warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.
a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.
today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.
simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.
his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.
both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.
‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.
with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.
the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’
you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.
‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.
‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.
you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’
with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.
as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.
he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.
while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.
‘is that our baby i see?!’
simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.
‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.
‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.
but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’
simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.
reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’
soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.
soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.
you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.
price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.
but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.
reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.
“Holy shit!” You exclaimed, clutching the covers close to your chest. “What in the hell are you doing here?!”
“You really ‘ave to stop leaving your windows open, sweetheart.” He said, standing on the other side of the room.
You relax slightly at the familiar voice.

“And you really need to stop breaking into my house. What are you doing here anyways? You already took my dog! What do you want now, my soul?”
“I didn’t take your dog,” he huffed, “I paid you for him.”
“I paid $300 just to adopt him from that shelter and you dropped $100 and some pocket lint on my dresser, and expected us to be even!”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, opening it up and placing four more $100s on your dresser.
You gave him a strange look, to which he responded “Didn’t want you to think I was cheapin’ you out.”
You rolled your eyes before continuing, “That was only AFTER you insulted the name that I gave him. In reality, I FIXED HIM. The kids who brought him to the shelter named him ‘Princess’…. PRINCESS!”
His eyes visibly widened beneath his skull mask. “Princess?” He grunted.
“Princess!” You whisper-shouted.
Throughout this interaction Riley sat there with his tongue lolling happily out the side of his mouth and his tail wagging happily.
You looked down at yourself before looking back at the behemoth standing in front of you.
“Can you please turn around so that I can get dressed?”
He nodded and spun around, giving you a second to put something decent on, only turning back around after you gave him the okay.
“You know something, Sweetheart?” He asked you, taking a couple steps closer. “You interest me. Sure, you have the social awareness of a rock, but you’re brave. I’ve made highly trained, grown men cry by just entering the room. But you, a civilian, held a gun to my chest for your little doggie. That takes guts.”
You stood up and stalked toward him, “Are you flirting with me, sir?”
He met you halfway across the room before stopping and looking down at you.
“And what if I am?”
You took a step closer, your noses almost touching.
“Then I guess you’d have to take me out to dinner.”
He nodded, and withdrew a piece of paper and a pen from his tactical vest before writing his number down and handing it to you.
“Call me.” He said, before picking Riley up and jumping out the window once more.
“You know I have a door, right?” You shouted into the night.
Description: Abandoned in transition by the vampire who turned her, Y/N stumbles through the woods until she collapses at the Mikaelsons' doorstep. They take her in, teach her what she is, and they slowly become the home she never had. And somewhere between stolen smiles and unwavering devotion, Kol falls hopelessly in love with the girl who brought out the gentlest parts of his immortal heart.
A/N: Part 2 is here.
The first thing you notice is the sound. Not the wind. Not the crunch of leaves beneath your feet.
Everything. Every bird chirping miles away. The scurry of tiny paws underground. The rush of water somewhere in the distance. And your heartbeat. Loud enough to hurt. Too loud. It pounds inside your ears like a drum, fast and panicked, until you can barely think. You clap your hands over your ears.
"Please stop," you whisper, voice shaking. Nothing stops. If anything, the world grows louder. You stumble through the woods, dizzy and shaking. Everything hurts. Your skin feels too tight. Your throat burns. The scent of wet earth is so strong it makes your stomach twist.
You don't understand any of this. The last thing you remember is him. A handsome stranger with dark eyes and an easy smile. A drink at a bar. A walk outside. Pain in your neck. Then, nothing. You woke alone on the cold forest floor. No explanation. No note. No one. Just this horrible ache and the certainty that something is very wrong. You wipe tears from your cheeks. Then freeze. There's a house nearby. No. Not a house. A mansion. It rises between the trees, stone and dark wood, its looming silhouette as old as the woods themselves. Iron gates stand open at the end of a winding drive, and huge columns frame the double doors. Warm lights glow through the windows, flickering against ancient glass and catching on the gilded crest set above the entrance, a symbol you don’t recognise, one that radiates both warning and promise. You hear voices, distant but carrying through the quiet. Several of them. One scent in particular twists your stomach. Blood. You don't know why it nearly drives you to your knees. You need help. Desperately.
You stumble up the steps and bang weakly against the front door. "Please," you sob. The door swings open. A man stands there. Dark hair. Perfect suit. Gentle eyes. He looks at you. His gaze sharpens as he breathes in, picking up the faint metallic scent clinging to your skin. His eyes flick briefly to the veins beneath your eyes, the tremble in your hands, and for a moment, he is absolutely still, as if he already knows what you are.
His expression shifts from curiosity to alarm. "Oh, dear."
You clutch the doorframe. "I don't feel right."
His eyes flick over you. The pale skin. The dilated pupils. The trembling hands. The veins beneath your eyes. Understanding dawns. He looks over his shoulder. "Niklaus." Heavy footsteps approach. A blonde woman appears first. Then a man with unruly curls and mischievous eyes. Finally, another dark-haired man whose gaze sharpens the moment it lands on you.
The blonde gasps. "Oh, my God."
The curly-haired man stares. Then his expression darkens. "...You're in transition."
You blink. "What?"
The suited man gently takes your shaking hands. "My name is Elijah." His voice is calm and steady. "You've recently died with vampire blood in your system."
You stare at him. The words don't make sense. "I'm sorry?"
The curly-haired man groans. "Oh, brilliant." He gestures wildly. "Some absolute idiot has turned you and abandoned you."
"I haven't been turned," you say weakly.
The blonde winces. "Oh, sweetheart."
The room feels too bright. Too loud. Your knees buckle. Elijah catches you immediately. "You are in transition," he says softly, "and that explains what happened to you. And judging by your confusion..." His jaw clenches. "...you had no idea."
You shake your head frantically. "No, no, that's impossible."
"Is it?" the dark-haired man asks. His accent is thick. Dangerous. "But explain the heightened senses. The thirst.The fact that you survived whatever killed you." Killed. The word lands like a blow, and your heart stops. "What?"
The blonde squeezes your hand. You look at her. She looks heartbroken for you. "You died."
The words hit harder than any blow. You stare blankly. "No."
"I'm so sorry," she whispers.
Your breathing becomes erratic. "No." You yank your hand away. "No, that's not possible!" Tears spill down your cheeks. You don't even know these people. But they're looking at you with pity. And anger. Not at you. At whoever did this.
Elijah kneels in front of you. "You were abandoned."
You nod shakily. "I woke up alone."
The curly-haired vampire curses under his breath. "What sort of monster does that?"
"An irresponsible one," the dark-haired man snarls. "Especially with hunters roaming Mystic Falls. News is spreading that the Council's back, and after last week's festival, everyone is on edge. The Council nearly exposed half the vampires in town, and people ended up hurt. Since then, no one trusts that we’re safe anymore."
The blonde folds her arms. "You don't leave baby vampires unattended."
The curly-haired vampire points at you. "She could've wandered into town! Or starved herself to death! Or been staked!" He looks genuinely horrified.
You blink. He's upset. Not annoyed. Upset. For you. You sniffle. "I don't even know your names."
The blonde smiles softly. "I'm Rebekah."
The dark-haired man nods. "Klaus."
"And you've already met Elijah."
The curly-haired vampire grins. "And I'm Kol."
His smile is crooked. Boyish. Oddly comforting. He looks at you for another moment. Then his expression softens. "So." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "We're keeping her, yes?"
You blink. "What?"
Klaus sighs. "We are not keeping stray vampires."
"We absolutely are," Kol says. "Look at her."
Everyone looks at you. You immediately start crying again. Kol points triumphantly. "See?"
Rebekah swats his arm. "Oh, stop making her cry!"
"I didn't!"
"You pointed at her!"
"I was making a point!"
Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose. And somehow, despite the fear. Despite the confusion. Despite learning you've died, you laugh. A tiny sound. It surprises everyone. Especially Kol. His eyes widen. Then he smiles. Something inside your chest settles. Just a little. Because maybe you aren't alone anymore. But as laughter fades, uncertainty settles back in. Tomorrow, someone will have to teach you how to survive.
And outside, in the woods, something else stirs: watchful, hungry, and waiting for the change you cannot yet control. The undergrowth shivers as heavy paws move through the shadows, far too silent for any natural creature. Amber eyes glint for a moment among the tangled branches, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. Somewhere in the darkness, a low growl breaks the night: a warning, old as the feud between fang and claw.
irritating as fuck when people get mad at Black people existing in premodern historical fiction/fantasy media. like first of all, you're racist. and second of all, you are acting as though Black people didn't exist in premodern Europe which is simply false. especially when we're talking about the Mediterranean, like what the fuck do you people think is along the southern half of the Mediterranean Ocean?? everyone's on boats, there are GOING to be interactions with Black people in Northern Africa, and there are GOING to be Black people in Mediterranean Europe. stop being stupid. your imagined homogeneous white European past is not historical reality, get over it you massive losers
If the trash pickup people stop doing their job for two weeks you'd be throwing a fucking tantrum. Same for the janitors who keep your office spaces and bathrooms clean. (And that's before the various illnesses start to spread all over your city from the build up of pathogens.)
The people responsible keeping our spaces clean (and thus, mostly disease-free) should both be paid more AND thanked more.
Description: You accidentally run into a man at the airport. Little do you know you've just changed the trajectory of your life. (Tom Riddle airport AU)
A/N: Sooo the word count for this got out of hand. I didn’t intend for this to be as long as it is, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. I've read a couple of airport AUs for other fandoms (TSOM) and I was obsessed which led to this.
Warnings and word count: Foul language. Word count 7.8k. Times are using the 12 hour clock system so I apologize if that throws anyone off. Also, I suppose this is a muggle AU too?
Additional notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOM!
Holiday event masterlist.
December 30th
Velana International Airport (MLE)
11:25am
“Shit, shit, shit!”
The curse words tumbled from your lips as you flew through the airport, darting in between clumps of people and leaping over unattended bags. Your flight was boarding right now and you’d only just gotten through security.
Damn alarm, you grumbled to yourself as you swerved past a particularly large family with a couple screaming children. If it had just gone off, I wouldn’t be in this situation!
