you know i got a wild imagination

Tom has always been smart, top of the class, but there was also you - someone dangerously on his heels, and sometimes getting the upper hand, burning Tom one too many times in your rivalry against one another. He hated admitting defeat. His hatred - at least, he thought it was hatred, he didn’t know what else to name it - for you simmered hotter and hotter with every passing year, every class you had together, racing to be the first to finish tests, answer questions first, get the better grade. 

You breaking curfew was exactly what he needed to get you in trouble, not permanently, but it brings a sickening smile to his face at the thought of you losing house points, and receiving detention. It was the last thing you wanted, so he could use this to his advantage.

“A little late for an evening stroll, don’t you think?” Tom calls out from the trees. 

Your figure whips around, but you do not raise your wand. Your arms remain wrapped around your middle.

Tom’s shit-eating grin falters when he catches the traces of tear marks glinting on your cheeks. He has never seen you cry before. You’ve never shown weakness. The only two emotions he ever saw from you was your smugness at besting him, and anger for losing to him. 

Feeling like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have, Tom takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable at catching you in such a vulnerable moment. 

“Tom Riddle?” you call out, squinting in the darkness. 

He could just leave. Pretend like he hadn’t seen you breaking down alone, in the middle of the forest, late at night. You were a private person, and this felt like the worst moment anyone, especially Tom Riddle, considering your history, could interrupt. 

But apart of himself doesn’t want to leave, maybe curious to know what had brought down his mightiest rival. 

“I know it is you,” you say hotly, that trademark tone you’d use on Tom bleeding back into the softness of your voice. “Come out.”

He does not come out because you had told him to, but rather for himself. 

The night was especially chilly tonight, a layer of fog creeping along the forest floor so thick that it does not even part for Tom as he makes his way to your side. You were not dressed for the weather, apparent by the way you were shaking slightly. Unless you were just that upset. It was probably both. You were in nothing but your nightgown, and it looks like you have been crying for some time. 

“Getting sick will earn you no pity points from me,” he tells you.

“I am not trying to get sick.”

“Then, where is your sweater?” he asks, and nearly grimaces at how it had come out. He was not worried for you. He didn’t care that you were out here alone in nothing but a thin cotton gown. 

“I did not realize you were concerned about my health.”

Tom narrows his eyes. “I am not.”

The silence that followers has Tom scanning the area. You were the last person he expected to see out here. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, but you would have been the last on his list. You were always careful. Never stepped out of line in fears of getting in trouble. You played by the rules, studied hard, and being caught out here would most definitely land you in trouble.

“What are you doing out here, this late at night?” Tom asks.

Before you can answer, you let out a sneeze that echos deep within the landscape of the forest. He glances around, almost like he was waiting for something to leap out and attack. When nothing happens, he zeros in on you with a hard stare before he begrudgingly shucks off his jacket. 

“Take this before you freeze to death,” he says with clenched teeth.

You look at the jacket he’s holding out for you for a moment, mouth parting in surprise, but ultimately take it without saying anything. He watches as you slip it on, the materials setting nicely upon your shivering frame. You’re quiet for a moment as you fiddle with the buttons.

“I couldn’t take the pressure,” you answer truthfully. Your voice is like gravel, maybe experiencing some level of pain at admitting anything to your rival. “I have been studying for hours. I… I felt suffocated in the dorms. I needed air.”

Tom knows well of the expectations your family held for you. A pureblood line, family running back to the families of old. It is why you tried so hard. It is why you wanted to be the best. You had family expectations to up hold, while Tom was trying to prove himself to the world. He didn’t need to be the best; but you did. 

Of course, Tom held some respect for you and your family’s name. If only you weren’t his biggest opponent, he would recruit you into his mission. He’s thought about it countless times. You’d make a good ally. With your combined smarts and magic, it would give him an unfair advantage above those lower than him. Your magic was strong, like his. Your pureblood magic was to thank for that. 

He did not have the same family as you did, not the same weight on his shoulders, but he understood to a certain degree. He himself had his own expectations. He had plans. Dreams. Things he wanted to achieve - no, needed to achieve, otherwise he was as good as nothing. He’s never given much thought to how you felt in all of this. He’s never seen this… human side of you. It felt too intimate considering the nature of your relationship. 

And he had given you his jacket.

Tom did not like others touching his things. But this was someone he held in esteem, reluctantly. He wished he could hate you, truly hate you, but there was always some form of excitement when you were neck and neck, fighting to come out on top.

“Studying for hours? There are no tests tomorrow, and the homework was nothing out of the ordinary. Trying to one up me again?” he throws out, in his weird attempt at trying to lighten the sullen mood. 

The setting was only adding to the mystery that was dripping from your form. He could see the marks of exhaustion and defeat in the eyebags carved into your smooth skin. 

“I am falling behind,” you say, bottom lip trembling. “My family will kill me.”

Tom does not know if you’re exaggerating, but he doesn’t think you were lying for sympathy. 

“You got higher marks than me on our last test. You are not falling behind, sadly.”

Trust Tom to know when he’s lost to you. 

You bring a hand up to wipe at the tears that have just begun to fall, a forced laugh escaping your lips. “Because I have been killing myself studying. I can hardly eat, sleep, without worrying that… if I do not come out on top, my parents, they will -” your hand finds its way to your throat, where it rubs absently into the skin. 

“It is not like you’re failing. You score perfect on nearly every exam,” he says in somewhat annoyance. 

“It is not enough,” you say quietly. “If I am not the best, I am losing in their eyes.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Tom asks then, uneasy, not know what to even say to what you had admitted. He wasn’t good at consoling people. No one has ever even cried to him, and for you to be the first one, well. He just wishes he knew what to do. He feels like he is doing a poor job at trying to consol you. If that was even Tom trying to consol you.

“I don’t know,” you say, shrinking further into his jacket that he was beginning to regret giving away. It was freezing. “You are quite possibly the worst person I could talk to about this.”

Toms lip quirks up in amusement, his sentiments exactly, but he hides it. “I agree.”

“What are you doing out here, anyways?”

“Business.” 

“Business? What business does a Hogwarts student have at this hour?” 

“Nothing of your concern,” he tells you snippily.

“I could report you for being out past curfew, you know.”

“I am the Prefect here. Who do you think they’ll believe?”

You give a shrug, defeated. 

Tom feels a chill go up his spine. He was tired. The night was a complete loss - except for this odd encounter. 

“And don’t expect me to go easy on you because of this,” Tom says.

For the first time since he’s known you, you give a small laugh. A real laugh, not the bouts of laughter brought out from your own arrogance or anger. It rings like bells in his head, and pulls an involuntary feeling in his stomach that has always taunted him. That same feeling he always gets with you. Not hatred, but… something else.

“I didn’t expect anything of the sort. And we should be heading back, it’s late.”

The walk back to the castle is quiet, but it is no longer awkward. He throws you a few looks, confused on how to feel about the situation, just wanting to make sure you were really still there. He didn’t know what to make of it. You’ve never spoken anything more than heated words between wins and losses, gloating or making promises that you would win next time. 

Tonight you were honest with him. You were real.

It was the most human connection Tom has ever had, and it has an odd feeling swirling in his chest. Ever since you’d laughed. You’d smiled at him. You’ve smiled at him before, but the self-satisfied kind for one upping him. This smile was genuine. 

And you give him that same smile when you stop to part ways, both not knowing what to say. Neither of you were worried about getting caught. It was a regular occurrence for the both of you to slip out past curfew, it seemed.

“Thanks for… listening to me,” you mumble, hands still playing with the jacket.

“I did not have much of a choice.”

Your eyes roll. “You’re acting like you couldn’t have just walked away.”

“I wouldn’t leave you there like that,” Tom says. You had been a pitiful mess when he’d seen you. He had thought about leaving - but he knew he wouldn’t really. Any thoughts of reporting you are also forgotten.

“Why? I thought you hated me.”

Tom chokes up for a second, almost feeling like he was caught. With what - caring for you? He does not care. He regains his composure. “There would be no one left to challenge me, if anything happened to you,” he says dismissively. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, turning and leaving him standing alone in the hallway. 

He does not even think of his missing jacket until he gets to his room. He finds himself not minding. He trusted you to look after it. You knew how to take care of things; you were probably one of the only competent students in the school.

The next day, when he sees you, the usual crackling of tension just… isn’t there. Not until a week later, when a test is announced, one that is worth a good chunk of your grade, and the odd truce you two had unanimously agreed upon goes up in smoke. 

He catches you in the hallway after class, slinking up to where you’re already furiously scribbling away in a notebook.

“You should know,” Tom tells you, and you glance up with a scowl. “That I am extremely well versed in the exams topic.”

“You should know that so am I.”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

Your expression falters for a moment, your fear showing through the mask of anger you’d been wearing, and Tom’s delight dissolves into a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t carry on walking with you after that. He lags behind, watching as you dart for the library to study. 

Your words from the lake play in his mind. Your family wanted you to be the best, and if you weren’t the best, then… he wonders, briefly, what they do when they’re unhappy with you. You seemed scared. He does not know if its because you simply do not like being talked down to, or if they hurt you in other ways. Some pureblood families were extreme. On the outside, your family was regal, pristine, but he doesn’t know what goes on behind closed doors. 

The test was in a week from the day it was announced, and Tom does not see you much, like usual, before a big test. He of course spots you in the library, but you never see him. You never do notice when he’d watch you from between the books, even before you’d talked. He had an odd fascination with you, and how your mind worked. He’s always wanted a glimpse inside; but now that he has, he almost regrets it. 

He thinks back to when you’d met. 

Your rivalry had started from the very first class you’d had together. 

Tom has always been smarter than anyone he’s ever met, so when he learned that he did not score the highest on a test, he’d immediately looked into you. He was pleased that you were a pureblooded wizard, and even more so from such a prestigious family. He’d thought about recruiting you, but then he’d notice that you fought to answer questions faster than he could in classes, and how you were always fighting for the number one spot he usually always claimed. It felt like you’d started a war with him. 

He’d hated you at first, thinking of all the ways he’d get rid of you, having you expelled, but over the years, he’d grown used to it. He had started looking forward to the push and pull of your relationship. Who would win and who would lose. Tom loved to gloat in your face and make you mad, but that was before he’d learned about just why you tried so hard. It felt different, now. He’d seen how worried you’d been at the lake. And now, he just sees that same girl from that night standing at the waters end, crying, at your wits end. 

When the test starts, Tom is almost nervous to begin. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, but you’re as composed as ever. 

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you had exaggerated. 

The test isn’t easy, but it isn’t the hardest test he’s ever taken, either. He finishes it in record time, and sets down his quill with a sense of accomplishment when he notices that he’s completed it before you did. Only by a few minutes, as you are second to finish. Your eyes meet his, and he raises the corner of his lip into a sharp half grin. I win, it says.

“A little slow today?” he asks you once class is over, and students filter out of the room. He can’t help it, so used to poking fun at you anytime he had the advantage. You always did the same. It was just as annoying as it probably was for both of you. 

“I was merely checking my work,” you snap at him, but you’re soon wearing a smug grin of your own. “Are you so obsessed with me that you noticed I finished three minutes after you did?”

Tom tilts his head down closer to you, amused. “I never said it was three minutes.”

Your eyes widen, mouth opening with something to say. “I - I was guessing.”

“Oddly specific for a guess.”

That is the end of that, you decide, because you simply walk away. Tom doesn’t stop you. He carries on to his next classes, the test forgotten, until you’re given them back a few days later. He’s received top marks, 100%, to his satisfaction. He immediately looks to you, ready to rub it in your face, until he sees the unmistakable quiver of your bottom lip. Your expression was wrecked, unable to conceal your horror, only schooling your features when you finally look up to see Tom staring. 

For the remainder of the class, Tom keeps his eyes on you. And you do not look his way once. 

He’s never seen you react like that to any test. 

When class ends, you tear out of the room, with Tom hot on your heels. He knew you’d make a quick escape so he’d planned ahead to be ready once dismissed. He does not run, but he keeps a brisk pace to keep track of where you were darting off to. He loses you around a corner, and he stands there, lost, until he hears the unmistakable sound of someone crying. 

Up a flight of stairs and into a concealed room, Tom finds you curled up by a window sobbing into your knees.

“That bad?” Tom asks. 

You startle again, jerking your head up to see who had dared follow you. He almost thought you’d be happy to see him, maybe, but your reaction is one of disgust.

