Logan Howlett (Wolverine) SFW Alphabet

I love reading this series🥹 Gets me all warm and fuzzy on the inside!

Happy Birthday

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

It's Logan's birthday and you surprise him with a gift. (This is pre-marriage).

read on ao3 or continue reading here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty...

Logan hated celebrating his birthday. After nearly two centuries of being alive, the day had lost any real meaning—just another mark on a calendar that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had much to show for all those years, anyway, and he’d long since grown tired of people making a fuss about it. But the mansion had a way of making sure no one went unnoticed, and every year, without fail, someone would pull him into an impromptu celebration he hadn’t asked for.

So, when he woke up that morning and found the mansion unusually quiet, he figured maybe they’d finally given up. No "Happy Birthday" shouts from Bobby in the hall, no balloons taped to his door, no cupcakes left on the kitchen counter by Ororo. He shrugged it off, feeling a little relieved, even if there was an odd, hollow feeling in his chest.

By the time he finished teaching his second class, Logan’s mood had settled into its usual gruffness. He was just starting to clear off the chalkboard, the faint squeak of the eraser filling the room when he heard the familiar click of heels approaching from down the hallway. He glanced toward the slightly ajar door just as you appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small, secretive smile.

"Hey," you said, a little breathless as if you’d hurried there. "I was gonna stop by sooner, but…" You gave a half-shrug, your eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. "My class got chaotic, and then I had to—well, doesn’t matter."

Logan’s brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you, your arms tucked behind your back in a way that seemed almost... suspicious. "Why are you standin’ like that?" he asked, his tone gruff but tinged with curiosity.

You chuckled, stepping further into the classroom and finally bringing your hands forward. Resting in your palms was a small, neatly wrapped gift—a simple package, the paper a deep blue, tied with a piece of twine. "I know you hate your birthday," you began, your voice warm but a little hesitant, as if you weren’t quite sure how he would react. "But I thought… well, I thought you might like this. And before you say anything, yes, you have to open it. Complaints can wait."

Logan stared at the gift like it was some foreign object, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. He didn’t reach for it right away, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as if trying to gauge whether or not this was some kind of joke. "You didn’t have to do that," he muttered, the words gruff and almost defensive. He wasn’t used to anyone making a special effort for him.

"Obviously," you replied, rolling your eyes playfully as you took a step closer, extending the gift toward him. "But I wanted to."

There was a beat of silence where Logan just stood there, staring down at the little package as if it held some kind of secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he reached out and took it from your hands. The paper crinkled softly as his fingers brushed over it, and for a moment, he just held it there, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

"Well?" you prompted, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. "Aren’t you going to open it?"

He gave you a look, half-exasperated, but there was a flicker of softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. "You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?" he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words.

"Not a chance," you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips.

With a huff, Logan started unwrapping the gift, peeling back the paper with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. Inside was a small leather-bound journal, its edges slightly worn, like it was made to be carried on long journeys and tucked into coat pockets. The leather was a deep, rich brown, and the pages inside were lined, perfect for jotting down thoughts, sketches, or whatever might cross his mind.

He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb running over the cover as if testing the texture. "A journal?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"Well, I figured you might need somewhere to put all those thoughts you keep to yourself," you said lightly, though your voice held a touch of sincerity. "Or sketches, or… I don’t know, angry rants about how annoying the kids are." You shrugged, your smile softening. "Thought it might come in handy."

Logan was silent, his gaze still fixed on the journal. His jaw clenched slightly, and for a second, you thought maybe he was going to brush it off with one of his usual gruff remarks. But then he looked at you, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that caught you off guard—something unguarded, almost vulnerable.

"Why'd you…" he started, then shook his head, like he wasn’t sure how to ask the question. "No one’s ever really bothered to get me somethin’ like this," he admitted, his voice low and rough.

You took a step closer, your expression softening as you searched his eyes. "Well, I did," you said simply. "Because everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday, Logan. Even if you don’t think so."

He swallowed, the words throwing him off balance. He glanced down at the journal again, turning it over in his hands as though trying to understand what it meant. "I don’t know what to say," he muttered, the gruffness back in his tone as he tried to cover up the unfamiliar emotion creeping into his voice. "I ain’t exactly good at this… 'thank you' stuff."

You just smiled, a warmth spreading through you as you reached out and touched his arm, the contact grounding and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, Logan," you replied softly. "Just… try using it, okay?"

He nodded, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours again, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the classroom seemed to fade away. There was a change in the air, something unspoken passing between you—an understanding of the beginnings of something neither of you had quite figured out yet.

Logan cleared his throat, glancing away with a small, awkward shrug. "You’re somethin' else, you know that?" he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

"Good to know," you said with a playful glint in your eye. "Now, are you gonna keep standing there looking confused, or are you actually going to say 'thank you' like a normal person?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head as if to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for. "Thank you," he grumbled, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice. "Don’t know why you went to the trouble, but… I appreciate it."

You grinned, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

As you turned to leave the classroom, you glanced back over your shoulder, catching sight of Logan still standing there, his gaze fixed on the journal in his hands. His rough exterior seemed to soften, the hard lines of his face easing as he traced his thumb along the leather cover. There was a kind of quiet reverence in the way he held it, like he was trying to understand the weight of the gesture, what it meant to be remembered in this way.

You didn’t think much of it at the time—just a thoughtful gift, a small moment shared. But later you’d find out that the journal would become something he held onto, just like the lucky pen you had given him. It would stay tucked away in a drawer beside his bed, the pages slowly filling with musings and sketches, the cover worn from use and care.

It would become one of those little things that said more than words ever could—a quiet reminder that he was seen, and more than that, that he was cared for.

Omg where do I even begin😭 I just finished binge reading this story and all I gotta say is that this is the best thing I've read in a realllllyyyyyy long time! To a point where I was literally fighting back tears towards the end😩 The level of YEARNING that you so beautifully captured between Draco and Y/N is something that I've been longing to read for so long! Thank you so much for writing such a masterpiece and for feeding the hopeless romantic in me😍 I feel like the lovergirl in me went into hiding for a long time because of how shitty real-life romance can be. But stories like this one really feed my soul and make me feel all giddy inside. You deserve all the hugs in the world for reigniting this spark in me! THANK YOUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES MASTERLIST

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

“We start to find comfort in the strangest of places.”

The war has ended, and life is getting back to normal, or least supposed to be. For returning half-blood Ravenclaw Y/N Y/L/N, her only focus is to finally have a year without fear and uncertainty, until professor Slughorn asks her the question the rest of the room is dreading: “I trust you will be Mr Malfoy’s partner?”

Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts the same as any other past seventh year student. He wants to complete his education and ensure himself a good future, one better than his previous years, but there is one slight problem: he’s Draco Malfoy. For his family’s involvement in the war, Draco attends school feeling alienated and resented, spending most of his time alone and suffering his guilt in silence. When Y/N starts coming over to the manor, they begin a rocky work relationship, and often argue

After a small but grand gesture, they decided to become friends. Neither of them realise, however, it was about to get a whole lot more complicated than that.

Keep reading

I love how you depicted the complexity of Tom’s emotions🙌🏼 This was so fun to read!!

Hidden thoughts

Pairing: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

Summary: You're allowed to take a deep dive into Tom's mind for the first time because he'd never admit things out loud.

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, smut.

a/n: English is not my first language.

Tom Riddle is insatiable. For what, you don't think he even knows. Every time he comes, he demands more of you, soon there will be nothing left of you that he doesn't know inside out. But even that won't satiate him. It wouldn't satiate you, either. It's always push and pull. He's always there, lingering, and before you know it, he's coiled around you like the serpent he is, ready to suffocate you if you make a wrong move. His grip isn't painful in the least, but it's enough to bind you. He gently tugs your head back, compelling you to rest it against his shoulder. His velvety voice brushes against your ear:

-"Have you missed me today?"

-"Terribly" - you respond, as usual.

His eyes narrow, dark and unfathomable: "No need to lie to me."

You sigh: "But it's what I do best."

He spins you suddenly, turning you to face him, trapping you between his arms. His lips curl cruelly.

-"It’s not the only thing you excel at. You’re good at many things."

He brings his hand to your face, and though he gently brushes the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, there is nothing sweet about the gesture. He cups your chin, holding it firmly between his thumb and forefinger.

-"Being irritating foremost among them."

-"What is it that you want this time?"

Tom looks down at you, his gaze steady and unblinking. He tilts your head up a fraction, as if studying you from a new angle. The muscle in his jaw clenches, straining under his pale skin.

-"I want to know what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours."

His voice is cool, but there’s a hint of mockery beneath it. Nimble fingers drift from your chin, tracing a path up the side of your neck, his nails deliberately scratching you as he does.

You bring his hands to your temples, which isn't necessary for the spell to work - he can invade anyone's mind just fine with legilimency without touching, but the weight brings you some comfort as you let the occlumency fade away. A brief look of surprise flickers across his features at your gesture, but he doesn't move his hands away. Instead, his eyes search your expression, the touch of his hands becoming a gentle caress as he sifts through the layers of your thoughts. It's an intrusion, a violation of your most intimate thoughts, but it feels almost tender.

-"Interesting...", he murmurs to himself. One of his hands moves down, tracing the outline of your lips with his index finger.

-"You’ve been practicing. You aren't allowing me any further in."

He lets go of your head and your thoughts, the brief connection severed. He slowly takes a step back, his gaze still fixed on you. Something about the way you look at him⎯unguarded, open, unbothered by his intrusion into your mind⎯stirs something unfamiliar within him. It grates at his nerves, like a stone in his shoe when he's walking. He isn't used to you being so docile.

-"You could have shut me out if you wanted to. I can feel you holding back."

You tilt your head to aggravate him more: "I could've, but I didn't."

He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. He can’t help but fixate on your expression. You’re too calm, too collected for his liking. Tom can handle defiant you, rebellious you, even violent you. But he has no idea what to do with you like this.

-"Are you doing this on purpose? Acting like..." He motions with his hand, searching for words, "...this, just to rile me up?"

You inform him: "You're more honest when you're riled up."

He walks over to you again, prowling like a stalking cat. He stops just a few inches away, towering over you.

-"You’re not playing fair."

-"Neither of us ever do, my love." - You retort immediately.

You know the endearment hits him like a punch to the gut even if he never lets it show. He leans in, bringing his face close to yours. His breath is hot against your skin.

-"We’re not so different in that regard. I suppose the question is" ⎯He takes your chin in his hand, the pad of his thumb tracing the plump curve of your lower lip. "What are you planning?"

You lean against him: "Always analyzing. Always suspicious."

-"Can you blame me, when the subject before me is such a shifty, maddening creature?"

-"The subject before you is very fond of you. She'd like to receive it in return."

His hand slides from your chin, tracing the column of your throat. He feels your pulse beat faster under his touch, a soft flutter beneath his fingers. He leans even closer, bringing his nose to your temple, his lips grazing the shell of your ear⎯a gentle whisper of a kiss there. "She’ll have to earn it, first." He drops his hand, sliding it around your waist and pulling you against him.

You slump against him: "Don't be so cruel. My mind is restless today, as you've just seen."

Tom's arms wind around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He tilts your head back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and unwavering in their intensity. "Your mind is always restless, my dear. Are you looking for comfort today?"

You nod, resigned: "I'm hoping it might help."

-"Is that all you want? Usually, it takes more than that to quieten your mind."

Your head rolls to the side. He brings his hand up, tangling his fingers in your hair and keeping your head tilted back. He continues to kiss your neck, savoring the way your pulse quickens under his lips. He nips at a sensitive spot at the base of your throat, hard enough to draw a moan from you, almost in warning. His other hand slides down, tracing along the curve of your buttocks.

-"You’re being awfully sweet today, darling."

-"Don't get used to it."

He grins against your skin, his grip on you tightening, almost bruising. He moves his mouth lower, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone, his hand at your backside pulling you closer still as his lips graze your chest. "I wouldn’t dream of it." He continues his ministrations, deliberately slow and unhurried. He can feel your body responding to his touch, your breathing growing shallower, faster. You start to relax.

He slowly walks you back until you feel the edge of the grand piano press against your legs. Then, with a deft, forceful move, he sweeps you onto the lid. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading your legs apart as his lips find the exposed flesh of your shoulders. "Much better."

-"On the piano?" - You can't help but inquire.

"Mhm." He nips at the sensitive skin under your ear, a dangerous thrill coursing through him at your breathless response. He pushes himself between your legs, pulling your hips flush against his crotch as his lips make a slow, deliberate trail down your neck. "See? Perfect height."