For some infuriating reason, your alarm had not rung at its scheduled time, so when you’d awoken in the morning feeling suspiciously well-rested and checked the time, you’d screamed. Like actually screamed, because your flight boarded at 11:15am and it was currently 10:30. That had given you forty-five minutes to get from your beautiful, ocean-side resort to the airport and through security before your plane took off without you, leaving you behind in the Maldives.
Which, when all said and done, wasn’t the worst place to get stuck, but tomorrow was New Years, and you’d very much prefer to be back in your London flat, celebrating it with your family and friends, than stuck in an airport five thousand miles away from home.
By some miracle, you’d made it through TSA in a record time and started sprinting through the airport, racing towards your gate– which was, regrettably, at the opposite end of the airport.
“Coming through, I have a flight to get to!” you shouted, spotting a couple about to walk right across your path. They startled back and you flew past them, rushing onto the moving sidewalk and down the hall.
“Final boarding call for Flight 2042…” You heard the announcement over the loudspeaker and let out another string of curses. That was your flight number, right? Well, it was definitely 20-something and so you doubled your pace, ignoring the stitch in your side and the way you could hardly breathe, racing off the moving sidewalk and down the terminal–
You rounded the corner and crashed straight into someone.
“Oh, shit!” you swore, feeling the hot drink the person was holding spill all over your favourite white shirt, staining it a dark brown.
“Watch where you are going.” The irritated voice of whoever you’d bumped– well, barrelled– into drew your attention and you looked up, meeting the dark brown eyes of a frowning man. He had a sweep of mahogany hair and his pale skin didn’t really make him look like someone who would be vacationing in the Maldives.
“I’m so sorry,” you apologised, wiping some of the liquid off your shirt. It smelled like butterscotch coffee– ironically, your favourite flavour. At least he had good taste… even if it was all over your shirt now.
“As you should be,” he said stiffly. “I just bought that.”
“Well, uh, at least most of it got on me!” you pointed out, gesturing to his mostly-clean shirt but already starting to back up some more. “And I really am sorry, but I have a flight to catch, so…”
You caught his responding scowl as you turned around, once again sprinting off towards your gate.
D13, D13, D13, you frantically scanned the gate numbers as you ran, forcing yourself to keep going even as you stumbled along.
Yes! D13!
Relief flooded through you as you spotted your gate and you quickly skidded up to a stop in front of it, reaching for your phone and boarding pass–
Your eyes caught sight of something written in red next to your flight number (which was actually 2081). Delayed.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up and earning a very nasty stare from a mother sitting with her child. Grimacing apologetically, you turned around and started back off down the terminal, grumpily looking for somewhere to eat. Your flight was delayed for another thirty minutes, which wasn’t all that bad, but now you’d just sprinted through the entire airport for nothing. And ruined your favourite shirt.
It didn’t take long for you to find a coffee place. The line was incredibly long, but it gave you time to catch your breath after your little impromptu marathon. Thankfully, the shop wasn’t too far from your gate so you could just grab your drink and head right back over–
“You.”
You heard the distasteful voice of someone speaking behind you and turned around to see the man from earlier– the guy whose coffee you’d spilled.
“Oh!” you gasped. “Yes. Me. I’m sorry, I–”
“Didn’t you say you had a flight to get to?” He was regarding you suspiciously, and you realised you’d practically done a pedestrian hit-and-run to this guy under the guise of not wanting to miss your flight. And now you were standing in line for a coffee shop.
“I do! I mean, I did. It got delayed,” you explained as the line inched along.
“Hm,” was all he responded with, eyeing you distrustfully. “Convenient, isn’t that?”
“Right…” You smiled thinly. He certainly wasn’t acting very pleasant, but you did still feel bad for making him spill his coffee earlier, even if you bore most of the mess. “Listen, can I buy you your coffee? To make up for it.” You graciously held up your wallet, but he ignored it and actually rolled his eyes.
“No,” he said crossly, frowning. “Who’s to say you won’t spill it again? You’re definitely clumsy enough.”
Your mouth dropped open and he pulled out his phone, burying his face in it before you got a chance to respond.
Rude, you thought peevishly to yourself, turning back around and taking out your phone as well. Some people were just nettlesome like that, you supposed.
By the time you got your drink, the haughty butterscotch coffee guy had chosen a spot to wait quite a ways away from you, so you took the opportunity to drift away before he got another chance to be snarky with you.
You finished your coffee right as the gate attendant made the announcement that boarding was starting for your flight. Throwing your cup away, you made your way over to the gate and waited with your bag for them to call boarding group six, idly scanning the names of passengers eligible to upgrade to business class… and you saw your name.
“Sorry, how much does it cost to upgrade to business?” you asked the gate attendant hopefully. She checked her computer.
“It’s free if you have enough points. Your app should tell you.”
Holding your breath, you checked the app for your airline and sure enough–
“I’d like to upgrade to business class, please.”
༺ ✧ ༻
Maldives Velana International MLE to Dubai International DXB - 4hr 10m
12:05pm local time (MVT)
Status: AWAITING TAKEOFF
Seated happily in your business class seat, you made yourself comfortable, already having drawn out your phone and earbuds. You’d downloaded a couple episodes of your favourite show on Netflix, so you were all set for the flight ahead.
Switching your seat into business class was easily the best decision you’d made today. You’d gotten to board early and had plenty of room to stuff your black duffel bag– which was just small enough to count as a carry-on– in the overhead compartment. The morning had started out rough enough but now you had extra leg room, a chair that stretched out, and a complementary meal courtesy of your upgraded ticket. Not to mention four interrupted hours of–
“You must be kidding.”
You glanced up at the sound of the voice and saw, to your displeasure, that it was the same guy from earlier. He didn’t have a coffee cup with him this time, but he was still glaring at you as he stood in the aisle, duffel bag in hand.
“What are the chances of this, huh?” you sighed as he put his bag in the overhead compartment and reluctantly eyed the seat next to yours.
“It does not matter,” he muttered, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt with short movements. “Just please try not to be a bother.”
He reached out and deliberately prodded the button to raise up the seat divider in between your seats, which was fine by you. You didn’t necessarily feel like staring at this guy for the entirety of the flight.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, but the divider still didn’t raise. You bit back a laugh, but he heard, and his eyes cut up to yours, sharp and accusing.
“You try raising it,” he demanded, and you rolled your eyes.
“Well, clearly it’s broken,” you said, hitting the button on your side just to prove your point. The divider didn’t budge. He grumbled something incoherent and turned away, putting on headphones and busying himself on his phone.
You rolled your eyes again, settling back against your seat and resuming your TV show episode. Your eyes flicked to the haughty coffee guy and you were surprised to see he was already looking at you. He narrowed his eyes and turned back to his phone. You sighed, looking away too and leaning your head back on the headrest. It was going to be a long flight.
༺ ✧ ༻
12:45pm, MVT
Time remaining until landing: 3 hr 10 m
Status: IN AIR
Once the plane reached cruising altitude, the flight crew brought around the snack and beverage cart. You ordered a sparkling cranberry juice and a club sandwich, but your pretentious seat partner simply shook his head briskly at the flight attendant and returned his attention to his phone.
You were halfway through your sandwich and well into the second episode of your show when the plane hit a particularly bumpy patch of air, sending your cranberry juice skidding across the tray table and (to your alarm) right in the direction of your seat partner.
Thankfully, you caught it in time, but the guy saw the way you’d practically launched for the cup before it had spilled all over him and shot you another nasty look. He didn’t even have to say anything; his eyes conveyed all the loathing he felt for you– some random person who’d had the audacity to accidentally spill his coffee.
You set your cranberry juice cup back down, letting out a long sigh and adjusting your headphones–
The plane hit another patch of turbulence and your cup careened over again, this time spilling right into your lap and all over your sweatpants.
“Oh, come on!” you hissed under your breath, snatching the cup up and plopping the spilled ice back into it. From your right, you heard an audible chuckle, and your gaze snapped to your seat partner.
He was regarding you in amusement, and not even trying to hide it.
“Do you have a problem?” you snapped, quite done with whoever this guy thought he was.
“Not at all,” he said archly. “I simply find this ironic, considering what happened earlier.” He flashed you a charming smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Your coffee. That was an accident.”
“Of course it was,” he said smoothly, then turned away. You glared at him for a moment more before unbuckling your seatbelt and stalking away towards the bathroom. This man was insufferable.
༺ ✧ ༻
3:15pm, MVT
Time remaining before landing: 40 m
Status: IN AIR, ABOUT TO BEGIN DESCENT
With just over thirty minutes left of the flight, you decided to use the lavatory one last time before the plane began its descent and you’d have to stay seated for the rest of the flight next to your annoying seat partner.
He’d (blessedly) ignored you in the time that had passed since the cranberry juice incident. Well, maybe ignore was putting it nicely. He hadn’t said anything else, but you’d caught him shooting you dirty looks every so often, and sighing dramatically if you did literally anything.
One last trip to the bathroom for a break from seeing his face seemed like the perfect idea. Of course, he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. He was, you’d irritability had to concede, rather good looking with his smooth, pale skin and dark mahogany waves of hair. Too bad his personality was ten times worse.
You squeezed your way down the aisle of seats until you reached what appeared to be a line for the lavatory. There were only a couple people ahead of you, so you pulled out your phone while waiting. A minute or so went by before the line moved up and whoever was in the bathroom beforehand began walking past you.
You didn’t see who it was, but in hindsight you wish you would’ve so you could’ve inched yourself far away from where he was walking. Because unfortunately, you didn’t realise that it was your disagreeable seat partner, and you also didn’t get the chance to move away before the plane hit yet another patch of bumpy air and you stumbled right into him.
“Why do you keep doing that?” he grumbled, immediately trying to push you off his chest. You righted yourself indignantly, stuffing your phone back away and glaring at him.
“I’m not doing it on purpose–” you began testily, only to get cut off with another spot of turbulence and lurch of the plane. This time, you didn’t fall face forward into him, but instead started to fall backwards into an elderly man who was sleeping.
Your snobbish seat partner reached out and grabbed your arms before you could fall back. You still stumbled a little as you tried to right yourself, instinctively wrapping an arm around his neck for support and bracing yourself on the chair behind you, just inches from the sleeping man.
The turbulence passed quickly enough and you straightened up, tilting your head a little bit away from the guy, slightly jarred by his sudden proximity. You were rather close to him, considering you were practically hugging his neck, and could see every detail of his face, including the little flecks of gold among the darker brown of his eyes.