“Chased after me just to see me cry again, Riddle?” you snarl, angrily wiping your tears. “Do you like seeing me upset?”

No, actually. Not like this. Not when you were actually upset. He loved to rile you up, but not to the point of tears. This is only the second time he’s seen you cry, and it is just as uncomfortable as the first time. He doesn’t know why, but it brings a sickening kind of churning in his stomach when seeing you like this; truly upset. 

“No, I don’t,” he says, matter of fact. 

“Then why are you here? Did you really come to see if I was ok?”

You’re saying it like you’re saying something unbelievable, because it was. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t care. And he doesn’t. 

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. 

But seeing you crying, miserable, doesn’t bring him the pleasure he thought seeing his rival like that would bring him. 

“What was your score?” Tom asks instead of answering your question. 

You huff, reaching into your pocket to pull out a crumbled piece of paper and throw it in his direction. He catches it with ease, and smoothes out the paper. You’d gotten 15 points off a 30 point test. You’d failed it.

“I don’t understand…” Tom frowns at you as he brings the paper down from view. “How is this possible? I saw you studying all week.”

“I couldn’t remember anything,” you say lowly. Your head hangs between your shoulders in defeat. “I… I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I visit the lake every night to think.” 

Tom bristles. “What?” 

Not sleeping, and going into the forest, alone? You had a death wish.

“It is the only place I can go to be alone. Truly alone. Not surrounded by people who know me, and my parents.”

“You’re making yourself sick going out in the cold.”

You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear, looking almost sheepish. “Actually… I wear your jacket to keep me warm. I still have it, you know. I can, um. Give it back.”

Tom inhales a breath at that, surprised. He knew you had his jacket, but he hadn’t actually thought about what you were doing with it. You had plenty of your own clothes. Coming from a wealthy pureblooded family, you had whatever you wanted at your disposal. He was surprised you found something from him, a poor orphan, appealing. Comforting. 

“Keep it,” Tom says.

You glance up at him, calmer now. “Why?”

“If it provides you even the smallest bit of comfort, then it’s yours.”

Your eyes are red from crying, but it seems that you’ve regained your composure. You even offer a small smile. “It really shouldn’t, but it smells like you, and, well…”

Tom’s heart unexpectedly kicks in his chest at your confession. He didn’t know he meant that much, if anything, to you. Being comforted by his smell alone made Tom feel… confused, more than ever. 

“I - I mean, it’s just - it’s comfortable too,” you’re quick to tack on, like that’ll make Tom forget what you had just said. 

“Of course,” Tom says stiffly. 

Neither of you say anything for a moment, both struck by what you had admitted, before you give a sigh. 

“My parents are going to kill me,” you tell him. You’re no longer upset, but seem to be in a state of acceptance. There’s a faraway look that enters your eyes when you glance up at him. “You’ll get your jacket back soon enough, when I am gone.”

Tom balls his fists. “You don’t mean that.”

You drop your gaze to peer out the window. “I do. You don’t know my family. I have never gotten such a low score in all of my years at Hogwarts. I fear they will pull me from the school, saying they’re not teaching me anything, and have me home schooled.”

There’s a second where Tom pictures it; you, gone, no longer the first person he looked at in class - the first person he looked for, period, at the beginning of the day, and at the end of the day. No one else could keep up with him. No one else excited him to even a fraction of how you made him feel. 

“I won’t let that happen,” Tom swears. “Leave it to me.”

“What? Tom!” you call out, but he swoops out of the room with a swish of his robes. 

He scales down the stairs quicker than you can scramble to chase after him, and makes a beeline back to the classroom, where he finds the teacher. He’s preparing for the next class, and greets Tom, his favorite student, with a proud smile. Unbeknownst to the teacher, Tom locks the door behind himself, effectively keeping you out when you tug on the doorknob. 

Minutes pass in which you are outside of the classroom, nervously biting at your fingernails, when the door pops open with a click and Tom comes breezing out into the hallway.   

“What did you do?” you ask, trying to peer around him into the classroom, but he guides you away from the room with a hand to the small of your back.

It’s the first time Tom has ever touched you, and you’re both a little jittery from the contact. He leads you around a corner and stops you once you’re out of earshot from other students. 

“You need not worry about the grade you got on the test,” Tom says quietly. 

You blink up at him, stunned, not knowing what to say. You manage to splutter out, “what does that mean? What did you do?”

“I fixed the problem. You’re safe from your parents, and more importantly, you will stay here, at Hogwarts,” Tom says with finality. 

A silent “with me” lingers in the air.

You search his eyes, but he’s as firm as ever, not even an ounce of hesitation or fear in his expression. 

For the first time, someone has solved your problems. Your parents never offered their aid. They expected you to figure everything out on your own, using that smart brain of yours, and acted upset when you were less than perfect. 

You sigh out, relieved, so relieved. You trust him when he said he’d fixed it. You didn’t know what he did, you’d find out soon enough, but he had helped you. You, his rival. His sworn enemy. 

“Thank you, Tom” you say. To his shock, you grab hold of his tie, and pull him down to plant a kiss upon his cheekbone. “I owe you one.”

Toms mouth hangs open as you walk off, his hand absently coming up to touch at the warmed spot where your lips had been. He hadn’t expected any kind of reward from what he had done, you staying here was enough. But that kiss has his heart racing, breaths slow and almost labored, from a mere kiss to his cheek. He was reacting in such a way that when a boy receives a kiss from someone he liked. 

But Tom did not like you.

He loathed you.

But he hated the idea more at you not being at Hogwarts anymore. He couldn’t imagine how dreadfully boring school would become. It’s such a stark contrast to how he first felt about you, wishing you’d get expelled, no longer there to bother him. Funny how feelings evolve. He never thought himself as one to get attached to, well, anything. Whether it be other humans or objects. But he can say with certainty if anything happened to you - if an outside force, other than himself of course, got you upset, he wouldn’t stand for it. He loved those moments where your eyes were alight with fire. He loved when you spoke cruelly towards him, and only him.

He… loved you.

Somewhere in the battle, he’d unknowingly given apart of himself to you. You were his equal. You were his best match. 

He thought you were his enemy, but you were something to be valued, not discarded. 

It’s a hard thing to come to terms with, especially after all the years of what he thought was hatred, but was really the love he’s tried masking. 

Tom Riddle didn’t love. Not like a normal person would, anyways. His version of love was twisted. Warped by his upbringing and just how his mind worked. He wouldn’t settle for just anyone; and you were better than anyone he has ever met. By brains, magic, and status alone. He cared little for looks, but the slope of your nose, down to the shape of your hair, just made sense.

And physical contact was not something he went looking for. There were students who made passes at him, hinting that they would love to date, kiss, do anything with him, but he’s never been interested. 

Never interested till now. 

Till you’d kissed him, kissed his cheek, and now he is being consumed by thoughts he has never had for another before. He knows how to focus on his school work. He is a master at self control, but even you have him skirting the edges of those restraints. 

The day after he’d helped you, after you’d kissed him, he watches you like a hawk. He spots you from the moment you enter the dining hall for breakfast, and throughout classes. He does not think he’ll speak with you that day, until it is after the class you’d failed the test in. You’re there before him, so he assumes you’d talked to the teacher before class started. Your expression is blank throughout the entirety of the class. Eyes forward and focused, like you didn’t dare miss anything.

Afterwards, though, you level Tom with a look and nod for him to follow after you. And he does, he listens, following you through the halls until you lead him to the stairway, and up to the small room with a window. 

“You used a memory charm?” you ask him, incredulous. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“You dare doubt my ability to perform a memory charm? I have been using more advanced spells since I was in my first year.”

“What if he remembers? What if he - what if he tells Dumbledore?”

Tom scoffs. “He will not remember. You should be grateful.”

“I am, Tom, it’s just… I don’t understand why you would put everything at risk over me. I thought you despised me.”

He did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now. It is why he had protected you. It is why he has risked his own expulsion so you could stay at Hogwarts with him.

“The only thing I despise, is you not being by my side,” Tom admits lowly. 

Your eyes widen. You’re at a loss for words, Tom can see, but there is no disgust in your expression. It is hard to tell what you’re thinking, until your eyes drop to his lips, the surprise melting into something that has Tom’s stomach rolling over in his abdomen. 

Like when you had kissed his cheek, you are first to initiate. 

Tom allows you to grab hold of his tie again, and bring him down, closer, his eyes slipping shut at the first brush of your lips against his. He sighs out through his nose, allowing everything to happen slowly, so slowly, so he doesn’t lose control. He’s trembling where he stands as he fights to have some composure, but when your lips press firmly into his, he lets out a soft groan that was hiding at the back of his throat. 

All those years of watching, fighting, rivalry, hatred that turned into something closer to admiration, bleed into the desperation of the kiss. 

You’re just as frantic, soft hands leaving trails of fire up his arms and scorching burn marks into his cheek and chest where they come to rest. 

It is you telling Tom that, just as he has watched you, you have watched him. You have noticed him in those quiet moments where he thought no one was looking at him. You’ve seen how hard he worked. You’ve seen how dedicated he was. It inspired you, just as you inspired him. You pushed each other to be better. Work harder. 

Tom bites at the plushness of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens up to let out a gasp, but in doing so you’ve only allowed Tom in. He kisses you hungrily, deeper, both of you fighting each other to be the dominant tongue. Like everything, you’re at war. You’re just as skilled, just as angry, as Tom was. 

At some point he’s backed you into the wall, and really, you should have just given in to losing this round. He can feel himself pulling ahead. His hands drop to your breasts, where he pinches and squeezes along your skin. With every pleased noise you make, Tom earns another point in his head. 

His concentration is shattered when you unexpectedly press your hand into his cock, jolting him in place. His eyes snap open only for them to screw shut when you beginning rubbing into his pants, the hands he’d been using to fondle you with twitching to a stop. He has to bring them up to plant on either sides of your head, nearly losing his footing as you use your nimble fingers to make him dizzy. 

Tom can’t hold the kiss any longer, breaking it to rest his head against yours, breathing heavily as he struggles to stay upright. He’s losing himself of the feeling of your hand petting him through his pants, maybe thankful for the barrier there, but it was like you’d heard his thoughts, and unbuckle his belt. He tries to muffle the noise he makes when you make contact with his bare skin, but it slips out between clenched teeth. 

“Still think you’re winning, Tom?” comes your silky voice. 

He was losing, badly, but the feeling of you stroking him has him not caring about that. Only for that moment. Only until you make him orgasm seamlessly, and he comes down from his high. He hadn’t lasted long at all. It was probably the most embarrassed Tom has ever felt. And for it to have been him who deepened things, started touching you, only for this to be the outcome? Embarrassing. He’d lost at his own game.

To make things worse, you’re grinning madly, watching as he hurriedly cleans himself up with a spell and quickly buckles his pants. 

“You had an unfair advantage,” Tom gives as an excuse.

“And what was that?”

You were, well, you. That put you at an advantage no one else had. 

Instead of telling you that, because that would surely inflate your ego even more, Tom levels you with a look he attempts to make fierce, but there is no anger to fuel it. He just stares at you for a moment, maybe in awe, before he says, “meet me in the library after class. We’ll study together, from now on. I cannot fix your problems every time you fail a test.”

“Wha - that was one time, Tom!” you shout after him, as he trots down the stairs. 

“Cursed ring,” you tell him after a moment of having to catch your breath. “It renders a person blind when worn.” 

Tom takes the wooden box in his hands and opens it to peer inside. A beautiful red ruby stares up at him. He hovers a finger over the jewel, feeling the hum of magic within. 

You were Borgin and Burkes best hunter for cursed objects. 

There were several ways they acquired the objects they sold within the shop, most of which were shady and usually always illegal, but there were some wizards who’d merely stumbled upon them. Family heirlooms they didn’t know what to do with. Gifts from odd wizards. 

You were always their most solid player yet. 

Almost every week, you’d come in with something new to sell. 

The wizarding world was old; there were countless cursed objects out there, old and new ones being made every so often. Hunters could look for the entirely of their lives and there’d still be more for others to find. You just happened to have a knack for locating them. 

Tom had always been curious about you. He remembers when you two attended Hogwarts together, before you had gotten expelled in your last year. He knows it is why you’ve turned to this lifestyle. Why you cannot find a proper job amongst the wizarding folk. You were an outcast, a liability. 

All the more reason you were perfect for the job. 