You groan. He grins against your skin and pushes your legs even further apart, his strong thighs wedging themselves between yours. He rolls his hips, slowly, agonizingly slow, his fingers digging into your hipbones as he brings his lips back to your neck again, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh there. He brings his hands around, pushing the fabric of your dress out of the way. "What do you want, dove?"

-"You." You promise yourself not to beg him, as you do every time, even though if you end up breaking it more often than not.

He pushes the fabric of your dress up around your hips, his fingers slowly, teasingly tracing the inside of your thighs.

-"You’re going to have to be more specific."

-"I need you to touch me." You stop the 'please' before it slips out out of habit. This isn't about manners, it's about surrendering. You refuse to do it in a pathetic way.

He smiles, his fingers moving higher, closer to where you need him most. He kisses your neck softly, nipping at the sensitive spot under your ear. His hand slides further up, his thumb brushing against you through the thin material of your underwear. His voice, a low, sinful whisper: "Here?" He moves his hand higher, his fingers toying with the edge of your underwear. "And here?"

You snap: "Just take off the damn thing."

He leans back, watching you. A wicked look gleams in his eyes as he suddenly grips the fabric of your underwear and tears it away from your body with a sharp, fluid motion.

-"I was going to take my time with you. But I suppose I can be persuaded."

He can’t help but let out a low grumble of desire as you guide his hand to where you want it. He pushes his hips closer to yours, keeping you pinned against the piano. He slides a finger against you, slowly at first, before adding another. He brushes his mouth against your neck, biting down hard.

-"You’re so sweet when you’re behaving. I almost wonder if I should give you what you want."

-"Oh, that's good." You can only half-listen to him at this point.

His fingers curl inside you, seeking that sweet spot he knows will drive you insane. He keeps a steady, deliberate pace, his tongue darting out to trace the edge of your ear.

-"You’re being so good, dove. Tell me more. What do you want?"

-"Faster, please."

He almost smirks to himself at the pleading tilt in your voice. He obliges, his fingers moving faster, deeper. His free hand glides up from your hip, caressing your thigh, teasing you as his lips continue their assault against your neck.

-"Gods, you’re dripping, dove. You want me that much?"

-"You know I do. No need to be so smug about it, you..."

He tuts, adding a third finger. He wants to feel you clench around him, to hear the sweet sounds you make as he teases you right to the edge. His lips find yours, his kiss demanding. He bites your bottom lip, pulling away with a sinful smirk. "You’re being such a good girl today, dove. Keep it that way. No biting, no scratching, no insults. And I suppose a reward will be in order."

You mewl gratefully. He moves his mouth back to your neck, scraping his teeth over a sensitive spot there before moving lower, towards your chest. He pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way, his lips dancing over the soft, exposed flesh. He works his fingers relentlessly, intent on bringing you to the brink.

-"You taste so good, love. So sweet."

You never mention that he switches from dove to love during such moments. He'll stop if you give an acknowledgement, you're sure of it. Just as well. He never mentions that you sometimes call him Tommy while in a haze, either.

-"...I'm close...I can't..."

He lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle, his lips curving into a proud smirk against your neck. It's always a little victory for him. He moves a hand up, pulling your head back, exposing your neck to his lips again. "Yes, you can, dove. Let go."

You moan and writhe on the piano before settling a little in the hazy aftermath. He slowly withdraws his fingers, his breathing ragged as he tries to retain some composure. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you tight against his chest. His lips find your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

-"You're making this too bloody difficult for me, love."

You're unsure what he means but offer: "I can take you."

His grip around you tightens, his hand clenching on the flesh of your hip. His lips graze the shell of your ear, his voice a low murmur: "Here? On the piano?"

You shrug: "You said it was the perfect height."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes sweeping over your body as you lie back on the piano. You look delectable like this, spread out before him, a sight he has become all too familiar with. But your sweet, cooperative behaviour is something he isn’t used to. He wants to test how far your submission would go, how much you’d let him get away with. "Turn over."

You hesitate only for a second before turning over carefully on the sleek surface. He trails a hand slowly up your spine, his fingers tracing over the expanse of your back. "Good girl." He lets his touch roam further, caressing the curve of your buttocks and the top of your thighs, before moving back up to your hips. "Lift your hips."

He grips your hips, pulling you back towards him, his front flush against your back. He brushes his lips against the nape of your neck, his cock already straining against the confinements of his trousers.

-"Are you ready for me, love?"

-"Yes."

He groans at your obedient response, the last of his self-control snapping as he hastily unbuckles his belt and removes his clothes from waist down before driving himself into you. You inhale sharply. He moans, burying his face against your neck, nuzzling at the sensitive skin there as he sets a steady pace. The sound of his breath, laboured and uneven, washes over your body. He leans down, kissing your back, his hand sliding down to the dip in your lower back, pushing you deeper into him. "Fuck, you feel so good..."

You choke on a moan. He pushes a hand in your hair again, pulling on it to tilt your head so he can bite down your shoulder, his pace growing more relentless, less controlled. He gently shushes you when you whimper. "You can take it, dove...I know you can."

You brace yourself on the piano and he lets a low sound of approval. The sight of you, spread out before him on the black glossy surface, is something he wants to remember forever. He moves his hand from your hair, bringing it to his mouth, coating his fingers in his own saliva. He moves his hand down, bringing it around you again, his tongue darting out to taste your skin once more. He slides his fingers into your mouth, his voice a low murmur against your neck: "Suck."

You close my mouth around his fingers. He lets out a ragged breath and removes his hand, finding its way to the sensitive spot between your legs. "God, I love your mouth."

In any other circumstance, you'd chuckle, but his hips moving deep along with his fingers rubbing your clit makes it impossible. His mouth moves against your neck again, his tongue following the line as it works its way up to your ear. He kisses softly behind it, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers never ceasing their movement between your legs. You try to draw it out as long as you can before you reach the breaking point, but eventually...

-"Tommy..."

He lets out a shuddering breath at the sound of his name on your lips, a sound so sweet it’s almost obscene. He moves his body and readjusts the angle, his length hitting a spot that has you almost weeping from pleasure, he clenches his jaw to rein in the desire within him.

-"What do you want, love? Say the words."

-"Let me cum...please..."

His breathing hitches at the sound of those words, the sheer need in your voice going straight through him, shooting sparks of white-hot heat to his core. He buries his face against the back of your neck, his lips tracing your skin with a desperate hunger. His fingers move faster, rougher over you, the pace and the pressure designed to bring you right to the edge again.

-"Look at you, sweet girl. So needy for me. How can I say no to that?"

You gasp in relief, body almost convulsing. You tremble as the sensations wash over you, not being able to keep myself upright anymore. He steadies you with an arm around your stomach, gently easing you back down on the piano, his body hovering above yours. "That’s it. Fuck...that’s it." He lets out a shuddering moan as he finishes, bracing himself on the piano, above you. He lets his breath even out, his body still trembling slightly as he comes down from the high he’s been riding. After a few moments, he moves and lays down next to you, resting his head on your bare stomach. He lifts a hand, tracing his fingers slowly over your skin, a touch almost tender and reverent, so different from the rough way he touches you usually.

You rest your hand on his cheek. For a while, Tom stays like that, quiet, content, the only sound the soft, even breaths he takes. Finally, he opens his eyes, his dark gaze meeting yours. He studies your face quietly, taking in every little detail. Your eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, your flushed cheeks, your messy hair, your parted lips. Tom feels the tangle of strange emotions that’s settling in his chest, constricting, almost uncomfortable, but he's somewhat gotten used to it at this point, and he’d loathe to break the moment.

His hand tightens around yours as he watches you watch him. Tom can’t help but notice the quiet, tender expression on your face. It makes him uneasy, in a way. The look in your eyes... It almost makes him want to squirm.

-"Why do you look at me like that?"

-"Like what?"

-"Like that. All soft and fond. Why?"

-"How else would I look at you." It was more of a statement, even if it was phrased as a question.

Tom's eyes narrow slightly, his frown deepening at your response. He’s still unaccustomed to the gentle, tender thing in your eyes. He’s still not used to the way his heart clenches a little when he looks at the soft smile on your lips. He hates that he welcomes the the warm, syrupy sweetness in his chest, the strange fluttering sensation the sight of you makes him feel. All these things he tried to forsake but ended up wanting more of, like the greedy, foolish weakling he was.

-"What do you mean?"

You look down at his disheveled, unguarded face, lying on your stomach. "What else do you think I'd rather look at like this?"

Another frown. He’s used to being the one to unravel you, to render you a panting mess at his mercy. He’s not sure how to handle the sweet, honest words that you’re saying. He’s not sure how to react to the flutter of his heart that your words cause, so he does the only thing he knows how to:

-"You must be in a right state of mind if you’re spouting lies."

You swallow several sharp responses and make sure to stop guarding your mind with occlumency for a moment and catch his gaze. He meets your eyes, noticing the lack of barriers in your mind. He studies your expression carefully, almost expectantly, as if looking for trickery or deception. Instead of what he’s looking for, though, all he sees is earnestness, honesty. It disarms him. His expression becomes tighter than before, and he looks away. "You mean that."

You contain a sigh. "Of course." It's not easy with him. But you know it's not easy with you either. It's not easy with either of you. Yet it's somehow never too difficult, too heavy, too draining either. It’s sweet, but it’s terrifying.

His fingers are still laced with yours, tight to the point of pain. "You…you say these odd things on purpose."

You correct him softly: "Not odd, right."

You sit up and take his face in your hands. You tap a finger on his forehead. "Open up." You gently push with legilimency.

Tom frowns up at you but obeys anyway, lowering the barriers in his mind. He can’t help the small jolt of surprise when he feels the brush of your thoughts against his own. You glide through his mind as carefully as you can, trying to calm it instead of sharply prodding as you'd do when if you needed to invade someone's thoughts.

He’s quiet, almost tense, as you move through his thoughts, unused to the feeling of someone being in his brain. Your gentle touch, like the light flutter of a bird’s feathers, slowly starts to soothe the agitation and unease that’s been gnawing at him. Against his best efforts, he leans into your touch, almost instinctively.

You try to focus on the feelings he mostly feels around you. As you move through his thoughts, you find yourself enveloped in a tangle of messy, conflicting emotions. He’s had a lifetime of practice in controlling and concealing his feelings, but with you, things get… chaotic. There’s an intoxicating mixture of desire, possessiveness, protectiveness, frustration, anger, need, and affection. A dizzying array of unfamiliar, unidentifiable feelings, all triggered by your presence in his mind. You push at the unfamiliar ones. You feel Tom resist at first, pushing back instinctively, his mind trying to slam up the barriers. When he realizes what you’re doing, though, he lets them down, his thoughts and emotions spilling across to you. You feel an unexpected rush of satisfaction from him as he realizes that you’re genuinely interested in what he’s feeling. He pushes a little of the unfamiliar feelings to the forefront, allowing you to explore deeper. Tom pushed a happy memory of you in front, of a recent Christmas. Deceiving little...You put the memory aside, going deeper.

As you go deeper, your mind is assaulted by a maelstrom of images and feelings - some fragmented, others as clear as if they were happening right now. There’s flashes of memories - you, your face, your body, your smile, your touch - but mostly, there’s intense, raw emotions. A need for you that’s almost desperate, a protectiveness that borders on obsession, an affection so sharp it’s almost painful.

You latch on the affection and go further. The raw, intense affection comes to the forefront again, powerful enough to make your heart skip a beat. As you explore deeper, you come across another, similar, yet different feeling - a kind of fondness, gentler and quieter than the former, almost as if he’s hesitant to acknowledge it. It’s there, though, in his subconscious, buried deep and tangled up with a myriad of other feelings. All just for you. You hesitate after encountering the gentle fondness, not knowing which direction to search for. What were you hoping to encounter? Love? This was probably the closest thing to love he could feel. You almost didn't want to search further, doubt creeping in that you'd come up empty.

You sense a flicker of understanding pass through the chaos in his mind. He knows you’re searching for something, and he’s almost… resigned, as he realizes what it probably is. Despite the resignation, there’s a little spark of hope, a small, unexpected ember of something he never even dared to contemplate before. The hope fades, though, replaced by the usual tangle of feelings. After a moment, you feel him push a thought gently into your mind. You catch the thought, curious. He’s being careful to keep the thought quiet so as not to distract you from your exploration of his emotions, but you catch the edge of his thought all the same. It’s a simple question - Can I show you? - as well as a reluctant feeling of uncertainty. Your agreement comes in stopping exploration and waiting where he'd lead you.

You feel something shift, and then there's a strange sensation, like you're moving through his thoughts. You’re suddenly in a memory, watching the scene unfold as if you’re watching a film. You see an image of yourself, sitting at the piano. You look content and relaxed, playing a soft, melancholy tune, completely absorbed in the music. The memory seems to be from his perspective, and there’s an inexplicable feeling of peace and comfort emanating from his thoughts as he watches you, an affectionate smile on his face.