He released you the second you were on your feet again, stepping back and smoothing down his sweater.
“Thanks,” you muttered reluctantly, glancing up at him again and brushing some hair away from your face.
“My pleasure,” he said courteously, though he looked like it was anything but.
The line inched forward again and yet he continued to stand there. You raised an eyebrow.
“Aren’t you leaving?”
“Yes. I trust you won’t fall again?” he deadpanned. You rolled your eyes.
“Yeah. I think I got it covered,” you said dryly. He turned and left, and you shook your head with a sigh. Whoever this guy was, he easily was the most pretentious and sycophantic person you’d ever met. Thankfully, after the plane touched down, you’d never have to see him again.
༺ ✧ ༻
You landed in Dubai at 3pm local time, though it was 4 to you. You had a good two hours til your flight to London, but as soon as you turned your phone off of airplane mode, you saw a notification pop up.
Flight 1471 to LHR from DXB: DELAYED
“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, clicking into it and reading what it said. Apparently, your flight was delayed for an extra thirty minutes, which actually wasn’t that bad when all was said and done.
Chalking it up to another minor inconvenience, you waited until it was your turn to unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag from the overhead compartment. Unfortunately, you couldn’t remember exactly which one you put it in, but you found it in the first compartment to the right and hurriedly left the plane before your seat partner could even try to get up. He’d been pointedly ignoring you for the remainder of the flight and you’d been only too happy to reciprocate.
Once you had successfully disembarked the plane, you felt you could finally breathe for the first time since you up late for your flight. Your shirt was still stained with the coffee from earlier, but you had a change of shirt in your bag you could throw on before your next flight.
Making your way into a bathroom not too far from your gate, you opened your bag and started to search for the shirt–
–only to be met with a collection of neatly folded clothes that were in fact not yours.
You threw an exasperated look towards the heavens. Could this day get any worse?
Whoever’s bag this was had packed it to the brim, with layers upon layers of tightly folded clothes and what looked like a very expensive ring box tucked in to the left. So no, it definitely wasn’t yours considering you’d had to pack pretty haphazardly this morning so you wouldn’t miss your flight.
Irritably unlocking the stall door again, you slung the bag over your shoulder and made your way back over to your gate and the line of people still leaving the plane. You spotted the gate agent, looking rather weary as she talked with a tall, slim man wearing a large black overcoat and clutching a bag that looked an awful lot like yours.
“...sorry Mr. Riddle, but I’m afraid if your bag does not have a luggage tag on it, there’s no way for us to–”
“Find a way, then,” the mysterious Mr. Riddle snapped as you approached. “There is a very important ring in there that I cannot lose.”
What an arse, you thought to yourself as you straightened up, readying yourself to clear your throat and make your presence known. This guy was acting like a complete prick and you didn’t want to interact with him.
Unfortunately, he had your bag and you had his, so you had no choice.
“Excuse me,” you said, setting your bag down and smiling pleasantly at the gate agent. She looked relieved for the interruption. “But I think I have your bag…”
The man turned around and your jaw dropped open.
“You!” you exclaimed.
“You.” he echoed, distastefully, eyeing you up and down like you’d personally wronged him.
“I take it you two know each other?” The gate agent interjected, and your former seat partner– Mr. Riddle, the agent had said his name was– nodded, frowning.
“Unfortunately,” he drawled, giving you another snide glare and you rolled your eyes, thrusting the bag in his direction.
“Here. I think you have my bag.”
His eyes widened imperceptibly and he immediately snatched it from you, looking absolutely affronted.
“How did that happen?” he demanded, checking it for signs of damage.
“Well, they are the same bag,” you replied dryly.
“Does this mean the issue is resolved?” The gate agent asked hopefully, glancing between you and Mr. Riddle.
“Certainly not, I have half a mind to complain to–”
“Yes, it’s all sorted out now,” you interrupted, speaking loudly over Riddle. He shot you an insulted look and you ignored him, giving the gate agent a gracious smile. “Thank you very much for helping us fix the problem. Have a lovely day.”
Not even bothering looking at Riddle again, you turned on your heel and started to walk away. You didn’t have any wish to continue interacting with him.
Riddle, however, seemed to have a different idea.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, angrily stalking after you.
“The bathroom,” you responded immediately. “To change. My shirt is all stained with coffee.”
He scoffed. “After you spilled it on yourself.”
“That literally does not matter. Please leave me alone.”
“And why should I? You’ve caused me enough trouble today.”
You abruptly stopped walking, spinning around to face him. “Yeah, and that’s exactly why you should go away.”
He sniffed, straightening up and giving you an aggrieved look. “No one tells me to go away. Not after they’ve wronged me.”
You snorted, turning on your heel and walking away again. “I spilled coffee on you. Let it go!”
You rushed into the bathroom before he could decide whether or not to go after you again. The further you got from him, the better, because you’d heard his accent enough by now to realise you were both probably headed to the same place. You could only hope it was on a different flight.
༺ ✧ ༻
Dubai International Airport (DXB)
4:55pm local time (GST)
Time until connecting flight to London Heathrow (LHR): 25 minutes
After you’d successfully changed into a clean shirt and made sure you were safely away from Riddle, you found your gate and settled in to wait for boarding. You’d gone ahead and upgraded to business class and were now excitedly awaiting the gate agent to call for your boarding group.
Just after 5pm, however, a familiar face appeared in the crowd and strode right up to your gate.
“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered, watching as the illustrious Mr. Riddle looked around for an open seat in the packed gate.
Unfortunately, the only open seat was right next to you.
No no no no no… You watched in horror as he spotted the seat, started triumphantly walking over, and then froze when he saw you. Instantly, a frown appeared on his face but instead of taking the loss and turning away, he walked right up to you and sat down.
“Really?” you asked the second he’d set his bag down.
“You seem to be under the impression you want to see me less than I want to see you,” he mused, pulling out a tablet from his bag and typing in a passcode. “However, I can assure you that’s not the case.”
“Oh? Then what is?” you asked, crossing your arms and looking at him expectantly. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours for a split second and offering you a sneer.
“I dislike being in your presence just as much as you dislike being in mine.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” you muttered, pulling out your phone.
“My pleasure.”
The two of you sat in silence for another fifteen or so minutes until your phone pinged with an alert and you let out a gasp.
Flight 1471 to LHR from DXB: DELAYED.
“Please be joking,” you muttered, hurriedly tapping into the app, then forcefully shutting your phone off and burying your head in your hands when you saw how long your flight had been delayed by.
“What’s the matter now?” Riddle asked dryly from beside you, his voice slightly muffled as you hid your face in your hands.
“Our flight was delayed again,” you told him, and you heard his sigh at your annoyance.
“By how long?”
You took your hands away from your face, wanting to see his reaction when you told him.
“By five hours.”
“What?” he exclaimed, and you took a perverse sort of pleasure in the way he looked absolutely horrified. It was the most emotion you’d gotten out of him thus far other than irritation.
“Yep,” you confirmed, slumping back in your seat. “We’re going to have to wait here until ten at night.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“You said it, not me.”
Riddle closed his tablet and shoved it back into his bag, sitting back grumpily as well. All around you, people had begun exclaiming in shock at the delay and you tried your very best not to regret the fact you hadn’t just accepted defeat when your alarm had woken you up late this morning and stayed in the Maldives for an extra day. At least then you wouldn’t be stuck in Dubai with a grouchy stranger who… was staring at you?
You glanced to your right. Riddle was looking at you thoughtfully, his pretty eyes narrowed in concentration.
“What?” you asked defensively. “Did I also happen to spill coffee on my sweater and not just my shirt this morning?”
He shook his head.
“Unfortunately not. I was simply wondering what greater forces I must have angered to be stuck with you here.”
“You’re making it really enjoyable to sit next to you, do you know that?”
He gave you a look. “You can’t tell me you aren’t wondering as well. You clearly don’t like me.”
“Whatever gave you that idea,” you said, in monotone, and he shot you an irritated glare.
“All I am saying is that it’s quite odd we’ve run into each other as many times as we have today,” he said, forging on. “You seem incapable of leaving me alone.”
“You’re the one who sat down next to me, Riddle,” you reminded him immediately. “You could’ve sat elsewhere.”
“And yet I didn’t. This was the only open spot,” he countered, then frowned. “How do you know my name?”
Inexplicably, you found your face heating up. “I, ah, heard the gate agent call you that,” you explained, fidgeting a little awkwardly. Riddle simply nodded.
“I see,” he said slowly, then sighed, leaning back in his seat again. “I suppose if we’re going to be stuck with each other here for a while longer, we might as well attempt to act pleasant.”
“Who said anything about being stuck here any longer?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “I could just get up and leave, couldn’t I?”
“You could,” Riddle conceded, watching you carefully. “As could I.”
He held your gaze impassively, but it felt challenging to you. Almost like he was daring you to get up and leave.
For some strange reason, you found you didn’t want to.
“Then I agree,” you said, breaking the expectant silence that had fallen. “Let’s call it a truce for now.”
Riddle smiled. It didn’t seem completely genuine, but it was a lot less plasticy than the one you’d seen him offer the gate agent earlier.
“Excellent,” he said, holding out his hand. “What’s your name?”
༺ ✧ ༻
The next few hours passed remarkably… well, you wouldn’t say happily, but it was rather enjoyable, to your surprise. When he put his mind to it, Riddle– or Tom, he’d told you his name was– could actually be rather agreeable to be around.
“So what exactly are you rushing back to London for?” he asked you. Since the delay was announced, your gate had cleared out considerably and there were now plenty of seats available. You and Tom had stayed in the seats right next to each other, a fact which you decided not to pay much attention to.
“New Year’s party,” you answered. “With my family and friends.”
He nodded. “Then for both of our sakes, I hope our flight arrives in time.”
You smiled, leaning your head back slightly. “What about you?” you asked curiously. “Fiancée?”
His gaze snapped to yours. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
You shrugged. “I heard you telling the gate agent there was a ring in your bag,” you admitted sheepishly, and he tsked, shaking his head.
“Well, it is a ring, just not for a fiance,” he told you, opening the zipper and drawing out the small black box you’d seen when you’d unknowingly thought it was your bag.