No one paid attention to you. No one dared spare a second glance at the girl who’d murdered a student at Hogwarts, and gotten away with it. 

“Where did you find this?” Tom asks as he closes the box. He knew better than to touch it and you knew better than to warn him. 

You swipe at the weeping wound on your cheek, but this only causes you to streak it further down your skin, along with a smudge of dirt from your hands. He never did like when you’d show up in such a state. It made him feel almost a weird sense of pity for you. He never minded the sight of blood, but yours always had him feeling a little sick in the stomach.

“New Zealand, in the mountains,” you say. “Had to take a shoddy Portkey that dropped me two hours away, and then I hiked my way in.”

“That explains why you are so…” Tom eyes you up and down. There was even dirt in your hair. He almost wants to offer bringing you a towel to wipe down with, but it has been something he’s offered to you before, and was turned away like you’d been offended.

“No. The room was underground, and it started caving in on me the moment I removed the ring from its place. I had to crawl out.”

Tom makes a noise of acknowledgment. It is a wonder you’re still alive. Others have died escaping lesser traps.

“I will throw in an added bonus, then,” Tom tells you. “For your efforts.”

You give a nod, and that is all. 

It isn’t until another week and a half later that you come in again, but this time you’re not on the verge of collapse. 

You stride in with a small bag in your gloved hands. 

Tom pauses from talking with a customer to watch as you come closer, movements controlled and confident in a way that he has seen from you a hundred times over, but never fails to have him completely captivated. 

There is always a sort of elegance to how you’d dress. A danger that had him intrigued. 

Tom favored objects that were of use to him. He always had an eye out for anything that could be posed as a threat, and he usually found that in cursed items. But you held that same feeling, whenever he looked it you, it was the same type of thrill he’d get out of staring at a rare artifact he wanted for himself. He had quite the collection at home. You’d be a good fit there, amongst the magical entities that could kill you if handled wrong. He’s sure you held the same type of power, one wrong move on Tom’s part, and you’d throw a curse at his head.

“My, my,” says the lady he’s helping. She’s older, nicer than his usual customers. She had an item she wanted to sell to him, and he’d been extremely interested until you had walked in. She catches sight of you and a knowing smirk touches her lips. “Maybe I should be on my way. It seems as though something more valuable has just caught your attention.”

For a brief moment, Tom does not know what to say. His perfect mask as a cursed objects salesperson had slipped. 

He picks it back up with ease and pleads, gently, for her to stay. He knows what to say, how to act, when he is negotiating for something he wanted. He was quite persuasive. 

The woman sells him the item with little to no convincing. She had merely wanted his attention, but it had been rather hard ignoring your presence in the shop, even though you had slipped into the back. He felt your energy there like a warm breath on the back of his neck.

“Didn’t just crawl out of a hole this time, I see,” Tom says as he enters the back of the shop. He’d flipped the sign to closed and locked the door, least another customer bother him while you’re there.

You’re lounging at his desk, feet propped up on the table as you toyed with a dagger in your hands. It had been sitting on his desk awaiting to be examined. He hadn’t been able to tell or not if it was truly cursed, but you seem to have done the work for him as you twirl it between your fingers.

“This is a dud,” you tell him, not paying his comment any mind. You toss it in the air briefly, testing the weight, before turning towards him. 

Tom forgets himself, his magic, as you launch it in his direction. He stumbles back as the knife imbeds itself into the wall directly beside his fucking head. 

“How dare you,” Tom snarls. He rips it from the wall angrily, and tosses it onto his desk. He knocks your legs to the floor. “Have some respect. Sit up.”

You scoff, rearranging yourself on the chair. “Yes, mom. Lighten up, Tom.”

“You just made a threat upon my life. You are lucky I do not curse you where you sit.”

“That was not a threat to your life,” you say, head tilting to look up at him. “You would know if I had meant it as one; I would not have missed.”

“They teach you to throw knives wherever it was you went after Hogwarts?” Tom says snidely. 

He leans onto his desk, arms crossed. He waits for your reaction. He knows it is a soft spot for you, you almost always flinch at the very mention of the school. It is a low blow, but you had just thrown a knife at him. You deserved it.

And a reaction you give him, as you scowl at him, gone is the cocky attitude you’d had before. 

You grab at the bag you’d brought in and dig inside, producing a golden necklace. 

Tom recognizes it almost immediately. 

“It can’t be,” he breathes, reaching for it, but you snatch it away with a tsk. He wears the same scowl you’d worn earlier, your expression now one of smugness.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say in a condescending tone. “I thought you’d want this rare, magical Time-Turner you’ve mentioned before, but since you want to curse me instead, I think I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

You stand, moving to leave, but Tom blocks your path. 

The Time-Turner was one of the magical items he’d been after. He’d mentioned it to you before, offhandedly, not thinking you’d actually find one. He watches it sway in your hands, transfixed. 

It is the last time he ever underestimates you again. 

“Name your price,” Tom tells you.

“What will you do with it?” You ask, feigning innocence to his question. You touch the precious metal with steady hands, toying with it like it wasn’t a delicate instrument of time travel. One wrong move and you could suck yourself into another timeline. 

Tom grimaces as you dangle it in the air. “Careful with that,” he warns. 

“Oh, do you think I don’t know how to use it already?” you ask, almost offended. 

“My mistake,” Tom says, because he would be foolish to think that you hadn’t tested it for yourself. His eyes find the delicate piece of vintage jewelry on your neck. “You’ve gone back in time for… a necklace?”

You touch at the necklace with a small gasp. “This is not just any necklace, Tom. This is Cartier."

The name is not familiar with him, but it comes to no surprise. Tom had no interest in fashion, but you did, and the necklace seemed as valuable to you as the pocketwatch to Tom. You always did love a good designer brand. 

“I said, name your price,” Tom repeats through his teeth. He wanted to hold it. He wanted it in his hands. 

“You know my fee. Double it.”

Tom doesn’t think twice as he agrees. 

You finally give it to him, and it feels heavy in his palm. The magic is practically dripping down his skin. It would do nicely upon his shelf with the other items he’d collected.

He is a little at odds with himself as he admires the object He knew you were good at finding things, but he had no idea you possessed the power to find something like this. The cursed objects you brought in were all prizes in and of themselves, but this was something Tom himself was actively seeking out. 

And you had brought it right to him. He had only mentioned it maybe a few weeks ago. It had taken you two weeks to find it - Tom has been searching for it for months. 

“Where did you find it?” Tom asks curiously.

“That is a secret,” You say.

Tom doesn’t push. He hadn’t answered your question, either. He has never revealed to your his master plans, he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t think you’d be against him, as you were from a pureblood family of your own. He keeps that part of his life a secret, but he has been thinking time and time again to recruit you. And this only further cements that idea. 

You were good at finding things of value. Who knows what else you could bring him, if only he asked.

With a wave of your hand and a small bow, you bid him a goodbye.

Only, Tom stops you this time. He catches your arm as you head for the door, and your eyes widen when you meet his in surprise. He rarely touches you, if ever, only to do things like bumping you aside, removing your feet from his desk. 

“I would like to properly thank you. Join me for dinner,” Tom finds himself saying. He wanted to know more behind your process of finding hidden objects. He had his methods, but yours have proven time and time again to be ten steps ahead of his own techniques.

You stare for a moment too long, and Tom drops his hand from your arm. He burns a little in embarrassment. He’d gotten ahead of himself. 

“Alright,” you agree after what seemed to be heavy consideration. “What time do you get off?”

“7pm. Meet me at Deluca’s at 8. Do not be late.”

“When have I ever been late?” 

Never, even if you’d show up dirty and half dead, you showed up at the promised times when a delivery was to be made. 

“There’s always a first time for everything,” Tom says.

“Ever the optimist.”

“Do not make me change my mind. Deluca’s. 8 o’clock.”

“It’s a date,” you say, and you disapparate out of the shops before Tom can get another word out.

The rest of Tom’s shift drags on, slowly, painfully. He glances at the clock every ten minutes. It is hard to concentrate on anything at all the next few hours, his mind else where. 

Deluca’s was a nice place. He’d have an hour to apparate home, get ready, and be there on time. 

He wonders what you’re going to wear as he polishes the display window. He’s seen you in a few dresses, but this was different. You weren’t simply stopping by to make a delivery; you were to be his guest at a fancy restaurant. 

You’d said it’s a date. It might as well have been, but Tom knows you hadn’t meant it that way.

Still, he cannot help but sweat a little at the idea. 

Tom has never been on a date, much less kissed anyone. He didn’t have time for such things. He’d never wanted anyone in that way before.

But then you’d showed up, one day, striding in with a cursed object you’d claimed to have found out of pure luck. It had been a slow descent down into madness, for Tom, after that. He’d been hooked from the very first reunion. Your entire demeanor had completely shifted from when he knew you back at Hogwarts, he only saw glimpses of your old self during certain moments, quiet, drawn out sighs of exhaustion. Some days you were more of your older self, happier, even going as far as to joke with him. Other days, you were in a mood. 

Like when you had thrown a knife at Tom’s head - he knew not to test you on those days.

Tom also wonders who he’ll get tonight, as he finally makes it home. He showers, brushes his teeth, and changes into a suit more appropriate for tonights dinner. His date? Not a date. Whatever it was.

He arrives at Deluca’s with five minutes to spare. 

Just from the outside, he was dazzled with the amount of magic that was poured into the place. The walls were shimmering, paintings of all kinds moving in the background, the ceiling a perfect picture of the night sky. 

“You’re early.”

Tom turns to find you there, and his stomach drops to the floor. The dress you’re wearing is mouthwatering, with skin showing in the right places, tight to the curves of your waist. It was primarily made of lace, a fabric you favored, having shown up to the shop multiple times wearing all different colors of lace tights beneath a well styled outfit. And it was his signature color, how could he not love it. 

Though, you have shown up on multiple occasions in tattered clothes, ripped and stained with your blood, and he thinks you looked just as good as you did when you were more put together. 

All in all, you could show up in a burlap sack and he’d think you looked stunning.

“You look…” Tom stumbles over himself as he cannot find the right word. Nothing that came to mind seemed good enough. 

“You look good too, Tom,” you say knowingly, a teasing grin on your lips. 

He swallows hard, defeated for the time being. He merely offers a nod and moves for the door, opening it for you and gesturing for you to enter the restaurant.  

“Such a gentleman,” you comment as you pass by him, giving him a small pat to the chest. 

Inside, it was just as overwhelming. He smoothly tells the hostess he has a reservation, and you are seated a moment later, at the best table in the house. 

“How did you manage this?” you ask him in surprise.

He knew that you were aware of how hard it was to get a reservation to such a fine restaurant on short notice. It was the most sought after place to have dinner on this part of town, sometimes it took weeks just to get a table.

Tom doesn’t tell you how that he hadn’t needed to do much. The owner was a follower of his; all he’d had to do was merely ask.

“That is a secret,” Tom says.

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” he tells you. “It was nothing. What you have done was far more impressive.”

You tilt your head at him, brows raised. “Tom Riddle is impressed by me? What have I done to deserve such an honor?” you ask, again in the same condescending tone that has him narrowing his eyes.

“Careful, before I take back what I said.”

“Can’t take it back, Tom. That isn’t how things work.”

“I could merely obliviate you into forgetting.”

“Obliviate me? Your favorite treasure hunter?”

Tom stiffens. He cannot deny it, because you were right. He watches you as you happily lean back into your seat, having won another round and rendering him speechless. He didn’t like that you knew of his favoritism towards you. But here you two were, in the nicest restaurant in town, on an invitation he had extended to you. It was obvious. It was not every day Tom Riddle dinned with just anyone.

The waiter comes and takes your order before Tom can really fire anything back. He’d already known what he was getting even before he’d arrived, and it seemed you did as well. You order two drinks without giving Tom room to deny it, and they arrive quicker than he’d been expecting. 

Tom did not drink. It made him loose. Weak, and not on full alert. He was not fully in control of his senses and he had no interest in it. 

But, he allows it anyways. He had no big plans the next day, or tonight. He was free. So he drinks. He has one, and you order two more drinks to the table before he can even think to say no.

On his third drink, Tom is thoroughly more drunk than he has ever been. He barely remembers eating. 

The conversation had flowed with every drink he swallowed down. He’d talked more about himself than he ever has with anyone; he’d told you about Hogwarts, his studies, his obsession with finding cursed objects that would one day be of use to him in war.