This can't be it, you think. This moment was nothing special. For all his past resistance to it, he felt love there? Doubt seeped out of you again. There was another brief flash of thoughts, almost like communication between his conscious mind and your own - It is. This moment is important. Just watch and see. The memory continues, and you watch as you finish playing the last notes of the piece. A smile graces your lips, and it’s as if a light goes on inside him, as if the sight of your smile is the most beautiful thing he’s seen. There’s affection, admiration, but mostly, there’s…love. Deep, intense love.

It's almost enough to make you lose focus and and grasp of the memory. He keeps pushing you forward, sending you through another memory, this one more recent. But it’s blurry around the edges, as if the memories have already faded a little. It’s a night you fell asleep together in his bed, tangled in each other, limbs intertwined, your head laying on his chest. You look peaceful and content as you sleep, and as he looks down at you, a surge of affection and love fills his mind, the feeling washing over you like a wave. It's overwhelming. You sense him take a moment to gather himself as he continues, sending you through another - this one is more recent, much clearer. It’s the other night, when he’d woken you up in the middle of the night, pulling you out of a nightmare. He’d held you, wrapping you up in his arms as you shivered, your head tucked under his chin. He’d whispered soothing words into your hair, reassuring you, even as you clung to him tight, your hands tangled in his shirt. He’d whispered: "I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe".

He moves you through another memory - this one from a few nights ago, when you’d sat with him in the garden, the warm night breeze rustling your hair. You’d been laughing, telling him about something you’d read in your book. You looked carefree and beautiful, your happiness and mirth palpable in the air, and as he watched you, his mind is filled with a mix of protectiveness, affection, and love. He’d been completely enthralled by the sight of you, hanging on to your every word. Your heart soars. He shows you another recent one. It’s of breakfast this morning, a mundane moment. You’re sitting across the table from him, eating quietly, your eyes drifting thoughtfully out the window, when he looks up from his food to watch you. There’s a small, fond smile on his face as his eyes rake over your features, taking in every little detail. As he looks at you like that, there’s a peaceful feeling that fills his chest, a tender, quiet sort of love, one that’s so deep and powerful, you can almost drown in it.

You feel yourself slipping away from his mind. Snapping back to reality is jarring. You realize tears have been falling down your cheeks. Almost startled, you wipe them away. Tom's face is carefully neutral, but it’s not hard to see the raw, vulnerable feeling in his gaze. He hasn’t said anything, but it’s clear that your reaction matters to him. For a moment, he just looks at you, his mind carefully shielded, giving you no indication of what he’s thinking.

You let out a breath: "I love you so much."

His breath catches. He studies your face intensely, searching for any sign of insincerity, but your eyes are clear and honest, your expression unguarded. After a moment, he nods slightly, accepting the words without arguing, though he doesn’t say the words back. Instead, he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer, his arms encircling your body as he buries his face against the crook of your neck.

Eventually, you mumble: "We should get off the piano."

With some reluctance, he pulls away, shifting back from the piano. He stands up, holding a hand out to help you off. You climb down. He steadies you as you stumble against him, your legs still feeling shaky. He can’t bring himself to let go immediately though, one hand on your waist, the other on your shoulder, as if making sure you don’t fall over. When he finally does pull away, there’s a small frown on his face. The vulnerability earlier has disappeared, replaced by a more familiar, impassive, unreadable expression.

You kiss his cheek in thanks. He’s silent as you do so, his expression still guarded, but there’s a slight, almost imperceptible tensing in his jaw as if he’s trying to keep himself from reacting. After a moment, his hand comes up to your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet his gaze. You peck him on the lips. He doesn’t react at first, staying still like a statue. It only lasts a moment, though, and then he’s wrapping an arm around your waist, drawing you against him, pulling you flush against his chest. His hand grips your jaw, the other tight at your waist, holding you close. He kisses you hungrily, passionately, almost desperately, like he’s trying to pour all his mixed feelings into the kiss. Then as if nothing has happened, he straightens up and murmurs: "We should clean up." He draws his wand and the residue of earlier activity disappears off the piano.

He watches as you put your dress back on, his eyes tracing over your bare legs, then trailing up your body to where your dress still shows evidence of your earlier passion, the hem of your skirt slightly wrinkled. After a moment, he clears his throat.

You look up: "Yes?"

He keeps his voice carefully neutral, trying not to let the desire in his eyes bleed through his words. He nods at your disheveled appearance: “You look a little unkempt, my dear.”

You scoff: "Oh, apologies, darling. Perhaps you should assist in bathing me."

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face, obviously not expecting that response. He strides over to you, closing the distance between you in a few quick steps. "It’d be my pleasure."

You slide away from him before he can grab you and dart to the bathroom. He lets out a huff, watching as you practically run away, bemused. He considers chasing you, but then he realises you’re heading to the bathroom, and he follows you instead.

Note: I didn't mean to violate a piano but a couch would be too boring and I didn't want to condemn the Reader to crawl on the floor in this one. This is my first time publishing smut so grant me some mercy, I'm very embarrassed.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Y/N wanders alone, only to be suddenly cornered by Tom Riddle. Attempting to intimidate her, Tom’s dark presence looms, but Y/N meets his intensity with unexpected ease giggling and teasing him instead of fear. She acknowledges the monster within him but reveals she’s never turned away.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Thought about this while on masktok lol...

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The corridor was quiet, the air thick with a stormy kind of tension. A flicker of magic pulsed through the castle walls, and Y/N walked leisurely, humming faintly under her breath.

She turned a corner and nearly yelped when a hand grabbed her wrist.

In one swift move, she was spun and pressed against the cold stone, her back to the wall and Tom Riddle looming over her like a shadow made flesh.

His hand braced beside her head, his body angled just close enough to be overwhelming. His eyes sharp, unreadable, dark with something unspoken searched hers.

“What are you doing out here alone?” he asked, his voice low, catching her in the corridor’s quiet stretch.

“Just wandering,” she replied softly, fingers trailing along the stone wall. “Clears my head.”

His eyes narrowed, tone sharper now. “You should be more careful.”

“I have you,” she said innocently. “Aren’t you the scariest thing in this castle?”

His jaw ticked slightly. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“You think this is a game?” he said lowly, his voice edged with steel as he leaned in, shadow swallowing the space between them. “Look at me, Y/N. You forget what I am.”

She blinked up at him, lips quirking.

Then she giggled.

Actually giggled.

“I think,” Y/N said, voice like silk, “you try to hide how much of a monster you really are… but you forget—” she leaned in, her breath brushing his lips, “I never looked away.”

He looked at her then not like a predator, not like the calculating boy most feared but with something wild and reverent in his eyes. Like she was something fleeting. Something precious.

That look always gave her butterflies.

“You can’t scare me,” she whispered, reaching up and gently smoothing a wrinkle in his collar.

Then, just as he tried to recover from that look in her eyes, she leaned forward on tiptoe, pecked him quickly on the lips, and smiled.

“Good try, love,” she whispered.

And then cool as anything she slipped from between him and the wall and strolled off down the corridor, hips swaying.

Tom stood there, stunned and blinking.

And blushing.

He touched his lips absently, eyes fixed on her retreating form like she might disappear if he looked away.

His love.

His undoing.

And Merlin help him—his entire world.

Vetiver.

Tom Riddle

Sumarry:: Tom Riddle steals more than laundry — and his roommate isn’t letting it slide. Slow burn, quiet tension, and things getting heated fast.

Warnings::18+,smut, the absurdity of Tom Riddle doing laundry

Tom Riddle rarely believed in feelings. He never really experienced any affection from anyone in his childhood. And sometimes he couldn't even name what he was feeling. But most importantly–he didn't understand weekness.

But there was something about you… something quiet and intangible that slowly, relentlessly, unraveled all his defenses. Something that couldn't quite put his finger on.

It couldn't have been your words — you didn't speak much in the begging — being too occupied in hating each other.

It wasn’t your gaze — you never held it long.

It was your scent.

Something strange, earthy, smoky-sweet. Like freshly damp soil or a forest just before a storm. Vetiver, he had once named it silently. Not perfume — something more. Something that came not from a bottle, but from skin. From air. From corners of a room no one looked into.

You had been his roommate for six weeks now. A mistake in housing assignments had put you together. Supposedly temporary. But no one corrected it, and neither of you asked for a change.

At first, he merely tolerated you. You annoyed him with your pure existence.

Then… he started to notice you. Really notice you. Small things that perhaps no one else would.

The way you tied your hair up. The quiet, focused expression you wore when reading. Those mornings when you barely greeted him — but always made his tea just the way he liked it.

And of course the scent.

It was everywhere. On the couch you curled up on. On the books you touched. In the air you both breathed.

Sometimes Tom felt like he was going mad. There was no escaping your stupid scent. He even thought that maybe you poisoned him with Amortenia. But he found no evidence of that.

But the nights… the nights were the worst.

Beyond the wall — so close he could almost hear your breathing — you sometimes… lived. Quiet sighs. A subtle shift. The sheets rustling faintly. And then the silence that followed. Hot, guilty, suffocating.

At first, Tom never moved. Couldn't quite believe what he has just heard. Just stared at the ceiling. Every muscle taut, holding himself back.

But one night he gave in. Gave in to the aching in his sinful body.

One hand on his body, the other gripping the pillow. Your scent like smoke wrapping around him, clinging to his skin. He imagined you— you curling under the sheets, your lip between your teeth, eyes fluttering shut as you slipped into another world.

And Tom followed you.In silent, repressed pleasure that no one else would ever see.

He woke with guilt every time.

But you only smiled at him in the mornings. As if you knew something.

He needed time to understand everything that had happened – that's how he found himself doing laundry. The fiflthy muggle way.

As the days went by he notices a misplaced shirt of yours.The next time,it was a pair of socks. Tiny things. But Tom began to notice. To look for them.

And finally, one afternoon, he found it.

Silk.

Dark, elegant, lace-trimmed. It slid between his fingers like water. His body reacted before his mind had even caught up to what he was holding.

And the scent…

Still there. Deeper than ever.

He knew he should return it. But instead…

He hid it.

Under his pillow.

That night, he didn’t wait. Didn’t listen. Didn’t hope for anything beyond the wall. He simply lay there, with the silk in his hand, and surrendered to instinct. Desperate, urgent movements. Her name whispered into the dark. Her scent filling the air, flooding his senses, sinking into his bones.

When it was over, he heard something. A soft sound. A door. A step.

Maybe he imagined it.

Maybe… not.

The next morning, she smiled again. Handed him tea. Their fingers brushed.

Tom didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

The silk remained under his pillow, warmed by the heat of his shame. The scent of her clung to his fingertips, more potent than any perfume, more damning than any sin.

He’d tried to tell himself it was harmless. A moment of weakness. A private indulgence. No one had seen. No one knew.

And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling. The air in the flat was heavier than usual. Quiet, yes—but not the comfortable kind. It was the quiet that came before something broke.

Then—

A knock.

Soft. Barely audible. Like she wanted him to think she might walk away if he didn’t answer.

He stood before he could stop himself. The door creaked open. She stood there in a loose shirt that dipped just slightly off one shoulder, and bare legs beneath it.

His shirt.

He recognized it instantly.

A deliberate choice.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly.

Tom said nothing. He simply stepped aside. She walked in slowly, her gaze flicking across the room, assessing. Not nervous—curious. Like a cat that knew exactly where the mouse was hiding.

She sat on the edge of his bed, fingers trailing over the duvet. Her expression unreadable.

“Did you find something of mine earlier?” she asked, so casually he nearly flinched.

His throat felt dry. “I—”

“You were doing laundry,” she interrupted, tilting her head slightly. Her voice still calm. “And I’ve been missing something.”

She let the pause settle like smoke in the air.

Tom watched her like prey, unsure if he should run or kneel.

“What exactly are you implying?” he asked, voice carefully measured.

“I’m not implying,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m asking.”

There it was—challenge. Her power didn’t come in raised voices or anger. It came in quiet knowing, in control so perfect it became cruel.

He considered lying. Denying. Laughing it off. But his body betrayed him—hands clenched, heart racing, eyes betraying far too much.

She stood. Walked toward him slowly. And when she spoke again, her voice had dropped a note deeper, rougher.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was close now. So close he could smell her again—vetiver and heat. His undoing.

And then—without hesitation—her fingers reached beneath his pillow. Found it.

She pulled the silk out slowly. Held it between two fingers like something delicate. Precious.

“You kept it,” she said. Not surprised.