“Oh, you don’t have to show me–” you began to tell him hastily, not wanting to intrude, but he was already flipping open the small box. You gasped. Inside, a small but ornate ring sat on a cushion of plush velvet. The band was a tarnished gold with a strangely intricate set of markings on it, and the stone was pure black, cut into a diamond shape that sparkled under the artificial airport lighting.
“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, unconsciously reaching out to touch it but quickly drawing back. You didn’t want to infringe anymore than you already had. “So not an engagement ring?”
He shook his head. “It’s a family heirloom, so to speak,” he told you, closing the box and carefully returning it to its original spot. “I don’t like to show people it.”
“And you showed me…” You trailed off, looking at him questioningly. “Why?”
He shot you a look. “I have my reasons.”
You smiled to yourself, settling back into your seat and checking your phone. It was just past seven, and your flight still wasn’t leaving for another two hours. You groaned.
“I swear, this delay feels longer than the actual flight itself,” you muttered, and Tom chuckled next to you as he checked his phone.
“It does,” he agreed, then hesitated. You gave him an odd look.
“What?” you asked curiously.
He shook his head, then abruptly stood up.
“Come with me.”
You stared at him in shock. “Are you insane? I’m not coming with you. If we give up our spots here now, we’re probably not going to get them back.”
He gave you an imploring look, but you remained where you were. He frowned, and for a second you thought you caught a flicker of disappointment flash across his face.
“Suit yourself,” he said mysteriously, and walked away.
“Are you–” You watched him walk away, not looking back. If he’d gotten up and left three hours ago, you wouldn’t have paid him any mind at all. And you still probably shouldn’t. But now that you were friends– well, you weren’t sure what you were but it was definitely something– it felt odd to just watch him leave.
Not really sure what seized you to suddenly do it, you grabbed up your bag and ran after him.
“Tom! Wait up!”
༺ ✧ ༻
After weaving throughout the crowd for a couple of minutes and fearing you’d actually lost him in the throngs of people– something that made your heart sink with disappointment– you caught sight of his head of immaculately groomed dark brown hair and practically sprinted to catch up with him.
“Hey! You left me,” you exclaimed when you got within earshot of him.
“I didn’t leave you, I simply gave you an opportunity to follow me and wanted to see if you’d take it.”
“That sounds an awful lot like leaving me,” you grumbled, but perked up when you saw that you two were walking towards a customer service desk. “What are we doing?”
“I saw on the departures and arrivals board there is a flight leaving for Paris at 8pm. We are going to see if we can secure seats on it instead of being stranded in Dubai for the foreseeable future.”
You frowned. “What?”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Did you not see the notification? Our flight was cancelled and rebooked for midday tomorrow.”
Your jaw dropped open and you stopped dead in the middle of the walkway. “It was what?”
Tom smirked, lightly holding your shoulders and steering you the rest of the way towards the customer service desk since you’d been frozen in place.
“You didn’t see the notification? Was our conversation that good?”
You flushed scarlet. “Oh, stop.” you muttered, but it was true. You’d heard your phone ping with a notification a while ago but hadn’t given it much thought. You’d been entirely too invested in talking with Tom you hadn’t really cared.
You felt your face heating up again, though you firmly decided not to think about why that was.
Tom stepped up to the desk and began talking with the agent there, trying to see if there were any remaining seats on the flight to Paris while you texted your family and friends, updating them on your flight status.
“Hey,” You heard Tom say, and he nudged your arm. You looked up, putting your phone away and noting his expectant expression.
“What is it?”
He smiled.
“How do you feel about flying first class?”
༺ ✧ ༻
As it turned out, Tom was able to successfully secure seats on the Paris flight in first class. Two seats right next to each other, just as you’d had on your flight from the Maldives. The only issue, of course, was that the flight was finishing up boarding right as Tom was finishing booking your tickets.
So, the second the money had been spent and your boarding passes loaded on your phone, you were off, sprinting across the airport.
“We’re never going to make it in time,” you panted, out of breath, as Tom led you over a moving sidewalk and you got a vivid flashback to this morning when you’d been attempting to make that fateful flight and ended up crashing into Tom.
Ironically, he ran into someone as the two of you rounded a corner, sending the unsuspecting person’s drink spilling all over the floor.
You muttered a quick apology for Tom as he pulled you past, never slowing his pace even though you were falling behind from sheer exhaustion.
“See how easy it is?” you pointed out dryly as you ran. Tom shot you a dirty look and grabbed your hand, forcing you to keep up with him.
By some miracle, you made it to the gate right as they were about to close the doors. Frantically, you scanned your boarding passes and were let out with seconds to spare, speeding down the hallway that led to the plane.
You realised right as you were about to enter the plane you hadn’t yet let go of Tom’s hand, and hastily did so.
“Oh, thank goodness we made it,” you gasped, collapsing into your seat after storing your bags in the overhead compartment. Tom sat down as well, equally out of breath but hiding it much better.
“I agree,” he said, letting out a long sigh and leaning his head back against his seat. “At least now it’ll be easier to get a short flight to London. We might still make it in time for New Year’s.”
You glanced at your phone for the time. The flight to Paris was almost eight hours, so you would be arriving around 4am Dubai time, but 1am in France. From there, it would only be an hour flight back to London.
Strangely, you found yourself rather sad at the prospect of leaving Tom once you both arrived in London-Heathrow. You’d thought he was a prick from the second you’d met him this morning, but now he was surprisingly the best part of today.
Forcing these thoughts from your mind, you turned your phone on airplane mode and settled back against your seat, awaiting takeoff.
༺ ✧ ༻
Dubai International DXB to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport CDG – 7hr 40m
2:15am GST, 11:15pm CET
Time remaining until landing: 1h 45m
Status: IN AIR
You woke up nearly six hours later, eyes bleary from sleep and your head resting on something very warm and very comfortable. The lights were dimmed on the plane but you could feel the reassuring thrum of the engines as you got your bearings.
Lifting your head up, you yawned and stretched before turning to see what you had been sleeping against. To your surprise, it had been Tom’s shoulder, and he was still very much asleep.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him. His breathing was slow and even and his lashes fluttered slightly against his smooth skin. He looked every bit as beautiful sleeping as he did awake, and you found yourself heavily regretting that you would soon have to part from him.
His eyes opened then, and you froze, having been caught staring. A slight smile made its way onto his face and he lifted his head from the back of his seat, giving you a curious look.
“How long have you been staring at me?” he asked conversationally, stretching a little.
“I, uh, not long,” you fumbled, and he shot you a look from the corner of his eye as he took a sip of his water.
“I don’t mind,” he said after capping the bottle again. “As long as you let me return the favour.”
You felt your face heat up and you seized your water bottle as well, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry.
“How far out are we from Paris?”
“Not long,” you replied, glancing at your phone and the flight tracker you’d downloaded. “About two hours.”
“Is everyone else asleep?” Tom asked quietly, gesturing towards the aisle from his seat at the window. You poked your head out into the aisle. Though you couldn’t see many people, everyone you could see seemed to be fast asleep.
“Yeah. Sorry if I woke you up.”
“It’s alright,” he assured you. “I’d much prefer to be awake if you are too.”
Again, you felt your face flush and turned your attention to your phone, for lack of anything better to do. Of course, it was on airplane mode, so you couldn’t do a whole lot.
“You know, we’ve never discussed what we are going to do once the plane lands in Paris,” Tom said suddenly, and your gaze snapped to him, your heart curiously skipping a beat.
“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously. Was he going to suggest–
“Chances are, we won’t be able to get on the same flight. Everything will likely be nearly fully booked since it will be New Year’s Eve.”
You frowned, disappointed both because what he said was true, but also because you’d been hoping he would say–
Well, you weren’t sure exactly what you were hoping but you knew you didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly, turning your phone off and leaning back in your seat, though you kept your attention on a half-eaten granola bar you’d neglected to finish earlier. “But I guess we don’t have to think about that yet.”
“We don’t,” Tom agreed quietly, and before you could stop yourself you looked up, meeting his deep brown eyes which were gazing at you with a softness that made your breath catch in your throat again.
You looked away.
“What time is it?” he asked after a minute, and you glanced at your phone.
“Just after 2.”
You heard him chuckle next to you and looked at him curiously. “What’s so funny?”
He shook his head, smiling slightly. “Nothing,” he responded. “It’s just my birthday.”
“Wait, what?” you exclaimed, your mouth dropping open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.”
“No, I mean before.”
He gave you a sideways look. “Up until roughly eight hours ago, you did not like me.”
You clamped your mouth shut, unable to argue with that. “Well, I like you now,” you said decidedly after a second, and he grinned at you. An actual grin; one that made your stomach feel like you’d missed a step on the stairs.
“Do you? I’m glad.”
You gave him a withering look and he smiled again, taking another sip of his water.
“Happy birthday,” you told him, and he shrugged, giving you a curiously intense look.
“It is now.”
You flushed and looked away again.
A while later, Tom murmured he was going back to sleep, and that he suggested you do the same. You nodded, and waited for a few minutes to pass before tentatively laying your head back against his shoulder, hoping this wouldn’t be the last time you would get to do so but well aware it likely would be.
You were nearly asleep when, a short time later, Tom shifted so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into him until you were tucked against his side. You didn’t protest.
“Happy birthday, Tom,” you murmured against his shirt and felt him stiffen in surprise that you were still awake.
“Thank you,” he said softly after a minute.
༺ ✧ ༻
Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport CDG
1:45am CET
“Well,” Tom said, coming to a stop in front of your gate. “I suppose this is it.”
After your plane landed, the two of you had hurriedly looked for any open flights and, by some miracle, had both found one. The only catch was that it wasn’t the same plane. You were leaving in a few minutes, and Tom was leaving in thirty minutes.
“I suppose it is,” you agreed, but didn’t make a move to leave. Neither did Tom, and you got the strangest feeling neither of you actually wanted to go.
“Have a safe flight,” he told you, and you nodded, trying to convince your feet to start backing up. You’d have to leave eventually, wouldn’t you?
“You too,” you said, smiling, though it didn’t really reach your eyes. Tom offered you a small smile too, then glanced behind him.
“I should go,” he said. “My flight is boarding soon.”
“Yeah. Of course.” You nodded, and felt a little jolt as he actually took a step backwards. “Bye.”