“War?” you ask, relaxed in your seat. “What war?”

Toms mouth snaps shut when he realizes he’d almost said too much. He waves it off, quick to change the subject. 

The restaurant was growing to be too loud, and disorienting. Things were flying over head every second. Voices were roaring with laughter in his ear.

“I wish to leave,” Tom announces after his fourth drink. He is still lucid enough to know where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. He is stunned at your beauty every time he looks at you. His heart jumps up with every point of eye contact, and holds it until you look away.

The bad thing about being drunk that Tom hadn’t fully thought about, was that he was too drunk to apparate home. He hardly remembers how the conversation had gone, but he is suddenly being lead in a direction that is not familiar with him, every turn revealing a new part of the city he hadn’t known about, until he ends up in front of a door. He has to grab hold of the wall to keep himself up right.

“We’re almost there,” you tell him, just as drunk, fumbling with your wand to unlock the door. 

And a moment later, Tom is sitting upon a couch, in a room he has never been in. It smelled like you in here. Like flowers, and leather, and the shampoo you used. 

Tom blinks his eyes open, not realizing he had closed them, when you plop down beside him with another bottle of alcohol. He can only accept the chilled drink you hand to him, and he sips at it.

“I have not been this drunk in… I do not remember how long, actually,” you tell him, giggling. 

His ears prick at the noise. He does not think he’s ever heard you giggle before.

“I have never been drunk before, ever,” he admits out loud. 

This draws another giggle from your lips, and he absently smiles at that. He could live in that sound. 

“You never drank at Hogwarts?”

He shakes his head, blearily glancing to where you’re propped up to face him. “I never participated in such juvenile things. I had studying to do. Prefect duties. I could not… give in to childish drinking games.”

“Then you’ve never played truth or dare drunk?” you gasp out, eyes lighting up with an idea. “Oh, please, Tom, entertain me.”

He wants to shoot you down immediately, but you look happier in all of the months he’s known you. You have never worn such a smile, at least, he’s never seen it directed at him. You’re glowing in the drunken state. 

“Ok, ok,” you say, sitting up further “Tom, truth or dare?”

He scoffs out a sound of disbelief. “I am not -”

“Please?” you beg. “I have not played since I was at Hogwarts.”

That draws Tom’s attention. You never brought up anything from Hogwarts. It is the first time he’s ever heard of anything you mentioning anything you’ve done there, even if it was just about a stupid drinking game.

“Because we are not children anymore,” Tom tells you. The light in your eyes dims, your smile dropping, and Tom sighs out heavily. Without thinking too hard on it, he mutters, “truth.”

You make a noise of excitement, and then take a second to ponder on something to ask him. Tom would be as truthful as his drunken state allowed. “Oh, I have one. What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

Tom grimaces, because he knows. He tells you about when he’d first learned to ride a broomstick. He had been too cocky, having been the first one to get himself off the ground into the air, and then proceeded to fall and break his arm in front of the entire class. It had been one of his only slipup at Hogwarts. 

The hearty laughter it rips from you is worth the temporary discomfort he feels at reliving the memory.

“Alright, alright,” Tom says after you’ve had your laugh.

You chuckle out a few more sounds of enjoyment, wiping at your eyes to collect the moisture that had gathered there. “Now it is your turn,” you tell him.

Tom rolls his eyes. You were really going to make him say it. 

“Truth or dare?” he asks you.

“Hmm… I’ll choose truth,” you say. Tom catches himself from asking about your expulsion - that would surely ruin the mood. Instead, he repeats your same question, and you groan. “No, Tom, you can’t ask something I’ve already asked. That’s against the rules.”

“I was not aware there were rules in this game.”

“Oh my god, just ask me something.”

“How do you find the objects you bring into the shop?” he then asks, voicing what he truly wished to know. He is so curious about your methods. It is what he invited you to the restaurant to find out, after all. He might as well ask, even if he might be too drunk to remember your answer.

You sigh. “That is so boring, bringing up work now. But if you must know, I do research. I read books upon books, but ultimately, it is intuition. Sometimes I just… know where it is. Words stand out. Locations on a map glow.”

Tom is fascinated by this. He wished to possess such an ability, but then you would become useless to him. And he liked that you served a purpose. That you had something that not everyone else had. He wanted you, so badly, in the moment. The space between you felt entirely too big. He unconsciously moves closer, his leg pressing into yours. 

Your eyes drop down to the point of contact, but you do not bring it up as you go on to ask him, truth or dare.

“Truth,” he says.

“Predictable,” you moan, drawing an exasperated noise from Tom.

“Do you want me to play or not -”

“Fine,” you snap, the frustration he’s grown to know appearing for a moment before your frown smooths over into a drunken grin. “Hmm… have you ever had a crush before?”

“What are we, 13?” Tom huffs. 

“Just answer the question.”

He sighs out in annoyance. He was growing tired of this game. But you were so into it, and with every question, it was like you were moving closer and closer. 

Just as Tom goes to answer that no, he has never had a crush - your hand drops down to rest on his arm and his stomach flutters down into the couch cushions. 

“Yes,” Tom answers without meaning to. He immediately bites his tongue, and forces himself to take a long swig of his drink. 

You gasp out, and your hand leaves him to wave excitedly in the air. “Who was it? Was it someone from Hogwarts?”

Forgetting the rules of the game for a moment in a drunken stupor, Tom tells you, yes. She had been from Hogwarts.

“Did I know her?” is your next question.

“Yes,” he mutters, before he jerks back into his own head. He turns to scowl at you. “That is not how the game is played, Y/n.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but you have never opened up to me about anything before, and it is wonderful to talk to you,” you confess. “I… do not talk to anyone much these days anymore. It is quite hard, with what happened. It is like everyone knows who I am. Like at the restaurant.”

Tom sits up a little, sobering in the slightest at the dip of your tone. “What happened at the restaurant?”

“Everyone was staring at me,” you tell him, struggling a shoulder. “I am surprised they didn’t kick us out.”

That is news to Tom - he must have been so enthralled with you that he hadn’t even noticed anyone else. He feels of flood of anger for not realizing it, and putting a stop to it. 

“I was not aware,” Tom says.

“It’s alright. I have grown used to it. A - anyways. It is your turn.”

The mood is heavier, less playful, as Tom asks you, truth or dare. It is no surprise that you choose truth. It was like you were both too scared to allow the other the true power of a dare. Truths seemed easier. 

“Did you enjoy our… date?” Tom asks, using that word only because you had earlier, in hopes to lighten the mood. The last chug from his drink has also left him feeling a bit bold.

“Then, it was a date, after all?” 

Tom watches you for a paralyzing moment. He forces himself to take a steady breath. “Did you want it to be?” he questions, quiet, nervous. He shakily brings his drink to his lips and gulps down a mouthful, waiting for your reply. 

You have him nearly shaking in his seat as you take a second to think on it, taking a sip of your own drink, setting it down, before turning to him with a poorly concealed grin. “That is not how this game is played, Tom,” you say. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Like you had been expecting it, you’re quick witted with saying, “kiss me.”

Tom does not know what happens to the glass in his hands. All he remembers is that he finally, finally, closes the distance between your bodies. The soft crooning noise you let out when he kisses you has a vicious pull tugging at his stomach. His hands trace lines of fire up your body, not sure if it was him or you shaking at the contact. 

It must have been years since you’d felt the touch of another, and it showed, with how you melted into the palm of his hands. Tom folds just as easily when you bring your hand up to cup his face.

You both were drunk, and would most likely regret this come tomorrow morning. You would regret it, maybe, but to Tom, it is like you are bringing him another cursed object for him to have - but it was yourself, this time. The greatest treasure of them all. The object of his desires. 

Every movement, every gnashing of teeth, is a little sloppy, drunken noises flowing between you two as Tom pushes you back into the couch. 

You go willingly down onto your back, with Tom raising himself up to curl over your body. He steadies himself with a hand on the back of the couch, but even then he is a bit wobbly. 

“Have wanted you,” Tom breathes out between a kiss, no need for a truth or dare to reveal his inner most thoughts. “For months - since I saw you -”

Tom groans out a low sound when you cup him through his suit. He has never been so hard before, he has never been drunk before, both feelings so new and driving him wild. He trembles as you unbuckle his belt, drunken hands reaching into his boxers as he moves to press between your legs, beneath your dress. You both gasp out at the contact. 

“I dare you to fuck me,” you whisper into his ear, stroking him at the same time as he rubs circles into your clit. He’s breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, fighting to restrain himself, but at your words, he gives in. He was too drunk to think of the consequences. All he knew, was that you wanted him so desperately in that moment, and he was more than happy to comply with what he had been dared to do.

And Tom fucks you, right there on your couch, too carried away to notice your bed only feet away. He only wishes he wasn’t so drunk so that he could remember more of it.

He is quick to remove his pants while you hike up your dress, and pull down your underwear. You both were heavily intoxicated, but your actions were fluid, Tom coming back to you and you welcoming him with outstretched arms. Your mouths meet in a blurred hole in Tom’s memories, not recalling the initial moment he’d first penetrated you, but he comes back in the middle of fucking into you with a passion so intense that he is sure he will remember once he is sober. 

Your fervid moans of his name mix in with his own cries of your name, echoing off of your walls. 

Tom does not know how much time passes, but every drunken minute is bliss, all up until the moment he comes with a bodily tremor that rips up his spine. He almost blacks out when you finish, his arms barely able to keep him up any longer. He crawls back onto the couch, breaths heavy, but he is at least able to pull his pants back up and rearrange himself before settling down.

He does not recall what happened next.

Tom assumes you both continued drinking, laughing into the night, because the next thing he knows, he wakes up with a pounding in his head. 

He realizes all too quickly that he was not in his apartment. He sits up slowly, still a little drunk, squinting at the brightness of the morning. 

So he had ended up on the bed, after all. Your sleeping body laid next to his. 

In that moment, Tom feels a singular strike of panic ignite in his chest. 

He had just crossed a line with you that he had never even thought was possible. He never thought anything would ever happen with you, because he had known himself. Or, he had known what sober him would’ve done; which was nothing. Drunk Tom hadn’t been made aware that he was not supposed to have sex with you. He was not supposed to give into what he had been truly desiring.

Furthering your relationship would only cause problems in the future. Tom didn’t want problems to arise between you. Your work relationship functioned as it should. You brought him things of use, not much was said, and that was that. 

Tom brings a hand to your cheek, and runs it down the length of your skin. He would remember that night forever. It would haunt him in the quiet moments of the day.

Without waking you, or leaving word, Tom gathers his things, and apparates home. 

His chest is sunken in with dread within the days that follow. He does not hear from you, or see you, at all, for a month. He cannot imagine how you’d felt waking to an empty apartment. 

No deliveries are made. No letters in the mail promising you’d be there on a certain day, at a certain time.

It is not until another few weeks pass that you come by, only it is not as smooth as past visits.

Tom is tidying up in the front, rearranging shelves to display new items, when a crashing in the back has him going still. It could be a number of things, but none of them were good. He is quick to lock the entrance, and slowly makes his way towards the source of the noise with his wand raised. 

A groan comes from within the room.

In the corner, you are laying in a heap of crushed boxes and broken glass. It was only you, making a crash landing from escaping another quest by the skin of your teeth. He lowers his wand. 

You have done this before, this kind of crash landing. Only, this time, you’re not quick to get up and dust yourself off with a laugh. This time, you remain where you lay.

“Y/n?” Tom slowly comes closer, wand to the ready. 

You were a hunter of cursed objects, it could be that one got ahold of you. He is cautious as he crouches down to inspect you further. His stomach drops when he spots a blooming patch of red across your side. It is a heavy shock to his system, because it is the first time he has seen you in almost two months, and you are bleeding out into the wreckage of ruined boxes. It is so different to how he’d left you.

“That hurt,” you manage with a weak croak. 

It didn’t seem like you were possessed, so Tom drops his wand to use both hands to lift you up with ease. His stomach swims at the close proximity, but he pushes that aside. You were hurt. You needed aid.

Shrapnel falls as he carries you over to his desk, where he sets you down carefully in his chair. You smack at his hands when he attempts to peel back your coat. 

Tom huffs. “Let me see.”

“No,” you groan. “I’m fine. The cursed object is in my pocket, let me just -” 

A pained cry slips from your mouth when you move to reach into your pocket, forcing you back into the chair. Tom waits for an agonizing moment for you to finally meet his eyes, and gesture for him to continue. 

