying to measure how fast you could knock the weapon out of his hand before he could take a shot at you. Paul took the cloth out of you mouth.

     You gasped in air. “Backup’s going to be in here any second and then you’re going back to prison.”

     Tim would notice you were gone. He had to. 

     “Oh, I don’t think so,” Paul smiled. “I’ll be long gone and you’ll be long dead before that happens.”

     You glanced towards the door. What was taking him so long?

     Suddenly, Paul reached forwards and gripped your face in his hand. “Just as beautiful as I remember. It was such a shame things had to end with us as they did. How did that happen again? Oh, that’s right. You betrayed me.”

     “And that was the best decision I ever made,” you spat. 

     Paul backed up, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten feistier, baby. It’ll make this so much more fun for me.”

     He stepped back towards you, his face inches from yours, sneering. “This’ll be just like old times.”

     Bam! The door to your bedroom busted open. Bradford rushed in, taking in the situation. You breathed a sigh of relief.

     “Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

     Paul froze for only a second, fear flashing across his face, but it was enough. You lunged, wrestling the gun out of his hands, your wrist protesting. 

     You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

     “You have five seconds to get on the ground before I shoot you,” Tim bit out, his expression murderous.

     “Come on, baby, you’re not going to let Officer Buzzkill treat me like that, are you?” Paul appealed to you. 

     You leveled your gaze on him, ignoring his words. “You heard him. Get on the ground.”

     Paul slowly knelt, never taking his eyes off of you. Tim charged him, pulling out handcuffs and locking them around his wrists. 

    You took a moment to be amused—of course Tim had off-duty cuffs. 

    “So this ends the way it starts, huh?” Paul shook his head. “You getting me locked up?”

     “Just like old times,” you echoed his earlier statement. You stayed stoic, putting your hands on your hips to hide the way they shook.

    Anger sparked in Paul’s eyes before he took on a smug expression. “You’re right. You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

     “Don’t listen to him, Boot,” Tim warned hauling the man up off the ground. 

     “You know I’m right,” Paul’s manic eyes bore into yours. He was enjoying every moment of this, laughter in his tone. It took all that was in you to keep your expression blank, unaffected. “You’ll always be that person I knew—the person who loved me. Because you did—love me. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You just took it all like the victim you are. You pathetic bitch—”

      He was cut off abruptly as Tim slammed him face-first against the wall. Paul cried out.

     “That’s enough!” Tim shouted. “If you ever threaten—no, if you even look at (Y/l/n) again, I will hunt you down and personally remove every external limb from your body, do you understand me? (Y/n) is a million times the person you will ever be and you don’t get to make her feel small. If I didn’t think sitting in a cell for the rest of your life was a worse fate, I’d kill you right now—screw the department.”

     Your ears were ringing, your head dizzy as you tried to ground yourself. Your voice came out tiny. “Tim, stop.”

     Bradford turned to you, almost as if he had forgotten you were in the room. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched around the man in custody. 

     “And she’s not a victim,” Tim whispered, turning back to Paul, his voice right by his ear. “She’s a survivor.”

     With that, he shoved Paul back to the ground and moved over to you, his eyes roaming over your face. Your body. He took the gun out of your hands, setting it on the desk. Then, he gripped your injured wrist and you winced as he inspected it.

     “Probably hurts like hell, but you won’t need stitches. Any other injuries?”

     “Um, he hit me in the back of the head,” you felt your scalp, a lump already forming.

     Tim’s hands moved to your hair, his touch gentle, his breath on your cheek as he leaned to get a better look.

     Your own breath caught, your heart racing at the intimacy of your position. 

     “What’s the damage?” You almost whispered.

     Tim’s eyes met yours, the heat of his stare spreading through your body. “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but there’s no external bleeding.”

     Tim stepped back, and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

     “Are you—are you ok, Boot?” He asked carefully. 

     How did you even answer that question? You were still in shock, unable to process what had just happened. 

     “I will be,” you settled on, breathing in slowly. Exhaling.