He smiled softly. “Goodbye.”
With one last lingering look, he turned on his heel and walked away.
You watched him until he was out of sight, lost to the crowds. Your heart dropped, but you forced yourself to turn around and not feel too disappointed he hadn’t asked for your number. Or social media. Or literally anything.
Slowly, you made your way towards where they would soon be scanning boarding passes. You were already supposed to be boarding now, but they were taking a little longer than usual.
If only you didn’t have to leave right away. You could go run after Tom, and ask…
What would you ask? For his number? For a date? You barely knew this man, and it was only because of your crappy luck and a couple of delayed and canceled flights. You couldn’t believe you’d once wanted to get the hell away from him.
Now would be a great damn time for my flight to get cancelled again, you thought wryly to yourself, then froze when your phone chimed with a notification.
Flight 1785 from CDG to LHR: CANCELLED
“Yes!” you exclaimed while everyone around you groaned. You turned on your heel and raced into the crowd, frantically searching for Tom among the sea of heads.
Not really looking where you were going, you walked straight into a man carrying coffee.
“Seriously?!” he griped, and you looked up, hoping to see Tom’s familiar dark brown eyes, but it wasn’t him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you began, only to get cut off by a chuckle behind you. You whirled around and came face to face with–
“Tom.”
He was standing a few feet away, ironically already holding a coffee cup. “You can’t seem to stop running into people, can you?”
“It appears not,” you said breathlessly, and he smiled.
“Shouldn’t you have boarded your flight already?”
“It was cancelled. What about you?”
He pretended to think, then captured your gaze with an intensity that made your heart beat faster and your eyes drop to his lips before you could stop them.
“I should be boarding mine,” he conceded thoughtfully, taking a step towards you. “But I realised woefully too late I shouldn’t have left without asking you a question first…”
“After you got your coffee,” you pointed out instead, gesturing to the cup in his hand.
“Yes, after my coffee,” he agreed, taking another step closer until you were a mere inch apart. “You see, a very impertinent stranger spilled mine this morning and I simply couldn’t leave until I got another one. Only now that I have it can I ask my question…”
“Which is?” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried (and failed) to keep your gaze from flicking down to Tom’s lips. He seemed to notice, though, and he smiled.
“To be honest, I originally intended to ask for your phone number, but I must admit that now that feels a little inadequate…” He closed the gap between you until you were chest to chest, looking straight up into his eyes.
Slowly, he brushed some hair off your forehead, tilting his head to the side.
“Now, I feel I should ask to kiss you.”
Your smile broke free before you could stop it, and enthusiastically you launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He kissed you back just as fervently until you were both out of breath and had no choice but to pull back.
Almost immediately, he leaned back in for seconds but you held back, giving him a cautionary look.
“Careful, Tom, or you’ll spill your coffee again,” you warned him, and he rolled his eyes, dropping a light kiss onto your cheek.
“Then I suppose you’ll just have to buy me another one once we’re back in London, hm?”
“I suppose I will,” you replied, grinning, and kissed him again.
༺ ✧ ༻
December 31st
Paris, France
11:59pm
“Tom, come on! You’re going to miss it!” you exclaimed, grabbing Tom’s hand and pulling him towards you. He stumbled a little but caught himself, using it as an excuse to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I still have another full minute,” he reminded you, but you ignored him, keeping your eyes on the sky as he handed you the cup of hot chocolate he’d gone to get.
“You have to be here for the countdown!” you argued, and he rolled his eyes.
“That doesn’t start for another thirty seconds,” he countered, taking a sip of his drink.
“But it’s about to. And I wanted to make sure you were right here next to me,” you told him, glancing up at him seriously.
“So you can kiss me at midnight?”
“It is customary, is it not?”
He chuckled. “Yes. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You met his eyes. “Me neither.”
He smiled softly at you, only to practically levitate a couple feet off the ground when the crowd started chanting, counting down until the clock struck midnight.
You started counting with them, only to pause after your enthusiastic cinq! when you heard Tom say your name.
“Yes?” you asked, turning to him. He only shook his head, smiling down at you.
“I don’t say this often… but I’m very glad we met.”
You grinned, reaching up to put an arm around his shoulders. “Me too,” you whispered, and then, not caring there were still two seconds left until midnight or that you were surrounded by thousands of other people, you kissed him.
He kissed you back, his lips moving over yours with heated urgency, as fireworks lit up the sky.
You barely noticed, too caught up in the feeling of him to think anything other than one thing:
You were so thankful you nearly missed your flight yesterday.
A/N (again): Okay, if you read all of that… um, thank you! I honestly did not expect this to be so long lol, and this sort of went in a mildly different direction than I intended it to. As is the protocol (?) for most of my fics, I don’t plan part 2s but am almost entirely open to writing them!
Happy New Year, and of course, happy birthday to Tom!
Taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @h0eforjp @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @princesspeach0-0 @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @mintydew (the taglist for this event is now over, please comment if you'd like to be added to my general taglist!)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Young Y/N finds a lost little girl at Hogwarts who immediately clings to her and calls her “Mummy.” After taking her to Tom for help, she discovers the child is actually their future daughter, Aurelia.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - requested by the babes @@helloamalien "Hiii I know you’ve been writing a lot of aurelia but can I request if younger y/n ruing into aurelia at Hogwarts and thought aurelia lost her mother and went to Tom help her cause he’s a prefect, but Aurelia was clingy to y/n the whole time until Tom found them and send Aurelia back" -technically part two to a small criminal.
The first thing Y/N noticed was the crying.
The second was the tiny child sitting in the middle of the Hogwarts corridor clutching a stuffed snake and looking absolutely devastated.
Y/N stopped immediately.
Students were already walking around the little girl awkwardly, unsure what to do, but Y/N crouched down without hesitation. “Hey,” she said softly. “Are you alright?”
Big dark eyes looked up at her instantly.
The little girl gasped. “Mummy!”
Before Y/N could process that sentence, the child launched herself forward at alarming speed and wrapped both arms tightly around her neck.
Y/N nearly fell backward. “Oh!”
Tiny fingers clung desperately to her robes. “Mummy, I lost you,” the little girl whispered tearfully against her shoulder.
Y/N blinked in confusion, automatically holding her anyway. “Sweetheart, I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
“No,” the child sniffled dramatically, hugging her tighter. “You’re my mummy.”
That was concerning.
Y/N carefully pulled back just enough to look at her properly. Dark curls, dark eyes. Familiar features, very familiar features.
“…What’s your name?” she asked slowly.
“Aurelia.”
Y/N froze slightly, somewhere in the back of her mind, alarm bells started ringing.
Aurelia continued clinging to her like separation would kill her. “I couldn’t find Daddy either.”
“…Daddy?”
“My daddy,” Aurelia repeated like this was obvious. “Tom.”
Silence.
Y/N stared at the child, then immediately stood up with Aurelia still attached to her and started walking quickly down the corridor. Because absolutely not.
If there was one person who could explain why a tiny child was calling her mummy and claiming Tom Riddle was her father. Was funnily enough, Tom Riddle himself.
Aurelia remained attached to her the entire walk. Literally. The child refused to let go, little arms locked around Y/N’s neck while she rested sleepily against her shoulder. “You’re very clingy,” Y/N muttered.
Aurelia nodded against her happily. “Daddy says that too.”
“That’s somehow worse.” Eventually Y/N spotted him near the Prefects’ corridor, speaking to another student who immediately looked terrified the second Y/N approached carrying a child.
Tom looked up lazily. Then froze, actually froze.
His eyes locked onto the tiny girl clinging to Y/N, then narrowed. “…No,” he said immediately.
Y/N pointed at him accusingly. “Explain this.”
Aurelia perked up instantly at the sight of him. “Daddy!”
The terrified student beside Tom looked horrified.
Tom dismissed him immediately without looking away from the child. “Leave.”
The student fled.
Y/N marched directly toward him. “Why is there a child calling me mummy and you daddy?”
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose slowly like he already knew exactly what had happened. “…How did she get back here again?”
“Again?” Y/N repeated sharply.
Aurelia reached one tiny hand toward Tom excitedly. “Daddy!”
Tom took her automatically despite himself, though she immediately started reaching back toward Y/N instead.
“Mummy too.”
Y/N stared. “Tom.”
He looked deeply exhausted already. “Marvolo clearly left the portal unsupervised again.”
“The what?”
Tom ignored that. “Aurelia.”
The little girl blinked innocently. “You are not supposed to time travel.”
“I wanted Mummy.” Y/N’s face warmed despite herself.
Tom, unfortunately, noticed immediately. “She is very attached to you,” he said dryly.
Aurelia huffed dramatically from his arms and immediately leaned back toward Y/N again. “Want my mummy.”
Tom sighed like this happened constantly. “You see her every day in your own timeline.”
“But little!”
Y/N blinked. “…Little?”
Tom looked at her for a long moment before deciding not to explain that. Probably wisely. Instead he shifted Aurelia slightly higher on his hip. “You have to go home.”
Instant betrayal filled Aurelia’s face. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I stay with Mummy.”
“No.”
She immediately stretched both arms desperately toward Y/N. “Mummy!”
Y/N melted instantly. “Tom.”
“No,” he repeated firmly.
“She’s upset.”
“She’s manipulative.”
Aurelia gasped dramatically. “Daddy mean!”
Tom looked unimpressed. “You stole my wand last time.”
“That was protection.”
Y/N stared between them both. “…Last time?”
Before Tom could answer, a portal suddenly flickered open beside them.
Marvolo stepped through looking exhausted. “There you are,” he sighed. “Do you know how hard it is to find a five-year-old with access to time travel?”
Aurelia pointed immediately at Y/N. “Found Mummy.”
“I can see that.”
Then Marvolo noticed the way Aurelia was practically climbing back toward Y/N again and sighed harder. “Oh, Merlin.”
“I don’t wanna leave.”
Tom handed her over to Marvolo anyway despite the tiny betrayal in her expression.
Instantly she reached for Y/N again with both hands. “Mummy!”
Y/N actually stepped closer automatically before catching herself.
Tom noticed that too. “She’ll see you later,” he said calmly to Aurelia.
“But I wanna stay now.”
“You cannot stay in the past.”