When he exposes the injury to the air, Tom sucks in a sharp breath. A jagged wound was cut deep into your side, bleeding heavily into the materials of your torn shirt. A curse had done this. 

Someone had dared to curse you. 

Tom shakes from anger, but he cannot think on it too long. “Wait here,” he tells you.

“Don’t think I have much of a choice,” comes your mumbled reply.

There is a small bathroom where Tom gathers towels and a bowl of water which he heats till its steaming. The water in the bowl sloshes around from how quickly he moves back to where you’re barely clinging to consciousness, the bloody wound an angry red against the monotone of the shop. 

“Keep still.” 

Tom makes quick work of cleaning the wound of the dirt and blood. It is still bleeding heavily, but he’d cleaned it mostly of the black ash that had been smeared into your skin. He brings his wand up to the wound, movements careful, stitching the gash together back as gently as he can. You’re biting into your knuckles to keep from passing out. 

When the injury has been healed, then only does Tom sit back and watch you carefully. He is waiting for what you say next. He isn’t sure where to go from here, but he knew you needed rest. He did not know where you lived, too drunk to remember, and you were in no state to teleport yourself home. It is a wonder you’d made it back here at all. 

“Thanks,” you say after a heavy moment of breathing through the pain. “I should… leave.”

“And go where?” Tom stops you with a hand to your shoulder. You wince, but allow him to gently push you back into the chair. “You cannot walk. You cannot apparate alone.”

“Then what do you suggest I do? You do not know where I live,” you say, then quieter, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Tom makes a decision, in that split second of you glancing up at him in agony. “Then we will go to my place,” he says, leaving no room for you to disagree as he stands. 

“What?” you blurt out, but he’s already left your side.

Locking up the shop takes all but 2 minutes. He leaves the display cases undone - he would come in early tomorrow to finish up. 

“Tom, I don’t think -” your weak protests are silenced as he throws you a look over his shoulder. You sigh out, and slump back into the chair. 

When Tom is ready, he is slow to help you to your feet. He has to sling your arm over his shoulder, and keep it pressed firmly into your waist. He feels a sting of possessiveness over you when you unexpectedly grab hold of his arm. He would kill whoever had hurt his treasure hunter.

Apparating home is quick, but the spell has you nearly crashing into the floor again if Tom hadn’t kept you upright. You’re the weakest, and most vulnerable Tom has ever seen you; has seen anyone. He’s never helped anyone in need before. He simply didn’t care for it. 

But this was… different. You weren’t another nobody wizard that fell at his feet. You were an outcast, a reject from wizard society. You have been the closet anyone has ever gotten to Tom. And you’ve helped him in more ways than you will ever know. It was his turn to finally help you.

If you let him.

“I can do it myself,” you grunt out when Tom tries to help you walk. He is frustrated to no end, but you had to learn yourself, he supposes. 

When he lets go of you, your balance is immediately thrown off. Tom is quick to steady you when you sway on your feet. You mutter out a string of curse words that he ignores as he leads you to the bathroom. 

You were still covered in soot, and whatever else you had dragged into his pristine home. You were not allowed in his bed unless you were clean. The wound would hold up under water, but he had to be careful not to move you too quickly. It could just as easily tear open again. 

“I can bathe myself,” you snap when Tom has finished running a hot bath. You were not steady enough to stand on your own two feet without a hand holding you, but sitting in a tub was easy. 

Tom is startled that you’re acting so… well, so rude. He is offering you aid, and you are treating him like scum for doing so. His eye twitches in irritation. He supposes it is only fair for how he’d left you, two months ago.

“Have it your way,” Tom mutters, flicking water into the tub after he had made sure it wasn’t too hot.

When you move to undress, Tom goes completely still. He watches as you unbutton your blouse to reveal the black lacy bra underneath. Even on a quest where you could die, you were dressed to the nines.

The tips of his ears flush as he is quick to look away. “I will… leave you to it,” Tom says. 

Tom does not go far. He sits outside of the bathroom in case you fell, and needed his help. He sits and listens as you stand, the splash of water when you get in the tub, and the gentle swishing of water as you clean yourself. He waits until you call out his name. 

Popping a head into the bathroom, nervous in his own home, Tom finds you curled up in the tub. The water was murky with blood and dirt.

“Could I get a towel, and some clothes?” You ask, adding on a quiet, “please,” as an after thought.

With a wave of his wand, Tom sets a clean towel and a stack of clothes on the sink. He returns to his spot on the floor, waits and listens as you stand, dry yourself off, and slowly, ever so slowly, dress yourself. It takes quiet a while and Tom could’ve done it for you with magic, but he guesses you wanted some form of control in this new environment. 

You’re waiting for him on the edge of the tub when Tom comes back into the room, after you’ve called him in once more. 

“I cannot stand much longer,” you admit, voice warbled around the edges. He could see you were losing strength. You must be exhausted from the blood loss. “I am so dizzy, it is a miracle I dressed myself.”

The intimacy of having you in his apartment makes Tom feel strange as he guides you to his bed. He’s never had anyone over before; he’s never even helped anyone before. He had tried his hardest to be gentle, but he was as gentle as a sharp edge on a table that you bump with your hip. He wasn’t made for softness. He was a hardened force fated to take over the world. He didn’t know what he was doing with you here, easing you into his bed.

“Silk sheets,” you comment absently. “Of course Tom Riddle has silk sheets.”

“They are optimal for the best sleep. Sleep is important.” 

“I think so too, and I do not own silk sheets.”

“No,” Tom agrees. “But you do own far more clothes and accessories than I do, when you could spend the money on something more useful.” 

You frown at him. “What is more useful than a good outfit? I’ll have you know, certain pairs of clothes have saved my life on quests. Do not doubt a well put together uniform.”

Tom does not have it in him to carry on such a useless conversation. You must be on the borderline of delirium, with how many words you’ve spoken to him despite still being mad at him. 

He apparates into his kitchen to grab a glass of water, before appearing at your side again. He pushes the glass into your hands. “Drink. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“It is not the worst injury I have sustained,” you inform him, but drink the glass down ravenously. 

He cannot think of anything worse than the large gash across your ribs. Anything worse, especially if you’d treated it alone, would’ve cost you your life. Tom burns with anger at the thought of you alone, bleeding out, having to take care of yourself on the verge of death. It was hard to think about, but you were probably used to dealing with such things alone. 

“Thank you, Tom,” you say once he has brought you another glass. You drink it slower this time, contemplating, as he watches from the foot of the bed he’s settled on. “I… am not used to help. It is strange that I am being treated this way, especially from -”

Tom knows you were about to say, especially from him. 

Like you, he had a reputation. He knows what others think of him. He never let it get to him, as he knew none of their words truly mattered. Not when he had his plans. He was the Slytherin head boy, cold and calculating. He was highly favored by his teachers, but he had no real friends or relationships to speak of. 

Tom remembers you, before you’d been expelled. You had been so different compared to the husk of a person you are now. You’d been happy, bright eyed, wanting to make a difference in the wizarding world. He remembers you were always wickedly smart in any of the classes you two had. But the person you were died along with Myrtle Warren. You’d been the one who found her, so naturally you were accused of doing such a thing. 

Rumor spread fast. You’d been labeled a murderer, and cast out of school merely a few days later. Your reputation had been ruined, and nothing could repair it. Not even your innocence. 

Tom knew it wasn’t you, but unlike the other few students who believed you had nothing to do with it, he had proof, because it had been his fault she’d been killed. 

Now, you were cold. Angry. Kept everyone at a distance, just like Tom did. He saw himself in you, after you’d been cast out. Alone. He wonders if maybe he was the closest thing you had to a friend, although he didn’t know much of your life outside of work. Maybe you did have others, than just Tom at Borgin and Burkes.

“I owe you, I suppose,” Tom says. He takes the glass once you’ve finished it, and you tuck further into the mattress. Your eyelids grow heavy, head resting into the pillow. Tom is almost kind in the way he brings the blankets up to cover your chest. His apartment got cold at night. He didn’t want you to get sick. “Rest.”

Tom moves to leave, but he freezes in place when you’ve grabbed hold of him. He turns, expecting a request for another glass of water, but he is surprised to find that you’ve already fallen asleep. He glances down at your hand holding his; you had done it unconsciously. 

He sits down on the bed, allowing you to hold his hand until the sunrises. He does not move. He thinks that maybe you needed it, the contact. Skin on skin. Maybe he needed it too, but he pushes that thought away as quick as it comes. He watches you sleep throughout the night, whenever you stir, drawing his attention from the book he’d picked up. 

You do not wake until the sunrises. 

The first beams of light hit your face, seeping in from the curtains Tom hadn’t had a chance to draw. He hears the first deep breath you take upon regaining consciousness, and he prepares himself for what lies ahead. 

Your hand rips from his and you sit up in alarm, scrambling up against the headboard. The sudden movement must pull at your still healing wound, as you hiss out a low sound of pain.

“Calm down,” Tom snaps. “You are safe.”

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you squint at Tom in the soft morning light of his apartment. Your hand touches at the healed wound. Like him when he’d woken at your apartment, you recall the events that lead up to you waking up in Tom’s apartment - Borgin and Burkes, Tom bringing you here, helping you. 

Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and you settle against the headboard in surrender. “I remember now,” you murmur, almost ashamed. 

Tom can see you’ve begun to start shaking, and he feels an edge bite into him. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Waking up here must feel incredibly awkward. Receiving aid from the very one who had hurt you, not long ago.

“You are free to leave,” Tom says. “I am not keeping you prisoner.”

You nod shyly, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. 

After no attempt is made to leave on your part, Tom pops into the kitchen, and returns a moment later with another glass of water. He should’ve hydrated you more last night, but two glasses of water seemed all you could handle before you’d fallen asleep. He forces you to drink two more glasses before he tells you to sit tight, and don’t move, as he apparated to the store to pick up things for breakfast. 

When he returns, you are indeed in the same spot. He hadn’t meant it literally, but it seems you’d taken it that way. 

Only when he unpacks the ingredients do you quietly get up to use the restroom. Tom stops what he’s doing to make sure you’re able to get there on your own, hypervigilant of your light footsteps, wobbly but otherwise fine. 

Once you’re out of the restroom and back in bed, Tom continues. He was waiting for another crash. Another call of his name. It hadn’t come.

You move with a certain timidness that has Tom a little on edge. You’ve been watching him, skittish, like he is going to kick you out for breathing too loudly. 

Tom finishes breakfast with a quick wave of his wand, serving up a pile of eggs and bacon, and a side of toast. It feels incredibly domestic, incredibly odd, as he sits across from you at his dinning table he doesn’t think he’s ever used. Not even once. He didn’t entertain guests, and he ate all his meals outside of the house.

Not much is said other than your gentle thank you’s, more subdued and willing to accept his help than the day before. He can see that your fork is trembling in your grasp with every raise and fall of it to your mouth. 

“What happened?” Tom finally asks, once you’ve cleared your plate, still across from him. He’s been wanting to know since you’d apparated into the shop. 

He needed to know who he’d be hunting down.

“I was attacked,” you supply dryly. When Tom clenches his fist, you go on hurriedly, “I think they were following me. I must’ve tipped them off, somehow when I had passed through a town, and when I got close enough, they started firing at me. I’d just managed to retrieve the item before I’d been hit.”

“And what is it that you nearly died for?” Tom uses his wand to pick up your coat, and finds a small piece of something tucked away in the coat. He motions for it to be brought to him, and once it finds its way into his hands, he is struck by a cold grip wrapping around his heart. 

It had been another cursed object he had been looking for.

You’d been hunting it for Tom. It is why you’d gotten hurt. He hadn’t known you’d actually go looking for it, much less find it. It was highly sought after. No wonder you’d nearly died for it. He had told you about it that night before he’d left you in your apartment, alone, and it’s taken you months to find it. Following up on leads, tracing down passages of it written in books. He would never fail to be surprised at your abilities.

Tom looks up at you, not knowing what to say.

Your eyes are down, unable to meet Tom’s gaze that holds a rare moment of emotion. He is a little choked up that you’d go to such lengths for him, even after he had abandoned you. He has admirers, followers who would worship the ground he walked on, but none of them mattered. They were all below him. None of them held even a flame to his powers.

But you, it was like you were on his level. Your magic, your smarts, everything. It is a shame you’d been expelled from Hogwarts. You would’ve made a fine Auror.