      Tim looked like he wanted to say more but he clenched his jaw, glancing in the direction of Paul, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he had finally accepted his defeat. 

     “I’m going to call for back up, you go clean that up,” Tim gestured to the blood covering your wrist where you had landed in the broken glass. “You need help?”

     “No, I got it,” You nodded, walking towards the bathroom as you heard Tim make the call.

     “911, what’s your emergency?”

     “This is off-duty officer Tim Bradford, badge 34831. I need a unit to my location for a 126. Suspect in custody. Code 1.”

      Tim’s voice faded as you made your way down the hall, shutting the bathroom door after you to access the medicine cabinet behind it.

     You took out the necessary supplies and began cleaning the wound. You stopped in front of the sink, letting your burning eyes close for a moment, massaging your temples. 

     Now that you were alone, you let yourself collapse, bracing your hands against the counter 

     Images flooded your senses. 

     The gag. Paul hitting you from behind. You, young and frightened, huddled on the ground. That gleam in his eyes.

     Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

     He’s in custody. You told yourself. He can’t hurt you anymore. 

     You looked at your reflection in the mirror staring wearily back at you, your hands still shaking as you brushed your hair back from your face. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

      Turning your attention back to your wrist, you took a deep breath and continued to dab at the wound.

      You reached for the bandages on the counter. A sheen of sweat broke out on your forehead as you wrapped your arm. 

      You pictured Paul’s grip on you. His words rang in your ears. 

     You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.

     The room tilted. You swayed on your feet so you sunk down to the ground, leaning your head against the cabinet, the cool wood pressing against your head. 

     You tried to slow your erratic breathing but you couldn’t. You couldn’t—

     The sound of footsteps and voices carried through the door. You were vaguely aware that it was probably the backup here to take Paul away.

     You closed your eyes, your throat tight, you pulse thundering in your ears.

     I’m ok, you tried to tell yourself. I’m ok. I’m ok.

     You were unaware how long you sat like this. You had no concept of time. Your thoughts were wild, images flashing in and out, unable to form conscious ideas. Every breath sending a sharp pain through your body. 

     “Boot?”

     The muffled voice was closer than the others had been. 

     “Boot?” The voice was louder now. You registered Tim at the door. He knocked once. Twice. 

     “Boot, I’m coming in,” he shouted, his voice laced with worry. The door was shoved open. 

     “Dammit,” he cursed, seeing your state. You felt him getting closer to you, but you didn’t look up as he knelt by you, his concerned expression taking in yours.

     “Hey, look at me,” Tim coaxed. “(Y/l/n), breathe.”

     He seemed miles and miles away. There was a pause.

     “Hey, Boot, I got another test for you,” he spoke quickly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I want you to tell me the most annoying person we work with.”

     “What?” You rasped, barely hearing him. 

    “Bishop’s an easy target,” he said. “And Lopez is a slob, so you can’t go wrong there. West’s got the whole daddy issues thing. Don’t even get me started on Nolan—”

     You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

     “And then there’s me. I mean, I’m annoying right?”

     You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly. 

     Tim smiled. “Oh so you agree? It’s ok, Boot, you can say me. Go ahead, I can take it.”

     When you didn’t say anything, Tim kept talking. “Personally I’d go for Detective Coleman. The man makes double what I do and I’m convinced he doesn’t own a decent looking tie.”

     “L-like the—the green one from last week,” you managed, trying to slow your breathing.

     “Leprechauns would call it tacky,” Tim agreed. “Now, since we’ve discussed this from all angles I’m going to need you to choose wisely. Because this is going to go on your evaluation for today.”

     You gulped. “Are—are you going to get me fired if I say you?”

     Tim let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “I knew it. Guess who’s going back to long-sleeves on Monday?”

     “In this heat wave? You—you wouldn’t dare,” you joked, sniffing.

     “I don’t know, I am the most annoying person you work with—sounds like something I might do.”

     You laughed again, this time the sound coming out less strained. You focused on taking deep breaths, feeling your heart rate return to normal. 