Aurelia looked genuinely emotional now, little lip wobbling as she stared at Y/N. “Mummy.”
Y/N’s heart shattered immediately. “Tom.”
He exhaled slowly before leaning down slightly toward his daughter. “Little one,” he said quieter this time, “you have to let her go.”
Aurelia sniffled.
Tom brushed her curls back gently. “You’ll see her at home.”
That finally made her pause. “…Promise?”
Tom nodded once. “Promise.”
Aurelia looked at Y/N one last time before reluctantly leaning against Marvolo’s shoulder. “Bye Mummy.”
I fucking hate how so many people see incest and think "wow this is such a weird freaky kink" or "haha parental issues, Oedipus complex, Sigmund Freud was right" and not "oh my god this person is being abused".
One shot | Established Relationship | Smutish | Masterlist | WC: 3.7K
Summary: Studying anatomy is hard…luckily Klaus's extensive knowldege makes for an enticing study method
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
The anatomy textbook lay open on the bed, pages covered in Y/N's frustrated notes. She'd been at this for three hours trying to memorize the placement of organs and the names of bones and even the way everything connected in the human body. Keywords: Trying.
"I give up," she groaned, flopping backward onto the pillows. "The radius and the ulna are the same thing. Bones are stupid. Who needs this many bones?"
Klaus looked up from his easel where he'd been working on a landscape, a smirk playing at his lips. "You do realize you're saying this to someone who's broken most of those bones in other people, love. I could probably draw you a detailed anatomical chart from memory."
Y/N sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. "Are you seriously telling me that your extensive knowledge of torture has made you an anatomy expert?"
"A millennium of creative violence does provide certain educational benefits." He set down his brush, wiping his hands on a rag as he crossed to the bed. "What specifically is giving you trouble?"
She gestured helplessly at the textbook. "All of it? The bones in the arm. Where the liver actually sits. How the ribcage protects things. It's all just...words on a page. I can't visualize it."
Klaus picked up the textbook, scanning the pages. Then he set it aside and reached for her hand. "Then let's make it more interesting, shall we?" His voice dropped lower, taking on that dangerous edge that always made her pulse quicken. "Close your eyes."
"Klaus..."
"Trust me, sweetheart. This is educational."
She closed her eyes, feeling the bed shift as he moved behind her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, thumb pressing against her pulse point.
"The radial artery," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Right here. Can you feel your heartbeat under my thumb?"
She could. Her heart was doing complicated things that had nothing to do with anatomy and everything to do with his proximity. His fingers traced up her forearm, pressing gently.
"The radius bone runs here, along the thumb side of your forearm. And just beside it..." His other hand traced a parallel line. "The ulna. Two bones working together to let you rotate your wrist. Like this."
He demonstrated by turning her hand palm-up, then palm-down. “Now you'll remember," he said, voice thick with amusement. "Because you'll think of this every time you look at that textbook."
"That's cheating," Y/N breathed.
"It’s effective teaching." His hands slid higher, fingers trailing along the inside of her elbow. "The brachial artery branches here. Major blood vessel. Very dangerous to sever. I've seen men bleed out in minutes from a wound right here."
"You're supposed to be helping me study, not giving me nightmares."
"I'm doing both." She could hear the grin in his voice. "Where's the humerus, love?"
"Upper arm bone. Runs from shoulder to elbow."
"Good girl." His hands moved to her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the joint. "And here's where it connects to the scapula. Feel that? The way it rotates in the socket?"
He guided her arm through a slow circle, and she was acutely aware that this was the least educational anatomy lesson in the history of education.
"Now," Klaus said, his hands settling on her ribcage, "tell me what organs the ribs protect."
"Heart and lungs," she managed, though thinking was becoming increasingly difficult with his palms warm against her sides.
"And where exactly is your heart, sweetheart?" His hand slid to rest over her left breast, palm flat against where her heart was hammering. "Right here. Between the fourth and fifth ribs, slightly left of center. I can feel it racing."
"That's because you're being distracting."
"Am I now?" His thumb traced the curve of her bottom rib. "The liver sits here, on your right side, just beneath the ribcage. Largest internal organ. Extremely vascular, which means—"
"It bleeds a lot if damaged. I know. I read that part."
"But now you'll remember it." His hands spanned her waist. "Because you'll remember this."
Y/N opened her eyes and turned her head to find him watching her with that intense focus that still made her stomach flip even after three years.
"This is the worst study method ever," she said.
"Is it working?"
She grabbed the textbook, flipping to a diagram of the skeletal system. "Radius is thumb-side forearm bone. Ulna is pinky-side. Humerus is upper arm. Scapula is shoulder blade. Heart between fourth and fifth ribs, left of center. Liver right side, beneath ribs."
Klaus's grin was absolutely wicked. "See? Effective. You're going to ace this exam." He pulled her into his lap, textbook and all. "Now, shall we discuss the skeletal structure of the hand? I have very strong opinions about metacarpals."
"Of course you do."
But she didn't pull away. And when he started explaining the twenty-seven bones in the human hand while tracing each one on her palm, she actually retained the information. Even if he was using a thousand years of creative violence to help her pass anatomy.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Klaus was sprawled across his bed the following evening, reading a first edition of Byron's poetry. One he'd acquired directly from the source back in 1816. That’s when Y/N burst through the door with her anatomy textbook and a determined expression.
"Take your shirt off."
He lowered the book slowly, one eyebrow arching in amusement as a slow smirk spread across his face. "Well, love, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but generally there's a bit more preamble. Perhaps some—"
"I need to study muscles," she interrupted, already pulling sticky notes and markers from her bag. "You have muscles. Take your shirt off."
The smirk faltered slightly. "You want me to...what, exactly?"
"Be my anatomical model." She was flipping through the textbook, completely focused. "Yesterday you helped with bones and organs. Today I need to map muscle groups. The trapezius, deltoids, pectoralis major, all of it. So. Shirt. Off."
Klaus set the book aside, genuinely caught off guard for possibly the first time in decades.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious. I have an exam in three days and I still can't tell the difference between the flexor carpi radialis and the flexor carpi ulnaris."
"Those are in the forearm, love."
"I KNOW." She looked up at him with those eyes that had been wrecking his composure for three years. "Which is why I need a three-dimensional reference. Please?"
He couldn't quite suppress his grin as he sat up and pulled his henley over his head in one smooth motion. "You know, most people would just use diagrams."
"Most people don't have a thousand-year-old vampire boyfriend with perfect muscle definition." She stepped closer, textbook in one hand, sticky notes in the other. "Now hold still."
For the next twenty minutes, Klaus discovered what it was like to be treated as a living anatomy chart. Y/N circled him with scientific precision, comparing his actual musculature to the diagrams in her book. She pressed her fingers against his shoulder, feeling the way the deltoid connected, her touch clinical but maddening.
Klaus's breath hitched. It was subtle, just the slightest catch, but enough that he had to close his eyes and concentrate on maintaining his composure. Legendary self-control, and here he was, undone by her fingertips tracing the contours of his shoulder.
She scribbled "DELTOID - raises arm laterally" on a pink sticky note and pressed it onto his skin, completely oblivious to the effect she was having.
Her fingers moved to his chest, mapping the pectoralis major with careful attention. Klaus kept his eyes firmly shut, jaw tight.
"You alright?" she asked absently, not looking up from her textbook.
"Perfectly fine, love." His voice came out rougher than intended. "Just...focusing."
Another sticky note landed on his chest. Her palm pressed flat against his sternum as she smoothed it down. His breathing definitely wasn't steady anymore.
She moved to his back, and he felt her fingers trace the line of his trapezius from neck to shoulder blade. The touch was exploratory and entirely innocent in intent. But it was driving him absolutely mad.
"This is absolutely ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
"This is effective studying. You said so yourself yesterday."
"Yes, but yesterday I was the one doing the teaching. This is different."
"How so?"
"Because yesterday I got to touch you. Today I'm supposed to sit here like a statue while you—" He broke off as her fingers found the tricep. "Bloody hell."
She patted his shoulder absently, already moving on to label different muscle groups. By the time she'd covered his arms, shoulders, chest, and back with sticky notes, Klaus looked like he'd been attacked by an overeagerly organized student, and his self-control was hanging by a thread.
Then her eyes landed on his paint supplies.
"Oh, that's perfect."
"What's perfect? Y/N, what are you—"
She'd already grabbed his cadmium red and a fine brush. "The book shows the muscles in different colors to distinguish them. If I outline them on you, I can see exactly where they start and stop."
"Absolutely not."
"Klaus, please? It'll wash off."
"I'm a hybrid, not a canvas!"
But she was already uncapping the paint with a look that meant arguing was pointless. He sighed, resigned to his fate. "You're lucky I love you."
"I know." She dipped the brush in red paint. "Now flex your arm."
Klaus sighed, obeying her commands snd she just...stopped. Stared. Her eyes fixed on the way his bicep curved under the skin, the definition of muscle that came from a millennium of fighting.
Klaus's eyes opened. The corner of his mouth twitched. "See something you like, sweetheart?"
She blinked, cheeks flushing. "I'm studying."
"Studying requires looking at the textbook occasionally." His smirk widened. "You've been staring at my arm for fifteen seconds which I would know because I counted."
"I was comparing it to the diagram."
"The diagram is on the table behind you, my love"
Her blush deepened. "Shut up."
"Make me." His voice dropped lower, teasing. "Or are you too busy admiring the brachialis? Perhaps the biceps brachii? I can flex again if you need a longer look." He flexed again, deliberately slow. "What happened to clinical detachment, love? All that scientific focus?"
"I hate you," she muttered, but she was fighting a smile as she finally pressed the brush to his skin.
She traced the bicep, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. The paint was cool against his skin, her touch feather-light as she followed the muscle's contour from shoulder to elbow. Klaus watched her work, and despite the torment of sitting still while she touched him so innocently, there was something quietly perfect about this moment. The little furrow between her brows and even the way she muttered anatomical terms under her breath.
She switched to blue for the triceps, yellow for the deltoid, and green for the pectoralis major. "There," she finally announced, stepping back to admire her work. "Perfect. Now I can actually see how everything connects."
Klaus looked down at himself covered in paint outlines and sticky notes, looking like the world's most ridiculous anatomy lesson.
"I look like a child's art project."