“You’ve proven yourself of use to me, time and time again,” Tom says, after gathering himself. “Anything you wish, ask for it, and I will provide.”

You give a somber laugh. “Unless you can change my past, then there is nothing I want from you, Tom.”

“There must be something you want.”

“I want… companionship,” you say, head shaking a moment later at the pitiful request. “I - I don’t know. There is nothing I want.”

You’d said companionship - Tom could provide that, to some degree. It is exactly what he had been running from when he’d left that morning, but it seems that it has found him yet again. And he could not turn you away this time.

“Stay with me,” Tom tells you, and only then do you look up. He can see you’re going to shoot him down, so he adds on, “just for a few days, until you’re fully recovered. Then you may leave if you wish.”

You think on it for a second, before agreeing. 

Those few days are the strangest, and most wonderful time Tom has had maybe in all of his life. You’re there from the moment he wakes, to when he goes to bed. You’re there waiting for him when he comes home from work, and you greet him with a shy smile that he unwittingly returns. He has always found peace in his solitude, but he is almost excited to get off work with every passing day, knowing you’ll be in his bed reading. 

The first day he’d arrived home from work, he is almost startled to find you still there. He had nearly forgotten. It is a delightful surprise when he apparates home, and you’ve just emerged from the kitchen with an apple between your lips. You’re both shocked frozen, until Tom takes off his jacket, and you ask about his day. 

Routine falls into play, after the first tense, almost timid first day and night. 

Another thing - Tom didn’t have anywhere else to sleep. His couch was too small to fit on comfortably, and he valued his sleep. He would not force himself to sleep on something so uncomfortable. He’d been in a strange dilemma with himself, almost regretting the offer to have you stay, when you’d patted the space next to you on the bed that first night. Inviting Tom to come sleep on his own bed. He was thrown by your almost cute gesture for him to join you. 

Both of you were adults. It was possible to sleep in a bed together without anything out of the ordinary happening. 

Only, something did happen, but Tom hadn’t spoken of it the next day and neither had you. And it happened every night since you’d started sleeping in his bed. 

Tom was never big on any kind of physical touch with anyone, he’d been disgusted by even the smallest touches, but in the middle of the night, you’d scooted up against him. He had woken immediately at the feeling of your warm body against his. He figured you were cold from how chilly his apartment got. Tom was a person who slept on his back, finding that it was the best position, usually with an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the little light that came into his apartments. 

You’d taken the opportunity to then lay your head on his chest, your arm coming to rest on his waist. 

Again, he hadn’t slept. At least, for the first hour you’d cuddled up against him. His body was pumped full of adrenaline at the weight of another’s head upon his chest, the feel of your hair tickling his nose. He should’ve pushed you off; you were effecting his sleep. But he eventually drifted off, and when he’d come to in the morning, he felt as though he’d gotten some of the most effective sleep he’d ever had. 

Strange. 

It was all so strange to him, these new found feelings at every turn with you. 

Tom wondered if he was the only one feeling it. Surely it wasn’t just in his head. 

And on the 5th day you’ve been staying there, it is made known to him exactly how much he wanted you to stay, when you’d brought up going home. 

“I have been here for a while,” you tell him after dinner. He’d been cooking everyday since you’ve been staying with him. He actually had food in the fridge, fruits on the counter. It was a stark difference to the fridge merely being there for decoration. “I’m healed enough where I can be on my own. I think it is best if I… leave.”

Tom unintentionally swallows what he’d been chewing before he was finished with it, and for a moment, it gets caught in his throat. He has to sip a mouth full of water to keep himself from choking on it. He sets the glass down slowly, trying to come up with a reason, anything, for you to stay. He had grown used to you being there. It hadn’t even been a week, but he wouldn’t have minded if you were there for another. And another. Possibly forever. 

He did not want to go back to how things had been for the last two months. No word on if you were alive or dead.

“Unless,” you say apprehensively, bringing his fiery glare up from scorching a mark into the table. “I could, perhaps, stay a little longer?”

In order not to give himself away, Tom has to force himself to pause for a moment and not jump to agree right away. He pretends to think it over, watching how you anxiously press your lips together in a line, your hands coming up to nervously pick at the table, before he accepts. 

“I suppose you could stay,” Tom says in a nonchalant manner, even though his heart is a volcano erupting inside of his chest. The possibilities this could bring; more nights of you sleeping against him, days where you’ve already prepared dinner him when he comes home, mornings where you both agree only five more minutes just to curl up with each other and drift off again. 

“Really?” you exclaim, startling Tom as he raises his fork to his mouth. He blinks at you in surprise at your outburst. He’s amused when you shrink back, embarrassed, that you’d reacted in such a way. It is like you hadn’t expected him to agree in the slightest. “I - I mean, um. Thank you.”

PART I: WORTH THE RISK

PART II: WORTH THE TEARS

PART III: WORTH THE WAIT

PART IV: WORTH THE PAIN

PART V: WORTH IT ALL

[⚠︎︎THIS SERIES HAS A RATING OF 17+. ONLY 17 AND ABOVE MAY PROCEED TO READ.]

Each part has specific warnings written before the start. Please be warned before proceeding to read. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Moodboards, feedback, memes, tiktoks, commentary, etc. about the series are greatly appreciated. Please use the official series tag and mention me so I can see it! 

Official series hashtag: #worth: the series

To Y/N, they'd all accepted their imminent deaths far too easily. They'd done the impossible, they'd broken into the Ice Court. They were not about to die in a tank, a few hundred metres from the Ferolind and freedom.

She glanced over at Kaz. They'd hardly spoken since he'd fainted in the prison wagon. He'd been avoiding her gaze whenever they'd been together and barely acknowledging her existence.

Y/N was growing tired of it. She loved him, she'd come to accept that truth whilst wafting through the crowds at the Ice Court. Perhaps, deep down, hidden and suppressed, he loved her too.

But she had been waiting for too long. Her heart was aching and her mind was tired of the not knowing, of the constant hatred and love all at once.

Y/N looked from Kaz to the rest of their group. She loved them all in different ways. She trusted them all and knew that she'd gladly die for them all.

Which made the next decision that bit easier.

She turned to Kuwei. He noticed her gaze and looked back at her. Y/N didn't speak. The boys eyes widened.

"You don't understand -"

"I understand, Kuwei," Y/N said softly.

Kuwei reached into his pocket and pulled out the little leather pouch that had begun this whole heist.

"Y/N, what are you -" Kaz trailed off as his eyes fell upon the pouch, its rim stained with a rust-coloured powder.

"You're all out of tricks, Kaz," Y/N said, taking the pouch from Kuwei. She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. "What else is there?"

"No, Y/N, don't be ridiculous," Inej warned.

"Personally I think this is my greatest idea yet," Y/N replied, trying to hide her shaking hands. "Besides, not everyone gets addicted after the first dose."

"You can't risk it, Y/N!" Inej exclaimed.

"No, Y/N, she's right, it's not worth it," Nina said. "I'll do it."

"No," Matthias said, shaking his head furiously.

Y/N laughed tiredly. "I have no one to fight for me, Nina," she said softly, trying not to look at Kaz. "You do."

The voice echoed out from amongst the Fjerdan ranks, counting down, getting ever closer to the end. Y/N took a deep breath in. She mentally counted to three and then turned to look at Kaz.

She was aware of everyone else around them trying not to look. Y/N shifted her weight from right to left, bringing herself closer to Kaz. Their elbow brushed.

Y/N raised her hand and gently placed it against Kaz's cheek. She let her thumb trail over his cheekbone. He flinched, his eyes closing tightly. Y/N swallowed the disappointment.

"I expect ten percent of your cut for this, Kaz," she whispered.

Before anyone could realise what was happening, before Kaz could ground himself back into reality, Y/N tipped the parem into her mouth, forcing herself to swallow it in one stodgy swallow.

Instantly, her blood began to thrum, power surging through it, the fire making it grow hotter. She could hear her heartbeat, pounding away over and over and over again. Her cheeks were burning, sweat was running down the back of her neck.

Her fire was screaming to be released. All it needed was one spark.

No.

It didn't need any spark.

Y/N could feel it at her fingertips. It throbbed.

Her gaze moved across the Fjerdan soldiers. She could feel the gunpowder waiting to be lit. She could hear the pistols being loaded and cocked. She could feel the flicker of the flames dancing off the torches they held.

She tilted her head to the left. She focused her gaze on a bomb filled with gun powder.

Her fingers snapped. The fire shot across the space between them and hit the fuse, burning it up in seconds.

The bomb exploded.

Orange light lit up her face, she could feel the heat burning her skin. It was thrilling.

Everything was burning around her and Y/N could still feel fire burning through her veins, desperate to be released into the night.

Y/N took a deep breath in, letting the cold air burning her nose as she did so. As she exhaled, fire flowed from her fingers, lighting up the sky as it soared across and over the soldiers, sending them all scattering to the sides and into the water.

"Drive," Y/N said softly, looking ahead, staring at the fire as it burnt its way along the ground.

Kaz looked at her, a hint of fear in his eyes.

In the middle of the True Sea, there was no fire. Y/N's desire to burn the whole world to the ground had faded to a dull ache. Instead, it'd been replaced be a reluctant sense of acceptance for what was to come.

She was sat on the main deck of the boat, her legs dangling over the edge. It was quiet out here. Everyone seemed to be avoiding her and, when they did run into her, giving her pitiful looks.

Y/N sighed, tilting her head back, letting the ocean spray hit her skin.

"I'm presuming you can't just burn it out your system."

She didn't even react. "No. I'll be burning myself from the inside out."

Kaz stepped forward and pivoted on his heel so he had his back to the railing. He leant backwards, holding his cane loosely in his hand.

"I won't take anymore," Y/N said quietly.

"I wasn't going to mention it," Kaz replied.

"Then why are you here?" Y/N asked, turning her head so that she was looking at him.

Kaz didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge that Y/N had spoken for a while. Eventually, he looked down at her.

"I wanted to talk before it begun."

Y/N nodded, turning back to look at the water churning as they passed. "I fear you're too late."

Kaz glanced down. Her hand rested on the railings, shaking even as it sat there.

As the sun rose, the aches set in. Everything hurt, from her jaw to her toes. All Y/N could do was lie there, shaking, trying not to cry. Inej sat with her for a few hours, her cold fingers combing through her hair, massaging the back of her neck.

Nina, they had decided, was going to be a last resort. If she absolutely had to, she would lower Y/N's heartbeat enough that she went into a coma, allowing her body to work through the drug without causing her too much pain.

Every candle on the ship had been extinguished. Y/N could feel them burning even if they were the other end of the ship from her.

A few hours later, her skin began to burn. She lay on the bed, wearing the thinnest shirt she could find, unable to tolerate anything else touching her. All the blankets had been thrown to the side and her shirt was soaked in sweat. Y/N kept her eyes shut, trying to fall asleep, trying to pretend that what was happening to her wasn't happening.

When the tremors began, Matthias was sat beside her. In her delirous state she'd vaguely realised that they were all taking turns to sit with her, to watch her.

They're waiting for you to die.

"Do you need me to get Nina?" Matthias asked, gently dabbing her sweat covered forehead with a wet cloth.

Y/N shook her head. "No... not, not yet."

"Do you -"

"No," Y/N said, clutching her hands into fists. "No, I can't fall down into it, I can't Matthias, I can't."

"Okay, okay," Matthias whispered, dipping the cloth back into the water and then placing it back on her forehead.

Y/N didn't remember Matthias leaving. One minute he was next to her, the next he was gone and -

"Kaz?" Y/N whispered, turning her head to look at him.

"Y/N."

He'd undressed to just his shirt sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. He still had his gloves on and his cane was resting against the wall next to him. But he was there.

"Why... what -"

"We're taking turns," Kaz said, his voice hoarse and quiet. "It was mine."

Y/N smiled but, as she did so, the aches overwhelmed her. Her bones felt like they might burst through her skin and her head was pounding, being squeezed through a vice. Her skin was burning, her face was on fire.

She groaned, arching her back as she tried to escape the pain, to free her sweat covered back from the mattress.

A cold hand landed on her arm, pushing her back onto the bed. Y/N groaned, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart was pounding, she could hear it.

"Kaz, I can't - can't do this, I can't -"

"Don't give up," Kaz said, leaning forward. His hands were bare, holding her arm down and combing through her hair. "Don't, promise me."