     “There you go.” Tim stood up, offering his hand to you for the second time that day. You gripped his arm as he pulled you up onto shaky legs.

     “Thanks,” you mumbled, embarrassed to have had your TO see you like this now that your head was clearer. 

     “For what, doing my job?”

     You smiled weakly at him, running a hand along your forehead. “Sorry for um—”  

     “Having a normal reaction to a highly emotional situation? Don’t apologize for being human,” Tim said firmly, his forehead creased.

     “So, he’s gone?” You’re voice came out small.

     Tim’s expression softened. “He’s gone.”

     You nodded again, looking at the floor. 

     “Hey, (Y/n), look at me.” Tim said. You brought your gaze up to meet his. “He’s never going to hurt you again, ok? I’ll make sure of that.”

      You let your eyes fall closed, feeling ashamed that you had been so affected. That Tim had to handle all of this for you. “I know. And I’ll understand if after…all this, you don’t see me fit to—to be a police officer anymore.”

     Tim’s eyes hardened, his voice hardening with them. “With all do respect, Boot, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I meant every word of what I said back there—you’re a survivor. All I saw tonight is that you are a brave and intelligent woman who just so happens to have a scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Don’t let it define you because then he wins. You’re a great cop, (Y/l/n). It’s rookies like you who make the force as strong as it is.”

     You listened to Tim speak. He sounded so…passionate. Bishop’s words came back to you.

     Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.

     You desperately wanted that to be true, now more than ever. He’d been so kind to you in this past hour—staying with you, rescuing you, reassuring you, bringing you back from whatever dark place you had just been in. 

     And then this. Talking about you like he…like he really cared about you. And maybe it was just because he felt like as your training 

Officer he had to protect you. But in the moment, it felt like maybe it could be more than that. 

    “So what I’m hearing is, I’m getting a promotion?” You teased finally, brushing your hair back from your damp face, breaking the silence. 

     Bradford put up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you still have a lot to learn from me.”

     You sighed. This was normal, this was comfortable. How you and Tim always acted with each other. You were both relieved and disappointed at the change back into familiar territory. 

     You ran a hand through your hair, stifling a yawn. Saying today had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century.

     “Now come on,” Tim flicked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

     “Let me guess, nine p.m. sharp every night?” You teased.

     “That’s not true.”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Nine-thirty,” he admitted. 

     You giggled, following Tim out of the bathroom and into the hallway which led to the living room.

     You glanced at your bedroom as you passed it, trying not to think about what had happened in there. It was over now, you told yourself. 

     “Since my room is kind of a crime scene, I guess we’re both crashing out here,” you sighed, gesturing to the couch. 

      Silence filled the room and you immediately realized your mistake, cheeks flaming. 

     “Or, right, I guess you can go now. Danger’s over.”

     “Are you kidding?” Tim said. “And get to bed even later? I’m not going anywhere.”

     You stepped into the living room. You were glad Tim was staying. You felt safer with him here, even though you knew it was irrational. 

     “I’ll get the blankets and stuff,” you said, turning back the way you’d came.

     “Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

     “I would but they’re in the closet and I don’t want it to trap you or something,” you said. 

     “You think I can’t take a closet full of your crap? Bring it on,” Tim challenged and you led him down the hall. 

     A few minutes later you returned to the living room, blankets and pillows in tow. Tim helped you pull out the couch bed—you were grateful you’d opted for this couch instead of a regular one—and you stood back, admiring your work. 

     “Take the couch,” you told him. “It was your bed originally.”

     “Not gonna happen.” Tim crossed his arms. “It’s your house. And you’re injured.”

     “I’m fine. And where are you going to sleep? The floor?” You asked him. 

     Tim scanned the room and then sat down on the chair across from the couch-turned-bed. 

     “Are you sure you’re ok on that?” You asked. It didn’t exactly look comfortable for spending hours on.

     “Trust me, Boot, you got the short end of the stick. Have fun sleeping on plywood.” 

      You smiled. “So, what, you’re just going to sit over there and watch me sleep?”