"You look educational." She was already taking photos with her phone from different angles. "This is going to help so much."
"Thrilled to be of service," he said dryly.
She laughed, finally looking up from her phone to really look at him. "Thank you. I know this is weird."
"Weird doesn't begin to cover it, love." He plucked a sticky note off his chest. "But if it helps you pass your exam, I suppose I can endure the indignity."
"My hero," she teased.
"Speaking of which." He stood, paint-covered and sticky-note-decorated, and closed the distance between them. "Since you've quite literally decorated me, I think it's only fair you help clean it off."
"I was going to let you shower—"
In one smooth motion, he had her lifted over his shoulder. "Klaus!"
"You put it there, sweetheart. You're helping wash it off." He was already heading toward his bathroom, her protests dissolving into laughter. "Consider it additional anatomy study. I'll even quiz you on muscle function while we're at it."
"That's not how studying works!"
"It is now."
The shower turned on, steam immediately beginning to fog the glass. Klaus set her down just long enough to start pulling sticky notes off himself, dropping them in a colorful pile on the bathroom counter.
"This is going to take forever," Y/N protested, but she was already pulling her sweater over her head. "Some of those paint lines are really detailed."
"Then I suppose we'll be here a while." He stepped under the spray, colored water already running down his chest as the paint began to dissolve. He held out his hand. "Coming, love?"
She took it, stepping into the shower with him, warm water cascading over them both. "You're going to quiz me, aren't you."
"Absolutely." His hands were already working shampoo through her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. "What's the largest muscle in the human body?"
"Gluteus maximus."
"Good girl." His hands slid down her back deliberately, finding exactly that muscle and squeezing with intent.
She gasped against him. "Klaus—"
"What? I'm being educational." But his smirk was absolutely wicked. "And what does the sartorius do?"
She tried to focus through the distraction of his hands still kneading her backside. "Flexes the hip and knee. It's the longest muscle in the body."
"Excellent." He pressed a kiss to her temple, then without warning, lifted her effortlessly against the shower wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as the water streamed over both of them.
"What muscle did I just use to lift you?" he asked, voice dropping lower. Her brain scrambled to function while pressed against tile, held up by nothing but his strength.
"The—the deltoids helped. Biceps. Core muscles for stabilization."
"Very good, sweetheart." One hand slid up her thigh, squeezing the muscle there. "And what muscle is this?"
"Quadriceps," she breathed.
His hand moved higher, fingers tracing, caressing. "And this?"
"Adductors. Inner thigh."
"Mmm. You're doing so well." His lips found her neck, teeth grazing. "What about here?" His hand splayed across her ribcage.
"External obliques."
"Perfect." The word rumbled against her throat. "See how much better you remember when there's proper motivation?"
"This is—" She lost her train of thought entirely when his thumb traced circles against her hip. "This is not proper study technique."
"Isn't it? You're answering every question correctly." He shifted his hold, demonstrating his point. "What muscles am I using now to keep you exactly where I want you?"
She was trembling, and not from the cooling water.
"Deltoids, biceps, pectorals for...for holding. Core strength. Gluteus maximus for hip extension and—oh god—"
"Keep going, love. You're doing brilliantly."
"I can't think when you're—"
"When I'm what?" Pure innocence in his tone, completely contradicted by the way his hands were mapping her body. "I'm simply providing hands-on education. You said you needed a three-dimensional reference."
“I did?”
“Mhm. And you're going to ace this exam,” he finally lowered her back to her feet, though his hands remained at her waist. "Because every time you look at those diagrams, you're going to remember this. Aren't you?"
Her legs were unsteady, her heart was racing, and yes, she was absolutely going to remember every single muscle group now. "You're very pleased with yourself."
"Extremely." He tucked wet hair behind her ear. "Now, let's actually wash this paint off before the water runs cold. And I expect you to identify every muscle I use while doing so."
"You're going to make me work for this, aren't you?"
"Always, sweetheart." His grin was devastating. They stayed in the shower until every trace of color had washed away, Klaus continuing his relentless anatomical quiz while she scrubbed paint from his skin, both of them laughing when she got an answer wrong and he found creative ways to help her remember the correct one.
By the time they finally emerged, wrapped in towels with the bathroom thick with steam, Y/N had successfully memorized twelve major muscle groups and several creative applications thereof. And Klaus had a pile of sticky notes on his counter that he absolutely was not throwing away, along with the private satisfaction of knowing his girlfriend would never look at an anatomy textbook the same way again.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Klaus drove into her, his hands gripping her hips as she lay beneath him. But something felt off. Her responses were all there. The usual soft gasps and the way her body arched but her focus wasn't. Her hands weren't clutching at him desperately as they usually did; instead, they were...exploring. They were focused and dare he say too focused as they traced patterns across his shoulders and down his spine.
He slowed his movements, watching her face. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, her brow furrowed in concentration that had nothing to do with pleasure.
"Are you..." he began, disbelief coloring his tone, "Are you studying my musculature while I'm fucking you?"
Y/N's eyes snapped to his, a guilty flush spreading across her cheeks. "What? No! I'm—" she broke off as his expression darkened. "Maybe a little?"
Klaus stilled completely, still buried inside her, his jaw tightening. "Let me understand this correctly," he said, his accent thickening dangerously. "I have you naked beneath me, my cock inside you, and you're using this opportunity to mentally catalog my trapezius?"
She bit her lip, fighting a smile despite the tension. "It's just...they're right there," she explained weakly as he drops his head into the crook of his neck "And they're so well-defined when you're holding yourself up like this. I can see exactly where the latissimus dorsi connects to—"
"Oh my god." Klaus lifted his head to stare at her in utter disbelief. "I'm literally inside you and you're thinking about anatomy."
"It's your fault!" She tried to defend herself, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. "You made me use you as a study model and now I can't stop thinking about it!"
"That was supposed to help you pass your exam, not ruin our sex life!"
"It's not ruining—"
Klaus cut her off with a growl, pulling out of her entirely and flipping her onto her stomach in one fluid movement. Before she could protest, he'd pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. "If you insist on treating me like an anatomy lesson," he murmured against her ear, his free hand sliding beneath her to lift her hips, "then I'll make certain it's one you won't forget."
He entered her again, the new angle drawing a genuine gasp from her lips. "Now," he continued, his voice conversational as he established a punishing rhythm, "since you're so interested in muscle function, let's discuss what's happening right now."
His hand released her wrists to slide down her back, following the curve of her spine. "The erector spinae," he informed her, fingers tracing the muscles along either side of her vertebrae, "contracts to arch your back just like this."
His hand moved to grip her hip, fingers digging into the flesh there. "The gluteus medius," he continued, punctuating the words with a deep thrust that made her cry out, "stabilizes your pelvis while I'm taking you."
"Klaus," she moaned, all thoughts of studying forgotten as her fingers clutched at the sheets.
"No, no," he chided, reaching around to cup her breast, thumb circling her nipple. "Pay attention, love. This is educational. The pectoralis major," he squeezed gently, "so sensitive to touch."
His other hand slid between her legs, finding her center with ease. "And here," he murmured, circling the bundle of nerves with his fingers as he continued to move within her, "is where all those nerve endings converge. Fascinating bit of anatomy, wouldn't you agree?"
Y/N could only respond with incoherent sounds of pleasure, her body trembling beneath his expert touch.
"I asked you a question," he prompted, slowing his movements until she whimpered in protest.
"Yes," she gasped out. "Fascinating. Please, Klaus—"
"Please what?" His voice was silk wrapped around steel. "Continue the anatomy lesson?"
"No!" she cried out. "Just...please."
He leaned down, his chest pressed against her back, lips at her ear. "I want to hear you say it," he demanded softly. "Tell me where your attention is now."
"On you," she breathed. "You. I swear."
He smiled against her skin, satisfaction evident in the curve of his lips. "Good girl," he praised, resuming his earlier pace. "Now, shall I demonstrate what happens when these muscles contract all at once?"
His fingers moved faster against her center, his thrusts becoming more intense as he drove her toward the edge.
"Klaus!" she cried out, her body tightening around him as release crashed over her.
He followed her moments later, his own release punctuated by a low groan against her neck. They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breathing. After several moments, Klaus rolled onto his side, pulling her against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her arm as their breathing returned to normal.
"So," he said finally, amusement coloring his tone, "did that help with your studies?"
Y/N turned in his arms to face him, her expression sheepish but satisfied. "Definitely," she admitted. "Though I'm not sure I could explain any of it on an exam."
"Perhaps not," he agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I guarantee you'll never look at a muscle diagram the same way again."
She laughed, burying her face against his chest. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
Klaus shook his head, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Next time you need to study," he suggested, pulling her closer, "perhaps just ask me to pose for you properly. Less distracting for both of us."
"Where's the fun in that?" she countered, but he was already pulling her on top of him, all thoughts of anatomy lesson forgotten as her lips found his once more.
• Dark, who dulls down his ringing so you're able to fall asleep while he's in bed next to you
• Dark, who also amps it up if you are overwhelmed by other sounds. Never to an unbearably high pitch, just enough to direct your attention back to him, and with that, the world, instead of whatever was starting to take over your thoughts
• Dark, who is so unnaturally perceptive of even the smallest details and notices when you're getting overstimulated before even you do, so you often end up getting (gently) whisked into the void before it even starts to get worse
• Dark, who holds your hand, but his thumb always rests at your pulse point. If you'd point it out, he'd tell you that's just how his fingers rest normally. But they don't. He looks down at your hand far too much for it to be just a coincidence
• Dark, who lets you wrinkle his perfectly ironed shirt, because why should you have to be careful around him? He will have to iron it again after washing it anyway. It doesn't matter that he's always meticulous about how it sits on him. You shouldn't have to worry about that
• Dark, who now finds it hard to button his own sleeve buttons because you've always insisted on doing it for him, so now the button always slips from him when he has to do it by himself with one hand
• Dark, who would let you fall asleep on him, even though his joints will absolutely kill him afterwards. But he won't regret it
• Because he'd do anything for you
--
Taglist: @jacksepticeye-simp, @jeys-fandom-corner (if anyone wants to be added, drop me an ask)
Feel free to add your own ones in the comments, my fellow Dark enthusiasts :>
Also, don't be shy to comment something even if it's just a smiley face, it makes me encoraged
The work was the only thing that kept the sky from falling.