"I can't, Kaz, I can't," Y/N sobbed. "Please, please just -"

"No, don't you dare," Kaz replied, his voice firm. "You're not dying on my watch, Y/N."

Y/N cried, her back arching again, her nails digging into her palm.

The door opened. Kaz looked over, watching as Nina quietly walked in.

"I could hear her heartbeat getting faster," Nina replied, shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to check..."

Kaz looked back at Y/N. He turned to Nina. "Please, Zenik," he said quietly. "Just do it."

Nina stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She took her wrist and pressed her fingers to her pulse point.

"Kaz," Y/N said, whimpering. "Kaz?"

"I'm here," he said, leaning forward. "I'm here."

"Stay till the end," she whispered, her tremors slowing down, her eyes growing unfocused.

"Y/N -"

"Promise me."

"I promise you," Kaz whispered, hand stroking her hair back from her face. He watched her eyes close as Nina gradually slowed her heart down. Y/N's eyes closed and her grip on Kaz's hand weakened, her body going limp as Nina put her body into a coma.

Y/n sat on the edge of the roof kicking swinging legs back and forth. She bit into her bottom lip as she tried to keep herself calm; too many thoughts racing through her mind tonight. Needless, futile, stupid, jealous thoughts. She quickly released her lip from her teeth as she felt eyes on her. She scanned the skyline before relenting to who she’d assumed it was from the start and turned to look over her shoulder, “yes?”

Y/n watched as Inej made herself seen and slowly approached. That friendly smile of hers felt taunting in this moment. But y/n pasted one on herself before turning back to face the Ketterdam rooftops.

“Why are you out here this late?” Inej questioned softly as she carefully sat down beside y/n.

Y/n shrugged silently, not looking away from the skyline. She wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. When Inej wanted something, she got that thing. If only she hadn’t happened to want Kaz the way y/n did. But y/n refused to tell Inej that that was what had brought her out here tonight.

“Y/n, come on, everyone can tell you’re upset,” Inej remarked as the gray clouds above them began to drip rain onto the girls.

“I’m fine,” y/n retorted simply, briefly glancing at Inej’s side-profile.

Inej stared at y/n skeptically. “No one chooses to sit on a rooftop this late, in this weather, if they’re fine,” she argued.

“It wasn’t raining until you got here,” y/n pointed out with a shrug. Fitting. Her love life didn’t feel like it was going through a downpour until Inej entered the picture either. How ironic.

“I’m not just talking about tonight, y/n/n,” Inej sighed. “You’ve been distant and… sad.”

Inej had a point. Of course she did. Y/n had spent the last several weeks trying to distance herself from the crows. Well… from Kaz. And Inej. And mostly Kaz and Inej together. Which was occurring more often than not lately. The images from the last month played back in her mind yet again as if to remind her of her misery.

Y/n twirled the shiny coin around in between her pointer and middle finger as she practically bounced her way up the stairs to Kaz’s room, a smile on her face. She’d managed to trick some rich merchant into giving it to and she thought Kaz would love it. Maybe he’d even be proud of her for such an achievement. Although, truthfully she’d simply done it because she wanted him to have it thanks to the hopeless crush she’d developed a few weeks ago. Kaz didn’t date. Kaz didn’t look at anyone that way. Y/n included. But, maybe…

Y/n hummed to herself, knocking briefly on Kaz’s wooden door before letting herself in. She paused promptly upon realizing he wasn’t alone. Inej was here. Y/n swallowed thickly as she shifted her stance a bit. “I… umm.., sorry-,” she mumbled.

Inej stepped away from Kaz with a soft shake of her head as she smiled at y/n. “Hey y/n,” she greeted sweetly. “He’s all yours, I was just leaving,” she told the girl.

Y/n’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as her heart sank over Kaz’s immediate response to Inej’s words. His hand. He was… Kaz had reached out and gripped Inej’s wrist to stop her from leaving. He didn’t do that sorta thing. That wasn’t him. Yet, here he was. Doing that. Touching her. Inej. Y/n couldn’t help but stare at the hold Kaz had on Inej’s wrist. His gloves were on… but still.. he didn’t touch people. He didn’t react like that. So instinctual that he’d physically stop someone instead of using his words commands. He really didn’t want her to leave. She tore her eyes away from their hands only to find an equally, if not more, painful sight.

Kaz and Inej stood silently, staring at each other, no words exchanged but both wore meaningful expressions.

Y/n felt a lump in her throat as she tried to swallow. This wasn’t happening. She knew the chances of her crush being anything but a crush were slim. Especially given it was on Kaz. But… The one time she held romantic feelings for someone this happened? What’re the odds her crush would get over his trouble being open with people only to fall for someone else? Her hand holding the coin trembled lightly at her side as she analyzed Kaz’s face. He was stern and serious, but instead of his ever-present stoic expression, his eyes seemed to be…. They were almost… pleading. Ouch. She couldn’t make out Inej’s expression fully from this angle. But from what she could see, Inej held a tender gaze and a small but warm smile. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut tightly as if that would somehow make the sight before her disappear. “Umm..,” she cleared her throat, feeling as though she was interrupting… something. Something she wished she wasn’t happening. But it was. “I, sorry,” she repeated as she slowly opened her eyes. They finally stopped touching and were both now facing her. “I didn’t mean to…,” y/n shook her head, unable to say the words. “Anyways, I umm…,” she mumbled.

“Y/n,” Kaz spoke, his stoic expression back in place. “Out with it,” he instructed.

Hearing his gruff voice say her name in a moment like this hurt. But not as much as him ordering her to get on with it did. He didn’t want her here. She’d interrupted his time… his moment… with Inej. Inej was who he wanted to be speaking with, who he wanted to have present in the room now. Not y/n. “Right,” y/n creaked. “I just, I thought you might want this,” she explained, walking over to his desk. The coin clanged against the table top as she placed it down.

“Where..? Where did you g-,” Kaz began to ask as y/n stepped back from the desk.

“I made a deal with a merchant,” y/n shrugged, pretending it was nothing. In truth, it wasn’t nothing. It had taken her a week and a half to arrange and wasn’t the safest plan. But now… now it truly didn’t matter. In the end, maybe it was nothing.

Kaz scrutinized the rare coin from a distance, not having moved from the spot he was in when y/n first entered. As he looked up from his desk, he found she’d made her way to the door. He felt Inej watching him knowingly, but he didn’t know what to say. Why had y/n gotten this coin? And why had she given it to him? Had she done something she was trying to cover up? Or perhaps trying to get ahead of some mistake she might make later? Or…? No.

“It’s really shiny,” Inej commented with an encouraging smile.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Kaz spoke, picking up on Inej’s not-so-subtle hint to talk to y/n.

Y/n nodded, “I know”. She swallowed and turned her gaze away from the soft way Inej was looking at Kaz. “Goodnight”. It was a weird exit, but what else was she supposed to say after that?

—-

Y/n halted in the doorway, unconsciously stumbling backwards a bit. This was getting to be too much. First it was walking in on their moment. Then it was watching Inej go to his office every single night for the past week. But now this? She hadn’t realized she’d moved backwards, away from the scene before her until she felt her back bump into someone. She silently turned around. Nina. She offered her friend and fellow crow an apologetic expression, not having known she was behind her. She watched as Nina noticed the scene that was now behind y/n, her eyes widening with surprise before quickly narrowing in confusion. She couldn’t hear this. Nina loved gossip. She loved Nina. But she couldn’t bear to talk about the potential romance between Kaz and Inej. Before Nina could react further or comment, y/n side stepped her in the narrow hallway and quickly left the safe house. She made her way to the backside of the building and rested her back against the brick wall as her butt slid to the ground. Breathe. It’s fine. She has no claim to him anyways. It was an unrequited crush. Is. Not was. As much as she’d hoped the tortuous observations of the last week would break her crush, they didn’t. They just broke her instead.

—

“Y/n? You have to talk to someone about whatever is-” Inej’s voice pleaded, bringing y/n back to the present moment. A moment where y/n had ventured out of The Crow Club in hopes the cold air would relieve some of the ache in her chest from having witnessed her crush and his crush on what seemed like a date. Except now, to add to her never ending embarrassment and heartbreak, her crush’s crush was now questioning her as to what was troubling her. Saints she really has the worst luck. It hurt even more because she and Inej used to be close. She didn’t want to lose her friend. But every time she saw Inej now, it physically hurt. Hence why she was trying to distance herself from Kaz and her both. Until her heart had time to heal and move on.

Y/n shook her head.

Inej set a soft hand on y/n’s rain-soaked shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything,” she reminded the girl.

“No I can’t!” Y/n cried. Her eyes widened in shock over her outburst and she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, ignoring the fact that due to it being rainy tiny grains from the roof’s shingles had transferred to her hand and were now poking her face.

“What?” Inej frowned. “Why not?” When she didn’t get a response, she sighed. “Please? If I did something wrong I’d like to fix it”.

Y/n felt a few guilty tears escape her eyes. She wiped the grains off her face before she lowered her hand back to the shingles under them. “You didn’t, Inej… I’m sorry,” she whimpered quietly, “you didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Then why can’t you talk to me?” Inej asked.

Y/n sighed. “I’m just… working through something,” she explained vaguely.

Inej nodded, “I’d like to help”.

“Inej… Thank you, truly,” y/n replied. “But, it’s not fair for me to talk to you about this”. Inej hadn’t done this intentionally. It wasn’t fair for y/n to be upset with her. Or to be upset about it at all. But she was.

“So it does involve me,” Inej interpreted. “Y/n, please just tell me, I know your heart, I know you won’t mean any malice with whatever it is…”

Y/n sighed. Maybe this is what it would take. Maybe this would help her accept the way things were. Maybe it would help her finally be able to move on. To have Inej back as a friend. To not have an ache in her chest every time she looked at Kaz. Maybe even to be happy for them finding love together. Oww. That one still stung. Maybe that one would take longer. It wasn’t fair to make Inej feel guilty for this. But perhaps by telling her, maybe Inej would adjust her behaviors so that it wasn’t so in her face. Not that Inej owed her that. And y/n could never dare ask for that. But Inej was caring. Maybe she’d offer to keep her and Kaz’s affairs more secret. At least until y/n moved on.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this… and please don’t tell anyone, especially him…,” y/n pleaded. She felt bad for asking Inej to keep a secret from her… boyfriend? Is that was she and Kaz were now? She shook the question off. “But, I… kinda sorta… may have developed a little bit of a crush on…” she mumbled slowly. “Kaz, and I know how insane that it is. I knew the even before I knew about you two. But now I feel even worse about it,” she rushed out as quickly as possible. “And I’m so sorry Inej! I-”.

“Wait..,” Inej interrupted, resting her palm on y/n’s shoulder. “Why are you apologizing to me for liking Kaz?” She asked.

“Because it’s not fair to you! And I would never act on it now that I know, I swear!” Y/n vowed.

“Now that you know what?” Inej questioned, choosing just one of the many questions she now had.

“Inej,” y/n sighed as she looked her way. “I know about you and Kaz,” she informed her. “And I’m happy for you, really! It’s just that right now-”.

Inej couldn’t help but giggle. “Sorry,” she apologized. “But I couldn’t help it. Y/n, there’s nothing between me and Kaz,” she promised.

Y/n gave Inej a look of frustration. “Inej,” she scolded.

“I swear on every single Saint out there, I have no feelings for Kaz and he has none for me,” Inej spoke softly.

Y/n looked away for a moment, contemplating the last month. “I’ve seen it,” she argued. Maybe they were both too clueless to see it themselves? Was she really now going to have to point out to Inej how Kaz saw her? How he’d unknowingly chosen her over y/n? The universe was cruel.

“What are you-,” Inej began.

“You’re always in his office. He doesn’t let many people do that Inej. Then there’s the way he’s always looking over at you randomly. The way he tended to your wounds after the fight with Marcello. It first dawned on me when I saw the way he reached for your hand to stop you from leaving when I came to give him that damn coin,” y/n rambled, facing the skyline so as to not let Inej see her tears.

Inej closed her eyes as she was hit with guilt. She hadn’t considered how those things looked. Her eyes opened upon hearing y/n try to stifle a sniffle. She promptly stood up and held her hand out for y/n who gazed up at her in confusion. “Trust me, please,” Inej requested.

Kaz’s eyes snapped to the window as y/n and Inej made their way back inside. His eyes scanned y/n’s appearance but stopped upon seeing her red eyes. He turned his gaze to Inej in question as the Wraith looked his way.

Inej sensed the way y/n tensed up beside her. No, No, No. It wasn’t like that. No wonder y/n thought Kaz liked her. He was looking at her a lot lately. But it wasn’t for the reasons y/n thought! She turned to her friend and gripped her hand tightly. She wordlessly made her way to Kaz, dragging the girl with her. She gave Kaz a knowing stare, “now”.

Inej noticed the way Kaz seemed reluctant. Still. After everything she’d tried to do to convince him the past month. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a look. “Kaz, I’m dead serious. You have to tell her,” she commanded in a whispered but sharp tone.

Y/n heard Inej’s whisper and tugged on the hand that was keeping her from fleeing. “Inej?” She asked, uncertain where this was going.

Inej faced y/n with a supportive smile and shook her head. “I promise, it’ll all be made clear”. Her head snapped to the left as she narrowed her eyes at Kaz. “Won’t it Kaz?”

Kaz squinted in confusion. He looked over at y/n, trying to ignore the way her reddened eyes made his chest hurt. “What is it that is unclear?”

Y/n rapidly shook her head as she stared at Inej.

Inej sighed. Y/n didn’t want her to say anything. But it would be in y/n’s best interest if Inej ignored those wishes. “I…,” she began, but stopped. Kaz needed to do this. He needed to be the one to tell her. She worked with him for a month on this. The misunderstandings that were troubling y/n couldn’t be for nothing. “Just…. Tell her. Now,” she ordered, squeezing y/n’s shoulder before quickly leaving. She shut the door behind her and sighed as she silently prayed to her Saints for Kaz to finally tell y/n.

“Kaz?” Y/n asked nervously as she turned back to him after having watched Inej abandon her here.

“I’ve been keeping something from you,” Kaz confessed, his anxious eyes scanning her every move as he tried to read her mind. He watched as she nodded. Did she already know? No. If she did she wouldn’t be standing here. But maybe that’s why she had been crying. No. Inej wouldn’t demand he tell her if she already knew. So why was she nodding? And why had she been crying?

“Sometimes I hate you,” Kaz told her.

“You hate me?”

This wasn’t how Inej had instructed him to tell her when they rehearsed earlier tonight. But if he had to do this now and not on his own time, when he knew for certain how y/n felt, then this was how it was going to go. Not like it would matter anyways. It was likely unrequited.

“Sometimes. You’ve ruined things”.

“I… I… didn’t mean to”.

“That’s just it y/n,” he sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not even fair for me to hate you from time to time over this because you didn’t mean to do any it. You didn’t mean to drive me insane. You didn’t mean to make me break the one vow I made to myself…”

“I don’t…”

“I told myself I’d never let someone in,” Kaz explained. “And then, you….” He groaned. “I don’t know how you did it. And I know you didn’t mean to. So, I know you don’t feel the same. But that doesn’t mean I don’t despise the fact you managed to do this”.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel this way!” Kaz rose his voice.

She squinted. “What are you talking about?” “You’re mad I managed to make you hate me?” she asked, seeking clarification.

“No! Dammit,” Kaz scoffed. “I’m mad you made me feel.”

“Feel what?”

“Everything.”

“Wh…?”

“You made me feel, y/n. In general. But also things I had buried years ago, with the intent to never feel again. You made me feel and I hate it.”

“Are you…? No… You’re not… You’re not actually suggesting you have feelings for me, are you?” Y/n asked in offense. Would he really stoop to this level?

Kaz looked away from her, opting to stare at his windowsill instead.

“If you’re trying to do this to keep your relationship with Inej a secret you don’t have to, I won’t-”.

Kaz choked on his breath. “My what?! …with who?!”

“Kaz”.

“No,” he cut her off as he shook his head and stepped closer. “Is that…” he began. Unlikely. He was probably projecting by thinking it might have something to do with why she’s been distant. Frustration took over as he found his mind to be a mess of crossed wires and chaos. He’d tried to express his feelings to best he can but was still not successful in getting her to understand. He knew she might not feel same way but still, this was annoying. “I’m not trying to con anyone,” he said, voice coming out a bit angry from his disbelief. He’d just confessed his feelings and she was questioning his sincerity and intentions? “If I was trying to hide my… feelings.. would I have just admired that vulnerability to you?” He asked rhetorically.

“But… you…”

“What?”

“The looks”.

“Excuse me?” Kaz sighed. “Full sentences would be great, y/n”.

“I’ve seen the way you are with her,” y/n defended.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked, brow raised.

“First, there was when I came in to give you the-,” she paused as her eyes caught sight of the item in question. He kept it. He hadn’t sold it. And not only did he keep it, he had it on a cushioned pad on his desk. He never kept trinkets on his desk. Focus. “That coin,” she said bringing the conversation back. “I walked in on… Well I don’t really know but, I saw the way you didn’t want her to leave. I clearly interpreted something and you didn’t want me to see it but I could tell you didn’t want her to leave”.

Kaz hummed in understanding. “You did interpret something that night.” He ran his hands over the coin in question for a moment in silence before putting it back down. “And you’re right. You don’t know what it was.” He sighed as he felt his cheeks flush. “I had asked Inej to help me with a project”. When she nodded slowly, he hesitantly continued. “That’s all”.

“It was really important,” y/n recalled, picturing the way he’d actually grabbed for Inej’s wrist.

“It was.” Kaz swallowed. “I tasked her with finding out how you’d feel if I told you…. If we had this conversation,” he corrected.

“What about when you were fixing her cuts from the fight against-”

“Marcello?” Kaz asked for her, knowing he’d only done such a thing once and still felt weird about it. “She’d refused to answer my questions until her wounds were stitched”.

“What questions?”

“Why you seemed to be becoming more distant. If she’d told you despite swearing not to.”

Y/n nodded slowly as she tried to absorb and analyze the information. He noticed? He was worried about that? So much so he attended to Inej’s cuts in order to get the answers to those questions?

“This is what Inej meant by things needing to become clear, isn’t it?” Kaz asked.

Y/n nodded.

Kaz hummed, “anything else?”

“You keep looking over at her randomly.”

Kaz chuckled dryly. So much for the silent check ins being subtle. “It’s not random”.

“Right.. no, I know.. that’s-”.

“I…. I can handle most things on my own, but making conversation, being… friendly.., isn’t my forte.” He sighed. “Inej was also tasked with correcting me if I said or did something that… well.. might have upset you or be taken wrong”.

Y/n blinked slowly at Kaz in surprise. “You-… what?”

“Anything else?” Kaz echoed as he cleared his throat.

“Tonight…”

Kaz groaned. “Ironically, Inej was trying to persuade me into having this exact conversation with you”.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did she want you to have this conversation with me?”

Kaz was silent for a moment. “She claimed she was tired of trying to collect signs that this conversation would go well and threatened that if I didn’t have this conversation soon she’d tell you herself.” He bashfully looked away from her again.

“You… you went and did all of this… because you didn’t know how I’d react?”

Kaz nodded stiffly.

“I … I’m still not sure I understand,” y/n confessed. “And I really don’t want to misinterpret this cause I’ll say something I’ll probably die of embarrassment for saying if I do”. “So…,” she shook her head in confusion. “I know feelings are… new… for you Kaz, but… You’ve both stated you hate me and that you were willing to go through all of this because you needed to know how I’d react to you telling me i made you feel things… but that’s… well, confusing!”

“Sometimes I hate you because I don’t hate you. Because I can’t. I hate that I feel… anything. Because it’s pointless. I hate that I can’t do anything about the way I feel. I hate that I feel I have to tell you this. I hate that nothing will come of this. I hate what this means for you”.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m wretched, y/n. And so is the Barrel,” Kaz said as he shook his head. “If anyone else knew this.. what I’ve been trying to tell you… you’d be in danger”.

“Are you saying that… no… I need you to say it. What is it you’re saying Kaz?”

“Even though unrequited, my feelings for you could be harmful if word got out. So while you might wish to gossip about managing to make the Bastard of the Barrel feel, I don’t advise doing so outside of the crows, or with Jesper either, he’s rather loose lipped and if it gets out to the wrong people you might be in the line of fire and-,” Kaz rambled nervously.

“Kaz stop… you… you like me?”

“Yes,” he answered gruffly. “How many times do I need to say that?”

“Once Kaz. I needed you to say it once,” she sighed. “You said you hated me.”

“Sometimes”.

“Right, sometimes hate me”.

Kaz echoed her sigh. “I don’t actually hate you. Ever. I can’t. I hate that I can’t, but it’s true.”

“So you just… like me? But.., hate that you do?” Y/n questioned. When he nodded silently, she frowned. “Am I really that bad?”

“What?!” Kaz hissed, his sharp gaze snapping over to her.

“Is liking me so horrible?”

“No,” He answered as he moved closer. “Unfortunately it’s not. That’s the problem.”

“Then why do you hate that you like me?”

“I told myself I wouldn’t feel this way. For anyone. Ever.”

“What’s so bad about feeling this way for someone?”

“I told you y/n,” Kaz complained with a sigh. “Nothing can come of it,” he reminded her.

“So… even though you like me. And I….” She took a deep breath, still in disbelief she was going to admit it to his face. “Like you,” she finished. “And all this miscommunication is cleared up, you’re saying that-,”.

“What?” Kaz croaked, eyes locked on her.

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“The miscommunication is cleared up,” y/n repeated. That wasn’t what he was referring to.

“Before that y/n,” Kaz amended.

“That I like you. I said I like you Kaz”.

It was silent in the room for a painfully long time before he spoke again. When he did, all Kaz said was, “you do..?”

Y/n laughed. “Yes Kaz, that’s why I was upset over you and Inej being-”

“Nothing, we’re nothing,” Kaz interrupted.

“I know,” she smiled, “now”.

Kaz nodded. “You like me,” he whispered.

“I do,” she acknowledged. “And you like me”.

“I do”. He nodded. “But y/n-”.

“No”.

“No?”

“We didn’t just talk through all of this for you to just go back to pretending that we didn’t,” she declared.

“Y/n, if the Dime Lions, or Pekka, or-”.

“I don’t care”

“I do,” Kaz stated sharply.

“I know,” she replied as she moved closer to him. “And I appreciate that. But you know I can defend myself”.

“Yes, but the risks are too-”

“That’s what we do isn’t it?” She asked. Upon seeing the confusion in his eyes, she explained, “we take risks.”

“Not with your life, y/n”.

“I’ve already tried to ignore the way I feel, and it doesn’t work. That’s not living, Kaz”.

“You’d still be alive,” he argued.

“I would be either way, Kaz. It doesn’t have to be so dramatic and black and white”.

When Kaz merely sighed, she shook her head. “If you don’t want to be with me for any other reason, then-”.

“That’s not it,” he nearly growled.

“Then stop resisting. You’re refusing to let yourself live because of the chance something could go wrong. But, that’s life Kaz,” she spoke softly.

“You want this? Knowing the risks?”

“I do.” She nodded. “We can keep it secret if that would make you feel better. I don’t care.”

“It would, but what if it-”

“If it gets out, we deal with it, then. Together. Deal Brekker?”

The edges of Kaz’s lips uncontrollably curled up. “The deal is the deal,” he conceded, already plotting ways to keep this development on lockdown with top level privacy.

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the glass series

part one -> pieces

you argued, you made up. you argued, you made up. it was never ending - you thought it would never change. and then it did.

part two -> picking up the pieces

the serenity after the storm, as some would say. as per usual, your husbands gentler half helps mend you after the most recent argument.

part three -> glass and glue

marc swore it would be the last time. who knows, maybe it would be.

part four -> the cracks

all good things must come to an end finally made sense, after all the devil works hard, but a certain someone works harder.

part five -> champagne glasses

visiting your ex-boyfriend is never pleasant. especially when he’s anton mogart, and you’re being hunted.

part six -> unbreakable

there’s a reason wedding vows include “til death do us part”. want to find out why?

part seven -> window pains

taking a walk down memory lane isn’t always by choice, and is never your ideal afternoon.

part eight -> shattered

have you ever felt so angry you’ve wished death upon someone? well, marc spector, be careful what you wish for. it might just come true.

part nine -> rose coloured glasses

welcome back to the land of the living. are you ready to fight for your life?

part ten -> shards and splinters

apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

drabbles / oneshots