He said nothing.

She stepped closer, the garment still in hand. “And what did you do with it?”

He swallowed.

She smiled. But there was no softness in it. Only dark promise.

“Did you think of me when you wrapped your hand around yourself?” she whispered. “Did you picture how I sounded? How I touched myself on the other side of that wall?”

Tom’s breath hitched.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Do you want me to show you?”

That broke him.

In an instant, he grabbed her waist and pushed her back against the wall. Their mouths met like a clash of hunger, desperate and bruising. She gasped into him, and that sound alone nearly undid him.

His hands found her thighs, lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped around him like she was meant to be there—soft, hot, and dangerous. Her nails dragged over the nape of his neck, her mouth messy on his jaw, his throat.

“I thought about you,” he growled, pressing her harder into the wall. “Every night.”

“I know.”

He carried her to the bed, laid her down like something sacred and wicked all at once. She pulled his shirt off, dragged her fingers across his bare chest with a low hum of approval.

He slipped the silk strap from her shoulder, then another. She watched him with half-lidded eyes, breathing shallow, daring him to worship her.

And he did.

His mouth mapped her collarbone, her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach. Every inch he kissed like it had haunted him. Every sound she made spurred him further. When he finally touched her where she needed him most, her back arched, and she moaned his name—not shy, not sweet. Possessive.

“Tom,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He moved like he had memorized her, as if every sigh and whimper guided him closer. His fingers, his mouth, his hips—all hers now. She came undone beneath him, and he followed soon after, the taste of her name on his tongue.

When it was over, she curled beside him. Sweat cooling. Breath slowing.

And in the silence, she took the silk from where it had fallen… and slipped it beneath his pillow again.

“You can keep it,” she said with a sly smile.

“Next time,” she added, brushing her lips against his neck,

“don’t make me come get it myself.”

I’m cheesing so hard rn🤭🤭 So perfectttt

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - When Y/N receives a mysterious rose in the Great Hall, Tom Riddle seethes at the thought of an unknown admirer attempting to claim his girl. That night, he makes his move—filling her dorm with sunflowers, signing his name boldly, and ensuring she knows exactly who truly deserves her heart.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - needed a break from writing Riddles Take Hogwarts and the Looking Glass fics. Don't get me wrong I love writing them but wanted to write someting with Tom x Y/N at hogwarts.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, students indulging in breakfast while owls swooped in, delivering letters and packages from home.

Y/N sat among her friends at the Slytherin table, enjoying a piece of toast when an owl gracefully descended in front of her, dropping a single red rose onto her plate.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she picked up the delicate flower, her cheeks instantly flushing with warmth. A secret admirer? Her friends leaned in with wide grins, whispering excitedly, but Y/N could only stare at the rose in surprise. Who could have sent it?

Across the table, Tom Riddle’s fingers curled slightly around his fork, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. His dark eyes flickered to the rose in her hands, the color standing out starkly against her fingertips. A single red rose. How utterly pathetic.

He barely concealed his sneer as he muttered, just loud enough for his friends to hear, "Pathetic."

Draco, seated beside him, smirked knowingly. "Jealous, Riddle?"

Tom scoffed, taking a calculated sip of his tea. "Hardly," he murmured, already formulating his next move. Whoever had sent that miserable excuse of a gift clearly didn't know Y/N—not the way he did.

That night, as the castle settled into its usual quiet, Tom made sure Y/N would never have to question who truly knew her best.

When she returned to her dorm, she barely managed to open the door before being greeted with a sight that stole her breath away—sunflowers. Bouquets upon bouquets of golden sunflowers filled the entrance, their bright petals practically glowing in the dim candlelight.

Her friends shrieked with excitement, their voices blending into a flurry of admiration and envy.

"Merlin, Y/N! Who—?"

"This is so romantic!"

"You can't even get through the door!"

Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding as her fingers found the small envelope nestled between the bouquets. Carefully, she opened it, her breath hitching when she saw the signature at the bottom.

"T.M.R."

Her lips parted in shock as realization dawned. Tom.

Unlike her so-called secret admirer from earlier, Tom knew. He knew she disliked receiving gifts in public, that she preferred the intimacy of private gestures. He knew roses weren’t her favorite flowers—sunflowers were. And most importantly, he had the confidence to sign his name, making sure she knew exactly who had sent them.

As she entered the common room, still reeling, her gaze locked onto his. Tom sat by the fire, his usual smirk gracing his lips, eyes glinting with triumph. He had planned this perfectly.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm as she clutched the note in her hands. Tom simply arched a brow, as if daring her to say something.

She didn’t need to.

He had already won.

I’m such a hopeless romantic omggggg🥹🥹 I loved thisssssss!!!

saw u write for harry potter i dont know if u do but could you write something about draco malfoy i find very little on tumblr of draco x reader thank youu

when you know, you know

draco malfoy x reader

fluff

a/n: send more request for harry potter characters pls loves

summary: a rare potion reveals Draco the name of the love of his life, and, after seeing his reaction, you are eager to know more about how he's made it (and who it is).

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

It was sad being alone this very day, but you told yourself he would be back home as early as he could. 

You decided to wander through your house as you waited upon his arrival. The thought of seeing his greeting smile already made you overjoyed as you browsed through your messy room.

Your eyes stumbled upon something. It was utter boredom that gave you the urge to open your memories' trunk. It was yours and his secret trunk, filled of things that you didn’t use nor see ever, but you hold them so dear you weren’t able to let go of. 

You opened it and a small wrapped box greeted you. You remembered not seeing that before. But again, it had been a very long time. Curiosity got the best of you, and you proceeded to unwrap it gently. 

And there it was. A simple little flask. A piece of glass so ordinary to everyone. Everyone but you, him, and the walls of Hogwarts potion classroom… 

“What?!” you blurt. 

“I’m telling you, Y/N. Lena from fourth grade has made it!”

“How would a 14-year-old accomplish to make The Curious Hoax? It is known to be nearly impossible.”

Saoirse leans in, a cunning smile blooming in her face. “Exactly,” she whispers in your ear. “Nearly impossible.”

The Curious Hoax. But how?

“Students!” Professor Slughorn cuts your wondering instantly. You and the rest of the students follow his instructions, stepping into the Potions Classroom. “That’s it. Take your books. Careful, Ron!”

Lost in your thoughts, you look around. The room never seems to lose its charm. Cold and old stone walls isolate you from the warm Hogwarts you remember. It is nice, though. You’ve always appreciated the magical spell these shelves filled with all types of jars and potions have on you. 

“But how? I mean - you spoke to her, what are the steps?” you ask eagerly. The Curious Hoax had always been your priority goal since you’ve heard of it. It wasn’t only the rareness of the potion that called you to it. The reason of your interest was far more humiliating.

Your friend knows that. “Ah - you are now so interested, huh? Will you tell me why?” Saoirse asks mockingly. “Come on, let’s make a deal.”

“A deal about what?” You turn to the brusque voice next to you. 

Him, of course.

“Draco,” you say plainly, disgust running your tongue as you speak. 

But he takes no offense. The blonde boy turns to you, pride and sharpness in his piercing stare. “Y/N” You’ve never known if it’s simply the thrill of hearing your name out of his lips that sends your heartbeat to a high, or if it’s the sweetness in the tone he uses that confuses your heart. 

That is not the matter to worry about. Now, the only thing that matters is winning him.

“Oh, here they go again with the staring contest. What are you - eleven?” Saoirse asks, rolling her eyes and making Blaise chuckle. Draco turns to the joyful sound in an instant, giving a stern look to his friend. 

“You’ve lost,” you taunt with a grin once Draco turns to you. 

His eyes kill you with their intensified anger. “Shut up, Potter.”

You bite your lips, trying not to slap him. Or strangle him. 

Or poison him.

Your jaw is rigid with anger as you lock your eyes with him. It is a call to challenge. To defiance.To temptation.

“Oh, here they go again,” your friend complains. “Stop that already, Slughorn is talking.” You both ignore Saoirse. “Guys. Draco and Y/N will you please stop that.”

“Let them,” Blaise tells her teasingly. You take a mental note to gossip with Saoirse about the smoldering glace his given her. She’s been head over heels for the boy ever since you two were sorted to slithering six years ago and took a seat next to him. Him and Draco.

“You looked away,” Draco states, sneering. “You. Lose.”

You breathe deep, holding back the slap your body aches to give him. “Shut up, will you.”

“You shut up.”

“No. You shut up, Malfoy.”

“Shut up, the both of you!” Soirse yells. “You act like kids, I swear.” You watch in shock as the whole class turns to her rants. But she doesn’t seem to care as she angrily turns to Draco. “She was just asking about The Curious Hoax, because she’s spent her whole live daydreaming about the love of her life! Now shut up already!” And she stops right there, her eyes wide open, moving to find yours in instant regret as she realizes what she's confessed. “So that is that,” she mumbles, almost inaudibly.

You know you look visibly flushed as your eyes dart around, trying to hide your embarrassment. But acknowledging every set of eyes on you doesn’t help one bit. 

But what certainly doesn’t help is the obscurity in Draco’s face. “Ah, well - what an even more pathetic thing you turn to be.”

“Watch your mouth,” your friend barks in your defense.

“What? She can be this stupid, but I can’t comment on it?” he says. There’s still in his face a darkness you can’t quite understand. He is not being mean for mere rudeness. He is truly angry. But why for? 

You feel chocked up, your eyes on the verge of tears. No words in your personal defense seem to escape the chains of your throat. 

But someone unexpected is there for you. “Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn says in a scolding voice. “What is exactly so pathetic in the will to make such an extraordinary potion? A potion that could reveal the one true love of the maker. Could you explain to the whole class, please?”

Draco is silent, anger with a hint of humiliation in his stupid face. 

“No?” the professor asks, monetarily turning to give you a friendly wink. You smile slightly, the pressure of before, now less crushing. “Then I take you appreciate its value all the same as your classmate, Y/N?”

“I-” the boy starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Very well. Then, I have great news for you.” He turns to the class and adds, “Today, Mr. Malfoy will be the first to try it.”

Said boy swallows audibly. “Try what?” he hurries to ask. 

“Why - Making The Curious Hoax, of course,” he says evidently. 

“But-”

“Great! First, go take the cherry leafs…” 

… 

It’s been about ten minutes of Draco following obediently every Slughorn instruction in front of the class. A bit of ‘take this, put this, mix that’ and now, “The final step…” the professor said, happiness irradiating from him as a result of his love for this subject. 

You don’t know what surprised you more. How okay, even happy, Draco is with doing this, or that the potion is simple as this. You were told only a few people had succeeded in making it, but there he was Draco, one last step from making it.

You wonder, is he nervous? Excited to know who is the love of his life? 

You are. Of course, not for who is his love. Of course. You are nervous to find out yours.

“I must tell you,” Slughorn says to all. “The last step may seem frustrating to the ones who reach with their hand for the top of the mountain, yet happen to be farther than what they had expected.”

You watch Draco sight at the professor’s enigmatic words. The truth is, you had been watching him very carefully. It is not often that he was concentrated enough to not pay attention to your curious eyes set on him. And it is quite an opportunity and relief to be free to watch him from afar with no mean words coming your way. 

It is simply a relief to look at him, so lost in his inner world. 

“What is the last step, professor Slughorn?” the Weasley boy asks.

“Well,” he replies absentmindedly. “Once the ingredients are mixed, you must write on an ordinary piece of paper the name of the love of your life. Who you think it is. Only the correct answer will lead to the making of the potion.”

Surprised and disappointment fill the classroom and your heart.

“I don’t understand,” you say. “Then the potion makes no sense: You must know the very same thing you want to learn from the potion. If you knew already who the love of your life is, you wouldn’t need the potion in the first place.”

“Exactly.” Slughorn gives you a knowing smile. “The curious Hoax, Ms. Y/N. It is a hoax.”

You look around confused, but stop when you find his eyes on you. Draco immediately looks away, flushed, almost hiding from you.

Could today’s class turn out more odd?

“Then what’s the stupid point in making it?” Blaise asks. 

You realize Draco hasn’t said a word in complaint yet, which is shocking. Is he really interested in knowing his true love?

“Well, even being conscious about this last step, many wizards have spent years trying to make it, trying name after name, and the one’s that have made it claim that the potion is worth everything.”

“Professor,” your friend says. “I’ve heard that if you drink the Potion once it changes color, you will see your happiest memory with your love.”

“That I've heard before - yes. But I fear you shall check it for yourselves. Now, everyone around a table! You know the steps.”

“We are all going to try to make The Curious Hoax?” Ron asks in disbelief.