     “I can leave, if you’re—”

     “No,” you’re voice came out faster and more sharp than you’d intended. “I mean, you came all this way, I don’t want you to have to get an Uber home at this hour.”

     You climbed into bed, aware that you were still in your clothes, but not caring enough to change. 

     “We should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” Tim sighed. He got up and turned the lights off, darkness filling the room. 

     “Damn, boot,” you heard Tim’s voice even though you couldn’t see him anymore. “It’s pitch black in here. You don’t sleep with a light or anything?”

     “Well I don’t usually sleep in my living room,” you pointed out. Then you stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Tim Bradford afraid of the dark?”

     Tim scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

     “Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

     “There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

     You winked. “Exactly.”

     “You’re impossible.”

     “Thank you.” You smiled.

     The room fell silent. You heard him sit back down. 

     You laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The seconds ticked by. 

    “Do you—do you think he really would’ve shot me?” You asked, finally.

     “I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He clearly thought you guys had unfinished business. But guys like that get high on fear—on desperation. He couldn’t have that if you were dead. In his mind, he’d be losing his power over you.”

     He paused. 

     “Besides, I don’t think he would’ve gotten the chance,” Tim said. “He clearly underestimated the badass-ness of his opponent.”

     You snorted. “Did you just say ‘badass-ness’?”

     “It’s a word!” Tim defended. 

     You laughed, turning over on your side. 

     “But seriously, if you ever need anything, you can always talk to me,” Tim said, sounding earnest. “I mean it.”

     “I may just take you up on that,” you responded. “Do you tell that to all your rookies?”

     You could barely make out Tim’s frame in the dark. “No, not all of them.”

     “I’m going to take that as I’m special,” you said. 

     Your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.   

    “You know, Lopez and Bishop had this crazy idea that you had feelings for me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “But I told them it was just that—crazy.”

     Tim didn’t speak.

     “It is crazy right?” You asked. You had to know. He still was silent. “Right?”

     “Boot, look—” Bradford started. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn’t talked in days. Your heartbeat was a deafening roar in your ears. 

     “Tim?”

     You could hear more than see Tim’s movements. He stood, pacing the length of the room. Sat back down. Stood up again. Sat. 

     “Dammit, Boot, I can’t do this,” he finished. “I can’t do this right now, (Y/n).”

     Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it. 

     You stood up. 

     And maybe it was having to deny your attraction to your TO for seven months. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the attack earlier. Maybe it was because the darkness felt safe and secret—made you feel like you could do anything. Maybe you were just too eager after his small encouragement—or, lack of discouragement.

     But, whatever the reason, you walked over to where Tim sat, kneeled down, looked into his confused, strained eyes, and kissed him. 

     Tim froze, his lips still against yours. And then, almost as if he was afraid you would vanish or startle, he placed his hand gingerly on your waist, and leaned into the kiss.

     And he was kissing you back. Tim Bradford was kissing you back. 

     His free hand went to your hair, deepening the kiss as he gripped you closer. He kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime.

     It was desperate and raw and passionate—it was perfect.

     You broke apart, both gasping for breath.       

     “Listen, Boot,” Tim started. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You’ve had a long and confusing day—”

     You interrupted him. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. But I’m not confused about this.”

     You brought your lips to his again. This time he didn’t hold back. He pulled you closer to him and you felt the warmth of him through his shirt. 

     When you came apart again, he was smiling. 

     “Well, I guess I can check thinking that you hate me off my daily checklist,” you whispered. 

     “I don’t hate you, Boot,” Tim said. “I actually hate how much I don’t hate you.”

     You studied the planes of his face, the light from the hallway illuminating his eyes. His lips. His jawline.

     “Boot—”

     “If you’re going to say that this is a bad idea, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight,” you said. 

     “I thought that was obvious.” Tim stated matter-of-factly. “I was going to say actually I’d appreciate it if you did turn on a lamp or something, because—”

     You laughed, kissing him again. 

     “But seriously,” Tim continued. “You know we can’t do this.”