Y/N threw herself into the monotony of a servant's routine with a desperate, frantic intensity. She scrubbed the wooden tables in the great hall until her palms were raw. She carried laundry baskets so heavy her shoulders throbbed. When a head cook snapped a sharp command at her, she swallowed her royal tongue, ducked her head and obeyed.
She had to. If she slowed down, if she let the hollow ache in her chest show on her face, the castle would notice.
And Camelot was already watching her.
She had caught the whispers in the corridors. The lingering, almost pitiful glances from the other maids.
'Poor girl,' they murmured when they thought she was out of earshot.
'To be so thoroughly cast aside by a visiting prince. He didn't even say goodbye.'
They thought she was a jilted girl mourning a brief, impossible romance with Lior. They thought she was pining for a lover who had used her and left her behind in the dark.
The ignorance of it choked her. If they only knew that the man they spoke of was her own flesh and blood. If they only knew that his departure was a sacrifice to keep the shadows from swallowing them both.
But she let them believe the lie. A broken heart was a safe cover. A broken heart didn’t invite executioners.
By the afternoon, she was sent to the citadel’s grand library to retrieve the heavy brass candleholders that needed polishing.
The library was usually a sanctuary of quiet, smelling heavily of old parchment, dried lavender, and leather binding. Today, however, the air inside was thick with tension, smelling more like stale sweat and anxious, hurried breath.
Tables that were usually empty had been dragged together. Great, ancient codices and rotting scrolls had been hauled from the deepest, darkest vaults of the castle, spread out beneath the flickering light of dozen wicked candelabras.
Uther was down in the war rooms, drowning in battle tactics and troop movements, but here? Here was the intellectual panic.
A handful of elder scholars and court librarians were huddled over a massive, crumbling text, their spectacles slipping down their noses as their ink stained fingers traced the faded runes.
A few knights stood awkwardly by the high arched windows, their hands resting nervously on the pommels of their swords, as if expecting the myths to jump off the pages.
And sitting at the end of the long table, looking entirely out of place among the ancient dust, was Arthur.
He had a thick, leather bound volume open before him, but he wasn’t reading. He was staring blindly at a page, his thumb mindlessly tracing the edge of the parchment, his jaw tight. He looked exhausted, the golden prince thoroughly worn down by the sudden, suffocating weight of an invisible war.
Y/N kept her eyes down. She moved silently toward the first candelabra, keeping her footsteps light, a ghost in an apron.
“It doesn’t make sense,” one of the elder scholars muttered, his voice reeking of a dry, academic frustration. He tapped a frantic finger against a drawn map in an old scroll.
“The reports from the south say Noctyr is burning everything, yet he advances with no strategic logic. He isn’t conquering territory. He isn't establishing strongholds. He is hunting.”
“He seeks the Prince of Lunaria,” a knight replied from the window, his voice grim.
“We know this. King Uther has already hidden the boy.”
“No, no, you aren't listening to the text!” the librarian snapped, his voice rising in an irritated pitch as he dragged a heavier, iron clasped book toward the center of the table.
“Look at the translations from the Second Age of Magic. Noctyrs obsession has never been a simple conquest of kingdoms. It is a theft of divinity. He doesn't just want to kill the Lunarian line. He wants what they carry.”
Y/N’s fingers froze against the cold brass of the candleholder.
Her heart gave a violent, heavy thud against her ribs. The magic beneath her skin, the pure, moonbound tether that vibrated in her blood, went entirely cold.
“What do you mean, what they carry?” Arthur’s voice cut through the room.
It was low, raspy from a lack of sleep, but it held the absolute authority of a prince. He closed his book with a soft, heavy thud and looked at the scholar.
“They are a powerful bloodline. We know this. He wants their magic.”
“He wants the magic, My Lord,” the scholar corrected, his eyes wide with a manic sort of terror as he pointed to a faded, hand drawn illustration on the rotting page. It depicted a terrifying, shadow draped figure standing beneath a massive, blood-red moon.
“The myths say the royalty of Lunaria do not simply use magic. They are an anchor for it. Their blood ties them directly to the moon’s cycle. The prophecy explicitly states that Noctyr seeks the final vessel. The Last Princess. He does not seek to destroy her, My Lord. He seeks to bind her.”
The words struck Y/N like a physical blow.
The Last Princess.
She felt the air leave her lungs. She stared fixedly at the brass in her hands, her vision blurring for a terrifying second. They were talking about her. Right here, in the heart of Camelot, with the Crown Prince sitting a mere ten feet away, they were pulling her secret out of the grave.
“Listen to the translation,” the old librarian insisted, his voice trembling as he read the ancient, terrifying lines. “‘When the silver moon turns to blood, the thief of souls shall claim the final daughter. Not to ash shall she be turned, but to eternal shackle. He shall drag her to the altar of the eclipsed sky. A blood tie ritual shall join their flesh, sliced and pressed together, a permanent knot in the fabric of the world. Through this profane union, her blood becomes his tether, anchoring the moon’s raw power into his own veins forever. He shall walk as a god, and she shall remain his living, breathing prisoner, a hollowed shell bound to the dark until the end of time.’”
The librarian’s voice echoed off the high stone ceiling of the library.
A blood tie ritual.
An eternal shackle.
His living prisoner.
Y/N’s stomach turned to ice.
A sickening, violent wave of nausea washed over her.
She had known Noctyr wanted her magic. Back in Lunaria, tucked away in her sheltered, royal life, she had been told half the story.
She had assumed he would come, steal her power, and she would die.
A quick, honorable end if the prophecy was true.
She had never known this.
She had never known the prophecy spoke of a forced, eternal nightmare.
A blood marriage that would strip away her autonomy and turn her into a permanent weapon for a monster.
The thought of that creature, the one who had slaughtered her parents, touching her, cutting her up, binding his corrupted, rotting soul to her pure Lunarian blood... It made her blood run entirely cold.
“Enough!” Arthur’s voice slammed through the library, sharp and commanding. He stood up from the table, his posture rigid with a sudden, fierce anger.
“The princess is dead. The reports from the fall of Lunaria were absolute. The palace was razed to the ground. The king, the queen, and their daughter all perished.”
Arthur turned, pacing the length of the table, his expression darkening with a profound reverence that Y/N had never seen on him before.
“That poor girl went through unspeakable horror,” Arthur said, his voice dropping into a softer, fiercely defensive register. “She watched her kingdom burn. She died in the ash. It is an insult to her memory to sit here and spin campfire ghost stories about her being dragged to an altar. Leave it be. We shouldn't be gossiping about the dead. Let her rest.”
“But Arthur, look at the portents!” the old librarian protested, gesturing frantically to the text.
“The prophecy has been terrifyingly accurate thus far. The movements in the south match the text perfectly. The prophecy explicitly states she is not dead. She might still be alive, hidden somewhere in the realm, waiting for him—”
“I said, no,” Arthur snapped, his jaw tightening as he cut the scholar off with absolute finality.
“She is gone. Do not speak of her as if she is a piece on a chessboard. She was a princess and she deserves to rest in peace. We waste our time reading poetry when we should be reinforcing the borders.”
Standing by the candelabra, the juxtaposition of Arthur’s words hit Y/N like a physical strike.
It stung. It stung so deeply her chest ached with a raw, agonizing heat.
Just a few hours ago, Arthur had cornered her in the corridor. He had called her girl. He had treated her like an insignificant, disposable nuisance, sneering at her duties and reminding her of her low place as a maid.
He was horrible to her, day in and day out, making her life in Camelot a living hell while she was forced to swallow her pride and bow.
Yet here he was, speaking of the 'Princess of Lunaria' with such high regard, treating her memory like something sacred and untouchable.
The irony was suffocating. If only he knew. If only he knew that the tragic, revered princess he was defending so highly was the exact same girl he had just berated for being late with the guards' linens.
If the truth ever came out, he would completely flip. His world would shatter.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of grief and fury rushed up her throat. It hit her eyes like a physical pressure.
No.
Panic flamed in her chest. She felt the telltale, prickling heat behind her eyelids. A horrific realisation struck her: if she let go right now, if she let the tears fall, they wouldn't be clear. They would be silver. They would shimmer and glow against her skin like liquid starlight, and every man in this room including Arthur,would know exactly who she was.
She bit the inside of her cheek so hard the copper taste of blood flooded her mouth. She swallowed it down frantically, clamping her jaw shut until her teeth cracked. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, the sharp pain grounding her, forcing the tears back into the dark corners of her soul.
She could not cry. She could never cry in this place.
Arthur turned, his blue eyes sweeping across the room, searching for an escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the library. His gaze landed directly on her.
Y/N stood perfectly frozen by the candelabra, her breathing shallow, her face carefully wiped of all emotion. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the brass, and the copper taste of her own hidden blood was heavy on her tongue.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He saw the tension in her rigid posture. He saw the fierce, dark storm raging in her eyes before she quickly lowered her gaze to the floorboards. He didn't understand why, but looking at her made his chest ache with that same, frustratingly familiar pull. He hated seeing her look so fragile, yet so incredibly dangerous.
He stepped away from the table, walking straight toward her.
Y/N kept her head down, counting the frantic beats of her heart. Don't look up, she told herself. Don't let him see the silver in your eyes.
Arthur stopped just a foot away from her. He stared down at the top of her head, his hands resting on his belt. For a moment, the heavy silence stretched between them, thick with things neither of them could say.
“Take the candleholders to the armory when you’re done,” Arthur said quietly.
The passion and reverence he had just shown for the dead princess vanished, replaced by the familiar, cold authority he used for the servants.
“The knights will need the light for the night watch. See that you aren't late this time.”
“Yes, Sire,” she whispered to his boots.
Arthur lingered for one more second, as if waiting for her to say something else, to challenge him, to give him a reason to stay. But she remained perfectly still. With a heavy, defeated sigh, the prince turned and strode out of the library, the heavy oak doors closing behind him.
The moment the doors clicked shut, Y/N let out a long, trembling breath.
She looked down at the brass in her hands, her chest heaving as she fought down the final remnants of the panic.
The prophecy was out there. The scholars were digging. And Noctyr was coming for a princess the world thought was dead.
She wasn't just a maid trying to survive anymore. She was a ticking clock. And the dark was ticking louder by the hour.
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