“Yes, of course, Ron, or do you expect to find out by me telling you who she is?” Slughorn asks playfully as he glances visibly to the girl next to Ron. Nor him or the now blushed girl, Hermione, miss that look. 

Everyone takes place and starts with the making. You try to keep some distance, but your curiosity makes you pick a spot on the table close to Draco. He seems determined to not look your way.

You don’t give much thought to that. The priority now is succeeding in this. You’ve always wanted to know who the love of your life is. Now you have the answer right in front of you. 

The little cauldron is almost entirely filled, every ingredient you’ve meticulously thrown into and mixed have now given their results. But not the ultimate result. The potion must turn blue to indicate it is well. And it will only turn blue if you throw into it the correct name.

Of all the people who could be, how on earth would you be able to guess. You realize soon, it will be impossible to make the potion go blu-

“Look! Draco’s made it! His potion’s turned blue!”

What.

You quickly look up to him. But he’s already staring your way. Eyes wide open in surprise, just like yours. Of course, guessing who his love is must have left him crazy. Making one of the most difficult potions must have left him crazy. 

This time, not like the others, his eyes don’t move. Like your staring games, he’s just there., looking at you as if the world around him was no more. 

“Very well done, Mr. Malfoy!” Slughorn congratulates. “Great! Great.” He grabs a simple little flask and starts puting the potion inside carefully. “And… here you go. Consider yourself a very lucky boy, Draco. Not many in this world will have the opportunity to visit their happiest memory as you do.” And he hands the flask to the boy.

But his eyes are still on you. And yours are still on him.

Eventually, the whispers of surprise and disbelief of your classmates subside, and you chose to seize the calmness to walk to him.

“How?” you ask Draco. Most of the class had given up on the Potion. You were nearly about to. “How have you done it?”

He’s oddly silent, not even looking at you. He stares at the flask in between his hands. He hadn't drunk it yet. Maybe he didn’t want to. 

“Draco,” you call, and it’s almost like pleading. At that, he moves his timid eyes to you. He is acting so weird. Was the truth of the Curious Hoax so heavy on a person?

“I just - I just did it. I wrote a name, and it worked.”

“What? Just one name?” you ask, even more shocked that what you were seconds ago. “How did you - what?”

He sighs, looking down at the flask again, gone into his inner world. 

“Draco, please. It is the thing I most want. To know it myself. To make this potion.”

He looks up, finding your eyes with such gentleness it makes your breath caught. “Y/N.” Again, that sweetness in his tone. But now, more genuine, more vulnerable. 

“What?” you persisted eagerly. “What is it, then?”

He is silent for some seconds, then he puts his flask in a pocket of his uniform and moves to leave. You swiftly grab his arm before he’s able to. 

He says no word as he turns to look at your hand touching his skin. He says nothing as he absentmindedly lifts his hand up to yours, and almost like in a tender caress, traces its knuckles. It’s different from any touch you’ve felt.

Then he closes his fingers over the back of your hand and pulls it gently away. He doesn’t let it go as he takes a step closer to you. He is so close. So close. You watch his dark pupils, realizing you have no need to give a step back. Only an urge to take one closer. But you would be too close. 

You feel his warm breath before he closes his mouth, as if he was trying to suppress words trying to get out of his lips.

So you try to push him. “Tell me,” you whisper, and it’s so tender and soft it seems to convenience him.

“Y/N…”

He doesn’t continue, so you plead,” Please. Tell me, Draco.”

“I just knew exactly what to write on that paper.”

“But how?” you question.

His lips curved into a timid smile. Never had you seen him so… you don’t even have words to describe it. 

“You just know, Y/N.”

“Draco…” you start, still not satisfied with the ambiguous answer.

“When you know, you know.”

And then he manages to smoothly slip away from you, walking away. But then he stops and turns.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you say, trying to understand his odd behavior. Trying to understand the smile on his face. 

“Please, tell me when you know. Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

Tears run through your cheeks once the memories flow back to that little flask. That day. This flask. Draco.

Draco.

“You’ve found it,” your husband says, and you quickly turn to him. 

Draco is at the door of your bedroom, staring at you as if waiting for your reaction. The flask, it was his birthday present to you. 

“And here I was, thinking you would never find it there,” he tries to joke, but you clearly see he is nervous.

“Draco…” you whisper, but you are not able to form words. So you run to hug him. He catches you, firm arms wrapping around your waist. “My love, I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your surprise," you mumble.

“So do you like it, love? And no, you did not ruin anything.” 

“Like it?” You move to look at him, making him see in your face how grateful you are. How much you love him. “Draco it’s perfect. You - you’ve kept it all these years.”

He smiles sweetly. “Y/N, that potion. When I drank it - I saw this. You and me, today. I saw myself holding you just like this, watching your beautiful face like you were the only thing in this world. I saw that when I was at a terrible point in my life, and it gave me strength to keep going. Seeing your eyes watching me as if you loved me, it told me life was worth living, it told me great things were to come. You were to come.”

Tears well in your eyes again at his words. “I was already there, remember?” you joke, grinning despite your wet cheeks. 

Draco smiles lovingly as he wipes your tears. “I remember, my love. You were always there, and I always knew - somewhere in my heart, I always knew it was you.”

-Chacters by J K Rowling

This is not proofread yet, but i wanted to post itttt. now lets talk: IVE JUST WRITTEN MY FIRT DRACO FIC WHAAAAT. im so happy, and expecting to write more harry potter characters yeees. plsss send more requests for harry potter, speacialy for short fics :) hope you like this one, and the rest to come. loveyaa.

Omg the longing and lifetimes of finding your lover only to lose them over and over again😭 You captured it all so beautifully and really had me in my feels the whole time!!! I loved this!

Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV.  You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it. 

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops. 

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane. 

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull. 

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload. 

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you. 

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice. 

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile. 

+++

The Void was bullshit. 

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here. 

Maybe. 

You weren’t really sure.  

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying. 

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in. 

Figure out a way back to him. 

Back home. 

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to. 

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam. 

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there. 

Just in case. 

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere. 

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly. 

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count. 

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain. 

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction. 

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight. 

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?” 

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—” 

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form. 

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.” 

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you. 

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air. 

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint. 

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic. 

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue. 

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air. 

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield. 

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp. 

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight. 

His silent encouragement is enough. 

You are not dying in the fucking Void. 

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm. 

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black. 

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you. 

+++

You wake up in the cache. 

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat. 

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan. 

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.” 

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion. 

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating. 

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his. 

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism. 

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness. 

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists. 

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.” 

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low. 

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough. 

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry. 

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone. 

But you can’t think about it. 

Not now. 

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours. 

Logan. 

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally. 

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.” 

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you. 

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here. 

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking. 

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into. 

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space. 

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests. 

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes. 

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up. 

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine. 

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe. 

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope. 

Logan huffs. “Probably not.” 

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to. 

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly. 

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.” 

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.” 

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on. 

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself. 

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull. 

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting. 

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him. 

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick. 

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies. 

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her. 

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides. 

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice. 

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips. 

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.” 

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead. 

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle. 

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly. 

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?” 

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly. 

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls. 

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before. 

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom. 

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits. 

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself. 

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him. 

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind. 

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.  

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one. 

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating. 

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it. 

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.” 

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear. 

“I am your home,” you reply softly. 

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate. 

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer. 

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air. 

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours. 

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need. 

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like. 

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion. 

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth. 

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage. 

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement. 

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious. 

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes. 

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws. 

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole. 

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”. 

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain. 

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head. 

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue. 

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain. 

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders. 

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it. 

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants. 

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him. 

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours. 

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws. 

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful. 

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep. 

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel. 

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh. 

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes. 

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you. 

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction. 

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips. 

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers. 

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming. 

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly. 

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest. 

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready. 

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements. 

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock. 

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation. 

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan. 

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.” 

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest. 

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair. 

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you. 

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back. 

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck. 

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit. 

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer. 

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake. 

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs. 

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you. 

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you. 

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full. 

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart. 

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours. 

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.” 

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him. 

Whispers After Midnight; Draco x F!Reader

When you, a half-blood Slytherin stumbles upon Draco Malfoy crying in the Astronomy Tower, an unexpected bond forms in the shadows. What starts as quiet comfort turns into a secret romance full of longing glances, late-night kisses, and Draco’s desperate need to hold onto the only softness in his life.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t someone you paid much attention to. Not because you disliked him- quite the opposite. You respected him. You even admired him sometimes, in that strange, quiet way people do when they watch someone from across a room for years without ever really speaking.

You were both in Slytherin. You sat a few rows apart in Potions. Sometimes, your eyes would meet during a heated discussion in Defense Against the Dark Arts - both of you clever enough not to speak unless you were certain you’d win the argument. You had your own circle, your own life. And he had his.

But you weren’t strangers. Not exactly.

In the common room, there were nights when he’d walk past where you were sitting, and your knees would brush. He’d glance down and murmur a quiet, “Excuse me,” but the tone was never cold, it was polite. Surprising. Sometimes in the dining hall, when you were seated opposite each other at breakfast, you’d catch his gaze for half a second as he stirred his tea with precise fingers. He never glared. Never sneered.

Draco Malfoy looked at you like he knew you were more than they said you were; more than a half-blood.

You assumed that was the end of it. Fleeting glances, mutual respect, nothing more.

Until the night you found him crying.

~~~

Astronomy had always been a difficult class for you, not because you didn’t care, but because you did. The calculations were horrendous and the required memory work was brutal. So, the first week back, when everyone else was still basking in the excitements of the new term, you climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower alone. Your robes clung to your arms from the late summer heat, and you clutched your notes and a telescope under one arm, determined to start your star charts early.

The door creaked softly when you pushed it open.

You froze.

Draco Malfoy was sitting there, hunched against the wall beneath a wide arch of open sky. His arms were wrapped around his knees, head bowed low, platinum blond hair falling into his face. The glow from the stars caught the wetness on his cheeks before he wiped it away in a sharp, frustrated motion.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

You should’ve left. You should’ve turned around and given him privacy. But something about the way he looked; not like the Malfoy you’d seen in the corridors, or at Slughorn’s parties, or even across from you in the Slytherin common room. He looked like a boy. A boy falling apart.

Your foot scraped softly against the stone.

He looked up instantly, eyes wide and glassy. For a beat, you stared at each other. His shoulders stiffened.

“S-sorry, I should leave." he said sharply, wiping at his face again. Was he actually...apologizing?

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," He cut you off.

He wasn’t fine. His voice was raw, low, his usual drawl clipped at the edges. He started to stand, but you put your hand on his arm.

“No,” you said quietly. “Stay.”

Draco stared at you like you’d just spoken in Parseltongue.

You walked over slowly and sat beside him, not too close- just enough that your shoulders weren’t touching, but your presence was there, real and unthreatening.

“I was just coming to study,” you murmured, opening your notes. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

He said nothing. His breathing was still uneven. You didn’t look at him. You just turned your telescope toward the stars and pointed upward.

“That’s Altair,” you said after a minute. “And over there, Vega.”

He didn't respond, but he was following your finger.

You kept going. Slowly. Calmly. Like naming the stars might soothe something in both of you. “That one, Deneb, it’s part of the Summer Triangle. Really bright, but kind of overlooked in favor of the others.”

You heard him exhale, shakily. Then: “You’re good at this.”

You turned to find him watching you, his expression unreadable.

You offered a small smile. “I have to be. Professor Sinistra nearly made me cry last year.”

A tiny breath of laughter escaped him. You looked away, heart skipping slightly.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was strange. Soft. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were still rimmed red. You could tell he was holding back, but whatever grief had clawed its way out of him earlier had subsided to something quieter. Manageable.

Minutes passed. You felt the night settle around you both like a blanket. The chill, the rustle of wind, the quiet, rhythmic sound of his breathing. Then, after nearly half an hour, you felt it.

The tiniest brush of his fingers against yours on the stone floor.

He didn’t take your hand. He didn’t look at you.

But he didn’t move away either.

~~~

After that, it was quiet moments that built into something real.

He started waiting for you after class, never directly, never obviously, but he’d linger outside the door, head tilted as if you just happened to walk out at the same time. In the common room, he’d always manage to find his way to your side. He’d bring you tea the way you liked it, two sugars, milk, and pass it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

At breakfast, his foot would nudge yours under the table. You’d nudge back. In Charms, he’d share his notes without asking. In the library, he’d sit beside you and pretend to read, but half the time you’d feel his eyes flick up to watch you instead.

One night, everyone had stayed up too late; Pansy was retelling some outrageous gossip, Blaise was pretending not to care, Theo was half-asleep by the fire. You and Draco were side by side, tucked into the corner of the couch. You weren’t even sure when the others slipped away, but when you woke up hours later, the common room was empty and the fire was embers.

You blinked groggily and shifted, trying to sit up so Draco could lie down more comfortably. But the moment you moved, his arm tightened around you.

"Don’t go," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“I was just-” you began.

His eyes opened, slow and bleary. But then they dropped to your lips.

He stared for a beat too long.

And then, softly, hesitantly, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was warm. Slow. Like he’d been thinking about it for a long time and finally let himself do it.

You kissed him back.

After that night, he started finding excuses to kiss you more.

In the Astronomy Tower. In the empty parts of the library. Even in his room, when he started sneaking you in after everyone was asleep. He’d cast a silencing spell around his bed- because the truth was, you two weren’t hooking up, but you were definitely… loud kissers. And he liked to talk. Especially when his lips were on yours.

You’d curl up under the blankets, tangled together. Some nights, he’d rest his head in your lap and whisper about his father, his mother, how exhausting it was to pretend all the time. You’d run your fingers through his hair and tell him the names of stars until he fell asleep holding you.

Sometimes, he’d slip you notes during the day, scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“Meet me. Tonight. Our place.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you today. I think I’m going mad.”

And you’d go to him.

He’d draw the curtains of his four-poster bed shut. Cast a silencing charm. Pull you into his arms and hold you like he’d fall apart without you. He kissed you like he needed you, like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

Your bodies tangled. You’d fall asleep holding him, and he’d wake you with kisses- your cheek, your neck, your lips- before grinning as you slipped back into your room wearing one of his shirts. He never hid how much he loved seeing you in his clothes.

It was everything you never knew you wanted.

Until it wasn’t enough.

~~~

Four months in, you started to notice.

Cedric and Cho. Ron and Hermione. Harry and Ginny. Fred and Angelina.

They were public. Not gross, not performative; just proud. They held hands in hallways. Shared smiles in class. Kissed each other goodbye at the edge of the Great Hall.

And you?

You sat across from Draco. Your knees touched under the table. You smiled across the room. But in public, he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t call you his. He didn’t show you off. You didn't even know what you two were.

You weren’t stupid. You knew why. The name. The pressure. The fear. But still- a part of you began to ache.

You began to wonder if maybe you were just a secret. Something he only wanted in the dark.

George Weasley had always been a bit of a lone wolf when it came to love. Not because he wasn’t charming- Merlin, he could flirt a girl into a coma if he wanted to- but because he preferred to make sure everyone else was smiling first. He liked sitting back and watching Fred thrive in his endless escapades, liked teasing Ron about his awkwardness with Hermione, and liked seeing people happy together, even if he wasn’t part of a pair himself.

You always teased him about that.

“You know half the Gryffindor girls would say yes if you so much as looked their way, right?”

He’d roll his eyes, grin crookedly, and mutter something about “too much effort” or “can’t ruin the mystery.” But deep down, he didn’t mind being on his own, not when he had good friends, good laughs, and a best friend like you who knew all the ways to make him crack up in the middle of class.

George was easy to be around. That’s why when you asked him to help with your little plan to get Draco’s attention, he didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what you were doing and why. He saw the way you looked at Draco when you thought no one noticed. And he saw the way Draco looked at you like he wanted to bottle you up and keep you on a shelf where no one else could reach you.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you said, fingers twisting in your lap.

George leaned back with a lazy grin. “Oh, darling. You’re not gonna hurt him. You’re just going to make him realize.”

So he helped.

He walked you to class. Held your books. Sat beside you at lunch and whispered in your ear- half the time, something idiotic that made you burst into laughter.

“Ron looks like a damp troll today,” George muttered once as Draco watched from across the room. You choked on your juice and elbowed George hard.

But it worked.

You stopped going to the tower.

And that was what finally broke Draco.

~~~

You went back one night, guilt settling in your stomach for leaving him alone for a few days.

You weren’t expecting him to be there, especially after your absence. But he was, standing by the ledge, arms crossed, face hard. His eyes found yours instantly.

“Decided to remember I existed?” he asked, his voice tight.

You just sighed. "Drac-"

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t act like I’m being ridiculous. You disappeared. You didn’t come to the tower. You didn’t answer my owls. You sat with him at lunch.”

He stepped forward.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice cracking. “Do you understand that? Mine. Not George’s. Not anyone’s. Mine, mine, mine.”

His hands were suddenly on your waist, pulling you in with a desperation that made your knees weak.

“I can’t breathe when you ignore me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please, pretty girl, I can’t- don’t do that to me again. Don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. Just say you’re still mine. Please. Say it.”

You kissed him. Hard.

He kissed you back like he was drowning and you were air, as his hands wandered over your body, desperate to touch you, hold you, feel you. He needed to close any gap between you two, have you all over him.

“I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips. “I’ve always been yours. I love you."

~~~

That night, he brought you to his room. Cast the silencing charm like always. But it was different.

He kissed you gently- slowly unbuttoning your clothes, whispering how beautiful you were, how much he adored you. How he couldn’t stand to keep hiding.

“I’m going to show them,” he said, voice hoarse. “All of them. I want them to know. I want them to see.”

And when your clothes were discarded outside the bed, he grinned.

“Let them wonder.”

It wasn’t just kissing anymore.

It was love. Soft, aching, real love.

And the next morning, when you walked into the Great Hall holding his hand, you didn’t flinch at the looks. You sat beside him proudly, his arm around your shoulders.

You caught George’s eye across the room.

He winked at you, then turned to smile at the girl beside him- Katie Bell- who was already laughing at something he’d said.

And just like that, it was no longer a secret.

It was yours. Out in the open. Unafraid.

You were his. And he was yours.

It’s so cute to see this side of Draco🥰 I LOVED THIS SO MUCH!!!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ Hidden Moments | Draco Malfoy ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Warnings: characters are 18+, soft Draco

Summary: Fluff | A reserved new student finds comfort and connection in the unexpected warmth of Draco Malfoy.

Word count: 7557

author's note: Thank you for this request, anon person! I hope you manage to see this because there is no way to tag you. I also really really hope that you like it! ♡

You sat quietly at the Slytherin table, staring down at your breakfast as you absentmindedly stirred your porridge. The Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter and laughter, but it all felt distant, like background noise that didn’t quite reach you. You weren’t used to this place yet—not the towering walls, not the crowded tables, not the countless faces that were still strangers to you. You felt like a misfit puzzle piece, unsure where you belonged in the grand picture of Hogwarts.

Moving in the middle of the school year had been jarring, to say the least. Just a few weeks ago, you’d been at your old school, surrounded by friends you’d known for years. There, you’d felt safe, comfortable. But that world had been left behind when your parents had abruptly decided to move back to England. You were sure that they had their reasoning but now everything was new and unfamiliar, and it felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under you.

Adjusting was harder than you’d anticipated. Your natural shyness and introverted nature made it difficult to reach out, to speak up, or to introduce yourself. You kept to yourself, trying to avoid the eyes of the other students, your shoulders slightly hunched as if to make yourself smaller. Each meal felt like an ordeal, sitting alone at the Slytherin table, acutely aware of the laughter and conversations happening around you but feeling somehow apart from it all.

You sighed softly, poking at a piece of toast, hoping to blend into the background, just another face in the crowd. But the weight of your solitude was settling on you, heavier with each day. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make friends—you just didn’t know how to start. The thought of approaching anyone, of forcing yourself into an unfamiliar social circle, made your stomach churn.

Just as you were sinking deeper into your own thoughts, you noticed someone sitting down across from you. Startled, you glanced up, meeting the cool grey eyes of none other than Draco Malfoy. He looked at you with a faint, unreadable smirk, his gaze lingering as if sizing you up. The Draco Malfoy—you’d heard his name more times than you could count in the first month since you’d arrived. He was known for his sharp tongue, his confidence, and the way he commanded attention. Yet here he was, sitting across from you, his eyes flicking from your nervous posture to the untouched food on your plate.

“Lost in thought, are we?” His voice was smooth, almost teasing, breaking the silence in a way that felt both comforting and intimidating.

You felt your cheeks warm, your eyes quickly darting back down to your porridge. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, unsure how to explain the storm of emotions that came with being the new, quiet girl at Hogwarts.

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly warm despite his reputation. “Don’t apologise.” he said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s just rare to see someone so… silent here.”

You glanced up at him again, noticing the hint of intrigue in his expression. It felt strange, having someone like him show an interest in you, the shy girl who barely spoke. But his gaze wasn’t unkind. If anything, it held a quiet curiosity, as if he were genuinely trying to understand you.

The thought made your pulse quicken, and before you could help it, you muttered, “I’m… just not used to this place yet.”

Draco’s smirk softened, and for a fleeting moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of something gentler in his eyes. He tilted his head, studying you with a look that seemed oddly thoughtful. “Well, Hogwarts does take some getting used to. But who knows? You might surprise yourself.”

You felt yet another rush of warmth creep into your cheeks as you nodded, hoping your face wasn’t as red as it felt. Draco’s gaze lingered, and in that brief silence, he took in the softness of your features, the subtle beauty of your face, and the way your cheeks had flushed a delicate pink. Something about it made him pause, his usual confidence faltering as he wondered why he found you so… intriguing.

He shouldn’t have been interested, he knew that. He was Draco Malfoy—the boy with a sharp tongue, a cold demeanour, and a reputation for being dangerous. Innocent, shy girls like you weren’t supposed to be on his radar. You were the opposite of everything he was used to, and he was well aware of the shadows he carried, the things that made others keep their distance.

And yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

For a moment, he wondered what it was that made him want to approach you. Maybe it was the way you sat there, quiet and introspective, as if the world around you was a whirlwind you wanted no part in. Maybe it was the vulnerability in your eyes, the way you looked both fragile and resilient at the same time. Or maybe it was simply that he hadn’t seen anyone quite as stunning in a way that felt so… unguarded.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You know, people aren’t always as they seem here.” he said, his voice softening in a way that surprised even him. “Don’t let this place get the best of you.”

Before you could respond, he stood up, his usual mask slipping back into place. He gave you one last lingering look, his grey eyes holding a quiet intensity, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to. Then, with a graceful turn, he walked away, blending back into the bustling crowd in the Great Hall.

As you gathered your things and rose from the Slytherin table, you noticed the subtle, piercing gazes from a group of Slytherin girls nearby. Their eyes tracked your movements, whispers exchanged between them as they took in the fact that Draco Malfoy—the Draco Malfoy—had chosen to sit with you. Feeling the prickling sensation of their stares, you quickly looked away, your cheeks warming once more, and quietly slipped out of the Great Hall, heading toward your first class.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, the strangeness of Hogwarts gradually becoming a little less overwhelming. But the biggest change came from Draco’s steady, quiet presence that somehow became a constant in your days.

It started with him joining you in the library. He would stroll in casually, scanning the rows of tables, and his gaze would settle on you as if you were the only one in the room. Without a word, he’d take a seat beside you, opening a book or unfurling a scroll, but he rarely spoke. You began to understand that he didn’t come for conversation; he came for the silence. For the comfort of sitting next to someone who wasn’t demanding anything from him. And slowly, that realisation helped you relax in his company, allowing the quiet between you to grow into something familiar, something that didn’t need filling.

In classes, Draco would occasionally choose the seat next to yours, sliding his books across the desk and flashing you a brief smirk before settling in. During group assignments, he’d gravitate towards you as well, his approach casual, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, the way his presence seemed to bring a subtle warmth to the otherwise intimidating newness of everything around you.

You couldn’t deny that it confused you at first—this gentleness he showed you was so different from the way he treated others. You had seen him snap at classmates, mock students with a cold glint in his eyes, and dismiss people with a sneer. His biting remarks were sharp and unkind, making you wonder why he would ever show interest in someone as quiet as you. And yet, here he was, somehow finding his way into your routine.

As the months passed, you relaxed further in his company, almost forgetting the unease that had once overwhelmed you. You began to enjoy these quiet hours, especially when you’d find him lounging in the Slytherin common room on late evenings. Sometimes, he’d settle down beside you on the couch, his body angled toward you as he made light conversation—little things, unimportant things that felt oddly meaningful because they were shared just between the two of you.

You began to notice the softer side of him, the one he kept hidden from everyone else. With you, he was calmer, almost unguarded, and you often caught glimpses of something thoughtful and kind beneath the layers of harshness he presented to the world. He seemed to find solace in your presence, as if you were a quiet refuge from the demands and expectations pressing down on him.

One night, as you sat together in the common room, the firelight casting a warm glow across his face, you turned to him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Why are you so… different with me?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire.

Draco looked at you, surprised, his gaze searching yours for a long moment. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back, his eyes distant yet gentle.

“Maybe I need a break from… everything else.” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He looked away, almost as if he were embarrassed to admit it. “With you, it’s just… easy.”

You didn’t press him further. Instead, you smiled, a small, understanding smile that told him you knew, that you understood. And as the two of you sat together in that quiet corner of the common room, you felt the invisible line between you grow a little fainter, replaced by a warmth that seemed to settle in the space between your shoulders.

You felt your cheeks flush as you glanced down, fingers fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. Words danced on the tip of your tongue—words that could have told him you enjoyed his company, that he’d somehow become a comforting presence in your days—but you were far too shy to admit it aloud. And yet, there was a small part of you that sensed he already knew, that he could feel the same unspoken bond forming between you.

After a while, you gathered the courage to look up at him, offering a small smile. “Goodnight, Draco.” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, and he gave you a slight nod, a quiet acknowledgment that seemed to hold more meaning than any words could. “Goodnight, Y/N.” he replied, his voice carrying a gentleness that still surprised you.

You rose from the couch and walked up the staircase to your dormitory, your heart fluttering as you replayed the evening in your mind, wondering if you’d ever truly understand why Draco Malfoy of all people had chosen to be kind to you.

The next morning the usual hum of chatter in the Great Hall seemed louder, almost electric with excitement. You quickly caught snippets of conversation from the students around you, words floating through the air like bubbles.

“Did you hear? They have announced the Christmas ball!”

“I can’t wait to see what everyone wears! I’ve already got my dress planned…”

“Who do you think will ask you? I heard Blaise is already planning something big…”

The news about a winter Christmas ball spread through the hall like wildfire, with students leaning in close to whisper about who would be asking whom. You felt a pang of nervousness as the reality of the event sank in. Social gatherings were never easy for you, especially something as grand as a ball. The thought of dressing up, of dancing and mingling with so many people, sent a familiar wave of anxiety washing over you.

In the middle of your anxious thoughts, a new one formed, a quiet, tentative hope that made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help but wonder—would Draco ask you to the ball?

As the day went on, you noticed girls from all houses casting glances in Draco’s direction, some giggling behind their hands, others making excuses to speak to him in passing. It seemed that many hoped for his attention, but he remained as aloof as ever, barely acknowledging them. Yet every so often, you caught his gaze drifting toward you, a fleeting glance that made your cheeks grow warm all over again.

The idea of going with him was enough to send a thrill through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the panic that settled in your stomach at the thought of attending such an event. Draco Malfoy was an enigma, unpredictable at best, and you couldn’t be sure he would want to bring someone like you, the shy, quiet girl he mostly saw in moments of solitude.

That same evening, you were sitting in the library with your books spread out before you. Just as you were starting to take notes, you felt a familiar presence settle beside you. Glancing up, you saw Draco, his usual calm expression softened with the same quiet interest he always showed when you were alone together. He didn’t speak right away, instead opening his own book and letting the comfortable silence settle over you both.

But as you tried to focus on your reading, you couldn’t shake the hope buzzing in the back of your mind, the anticipation of the possibility. Would he, you wondered, break the silence and ask you to the Christmas ball?

Draco’s eyes were slowly flicking over the pages of his book, seemingly lost in his own world. Minutes ticked by, the comfortable silence stretching on as he read. Then, almost casually, he closed his book and turned to face you.

“So…” he began, his voice soft but with a trace of amusement, “are you planning on going to this Christmas ball everyone’s talking about?”

Your breath caught, and you glanced up, feeling his gaze settle on you. Nervously, you shook your head, almost afraid to admit it. “No, I don’t think so.” you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The thought of dressing up and stepping into that grand hall, surrounded by so many watchful eyes, made you anxious.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not much of a gatherings type, are you?” he asked, his voice holding a teasing warmth that put you slightly at ease.

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “I’m… not really comfortable with big events. Especially when there are so many people. I feel like they’re all watching.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

To your surprise, Draco chuckled, shaking his head as if he found your answer endearing. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he regarded you with that familiar, unreadable glint in his eyes. “You’re really something, you know that?” he said, his tone light. “Most people here would jump at the chance to go and show off, to be the centre of attention for the night.”

You looked down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your book. “Well, I’m… I’m not most people.” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Being around Draco had somehow made you a little braver, enough to admit the truth.

Draco studied you for a moment, his expression softening, as if he were seeing you in a new light. “Good!” he said finally, his voice so quiet it was almost a murmur. “Maybe that’s why I like being around you. You don’t care about any of that… nonsense.”

You looked up, surprised, meeting his gaze. There was something vulnerable in his expression, something he rarely showed to others. He paused, as if weighing his words, before finally speaking again.

“Would you… reconsider going? If…” He cleared his throat, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “If you had someone to go with who didn’t care about all that either?”

Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as you tried to process what he was saying. Was he… asking you to go with him?

“I… I don’t know.” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… maybe if it was someone I… trusted to understand.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, and he leaned a bit closer, his gaze steady and warm. “Well…” he said softly, “you know where to find me if you change your mind on going.”

He rose from his seat, picking up his book, but before leaving, he paused, casting you one last look. “Think about it, Y/N.” he added, his voice just above a whisper. “It might be nice.”

And with that, he left, leaving you alone in the library, your heart racing as you replayed his words in your mind.The idea filled you with both excitement and a nervous anticipation, a warmth that lingered even after he was gone.

You sat alone in the library, Draco’s words replayed over and over in your mind, the softness in his voice, the gentle way he had approached the question. You’d seen other boys ask girls to the ball with grand, showy gestures—flowers that burst into magical blooms, charmed notes that floated through the air, even songs sung embarrassingly loud in the corridors. But Draco… he hadn’t needed any of that.

There had been no spotlight, no audience, no pressure. He’d asked you so simply, as if he already understood that the idea of a big, public proposal would have made you want to disappear. Instead, he’d done it in his own, subtle way—quiet, sincere, and perfectly considerate of your feelings. It was exactly what you hadn’t known you wanted.

A warmth settled over you as you realised how well he seemed to understand you, how he could sense what made you nervous without you even saying it. You’d grown used to people overlooking your quiet nature or not understanding why you shied away from the spotlight, but Draco… Draco saw it and didn’t ask you to change. Instead, he made space for it, like he was offering you a safe corner in the middle of all the chaos around you.

You smiled softly to yourself, fiddling with the corner of your book once again. A part of you still felt nervous, the idea of going to the ball both thrilling and daunting. But another part of you—a quieter, braver part—whispered that maybe, just maybe, you could say yes. The thought of being there, in the midst of all the festive excitement, with only Draco beside you, made the idea feel a little less overwhelming.

With three weeks left until the ball, you found yourself caught between excitement and hesitation. Some days, you were certain you’d say yes, picturing yourself in the glow of the ballroom lights with Draco by your side. Other days, your nerves would flare up, reminding you of how out of place you might feel, surrounded by the dazzling gowns, the lively music, and the endless watchful eyes.

But through it all, Draco remained by your side, unbothered by your indecision. He continued to sit next to you in the library, quietly absorbed in his reading while you went through your own books. Sometimes, you’d exchange a few words or simply share the now familiar comfortable silence. He didn’t push or pry; he simply kept you company, content in the easy rhythm you had both fallen into. It was as though he had sensed your uncertainty and was giving you the time you needed.

Meanwhile, the Slytherin common room buzzed with excitement about the upcoming ball, with Draco’s friends, Blaise and Pansy, constantly teasing him about not having a date yet.

“Come on, Draco, who are you taking?” Blaise would press, nudging him with a knowing smirk. “Or do you plan to go alone, sulking in a corner all night?”

Draco would only shrug, an amused glint in his eyes as he brushed off their questions. “Maybe I prefer the idea of a quiet evening.” he’d reply, his tone nonchalant but his gaze occasionally drifting over to where you sat, studying or writing by the fire.

Pansy, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. She’d roll her eyes, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “You’re Draco Malfoy! You could have anyone in this school on your arm.” she’d insist, clearly baffled by his indifference. “And you’re telling me you don’t even have someone in mind?”

Draco would simply smirk, a secretive look in his eye that none of them could quite decipher. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right person to come around.” he’d say coolly, casting a glance in your direction before returning to his book.

Every time you overheard these exchanges, your heart would flutter. Though you didn’t show it, you felt a growing warmth at how patient he was, how he seemed unfazed by the usual social pressures that accompanied events like this. Draco could have easily chosen someone else by now, succumbed to the excitement like everyone else around him. But he hadn’t. He was waiting for you, with a quiet confidence that made you feel both comforted and nervous.

As the days ticked by, you found yourself inching closer to a decision. You were no longer as frightened by the idea of the ball, knowing Draco would be there, steady and reassuring as always. And finally, a few days before the event, you decided that maybe you were ready to say yes.

You were sitting  in the common room, quietly finishing up an essay when Draco joined you on the couch, his usual easy smile lighting up his face. He didn’t say anything at first, simply leaning back, his presence calm and familiar as always. The warmth of the fire crackled nearby, casting flickering shadows over the room, and you couldn’t help but feel how the gentle, golden light softened Draco’s sharp features, adding a warmth to him that no one else seemed to notice.

Your heart began to race, and you glanced down, gathering the courage to speak. You’d been turning this moment over in your mind for days, each thought punctuated by the question of whether you were ready. But seeing Draco here, just as patient as ever, you felt a small, shy smile forming on your lips.

He noticed your shift, his gaze sharpening slightly with curiosity. “What is it?” he asked, his tone low and gentle, as if he already sensed the weight of your words.

Taking a deep breath, you finally looked up, meeting his eyes. “Draco… about the ball…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. You watched as his expression softened, the faintest spark lighting up in his gaze. He leaned forward, his focus entirely on you, his expression one of quiet anticipation.

“I’d like to go…” you said softly, your heart pounding so hard you felt it might echo in the quiet room. “With you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you. His lips curved into a genuine, warm smile, one that seemed to hold a world of understanding, as if he knew just how much it had taken for you to say those words. His eyes softened, his gaze steady and reassuring, and you could see a look of satisfaction flashing across his face as he nodded.

“Good.” he replied, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of excitement beneath his usual cool demeanour. “I’ve been waiting.”

A small, relieved laugh escaped you, and Draco chuckled as well, his eyes never leaving yours. In that quiet moment, with only the crackling of the fire in the background, you felt the weight of your nerves slipping away. All that remained was a warmth in your chest, a quiet thrill that settled in your heart, as if every anxious thought had been soothed by the simple, steady comfort in his gaze.

To your complete surprise, Draco reached over, his hand finding yours, his fingers brushing yours in a way that was both gentle and confident. His thumb traced small circles over your knuckles, a gesture so tender it sent a pleasant shiver through you. You glanced down, unable to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks, but Draco simply smiled, his eyes holding a soft amusement as he took in your reaction.

“I wanted to ask you.” he murmured, his tone low, almost conspiratorial, “but I thought I’d give you time. I know you don’t like… big scenes.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest at how well he understood you. “Thank you… for waiting.” you replied, your voice soft.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his fingers lingering as he replied, “You’re worth waiting for.”

The words hung in the air between you. You found yourself lost in his gaze, feeling a connection deeper than anything you’d ever felt before. And in that moment, you knew you’d made the right choice. Whatever nerves remained seemed to melt away in the warmth of his touch, replaced by a quiet excitement, a thrill at the thought of the night to come and the promise of a moment shared only between you.

~~~

It was the day of the ball. You stood in front of the mirror, nervously fiddling with the hem of your gown. The soft black fabric flowed around you like liquid midnight, gliding over your frame with a grace that felt foreign yet beautiful. It was far out of your comfort zone—elegant, sleek, and perhaps a bit too daring for someone used to hiding in the background. The gown covered you in silky waves, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely exposed.

Your fingers brushed over the card your mother had sent with the gown, her excitement evident in every carefully penned word. She had understood your hesitation, always supporting you in your quiet ways, but her joy at the thought of you stepping into the world was unmistakable. Her words were warm, encouraging, and they echoed in your mind as you took a deep, steadying breath.

With a final adjustment to your elegant hair clip, which held your carefully styled hair in place, you glanced at your reflection, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the confidence you were trying to muster. You could still hear the gentle encouragement in your mother’s voice, and that small, steady reassurance felt like a quiet strength resting in your heart.

As you made your way down the stairs, you were met with the sight of other girls, adorned in gowns of every colour, dashing past with bright eyes and breathless excitement. They giggled, glancing over their shoulders as they rushed to their dates, their expressions alight with anticipation.

You lingered at the edge of the common room, feeling both a part of and apart from the thrill that filled the air. For a second you thought about abandoning the plan, about turning around to hide back into the safety of your dormitory. But you didn’t, you pushed forward. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you stopped, breath catching in your throat as your eyes found Draco waiting near the entrance.

He looked striking in his formal attire, a tailored black suit that brought out the sharpness of his features and the cool grey of his eyes. He was watching the door, his expression carefully composed, but as soon as he saw you, his gaze softened, a flicker of warmth melting the usual coolness in his eyes.

For a moment, his gaze swept over you, and you could have sworn you saw the faintest hint of awe there, a subtle appreciation as his eyes lingered on the way the gown draped over you. He took a step closer, his hand extending towards you in a gesture that felt both formal and gentle.

“You look…” He paused, searching for the words, his usual smooth confidence giving way to something more genuine. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, and you managed a small smile, your fingers brushing his as you took his hand. “Thank you.” you murmured, your voice soft. “You… you look amazing too.”

His lips curved into a slight smirk, but there was a softness to it that felt reserved only for you. “Ready?” he asked, his thumb brushing against your hand, sending a reassuring warmth through you.

With a small nod, you felt your nerves settle slightly. It was just you and Draco now, away from the giggling girls and the excited chatter. You stepped into the hallway, your hand in his, his grip steady, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the sense of calm he brought.

When you finally reached the doors to theGrand Hall, Draco paused, turning to you. “If it gets to be too much… just let me know.” he said quietly, his gaze warm and reassuring. “We can slip away, find a quiet corner somewhere. Just us.”

The kindness in his words, the unspoken promise of understanding, made your heart swell with gratitude. You felt the tension in your shoulders ease, the comfort of his presence settling over you like a gentle cloak.

“Thank you, Draco.” you said softly, squeezing his hand as you offered him a genuine smile. 

As the two of you entered the grand hall, the immediate stares from students around you made you instinctively shrink back, your nerves flaring up under the weight of so many curious eyes. You moved a little closer to Draco, letting him act as a buffer between you and the crowd. Sensing your discomfort, he slid a reassuring hand to your waist, pulling you close in a subtle but protective gesture. The warmth of his touch grounded you, his presence like a steady anchor amidst the swirling noise and lights of the hall.

With his hand on your waist, Draco guided you to a quieter corner where he pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit beside him at one of the tables. You gratefully took the seat, feeling safer tucked close to his side. His casual confidence helped ease some of your nervousness, and though you couldn’t escape the occasional glances thrown your way, you felt a bit more at ease with him near.

It didn’t take long for his friends to spot him. Blaise, Pansy, and Theo approached the table, each wearing expressions that ranged from amused to downright mischievous. Blaise was the first to speak, his lips quirking up into a teasing grin as he looked between you and Draco.

“Had to go for the quiet one, huh, Draco?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Didn’t want to risk someone who’d actually talk back?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his hand remained steady on your waist, not moving an inch away. “Some of us value peace and quiet, Blaise.” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with just enough sarcasm to make his friend chuckle.

Pansy leaned in, her eyes narrowing playfully as she looked you over, though her expression wasn’t unfriendly. “Didn’t think I’d see you at one of these, Draco.” she said, her voice teasing. “Or you, for that matter.” she added, nodding at you with a raised eyebrow.

Draco’s arm tightened around you slightly, his tone cool but lighthearted. “I’m full of surprises tonight, apparently.” he replied, glancing down at you with a small, private smile that made your cheeks warm. His friends exchanged knowing looks, a mix of surprise and amusement clear on their faces as they took in the uncharacteristically soft look Draco wore when he looked at you.

Theo crossed his arms, a smirk forming on his face. “Never thought I’d see the day when Draco Malfoy would be so… domesticated.” he joked, earning a snicker from Blaise.

Draco shot him a look that was both annoyed and amused, shaking his head. “Better domesticated than chasing after a loudmouth all night.” he replied, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Blaise raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. “Fine, fine. Guess we’ll leave you two ‘quiet ones’ to yourselves, then.” He winked at you before they moved to join the rest of the crowd, casting a few playful glances back in your direction.

As they walked away, you felt yourself relax a little more, the warmth of Draco’s hand still resting on your waist a quiet reminder of his presence. He looked down at you, his gaze softening.

“Sorry about them.” he murmured, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. “They’re… not exactly subtle.”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “It’s okay. They seem… nice, in their own way.”

Draco smirked, his expression softening as he looked at you. “Nice might be a bit of a stretch. But they’re loyal. And they’re less insufferable once you get to know them.”

You chuckled softly, your nerves easing bit by bit as he continued to keep you close, shielding you from the attention of the room. The music played on, and though the hall was filled with laughter, chatter, and the dazzling movements of dancers, in your corner of the room, it felt like it was just the two of you. And with Draco by your side, you found yourself starting to enjoy the night in a way you hadn’t expected.

Draco never pushed you to join the others on the dance floor or to mingle with the lively crowd that filled the hall. Instead, he seemed perfectly content to sit by your side, his presence calm and reassuring, as if this corner of the grand hall were your own private sanctuary. He leaned back, relaxed, his gaze soft as he looked at you, and the two of you settled into a quiet rhythm, chatting in low voices amidst the distant music and laughter.

You found yourself growing more at ease, the earlier tension gradually slipping away. Draco had an effortless way of drawing you out, his questions thoughtful, never prying. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you—asking about your favourite things, your thoughts on Hogwarts, little stories from your past. With every answer, he’d listen intently, offering the occasional smile or chuckle that made you feel… seen, in a way you hadn’t expected.

And he, in turn, shared parts of himself that you could tell he rarely let others see. You learned about his favourite places at Hogwarts, like a small alcove by the lake where he liked to go to think, or the dusty, hidden corners of the library where he would escape when he wanted peace. He even told you about his love for quiet nights spent by the common room fire, when he could let his guard down without feeling the weight of others’ expectations.

Despite still feeling slightly on edge, there was a warmth in Draco’s presence that made the evening unexpectedly pleasant. He didn’t seem to mind your shy responses, your glances down as you fiddled with the edges of your gown, or the way you occasionally looked out at the crowd with slight apprehension. He simply adjusted, keeping the conversation easy and gentle, as if he understood exactly what you needed.

At one point, the music shifted to a slow, softer tune, and you caught a glimpse of couples drifting gracefully across the dance floor. Your heart fluttered slightly, wondering if Draco would ask you to dance. Part of you was terrified at the thought of being in the spotlight, of stepping out onto the floor where everyone could see. But a quieter, hopeful part of you wondered if he’d pull you in close, if his touch would feel as steady as it did now.

Draco must have noticed your gaze, because he leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Do you want to dance?” he asked softly, his tone gentle, leaving you the choice.

You hesitated, feeling a mixture of longing and nerves, and shook your head slightly. “I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” you admitted, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded, a warm understanding in his eyes as he settled back into his chair, his hand still resting on yours. “That’s perfectly fine.” he murmured. “I’d rather sit here with you anyway.”

A comfortable silence fell between you as he continued to hold your hand, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over your fingers. It was a simple gesture, but it made you feel safe, like he was willing to shield you from the world outside your quiet bubble. He didn’t push, didn’t ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He was just… there, content to be beside you, in whatever way you needed him to be.

As the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, the low murmur of his voice and his quiet laughter easing the last of your nerves. You’d never imagined that something as simple as sitting beside him, exchanging quiet words, could feel so intimate, so genuine. It was as if he were letting you into a part of himself that no one else got to see, and in turn, you felt safe enough to let down your own walls, if only just a little.

In that moment, with his hand in yours and the soft glow of the candlelight reflecting in his eyes, you realised that this was exactly what you’d hoped for—a night spent in quiet companionship, away from the noise and expectations of the world. Just the two of you, in a space that felt like it was made for you alone.

And somehow, that was enough. More than enough.

You glanced up at Draco, feeling the now-familiar warmth spread across your cheeks, and took a deep breath. Gathering the courage, you looked into his eyes, feeling a small, shy smile tug at your lips.

“Draco…” you murmured, your voice soft, “I… I think I would like to dance with you. Just… away from everyone else.”

His eyes lit up, a gentle smile crossing his face as he gave a slight nod, understanding instantly. He rose from his seat without hesitation, his hand extended towards you. You placed your hand in his, feeling a spark of excitement as he guided you through the hall, weaving between tables and clusters of students, until you reached the doors of the Grand Hall.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the cold winter’s night air, the faint echo of the ball’s music drifting into the quiet. Draco led you down a pathway lined with twinkling fairy lights, stopping at a secluded spot beneath a large, ancient tree. Here, the soft notes of the music were still audible, blending with the peaceful sounds of the night. It felt magical, almost as if this place had been waiting for the two of you.

Draco turned to face you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he looked into your eyes, his expression warm and inviting. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his features, accentuating the rare tenderness you’d come to recognize in his gaze.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the moment.

You nodded, your heart fluttering as you placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his presence wrap around you. Slowly, he guided you into a gentle sway, the two of you moving to the distant melody drifting from the hall. There were no grand gestures, no fancy steps—just the simple rhythm of your bodies moving together, perfectly in sync.

For a moment, everything else faded away. There were no prying eyes, no expectations, just the two of you in this quiet corner of the world. You looked up at him, your cheeks still rosy, feeling the thrill of the dance and the intimacy of being so close.

Draco’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his voice barely a whisper. “You know, I never thought I’d enjoy a night like this so much.” he murmured. “But… you make it easy.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a soft smile graced your lips as you looked back at him. “I feel the same way.” you replied, surprised at how natural the words felt. “I didn’t think I’d even be here… but you’ve made tonight feel… special.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I think it’s you who’s made it special, Y/N.”

The music swelled in the background, he pulled you a little closer, his hands firm yet gentle on your waist. You let yourself relax in his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in a way you hadn’t expected. 

The two of  you moved together in quiet harmony, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the soft music, the gentle sway of your bodies, and the warmth of Draco’s embrace. He pulled you just a little closer, resting his chin gently on the top of your head as you nestled against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled your ears, calming and comforting, grounding you in this perfect moment.

You let your eyes close, feeling the warmth of his body radiate through you, and it was as though you could both feel each other’s unspoken emotions in that silence. The night air was crisp, but in his arms, you felt nothing but warmth.

After a few moments, he sighed, the gentle exhale stirring your hair. He shifted slightly, and you felt his chin lift as he looked down at you. You glanced up, meeting his gaze, seeing a softness in his eyes that made your heart race.

“Y/N.” he murmured, his voice low and vulnerable. He paused, as though choosing his words carefully, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while now.”

You felt your breath catch as his hand gently traced along your waist, the tender pressure sending a pleasant shiver through you.

He swallowed, and his gaze held yours, steady but filled with a quiet intensity. “Would it… would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Your cheeks grew warm, and you felt a nervous, shy smile tugging at your lips. The question hung between you, and though you felt a rush of nerves, you also felt a quiet, undeniable thrill that made you want to lean in and close the space between you.

Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, your gaze dropping to his chest for a moment before lifting to meet his eyes again. “Yes… I’d like that.” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

A gentle smile curved his lips as he leaned down, his hand sliding to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed softly along your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring, as if he wanted to make sure you felt safe in his arms.

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, softest of kisses. It was gentle, unhurried, filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. His hand held you close, cradling your face as he kissed you again, a little more deeply this time, and you felt yourself melt into him, the world around you disappearing entirely.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his lips. His hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb brushing soothingly along your skin.

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur in the night. “For trusting me… and for tonight.”

You smiled shyly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his suit jacket as you looked up at him, still a little breathless. For a moment, you simply let yourself take in his warmth, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way you knew he rarely showed.

But instead of replying, you surprised even yourself as you stood up on your tiptoes, leaning in to press your lips against his once more. It was a bold move, uncharacteristic of your usually reserved self, but something about this moment felt right, like it was meant for just the two of you.

Draco’s initial surprise softened almost instantly as he returned the kiss, his hands gently moving to your waist, pulling you closer. This kiss was deeper, filled with a newfound confidence and passion that sent your heart racing. When you finally pulled away, both of you were smiling, his forehead resting against yours as you shared a quiet, almost breathless laugh.

“Oh wow?” he murmured, his voice low, full of surprise.

You chuckled softly, feeling a little more daring than before. “Maybe I should be bold more often.” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a new spark of confidence.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’d certainly encourage it.”

In that moment, with the quiet music playing in the background and his arms wrapped around you, it felt as though you had found something rare and precious—a feeling that went beyond words, beyond the excitement of the ball, and straight to the heart of what it meant to share something true.

You weren’t sure what would happen between you and Draco after today. But as the two of you stood together, swaying gently under the stars, you knew that this night was a memory you would hold onto forever.

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