     “Why not?” You pouted. “If it’s what we both want.”

     “It’s not about what we want—we could be putting both of our careers in jeopardy.”

     You knew he was right. Of course he was right. 

     “But is it—what you want?” 

     “God yes,” Tim blurted, standing up, his voice strained. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I started training you. Do you know how hard it’s been trying to put distance between us and deny every damn thing when all I wanted to do was—”

     He broke off, running a hand along his hair. 

     “Then do it.” Your heart pounded in your chest. “You’ll only be my TO for a few more months, we’ll just keep it a secret until then. No one has to know.”

     Tim looked at you. 

     “Ok you’re right, Bishop and Lopez will totally know something’s up,” you admitted.

     “I guess I’ll just have to transfer,” Tim joked.

     “What happened to ‘Tim Bradford finished what he starts’?” You asked.

     “Oh I intend to do just that,” Tim whispered. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

     You thought about the consequences you could face—Tim could face—if it got out that you and your training officer were romantically involved. You knew it would be a huge risk—one that could get you cut from the program.

     You looked at Tim. He was watching you like he never wanted to let you go again. You thought about how long you’d wanted this, even if you didn’t fully know it until tonight.

     And the decision seemed clear.

     “Yeah,” you beamed. “Yeah I think we are.”

     He cupped your face in his hand, his fingers warm against the back of your neck. Your eyes closed against his touch. You felt comfort for the first time in hours.

     “You need rest,” Tim whispered and your eyes fluttered open. “As much as I’d love to do this all night.”

     You nodded, backing up towards your bed. Tim ran a hand through his hair again and then sat back down in the armchair.

    “What’re you doing?” You asked him.

    “Going to bed,” Tim answered, as if it was obvious. 

    “Get over here,” you gestured, rolling your eyes at him.

    “I was hoping you’d say that,” Tim smiled. 

     You climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of you.

     You lay your head on Bradfords chest. You could feel his heartbeat in your ear as you closed your eyes.     

    “You know, this will kind of be like doing undercover work—minus the threat of getting killed,” you said. 

     “I don’t know about that—I wouldn’t put anything past an angry Sergeant Grey.”

     “We’ll just have to be so in-character that we never find out,” you said. 

     “I’ll make sure to be extra tough on you next shift,” Tim agreed. 

     “And that’s different from any other day how?” You shot back, sitting up. 

     “Hey, training rookies is a sacred duty and I take that very seriously. If you think I’m going to throw your education out the window simply because—”

     You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. You echoed his earlier words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

     Tim shook is head slightly, eyes roaming over your face. 

     “What?” You asked.

     “You’re so beautiful, (Y/n),” Tim breathed. “I’m so glad I can finally tell you that.”

     “Me too,” you said. “Even if it took…this for it to happen.”

     “Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take a sick day tomorrow,” Tim said. “Since there’s no way Grey—or myself—is letting you go to work. What’d you say?”

     You wanted to fight him, say you were fine and you could make it to your shift the next day. But the promise of taking a sick day with Tim was to tempting to pass up. 

     “I say I’m glad your house is being repainted,” you teased. “Because then you’ll have to stay with me.”

     Tim smiled knowingly. “My house isn’t being repainted, Boot. And I’m all yours.”

     You grinned, laying back down and resting your head back against Tim. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

     You felt safe, protected in his arms. 

     The rest would come. Dealing with what had happened tonight. Starting your secret relationship with Tim. Eventually facing everyone at work who had heard the news and would want to ask if you were ok. And you would be ok.

     But for now, this was enough. He was enough. 

     “Tim?” You whispered.

     “Hmm?”

     You struggled for words to fit the gravity of what you were feeling for him. “Thanks for…everything.”

     “What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged. 

     “Apparently keeping the night light business afloat.” You giggled at the look on Bradford’s face. 

     “Shut it, Boot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed loves!! i’m so down bad for tim it’s not even funny 😵‍💫

[dalton344]

girlhood is staying up late to read the top posts in an x reader tag

[dalton344]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto