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jj-one · 6 months

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A MODERN LOVE STORY.

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

when your tinder date who was supposed to be just a hook up becomes your boyfriend within a week.

pairing: han jisung x f!reader genre/tags: pwp, smut, fluff, jisung is such a gentleman, fingering, oral (m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), major size kink, slight daddy kink (not surprised), jisung has huge dick, jisung cums on readers face, i think that's it Imk if i missed any o_0 words: 4.5k

**old repost from my deleted blog

Dating apps were never really your thing, you’ve always been an “old fashioned” kind of girl. You’ve secretly dreamt of meeting your lover in a grocery store or bumping into them at a library where you instantly fall in love. Unfortunately, you can’t be delusional forever, your Prince Charming isn’t going to just come knocking for you at your doorstep. Unless…you find someone who can come to your doorstep but through an app, Tinder. You decided to give it a try and see what all the hype was about after your best friend Ryujin raved about all the hot guys she was meeting— and banging.

You often found yourself quite jealous of all the good sex she was getting, she could have anything she wanted all at her fingertips. You were always horny and looking for the next toy to play with but you decided maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to try and find a cute guy to hook up with and relieve some quick stress. You may be old fashioned but you weren’t too uptight to have a hook up once in a while.

You downloaded Tinder for once in your lifetime and wrote in all your info, chose your best photos, and made a silly little bio. Your bio was just ‘looking for a fun time, need someone who can break my back, not my heart’ you know it super lame but most guys like corny shit like that anyway. You swiped for ages and ages, barely giving anyone a right swipe because you were way too picky. They had to be top tier in the visual department even if they were just a one night stand, you’ll always have standards. You were getting tired of swiping and just about to call it a night up until you swiped on the next profile. His name was Han and he only lived 2.5 miles from you.

As you were scrolling through his profile, you couldn’t stop thinking how hot he was, his hair was blonde, and he always wore the same cross necklace in his all photos. You read his profile some more and saw that he has a dog named Bbama and you smiled at how adorable his dog was. You instantly swiped right after seeing the dog pics and you couldn’t believe you matched with him already. Your heart kind of skipped a beat for a second and you closed the app immediately. You didn’t think he’d be so quick to match with you and you wanted to message him but your pride got in the way. You figured he’s way too fine to even message you back, he probably gets floods of messages from girls asking. You decide to play it cool and not say anything, instead you took a screenshot of his profile and sent it to Ryujin.

She texts you back a couple minutes later and says she thinks he’s really hot, you’re glad she approves but you’re not surprised that she wouldn’t. You go through his profile again and see that he has his Instagram linked to his Tinder, you go to his Instagram account and continue your stalking spree. You see a bunch of pics of his dog, food, and mostly outdoorsy stuff. You didn’t figure him to be the wilderness type of guy but he was, he’s been hiking all over different mountains and has photos of him at the very top. You were in awe of how fearless this man was, you were swayed already by how he presented himself.

Your phone buzzes with a new notification.

‘Han sent you a message’ Tinder alerts you of 2 new notifications from him. You open the messages immediately, a huge grin plastered on your face as you read what he said to you.

‘Hi y/n’

‘What’s your favorite food?’

‘I’m taking notes on where I need to take you on our first date’

That was very smooth but also straightforward, you liked him already.

‘Pho, I could eat it everyday’

‘You’re already planning our date? lol’

You sent the messages and texted Ryujin straight away, telling her how much of a success this was already going. She tells you how much she was right all along and how you’ve been missing out this whole time, you just giggle at her shenanigans.

You get another notification from Tinder and it’s from your favorite new guy already.

‘Yes, how could I not? You’re a 10/10’

You smile to yourself when reading at that comment, you never really saw yourself as a perfect 10 but if someone this highly attractive sees you that way then you must be a smokeshow. Han sends you another message,

‘I can pick you up tmrw at 5? Dinner is on me babe so no need to bring a wallet ;)’

You bit your lip at that last sentence, who would’ve known someone this sexy could be your sugar daddy AND fuck buddy? Ok well maybe the sugar daddy part was just a joke. It definitely turned you on knowing that he’s willing to spend his money on you without you feeling guilt about it though.

‘See you at 5 <3’ you reply to him.

The very next day you’re in the car going to your date with Han. The moment you laid eyes on him there was a lustful nature that came out of you. You didn’t even think it could be possible but he looked even better in person, the pictures didn’t do him justice whatsoever. His jawline was insane, it was sharp and looked absolutely perfect from his side profile. His hair was a little messy but in a really cute way, he had a small silver stud in his ear and wore his cross necklace like the one in his photos. You couldn’t believe it was really him in your driveway, he had to be the most beautiful you’ve ever seen. He wore a plain black T-shirt with baggy jeans and converse, he looked effortlessly cool. He was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other was playing with his radio. He was trying to get the Aux cord to work properly but it just wasn’t cooperating with him, he decides to just leave it alone.

“So uh.. anyway is this your first Tinder date?” He asks trying to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah, actually it is,” you tell him “I’m not the hugest fan of dating apps but I decided why not give it a shot.” You say as your shrug your shoulders.

“Ah I see, well you met me so that’s a good sign so far right?” He asks with a goofy grin on his face, you couldn’t help but giggle at his quirkiness.

You talk for a bit more in the car and get to know each other, as you’re getting nearer to the destination he comes to a stop into a parking lot. He gets out of the car first and opens the door for you on your side.

“M’lady,” Han says in a funny voice, taking your hand in his as you get out the car. You’re loving his silly and fun energy so far, it’s definitely bringing your mood up as you had no expectations for how this would go.

The date ended up going extremely well, you both couldn’t stop laughing and cracking jokes together. Everything felt super lighthearted and easygoing with Han, you felt like you could say just about anything with him, feeling like you’ve known him for much longer than a couple of hours. He bought so much expensive meat for the both of you at the restaurant and the pho was fantastic. You’ve never been to this particular restaurant before as it was a bit too out of your price range, you were surprised when he told you he ate here frequently. You wanted to ask him what he does for a living but you don’t want to seem rude. You ate as much as you could and he definitely ate way more than you, lightly making fun at the way you eat. You do eat pretty slow so you aren’t shocked by the way he’s noticing that already.

You like the way Han eats because he stores food in his cheeks like a squirrel, usually that action would give you the ick but with him you find it quite endearing. Once you both finish eating at the restaurant he takes you to a pier where there’s pretty lights near the water. It was a nice day to go out on a walk so he grabbed your hand and led the way down the path. You guys talked so much for hours about any and everything, you talked for so long that you ended up watching the sunset together, then looked at the stars. When you looked down and noticed that you’ve been holding hands with him this whole time, but you didn’t want to point it out to Han incase he’d let go.

You’ve spent a total of only 5 hours with this man but you really do feel as though you’ve known him your whole life. He was so fun to talk to, handsome, and literally the sweetest person ever, it made you question how someone this perfect could even be single. You really couldn’t wait any longer for him to end up in your bed tonight and that’s exactly what you planned to happen. As the night progresses you ask him if he wants to come back to your place for the night. He looks surprised yet obliges and drives back to your apartment. It was pretty late at night and you only had your tiny lamp in the kitchen on, so you couldn’t see much of where you were going. You turn around to face Han who’s been staring you up and down this whole time.

You didn’t even have much time to take off your jacket before Han’s lips were all over yours. His hands roamed all over your body and yours were now tangled in his messy blonde hair. He startles you for a second when he picks you up and lifts you onto the marble kitchen countertop, not breaking the kiss once. He bites down on your lower lip slightly, making you gasp so he can easily slip his tongue in you. His movements were gentle and he kisses you so passionately, one of his hands comes up behind your neck and the other is stroking the apex of your thigh. As you both pull away from kissing, he stops to stare at you for the longest second.

“You are so beautiful y/n,” he says, stroking your hair and tucking some behind your ear, then he kisses your ear and licks it. He continues peppering a few more kisses downwards and to your neck, beginning to suck lightly, causing you to let out a quiet moan. He leaves a couple small hickies around your neck and kisses your lips once again. You tug at his T-shirt and motion for him to take it off, he does as he’s told and removes it from his body. You get a faint look at his chest since it’s a such little bit of light in the kitchen, from what you can see however, he looks perfect. When he comes closer, you can feel his rock solid abs, you know he works out but you weren’t expecting him to be this fit.

You go back to making out for awhile and his hands are now laid on your chest. He cups both of your boobs in his hands and kneads them through your thin shirt, he realizes this isn’t enough for him so he slides his hands underneath your shirt. He ran his fingers against your nipples and starts to pinch them lightly, making you moan directly into his mouth. He groans when you bring your hand lower to his pelvis, trying to locate his belt so you can tell him to take it off. You finally reach something you presume to be leather and you grab it, bringing his body closer to you in the process.

“You want me to take this off huh?” Han asks, pointing to his belt but all you see is his erect dick print through his jeans.

You nod your head profusely, “yes pleasee, right now!”

He grins at you while slowly taking off his belt, throwing it down on the floor and now he’s stroking his cock through his pants. You hear him groan a little bit as you can see him palming himself, wanting to take him in your mouth so bad.

“Let me give you head,” you say almost desperately, you didn’t mean for it to sound so needy but you really wanted— no needed his cock.

“Okay,” he says smiling back at you, “sounds great to me.”

You get up from the kitchen counter and now position yourself on the floor, on your knees. You never pictured yourself to be the one sucking a random guy off Tinder’s dick but hey, things just so happen to turn out that way. You unzip Han’s pants and gently pull them down, he was wearing pink supreme boxers and you expected nothing less from him. You pull down his boxers too and his erect cock springs up out of them like a slinky. Eyes growing wide in awe as you couldn’t wait for his giant, thick cock to go into your mouth. You start to stroke his length and realize that one hand won’t be enough to do the job, you have to use two to get a good firm grasp around it and even then it’s still a few inches off.

You contemplate how you’re even going to fit all of him into your mouth but you think of the consequences later. You continue pumping his cock with your hands and he moans lowly under his breath. You lick the tip of his cock and he winces a little, that must be his sensitive spot. You suck on the tip and guide your mouth to slowly take in more of his cock, keeping a suction-tight grip on him as you keep lowering your head. You get to a point where you start to physically choke and gag on his cock, your saliva was getting everywhere now, all over your chin, your chest, his cock, and some even spilled on the floor. You know you have to be a good girl and take all of him but you never had someone this big before.

“You have such a nice dick,” you blurt out while taking a break, wanting to please him more than anything.

“Thank you baby,” Han smiles down at you while you bring his cock back into your mouth, this time breathing through your nose you have a better chance at taking him all. You were successful and managed to get most of it inside your mouth, maybe just a couple centimeters off. You kept at it, sucking his cock like your life literally depended on it, shooting your head back and forth making you feel dizzy.

“Mmm yeah… that’s it baby… just like that-” Han moans out for you with his eyes closed shut and head thrown back, you’re making him feel so good right now.

“I think I’m gonna cum y/n…”

You continue what you’ve been doing for the past 15 minutes or so, sucking his cock at an even faster rate. You look up at him and give him a sultry look with your eyes, you need to feel his cum all over you.

“Please cum on my face daddy,” you tell him, you used to let your ex cum on your face all the time and you were craving for that kind of thing at the moment. You keep deepthroating him and making gagging noises in the process, wanting him to know just how hard you’re working for his cum. He lets out a long moan and keeps saying he’s about to cum, you tap his dick on your tongue so you can get a taste of his load shooting out and then… you suddenly go blind. Han’s load comes out so fast that it got everywhere, causing some of it to get into your eye. You couldn’t see for a bit and rubbed your eye, feeling a thick, sticky substance on your left cheek. Han’s cum was now painted all over your face, some even got on your shoulder and landed on the floor. You smiled at how much cum you caused to come out his dick, feeling awfully proud of yourself.

You get up from your knees and start kissing again, he brings you back to the counter you were originally sitting on and he toys with the waistband of your skirt. He pulls your skirt down and begins rubbing your pussy through your underwear, dragging his fingers along your slit and teasing you. You whimper as you buck your hips up, wanting to feel his fingers on your clit. He finally moves your panties to the side and starts rubbing his middle finger against your swollen clit.

“Damn, you’re wet as fuck…” he says, looking at your glistening, wet pussy. He circles your clit and spits on it, mixing your juices with his saliva. He then dips his finger inside your hole, you let out a moan as he starts pushing his finger in and out. The sound of his fingers going in your wet pussy sound so dirty yet so blissful. He kisses you as he keeps fingering you, spreading you open with another finger. You’re such a moaning mess and it’s all thanks to Han’s wonderful fingers. You were arching your back at the sensation you were feeling, his thumb is now rubbing your clit while two of his fingers are still inside. You wanted his cock so badly, but you were going to have to ask nicely for it.

“I need you…” you whine to Han, you don’t know why you were too shy to say what you needed the most though.

“Need what baby?” He asks with his fingers still deep inside your sopping cunt, you were aching for something bigger and it’s making you go crazy.

“Your cock… need your cock, please!” You practically beg at this point for it. Han’s smile grew wider as he saw how needy you were already acting for him.

“As you wish pretty girl,” he says, taking his fingers out and licking the juices off of them one by one. He takes his cock in his hand and rubs it along your folds, he feels how soaking wet you are and it’s already enough to make him want to burst. He doesn’t think he’s a fast cummer (is that a word?) but for you, he’d nut instantly. He slides his thick, long cock into your little pussy, making you audibly gasp in pain and pleasure.

The size of him is enough to make you want to never be able to walk again, but you think once he’s done with you he’ll be leaving you permanently bed ridden.

“Just relax baby, you can take it all trust me..” Han assures you as he continues to slide his length inside, your wetness mixed with the sounds of his dick makes for the perfect porn audio. Your legs were spreading wide open and rested on his shoulders, he was taking nice and slow strokes at first. He wants you to become more adjusted to his size, he’s finally able to get all of himself in. You look down at your stomach to see a giant bulge, his cock was so big that he practically took up half of your torso.

“Ready baby?” Han whispers in your ear, asking for the okay to start thrusting deeper into you. You nod as you were finally getting used to him, he goes a little faster and starts to build a steady pace. His cock is hitting the back of your walls nicely and you feel every inch of him inside you. The cross necklace he was still wearing dangled over you, which was pretty ironic for the sinful act you two were committing at the moment. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he moves deeper into you, stretching you out like the little whore you are. You feel yourself growing wetter with each thrust and he’s grabbing your waist tightly with both hands.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good… my god..” Han says moaning, his eyes are closed again as he keeps fucking your tight pussy. You took his cock so well, you were so proud of yourself.

“Your cock feels amazing daddy,” you whimper out to him as you continue moaning his name, feeling like you’re about to cum already. Han’s breath becomes more irregular and his strokes are getting messier, you can tell he’s reaching his climax as well.

“Let’s cum together.” Han coaxes, holding your hand while fucking into you, his cock fits all the way inside without hurting you now and all you feel is immense pleasure. You nod your head in agreement with him and focus on reaching your high. A wave of ecstasy washes over you as Han hits a certain spot in you, his dick is so big that it can reach little places you never felt before, it’s an incredible feeling. Your head swings back as you feel your orgasm approaching, you let out a few curse words and catch your breath. Han feels his release coming too and quickly pulls out, he pumps his cock for a little bit with his right hand and watches his load shoot out onto your stomach. He lets out an erotic groan as he finishes off his last bit of cum and strokes his cock a little more.

“Fuck that was the best sex I’ve ever had..” Han says while panting, grabbing your face to pull into you a breathless kiss.

“Yeah, that was definitely amazing,” you respond after pulling away, smiling at his first impressions of you.

It was now midnight and you were both exhausted, you two were too fucked out to do anything else and Han was way too tired to head home that night. You didn’t mind Han staying over at your place, to be honest, it felt pretty normal. As you both got into bed he gave you tons of forehead kisses and cradled you to sleep, his embrace felt safe and protecting. You never wanted to leave his presence and neither did he.

It was the early hours of the morning and the sun is beaming on your face through the sheer white curtains. You wake up to a familiar smell coming from your kitchen, it was the smell of eggs and pancakes cooking. You put on some clothes quickly to head to your kitchen, you see Han in nothing but his underwear cooking you breakfast. You looked at the clock and saw that it was only 7:04 am, how is he already awake at this time of the morning? You make your way on over to him and give him a chaste kiss, telling him good morning. He finishes up cooking and grabs some plates for the both of you. You couldn’t believe your eyes right now, your Tinder date that you just hooked up with last night is now cooking you breakfast. You want to feel like you’re living in a dream but the more you keep blinking the more real this situation feels.

“Ready to eat babe?” Han asks, handing you a plate full of food. You nod, still trying to process everything that’s going on but you don’t want to keep questioning it. You sit at the table with Han and eat your food. You both talk as though everything is normal, still making little jokes with each other like yesterday’s date. The food he made was pretty good and you were wondering what other hidden skills he may have been hiding. You’re now questioning what could be wrong with him since he’s so perfect, why hasn’t someone like him not been snatched up yet? As you finish eating you head back upstairs, Han follows you.

“What’re you doing?” You ask him, turning around to face him in confusion.

“Im just following where you’re going,” he admits sheepishly.

“But why?” You genuinely want to know why he’s considered still being here and isn’t fleeing after finally getting what he wanted.

“I want to stay here for a while,” he says while looking away at something else, he was a bit shy to ask if he could stay over for another day.

“For how long?” You ask, wondering if he’s serious about his infatuation with you.

“I- I don’t know, can I just stay for one more night? Please y/n?” He holds your hand, gently caressing and rubbing it.

You feel conflicted, on one hand you want someone you can feel connected to on a deeper level but the other hand is making you want to keep this relationship as no strings attached. You sigh as you see the glint in his eyes, his eyes were all it took for you to give into him.

“Okay” you say, he smiles as he hears your swift response. He presses a soft kiss against your lips and lets you lead the way back to your room.

Four days have passed and Han is still staying in your apartment with you. You decided you didn’t actually hate his company and that it was just the fear of commitment that made you reluctant. Han was different though, he brought a side out of you that no one else has. He brings you flowers, makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, listens to your problems/needs/wants/desires, shuts up when he’s supposed to, and does anything you say at the drop of a hat.

He’s the perfect guy for you and you met him on something you wouldn’t have tried if it wasn’t for your best friend. You’re still in shock by how you and Han are basically in a relationship now, I mean who stays at someone’s house for almost a week if they weren’t falling in love? You should be happy yet you’re nervous, you’re nervous about telling Ryujin, what if she thinks you’re moving too fast? You didn’t tell anyone about this “relationship” yet since you’ve never rushed into things this quickly with someone.

Han was a great person and you knew that with every fiber of your being, you just didn’t know if others would see that through just a few days of talking. You know you’re going to have to do it at some point since you’re actually thinking about getting serious with him. Han has been nothing more than amazing to you and if everyone else doesn’t see that then they’re crazy, you can’t convince everyone to like him but you start to feel as though it won’t be an issue for him. You think he’ll fit in just fine with everyone in due time ♡

#han jisung x reader #han fluff #han smut #han jisung smut #han jisung fluff #han jisung x female reader #skz smut #han jisung drabbles #han jisung fanfic #skz x reader #han jisung imagines #skz x female reader #han jisung scenarios #skz drabbles #skz scenarios #stray kids x female reader #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year

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too many teens whining for validation, this blog needs more weird and stupid so...

AITA for kidnapping my friend and trapping her in the cheesebarn?

Hear me out:

The story starts about a week before my (20 at the time ftm) 21st birthday. If you live in the US you know this isnt just some lame 7th birthday or 36th birthday, this is one of the big boy birthdays, the special ones. Its when you can legal buy alcohol and are therefore truly an adult in the eyes of the law.

Naturally my friends (20s) wanted to do something Big for our 21sts. So they asked me what i wanted to do and i said i didnt really care as long as I got a road trip somewhere with friends.

Everyone thought it was a fun idea but it was a little short notice for everyone to get time off from work, but my other friend we will call C also had her 21st exactly a month after mine to the day, and the two of us agreed to share our 21sts and not do much of anything on my actual birthday. This is important, bc it was a SHARED birthday road trip.

I agree to let C pick the destination and I provide the car. We didnt have much of a plan as we were going to meet up with C's old roommate who lives in the city we picked to show us a good time.

It was 5 of us total and about a 7 hour drive altogether there with not a whole lot on the way there. We get to the city she picked and meet the roommate and honestly the rest of this part is just standard 21st birthday shenanigans. Its when we start the drive home things really start.

Remember its a long drive with not much to see? Well that was a lie. On our way back we see it, the Real "Happiest Place on Earth" as far as places with a mouse for a mascot go:

Grandpa's.

Fuckin'.

Cheesebarn.

Obviously me and the other people on the trip want to stop and see the magic, but unfucking fortunately C happens to be the only Basic White Girl ™️ in the entire world who hates cheese and isnt even lactose intolerant. This girl is notorious for making "petty" and "I hate Cheese" her entire personality. She would constantly make faces and gagging noises and talk about how gross and nasty cheese is if you so much as eat a grilt cheese near her.

Clearly she made it known that she wasnt on board with it. "NO! FUCK YOU ALL IM NOT GOING TO A PLACE CALLED A CHEESEBARN ON MY BIRTHDAY!!" were her exact words.

But i remembered i was driving, it was my car, and it was supposed to be my birthday too. So I put it to a vote. "Raise your hand if you wanna go to Grandpa's Cheesebarn!"

All hands raise but one. With C out voted we head to the cheesebarn.

Guys. This place is amazing. Its obviously making cheese its main draw, but yhere's so much more, its every shitty midwest tourist trap rolled into one glorious place. There's even a chocolate shop. We even got C's roommate to ditch work and come meet us bc shr heard "Grandpa's Cheesebarn" and knew she had to drop everything.

All in all a good visit, C even seemed like she had fun once we got there (she sure spent $300 on candies and dip mixes anyway). We go home. Things seem fine.

Then C drops off the face of the earth.

She wont respond to our calls or texts and at first we thought maybe she was giing through a rough patch or something and try to just keep reaching out but give her space. But then we find out that not only is she still hanging our with our other friends who couldnt make the trip with us. So clearly she's just pissed at us about something.

Finally one day a few months later i catch her at her job and just tell her "I dont care if you hate us, we'll never speak to you again if you dont want us to, but what the hell did we do to you??"

And she just looked me over and says "Well. You kidnapped me."

lolwut

And she yells (bc this girl loves yelling at people) "YOU KIDNAPPED ME AND TRAPPED ME AT A CHEESEBARN ON. MY. BIRTHDAY!!!!!"

And i just said "Well it was my birthday too," and havent spoken to her since. Its been over a decade and "No ragrets" as we said back in the day, but uts baffled me for years that that was her reaction. "Im just over you guys" i can understand, and its not like she was shy about telling people she hates them and their out of her life ever before. And from what i ended up hearing from our other friends she kept talking with it really was about the cheesebarn and how we "ruined her birthday".

No but srsly AITA??? For making her go to a cheesebarn???

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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menalez · 2 months

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i’m getting spammed with anon hate and i honestly don’t think this place is redeemable so im probs not going to be posting for idk how long. radblr has given me less than nothing. since joining radblr, people have overwhelmingly been unbelievably cruel to me.

my first year on radblr, women 1-2 decades older than me viciously harassed me for asking questions as someone not familiar with certain beliefs held here. these women harassed me for months non-stop, posted my full legal name, posted homes neighbouring where i lived in bahrain, and essentially released my private information. i had to threaten them back just in hopes they would leave me alone, which they didn’t really do. they simply stopped posting my name bc they wanted to make me look like im bad for finding one of their names simply by googling her url (her full name was her twitter username). one of the people in that circle was radicaldumbass, who then came back as macroclit, and again came back as radicalstoner. i moved on but i haven’t forgotten.

then, black-diaspora repeated the same thing. she posted pictures of my mother and led people to finding my mom's facebook. to this day, i still get anons with my mother’s name and my sister’s name. my sister was about 13 when anons first started sending me her name in threatening anons. somehow, black-diaspora was rewritten as a victim of mine despite her being repeatedly racist & lesbophobic to me & posting my mom’s info.

i was being abused by my ex-gf and women on here literally picked my abuse apart and enabled TRAs like lostelvenqueen to make up lies that i was the one abusing my abuser. that vicious lie was reiterated for 4 years. while being abused, women on radblr were mocking me for needing money when my ex-girlfriend was actively stealing from me at the time. to this day people use against me the fact that i needed help in that time bc some mutuals helped finance 2 dinners & my medication, all of which i either paid them back for or drew art as payment.

then, again, another woman dug through an old blog i ran as a teenager and found some posts here and there to make it seem like i, as a 15 and 16 year old, definitely loved being totally controlled by someone and physically abused whenever i didn’t follow his exact commands. i spoke openly about this trauma years prior to this person “exposing” me & arguing that i actually wanted that abuse by pointing to random innocuous posts and forming a story out of it. i think every abuse victim can imagine how difficult it is to still face trauma from something and instead of being allowed to heal, having it brought up to you several days a week to taunt you and having “feminists” tell you that you actually wanted it and are lying when you say otherwise. to this day, i get daily anons mentioning my name because this woman also put my legal name out there.

women here have put me in physical danger, they have made up the vilest lies about me, they’ve called me racial slurs, they’ve been outright racist to me, they’ve speculated about my rape & abuse, they’ve joked about lynching me, they’ve questioned things as minuscule as what i had for dinner. and despite that, i haven’t returned that same treatment. i remained relatively consistent, i simply criticised what i thought was wrong and provided evidence to my statements.

i made some nice friends on here & i’ll keep talking to them. but i’m going to be reevaluating why i’m wasting my time in a space that has overwhelmingly caused me stress, a space where countless unbelievable lies have been spun about me and a place where people have said & done the vilest things and in the end, i was always framed as a bad person based on half-truths or outright lies. now, people falsely claim that women who unfollow me or block me risk having their private information exposed, when i have met at least a dozen women from radblr and run a server with hundreds of women from radblr, have seen hundreds of faces, and have never exposed such information even if we end up disliking each other. i could tolerate many ridiculous lies, but why should i? i’m pretty fed up of tolerating this.

enjoy spinning this however you want and lying about me further. idk when i’ll be back or if i’ll want to be back. it’s pretty clear to me that this space prioritises lesbophobes & racists (& sometimes even downright misogynists) over people who calmly criticise it. i joined this space initially bc i thought it was somewhere where i could freely be a lesbian without being hassled for it, but radblr doesn’t even offer that anymore.

#if sth posts from my blog there’s a big chance it’s my queue #bye

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behidethetrees · 1 year

Text

THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK, STILL SMELLS LIKE YOU.

IN WHICH… having a job while dating a clingy rafe doesn’t exactly go hand in hand.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem! Pogue!Reader

Contents: NON-CANON!Rafe, Reader fixes cars, clingy and possessive! Rafe, brief Pope mention, Your friends are the pogues, This is set in the 2000s!!

THIS IS A REUPLOAD!!! my old blog was deleted so i have to reupload all my fics :( Anways enjoy!

Prequel Part 1

Rafe hates that you work.

You weren't meant to clean cars, You were meant to stay inside your Tannyhill house with Rafe, Always next to him, never out of his sight.

He hated the assholes you complained about for being rude to you. Rafe always argued or sometimes fought people who even looked at you wrong. Once he heard some old dude yell at you to hurry up, Later that night Rafe smashed his car with his golf club. He was big on respect especially when it came to you.

But there was nothing more that Rafe hated than the fact you worked with Guys alongside two other girls. It's not that he didn't trust you or thought you might cheat on him with them, He didn't trust them. You were beautiful, heaven sent in Rafe's eyes. Your guy friends were lucky to even be in your presence, Or they were even luckier Rafe didn't bash their heads open for being around you.

Sometimes Rafe would show up to your job for a bit when he wasn't playing golf or he missed you extra. You knew Rafe was very, very clingy, always touching you in some way, But today was extreme.

JULY, 2008.

“Rafe I'm gonna be late!” You tried to get Rafe off your back but he kept hugging you tighter.

“Do you have to have to go, why can't I come, why can't you just quit already?” Rafe whines. He'd never admit it out loud but he dreaded the times you went to work.

You start to waddle towards the front door. “If I let you come with me will you get off of me?” You question him.

Almost instantly Rafe steps away, looking at you surprised as you already walk outside, opening your car door. “Really? I can go?” He asks shocked.

“If you dont get in the car in 10 seconds I'm leaving you.” You stated, Not that you were going to leave him but you wanted him to hurry up. Rafe almost trips because of how fast he darted to your car. Rafe insisted he’d drive you, that wasnt up for discussion.

Rafe opens the car door for you when you two arrive at the Pogue bodyshop. He slips his arms around your waist as you walk, keeping you close to him, This was going to be a long day.

When you popped open the hood of your client's car, Rafe hugged you from behind, Kissing your neck gently as you worked. At first you didn't mind but it started becoming a lot. Anywhere you walked, Rafe followed. When you went to talk to anybody Rafe slung his arm around your neck while giving whoever the death stare, making sure they know you're his.

When you went on lunch break Rafe sat you in his lap, keeping you away from your friends. As you eat your sandwich, Occasionally letting Rafe have a bite, Your friend Pope comes up to you.

“Hey Y/N do you want my chips?” Pope offered, He always gave you his chips because he felt too guilty to tell his mom she wasnt getting the right kind.

“Yeah sure thanks Pope” You smiled at him, as you extended your arm to grab them, You felt Rafe's strong arm pull yours back down.

“Fuck off.” Rafe grits through his teeth, Staring at him tensely. Pope's expression fell and he quickly turned around to start speed walking to the other pogues.

“What the hell was that?” You flicked Rafe on the forehead.

“I dont like him, He's no good like the rest of those pogues.” Rafe states as he rubs the part of his forehead you flicked him on. Rafe didn't like your friends for many reasons, stupid reasons. Mostly because they're pogues, like you, which confused you.

“Im a pogue too Rafe.” You remind him as you cross your arms, You didn't understand the whole ‘Kooks vs. Pogues’ rivalry. You recall the first time you met JJ he went on a rant on how you should stay away from kooks and how they're the real trash.

“Not like them, you're different baby.” Rafe tried to clarify but he had already messed up. You stood up in front of him, still crossing your arms.

“Apologize to him or leave.” You tell him. “ You can't come to my work just to be mean to my friends and clients, And I can't work with you all up on me Rafe!” Rafe quickly stood up, He heard your tone and your voice slightly getting louder indicating you were getting annoyed with him. But luckily for Rafe, he knew how to get you to calm down.

“Hey, hey I'm sorry okay? Really I am, dont make me leave.” Rafe grabbed your hands to take them into his own. All it took was Rafe's sweet words and his dazzling eyes for you to give in to him. Your face softens as you look at him.

You sigh. “Please stop clinging to me when I'm working okay? I promise we can cuddle when we get home but I need to get this car done.” You tell him, He quickly nods.

“And I'm serious Rafe, apologize to Pope!” You playfully push his shoulder.

“Whatever you want baby.”

A/N: someone on my old blog wanted a prequel of how they met so i will do that soon <3.

Requests

Taglist: @nowitsmissing

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #obx3 #obx fic #rafe obx #obx x reader

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dilfhos · 1 year

Text

STRAY

#!WHO : SHIGARAKI TOMURA

#!CC: puppygirl!reader, thoughts of depravity, readers kinda naive, no thots just dick, there’s no expressive consent but reader’s kinda dumb and needy, use of “doggy” and “pup”. reader does actually bark (not them arf, yips! like a husky, heady bark.) MDNI.

+bringing back this banger from my old blog. you can also read it on my ao3. im nervous lol idk how its gonna hold up 2 years later, diff audience. i can’t remember the ask specifically but it was something like Shigaraki finding a stray and he ends up using her. omg and i want to tag @bakatenshii idk if you remember my old alias but i do remembered you loved this fic!

+NETWORK(S): @angelshub @bitchcraftinc (i keep forgetting to do this mL, excuse the random @/lovelies)

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad…

Shigaraki still wonders how he ever let this be, an animal-woman hybrid living in his already cramped apartment. Doesn’t know why he hadn’t bothered to kick you out either. But it could be anybody’s guess as to why you still remain.

It all started when he got into an argument with his landlord, one that required him the self control to back off and avoid killing the bastard. It was rainy but Shigaraki paid no mind to the stinging raindrops that pelted his skin and soaked his clothes. It was dark out, but not too dark as to not notice you cowering against the side of his building upon his return. Your eyes were closed as you trembled in the cold rain.

Shigaraki didn’t know why he found himself moving closer to get a better look at you but when your eyes shot open, he found himself almost curious. He’d never seen anything like you before. Especially when your ears, you very doglike ears twitched forward, erect and alert. But you didn’t seem all that afraid. You were dressed in soaked shirt that was too big for you as it sagged off your body.

He crouched down and you inched toward him reluctantly and as you moved from your previous position, his eyes sought out the tail that had been tucked in between your legs.

“Hey, there you are,” Someone cooed from behind him. Shigaraki turned to eye the man. There was nothing all that remarkable about him; he wore all black, his hood over his head save for a few dark locks that stuck to his brows. Shigaraki wasn’t the least bit intimidated. But that couldn’t be said for you as you frantically dove into his arms, letting out a frightened whimper. Your ears flattened against your head as your hands curled into Shigaraki’s coat.

He wanted to back you off and leave from the situation as it had nothing to do with him and was fixing to do so when he looked down. Your pupils were blown and eyes glossy, pleading.

He sighed before standing, pulling you up with him to stand on trembling feet.

“She yours?” Shigaraki mumbled. You moved behind him, your hands tightening on his clothes.

“Heh, yeah, ran right out through the door. Isn’t that right baby?” You growled all while cowering behind Shigaraki’s form.

“No collar,” Shigaraki noted.

“Been meaning to get her one. C’mon baby, why don’t you leave the nice man alone and come back home with me?” He cooed.

The utter confidence and trust you had in Shigaraki at this moment was appalling. He barely covered the man in terms of height and upon first glance, he looked rather average. Definitely not the type to win in a fist fight. So why were you so dependent on him to save you?

Shigaraki didn’t have time to really think too much about it because the man advanced, silver glinting under the streetlamp. You yelped and cowered back against the wall again, covering your eyes.

You heard a grunt followed by a pained cry as that then died into the sound of pelting rain. When you lowered your shaky hands, Shigaraki was standing over a pile of what looked to be ash, the knife a few feet away.

Ever since that night, he couldn’t seem to shake you.

You’re loyal and to him, it’s annoying. Showing up at his doorsteps turns into you sleeping on his ratty couch. His chasing you away turns into grumbles of tolerance. The typical sneer he wears when you come sniffing around dissolved in hidden blushes and twitched lips as your distrustful cowering eventually turn into you becoming disturbingly comfortable around him.

After another day of pressing his key into the lock does he already see you on the other side of the door, tail whipping back and forth in excitement as you await his return. Except he isn’t really in the mood. Today was particularly bad and he wanted nothing more than to possibly let off steam, maybe watch something, blow his load and sleep.

“Stupid mutt, stop doing that!” He growls when his back immediately slams against the door, eyes narrowed in the way you smile up at him.

“Welcome home sir.” You beamed.

Another thing you picked up was calling him ‘sir’. Despite the many times he tells you not to. He wasn’t your last owner, and honestly, he’d like it if you didn’t call him anything. But every one of his complaints go through one ear and out the other with you having half the intelligence of an actual dog.

He recoils when he feels your tongue graze his neck. Groans when it doesn’t just end there. You’re licking his chin, his neck, and when your tongue laps over his lips, he’s trying to buck you off. But you’re so persistent as you press further against him, your front grinding up against his groin unknowingly.

Shigaraki bites back a moan at your ignorance, his cock already hardening from your aimless shifting.

You couldn’t feel the bulge pushing against your thigh? The soft grunts he’d release when you’d lap at the rough skin of his neck? You can’t be that stupid or then maybe you are.

But would it be that bad if you are? Because then he wouldn’t feel guilty when he dreams of stuffing you full with his cock. You practically ask for it every chance you get with him. The sleeping in his bed, your excessive show of affection, the sickening devotion in your eyes.

And then, isn’t it what he deserved? He did save you that night. Do you even remember how easy it could have been for him to just walk away? To give you up to that creep? Sure it only happened a few weeks ago but he thinks of that night as if it was only the last. How when he brought you home and went to retrieve a towel to dry you up, you were on your hands and knees practically presenting yourself to him as you slumped in exhaustion. As if giving him the go ahead to do what he wanted to and by gods, it took everything with him not to.

He wasn’t a hero, not by a long shot. And maybe you didn’t have the mental capacity to accept that he was actually a villain because in your eyes, he was your savior.

But as said, today was a particularly bad day and right now he felt anything but.

So just this once he’ll give in. Whether you wanted it or not didn’t matter to him at this point, already past contemplation. After all you’re his pet now, his property and if he can’t do this then what good are you really?

You release your little whimpers and when you look up, your eyes are wide, so full of confusion when he suddenly has you on your hands and knees pressing into you from behind on the floor. Your owner wears a new look, his eyes so feral, teeth gritted. And you know that look; it was the look of your last owner among all the other men that tried to take you on the streets. Hunger. Greed. Desperation.

And you should be wary, should cower away from the carnality in his eyes because you know better than anyone that when it’s present one thing is desired. Yet, you hold your ground. You don’t struggle, in fact he could just make out the way your hips shimmy back a little bit and the whine that surfaces from your throat.

You just can’t help it, the air around you has changed. A thick cloud of hot lust is weighing down around you and so much so, you can’t help but to submit. Besides you trust him one for reasons you can’t figure out.

Shigaraki refuses to meet your eyes, instead he quickly fumbles with his belt and takes out his hard cock. A blush spreads across his face when he eyes the steady slick trailing down your thighs and upon closer inspection he can see how swollen you were and that’s what does him in.

It’s what has him surging forward, bottoming out completely inside of you. Your ears flatten against your head as you let out the neediest sounding moan, one that has a shiver licking down his spine.

“Shit. Shit,” He should feel ashamed, taking advantage of you like this. But he clings on the fact that he’s a villain, that’s his justification. A villian with his pet, that’s all this is.

It’s fueling his newfound vigor as he speeds up, the heat of your tight cunny sucking him in with every cant of his hips.

His fingers dig into the plush of your hips as his own thrust forward, his cock forcing past your tight ring of muscle. You look back again, your eyes glossy with tears, long tongue hanging out as you whine and pant. He was so thick, so heavy within your tight, hot walls. Your nails scrape helplessly against the dingy carpet as he rocks into you with so much drive.

In the midst of your panting and whining surfaces his voice, so grating and filthy as he tumbles every degrading name in the book. It should worry him and yet it has his stomach knotting up, his thighs and glutes tightening as he holds on to your hips for dear life. And in the midst of that is the loud, wet, shlicks of each sink into you.

“My needy little bitch. Taking my cock like a good doggy,” He grits, eyeing the recoil of your ass against his hips.

His hand seeks out the base of your tail as he uses it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. And it hurts, it has the tears spilling over and yet, your cunt only tightens around him some more.

“F-Feels good sir!” You cry out at about the same time as he mumbles,

“Good doggy, such a good pup,” And at his praise, your ears bend forward, and your tail begins to switch slowly in his gasp. You feel a knot in your tummy, desperately winding down to what you’re chasing. It has you rocking back against him needy to have, so so needy. And the way your resolve has melted away, it makes all his thoughts of guilt completely vanish, leaving him with an unbearable need to fill you up.

He’s quickly pulling out and flipping you onto your back, nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he spreads you wide.

You were so wet, inhumanly so as it’s gushing down onto the carpet and the sight alone has him nearly cumming right then and there but he holds it. At least until he’s thrusting into you again, your head thrown back as you let out a broken whine. Your tits bounce with all the force he’s using as he’s putting everything into these last moments. His one track kind only focuses in the tuft of fur above your cunny, at the way your puffy lips pull part each time he's pushing forward and the slick coating his cock.

You’re yelping with each kiss he delivers to your cervix, hands desperate to hold onto to your new owner. You reach out and he grasps your wrists, using you to thrust impossibly deeper into you. Static fills his mind as his eyes roll back, his hips slamming against yours, balls smacking your ass each time.

“Fuck, fuck cumming!”

“Sir! Sir please-” You cut your own self off with a heady bark, one that startles him. It’s also what has him groaning as he twitches, his seed spilling so suddenly into you. Your pussy milks him as you gush around his dick and it has him falling over, elbows pressed into the carpet on either side of your head. Your legs wrap around his waist as your hips shimmy up against him, whining as you push past your own limits, twitching every so slightly at the overstimulation and sealing this moment of what would be the best one in your simple little head.

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad.

He also thinks he should probably name you.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #bnha #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero acedamia #bnha tomura #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigraki #ik its too early to post but i want it out of my drafts before i change my mind about posting it #mha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki #boost if you can #[ output—☆ ]#tw hybrids

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drawlfoy · 1 year

Text

the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.”

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin.

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it.

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable.

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy.

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring.

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it.

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal.

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you.

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands.

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?”

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.”

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer.

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark.

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point?

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys.

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder.

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version.

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market.

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943.

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please.

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal.

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below.

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s.

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train.

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it.

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces.

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had.

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink.

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you.

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin.

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty.

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it.

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you.

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects.

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand.

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects.

Huh.

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either.

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest.

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away.

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?”

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.”

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.”

“Right, right.”

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.”

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise.

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly.

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all.

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.”

Y/N.

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out.

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added.

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow.

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you.

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions.

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing.

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here.

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though.

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.”

“See? Useful.”

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot.

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away.

Well, goodnight you wrote.

Goodnight

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit.

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy.

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.”

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way.

There you are. I thought I’d bored you.

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight.

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around.

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink.

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts.

Then the lettering appeared again.

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me.

You lived in a muggle orphanage?

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming.

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to.

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth?

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn.

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair.

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class.

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets.

Surely you do.

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this.

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection.

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.”

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then???

Ancient.

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage?

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled.

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out?

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious.

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction.

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought.

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail?

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause.

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly.

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again.

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section.

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake.

Not until now.

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands.

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here.

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more.

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it.

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary.

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead.

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again.

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal.

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again.

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes?

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive.

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend.

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day.

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give.

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke.

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help.

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied.

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world.

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze.

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.”

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent.

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it.

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.”

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.”

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok.

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling.

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook.

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable.

“Hi.”

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.”

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered.

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering.

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning.

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.”

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.”

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.”

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away.

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch.

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless.

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.”

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate.

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.”

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron.

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut.

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly.

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?”

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices.

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory.

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness.

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?”

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling.

He didn’t say anything.

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes.

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air.

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing.

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.”

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised.

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you.

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm.

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?”

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.”

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders.

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling.

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well.

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine

824 notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 1 month

Text

27 Asks! Thank you!! :DD🦎

@driftwoodmfb

Its simple, Arceus made them! :0 He made Litwicks, Lampents and Chandelures at the same time. The Litwicks ate the Lampent plorts, the Lampents ate the Chandelure plorts, and the Chandelures made more Litwicks! :00 Same goes for every other slime species on the planet.

I actually love your cat so much

I am not familiar with "Six the Musical".. <:0 Sorry!

@quietmakesglark

WAHAHAHGGGG THANKYOU SO MUCH!!!!!😭😭💞💞💞THUIS WAS ALL SOSWEEETT THANTKOYIYUUU!!!💞💞💞🥺🥺💞💞

@glitchhayden (Last ask was in this post)

OHH I see XDDD I kind'a want one-

@abaroo

<XD Yeah, poor Sally.. I was thinking that she doesn't really need to sleep or rest and is always on the go! So early birds like Frank and Howdy are her go to friends. And Julie usually has a fair amount of time and energy to spare for her sister! :))

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY EDDIE AND WALLY!!!! :}}}}}

🥺💞💞💞 AAAAAAA I'm so glad you like him!!! :}}}}}}

(Referencing this post)

There was a time where Wally had a particularly big meltdown/panic attack over Home watching him. In response Barnaby invited Wally to stay at his house for a few days to see if the different environment helped at all.. which it did.

So nowadays whenever Wally gets really stressed, he crashes at Barnaby's house.. Home doesn't like Barnaby because he keeps taking Wally away from it.. 👁️👁️

But thankfully I don't think Home could really hurt Barnaby.. other than maybe opening a door causing him to stub his toe- <XD

@littlelightfish

👀👀

(Referencing this post)

Man, I always miss one spelling error. 😔

Also thank you! I'm glad you like them! :)))

I put "#do not tag as ship" on all my Welcome Home posts. If people start coming at me for it I'll deal with them.. <XD thank you for the concern though! <:)

@milk-powrit (Referencing this post)

:DD Thank you! And hey- its not necessarily to be mean! Home is not not particularly interested in them because they're just normal neighbors <XD Plus they don't come around often sooo...

@tallchest13-blog

That is the most creature I have ever seen!! :000

@burnt-pie-eater

This Christmas comic and this dream comic are good examples! :0 Seeing himself as his human body with puppet colors. Seeing things or people from his human life..

I'm thinking of making it so any bugs Eddie sees look like real bugs. Weird dark roaches and spiders. Which is why he's scared of them.. 👀👀

@caprico54

Yes yes! :DD When Eddie was human, he was a mailman! So his job as a mailman now is the only thing that feels natural and familiar to him... Which is why he's so unnaturally good at it! :00

@i-only-created-this-to-read

Hmm.. I imagine that the pipes and plumbing are apart of Home. But only in the walls. The pipes the come up from the ground and attach to Home are not apart if it.

I'm thinking if you completely tore Home down and rebuilt it somewhere else, it would flicker to life again. If you split the materials of home between 2 houses, I think only one would actually be alive and "home". It would make sense if one part of Home was where its life came from. But I'm not sure what that would be.. Maybe the fireplace is the heart? Monster house style? <XD

I imagine whatever is apart/meant to be apart of Home is its body. A meteor crashing through wouldn't be part of it <XD And any hanging pictures or furniture is not apart if it. The walls are its bones and the paint becomes its skin. If you tore down a wall that wood stops being apart of Homes body the moment it is detached. If you build a new wall, it might take a moment.. but it will eventually become apart of Homes body.

As for the old rotted wood, I imagine that Wally chopped it up and used it for fire wood :0 The new wood that Wally installed in the walls became Homes new body.

<:( You will find someone new someday friend! There's a lot of bees in the hive!

(Referencing this post)

XDD Naahhh its ok, Grim's just nomin. He wont hurt Sylvester! :)

@taco-hyeh (Sent after this post)

Man, if only my mega Grimace comic didn't turn out to be so giant <XD I would have PLENTY of angst for you!

@kitschie

Home right now can be best described as.. curious.. but also somewhat malicious. It watches Wally and Eddie because its curious about them. But it can clearly tell that watching them causes panic attacks and makes them very upset. Yet it doesn't stop. If anything it watches them more intensely when they cry..

When it comes to if they could figure out what it wants.. its hard to say if Home even really wants anything. It just likes to watch and see the Wally react to its stares... that, an the fact that Home probably cant communicate outside of slamming windows and doors-

@calsoutghosthunting

Oh? I've only seen it from 1 artist, is it becoming a trend? :00

I don't know how I feel about it.. I mean its cool! But I might not draw it with my Sona personally <XD Reminds me of this old Journal drawing trend that I did a long while back.. 🤔

@spirited-splashes

AAAA THANK YOU!!! :DDDD I wish you luck in your journey! :)) AND REMEMBER!! The comfort has to be just as healing as the angst is hurting!! :}}}

(Referencing this post)

If you look closely, the hat is actually just Sylvester's ribbons! XDDD

#my response #slime rancher #welcome home

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briefinquiries · 1 year

Text

Luke Alvez x Reader: Five Feet Apart

Request: “hey! I love your blog and your writing so much, so thanks for that! im not sure if you’ve seen season 15 yet, but could you do a fic based off from the episode where Luke and Matt are kidnapped by the unsub, except maybe it’s Luke and the reader that are kidnapped?”

Word count: 4.2 k

Warnings: kidnapping, suicide tw, blood mention

The first thing you notice when you start to wake up is that there’s something dripping onto your leg, it’s warm and slides towards the inner portion of your thigh. The thought is replaced by the searing pain in your forehead. You groan, quickly realizing the warm liquid dripping into your lap is your own blood.

The sound of your name is what forces you to finally peel your eyes open. You brace yourself for the brightness of the sun or fluorescent lights, but instead, you find yourself planted in a damp, dimly lit room.

You hear your name being called again, and you slowly turn your head in the direction of the sound, wincing when a sharp pain radiates through your head.

“Luke?” you gasp. He’s about five feet away from you, sitting on the floor against a beam with his hands tied behind his back. You’re able to get a better look at your surroundings, as you fight to get your bearings in what looks like an old warehouse.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Thank God,” he mutters, dropping his head slightly in relief.

You catch a glimpse of the bruise that’s taking up a large portion of his face and you shutter. “What happened?” you whisper. You feel your chest start to inflate with panic. “Luke- Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” he admits slowly.

He looks around the empty room for anything noteworthy.

“Luke–” you call out his name weakly, knowing that there was nothing he could do, but all the while desperately hoping that you were wrong. The more alert you become, the more panicked you become. Without even thinking you start harshly jerking against the ties around your own wrists, desperately trying to free yourself from their constraints. You can feel the rope digging into your flesh as you tug harder, but you don’t stop. The fear and frustration inside of you escapes your body through thick sobs. They echo through the room.

Luke’s trying to inch his way closer to you, he’s already figured out that his restraints are too tight to maneuver out of, but his body naturally gravitates towards you and your obvious discomfort.

“Hey, hey, hey–” he tries to soothe. Luke’s stomach drops, as he watches you panic from only five feet away. Luke wishes he could cross the room in a heartbeat and wrap his arms around you securely. He wishes he could scoop you up, cradle you to his chest, and just hold you until you could breathe again. “It’s okay. Baby, look at me– look at me.”

You steady yourself long enough to lift your head and move your gaze towards Luke. You try to ignore the cut above his brow, split skin that’s oozing blood, and instead focus on his eyes, which are wide and wild, but still soft. They’re a deep, brown– the color of the earth after a heavy rain. You’d looked into those eyes so many times before, but you’re still always amazed at how much strength they hold. Despite all he’d weathered and all he’d seen, they hold so much life.

Slowly, Luke starts to take deep breaths. He’s exaggerating the movement, like he wants you to follow suit. You match your choppy inhales to his smooth, methodical ones, and gradually, you feel yourself start to calm.

“Listen to me,” Luke whispers. You continue to breathe. “We’re going to be okay.”

…

“Wait a minute.” Spencer is standing in the parking garage stationed outside of the BAU and shakes his head, his arms crossed tightly.

He’s walking into the building with JJ and Garcia when he notices Luke’s truck parked in exactly the same position as Spencer had seen it the previous night.

“What’s up?” JJ asks, looking up from her phone and stopping to wait. Her and Penelope exchange questioning looks.

“Luke’s truck…” Spencer trails off as he approaches the vehicle. Nothing looks out of place. All the windows are intact– no belongings are scattered on the ground as if there’d been a struggle. But he can’t shake the feeling in his gut– the one telling him that something is wrong.

Spencer cups his hand around his eyes and peers through the glass of Luke’s truck. There is a steel coffee cup sitting in the cup holder, a cell phone charger dangling from the power outlet, and some gum wrappers scrunched up and discarded in the center console. But Spencer’s stomach sinks even further when he looks onto the driver’s side floor and sees the wallet and phone discarded hastily.

“Guys–” Spencer says suddenly. When he takes a step back he notices some dark, crimson stains on the cement ground. He squats down quickly, inspecting the trail of dots. “I think this is blood.”

Garcia gasps.

“Call Emily and Dave…” Spencer gazes underneath the truck, inspecting the area. His eyes widen when he sees a much larger pool of blood on the ground outside the passengers side. His voice lowers and he sounds out of breath when he speaks. “Call everyone.”

…

The surprised smile that erupted on Luke’s face when he saw you across the parking lot made getting up at three thirty to catch an earlier flight worth it. You were jetlagged and hungry and carrying bags under your eyes that were heavier than your luggage, but you forgot about all of that the moment that your eyes landed on him. He crossed the gap between you two in a hurry, shedding the bag he had strapped across his chest and discarding it carelessly. In just two, long strides, he was embracing you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and lifting you up excitedly.

You squealed when your feet left the ground, causing you to tighten the grip you had around his neck.

“What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow,” he asked breathlessly when he finally set you back down. He kept his hands placed securely on your lower back.

You drummed your fingers across his chest and smiled. “I wanted to surprise you, I switched my flight, because I missed you.”

“They just let you exchange flights?” he inquired.

You bit your lip. “There were a couple of fees,” you downplayed the extra hundreds dollars you had to spend for the ticket.

Luke smirked, sensing your secret.

“It was worth it though,” you paused, poking his chest. “You were worth it.”

Luke’s face broke out into another enormous grin, right before he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

…

Emily runs. The way you run when you were late for a flight, and the speakers were announcing that the gates were closing. Or the way you ran to flag down a taxi about to drive off. Or how a mother would run if she heard her child crying in another room. She runs the way you’d run if your family was in trouble. Because hers is.

The blood rushing through her veins pulsates loudly in her ears, like a loud drumbeat narrating her every step. That’s all she hears as she races to the parking garage.

When she arrives, the rest of the team is already there, wide-eyed, and waiting for her leadership. She is surprised to realize that she isn’t even out of breath as she spoke.

“This is personal, the Bureau is not going to want us working this case.”

Before the rest of the team can protest, she lowers her voice and continues, “So we’ll do this quietly, and we’ll do this discreetly.”

…

“So tell me all about your trip. Did you bring enough scarves?”

You playfully hit Luke on the arm, punishing him for teasing you. “Yes, as a matter of fact I did,” you said cordially.

He smirked. “I told you three would be an adequate amount of scarves.”

You laughed, before leaning back against the flatbed of his truck. “It was good, the weather was nice. My brother and I only fought the entire time.”

Luke sighed, wrapping his arm around you. “I know it’s tough going home, but I know your mom appreciates it when you visit.” He pulled you closer to him and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I promise next time I’ll go with you, to gang up on your brother with you.”

You sighed and leaned closer into Luke’s touch, closing your eyes. You never realized how much you were going to miss him until you were away from him.

After a few moments, you reluctantly pulled away. “As much as I love our parking garage reunion, could we go home now? I’m starving.”

Luke smiled and nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I need to get away from work for a while.”

As you made your way to the passenger side, Luke skipped around his truck to retrieve his bag, which was still on the ground. You waited by the door for him to unlock it, your hand already positioned around the handle.

You stared at your own, tired reflection in the window, marveling at the fact that Luke found you desirable in such a frazzled state. You were so fixated on your own disheveled appearance that you didn’t even notice the man approaching you, until his reflection was right behind yours.

Before you could jump, before you could turn around or scream, before you could hear Luke yelling for you to “watch out”, your head was struck and everything went dark.

…

Spencer is in the process of drawing lines on a map when Matt and Tara walk into the conference room.

“So it turns out Y/N booked a six o’clock flight into D.C. Her cell phone records show she was in Quantico before the signal was lost.”

Reid narrowed his eyes. “So she wasn’t supposed to be there,” he thinks out loud. “Whoever took Luke took her too, but she wasn’t the target. He was.”

“Who would have it out for Alvez?” Tara wonders. She crosses her arms and shakes her head.

Right on cue, JJ walks into the conference room. She slams the stack of files she’s been holding on the table in front of them. “Take your pick,” she answers Tara’s question. “Looks like Luke made a lot of enemies during his fugitive task force days.”

The rest of the team hesitates as they gaze at the daunting pile of files in front of them. But Reid wastes no time before surging forward and ripping open the first one he can get his hands on.

Spencer is going to find Luke.

…

Luke is the strong one. He holds you during scary movies and can pick you up with such ease (despite your protests). He always sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door, and instinctively wraps his arm around you protectively anytime he senses danger. Hell, he literally fights bad guys for a living. He is a real life superhero.

This situation, as it turned out, is no different. While you sit, cold and shivering on the ground, crying silently, Luke comforts you, all while continuously searching for a way out of this mess.

He’s interrupted when heavy footsteps approach. Your eyes instinctively shoot towards the noise. A man emerges from behind some barrels stacked in the corner. You can tell that he’s tall and muscular, wearing combat boots that are tucked into his utility pants. He looks military.

“Alvez.” The word slips off his tongue slowly, like he’s savoring it. “Remember me?”

Something in Luke’s demeanor shifts when he catches a glimpse of the man before him. His eyes sink, the rest of his face quickly following suit.

“Ray–” Luke says the man's name like he still can’t believe it. But before he can finish his sentence, the man, named Ray, winds back and thrusts his foot into Luke’s stomach.

Luke lets out an unnatural grunting sound as he doubles over. Without missing a beat, the man kicks him again, and again. He kicks him until Luke is writhing in pain on the floor, hands still tied behind his back, defenseless.

You don’t even realize you’re screaming at this man to stop until Ray turns to look at you. Your gaze doesn’t leave Luke until the man approaches you quietly. You don’t care that you’ve basically made yourself a target at this point. You would’ve done anything to get him to stop hurting Luke.

“You–” the man says. He has a hint of humor in his voice. “We didn’t plan for you to be at the garage.What a pleasant surprise.”

Amidst his writhing in pain, Luke snarls from the floor. “Leave her alone!” His voice sounds gurgled, and you realize he’s probably talking through the blood in his mouth.

His lips tug into a smile once he realizes how protective Luke is over you. You can see on his face that he’s going to play off of that. He inches closer.

There’s nowhere for you to go, so you press yourself so far into the beam you’re tied to that it starts to leave an imprint in your back. For a moment, you think he’s going to start kicking you as hard as he’d kicked Luke, but instead he bends down in front of you and clicks his tongue.

You get a good look at Ray’s face, it’s covered in creases and craters. He stares at you without blinking. When he lifts his hand slowly, you can’t help but flinch. But gently, he pushes the strand of hair out of your eyes. Your breathing has become choppy and labored.

“Don’t touch her!” Luke spits out. Ray’s hand freezes on your cheek and he smiles again. This time, he’s staring directly at you.

Then he stands up, and quietly wanders behind you. You lock eyes with Luke, hoping to find some form of comfort. Instead, you just see anger and fear.

You sense Ray behind you. His footsteps click on the cement floor, when they stop, you assume he’s hovering. You expect to be hit again, or shot or kicked– but what you don’t expect is the pressure of your hand restraints to be loosened and then released all together. Before you can rub the skin that’d been rope burned, your arm is being grabbed and you’re roughly being hoisted up on your feet.

You stumble, Ray’s tight grip the only thing keeping you from falling. His arm bars across your chest and pulls tightly across your neck. He pulls something black out from his side and clicks the end of it. The cold barrel presses hard against your temple.

“Do you know what happened to me after I got arrested, after you got me arrested?” He spits at Luke.

Luke watches the scene folding out in front of him wearily. He has to choose his words carefully, or he could lose you.

“It was my job to put you away,” Luke says steadily.

The man shakes his head and repeats slowly, “Do you know what happened to me after you put me away?”

Luke’s shaken by the question. Ray can tell.

“They killed them,” he states calmly. “You see, it got out that I was caught, and by a fed no less. And my kind– they don’t take too kindly to the feds. They mistook my capture for a betrayal. So…” his voice trails off in the darkness. “So to teach me a lesson, they killed them.”

He clears his throat, his voice returning with a newly found sense of anger as he continues to speak. “Did you know that if you’re in prison, and your wife and son are murdered, you’re not allowed to go to their funeral?”

Ray lowers the gun from your temple. You’re about to inhale a shaky sigh of relief, hoping that maybe he had a change of heart, when he turns the gun, pointing it directly at Luke.

Everything inside of you ignites, like you’ve been set on fire from within. You press your hands into the arm still barred across your chest and try to get free.

“Stop it! Please!” You cry out. “I’ll do anything you want! Please don’t hurt him!”

Ray smiles, he releases you from his grasp and steps back. He leans slightly forward to caress your face. “Oh darling, I’m not going to hurt him.” He presses something cold and hard into your open palm. “You are.”

…

It’s in the evening when a file finally catches Spencer’s eye. He’s elbows deep in paperwork and case files, but this one stands out.

“Hang on,” Reed thinks out loud. He gets up from the seat he’s been planted in since the morning and makes his way to the drawing board. “This one– this guy, his name is Malcolm Ray, he was released from prison three weeks ago. His entire family was murdered just a month after he was put away by Luke. It says the killer was never found.”

“The last contact this guy has before he’s put behind bars is Luke,” JJ says.

Spencer nods. “He associates Luke locking him up with him not being there to protect his family.”

Emily sighs. “That’s certainly motive.”

…

You shake your head harshly. The tears falling down your face are making your vision blurry. “No,” you plead. “No, no, no.”

The idea of Luke being hurt is terrifying and unnatural. Luke doesn’t get hurt. Luke is the protector. Luke is strong. But the idea of you being the one to hurt Luke is unbearable.

“Shoot him,” Ray orders.

You shake your head.

Ray moves his hands behind his back and draws out another gun. This one, he points directly at the back of your head. You hear the click of the trigger. “Shoot him,” Ray repeats.

The cold barrel is pressed to your scalp and your adrenaline is surging through your veins. You’re staring at Luke now, desperate for him to give you some of his strength.

“It’s okay,” he speaks softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay,”

He’s giving you permission– letting you off the hook, so that way if you actually choose to shoot him, you can do it guilt free. Leave it to Luke to look after you, even while he’s staring down death.

You let out a shaky sob, your arms trembling with the weight of the handgun. You shake your head one last time and sigh, defeated. “No.”

The barrel of the gun pushes harder into your head while you hear Ray mutter, “You stupid–”

But his speech is interrupted when a strong voice echoes through the warehouse.

“Put it down, Ray!”

You turn to find the source of the voice, but before you can, you’re being grabbed again and pulled backwards.

Ray’s holding you to his chest, his arm across your neck, the gun that was pointed to the back of your head is now secured tightly on your temple.

“Drop it,” a familiar voice orders. For a moment, you think that Rossi is speaking to you. You quickly discard the handgun, letting it crash to the floor.

“Malcolm, I know what they did to your wife,” Spencer’s there too. He takes a step closer. Your eyes linger on him desperately. “And your son.”

You feel the grip around your neck tighten.

“I want him to hurt! The way that I hurt!” Ray presses the gun harder and harder to your temple. The angrier he becomes, the rougher he gets with you. You’re scared at what he might do if Spencer pushes him too hard.

“Making him hurt the way that you hurt isn’t going to bring them back, Malcolm. They’re gone.”

For a moment, the grip on your neck gets unbearably tight. So tight, that you have to fight just to inhale. And it’s in that moment that you realize you were going to die. It seems so inevitable. Spencer isn’t looking at you, instead his attention is focused on Ray. You wish he would look at you, offer you some sort of comfort. Your vision starts to go blurry and you find that you can’t even inhale anymore.

Just as you start to accept your new found fate, you feel the grip on your chest loosen. Ray’s arm relaxes and releases you. You lunge forward, your momentum too strong to combat, and tumble to the floor.

“You’re right,” Ray says. “They’re gone.” You’re barely able to crawl forward before you hear an earth-shatteringly loud bang, followed by the sound of Ray’s body hitting the floor.

You can’t help but turn around and face it. Ray’s body lays lifeless on the cool, cement ground. A pool of blood is already spreading around his own head.

You stay stuck like that, unable to move or breathe or think or do anything. You suppose this was what shock felt like– complete and utter numbness. Like time is standing still. Like your mind is no longer connected to your body.

A gentle hand lightly touches your shoulder and you’re awoken from your trance. You jump at the contact, to find Spencer hovering over you, a worried look on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, kneeling down so that he’s eye level with you.

You nod– a lie if you ever told one. But you aren’t concerned with yourself at the moment. You sit back on your heels, your hands resting in your lap. The air is suddenly hotter than it’s been all evening.

The red blood spreads so fast on the concrete floor. It oozes thickly in a perfectly round circle. You’re so open, so vulnerable. You don’t feel safe in the open like this. You want to bury yourself in your sheets at home, and wake up to find that this had all been a dream. But sure enough, when you place your hand on your own arm and start scratching vigorously, trying to wake yourself up, you can’t. This is real.

Your ears are ringing as you fall into a pit of darkness, nails digging deeper into your own skin. It’s getting unbearably hot. It’s terrifying how alone you feel.

In a muffled daze, you suddenly hear your name being called.

Once Emily frees him from his restraints, Luke wastes no time in hoisting himself up and rushing over to you. It’s hard to miss his girl sobbing on the ground.

You’re crying harder than he’s ever witnessed, and it makes his knees nearly buckle as he runs closer. Your nails are digging into your own skin and you’re unable to catch even a single second of breath.

When Luke reaches you, he can’t possibly move fast enough. With hands outstretched, he desperately tries to grasp onto any part of you that he can get. You’re trembling, and for a split moment, he notices you flinch from his touch.

“Baby, it’s me,” he assures you, choking on his own words.

It takes you a minute, but soon you realize it’s Luke kneeling beside you. Luke– with his hands on your face. Luke’s not hurting you. Luke’s would never hurt you.

“Shh,” Luke soothes, pulling you into his arms quickly. “I’m here, God– I’m so sorry,” he breaks off when you grasp at his bicep, fingers digging into the cloth of his shirt, craving to be closer and closer to him. “I’m here,” he repeats.

Luke holds you steady, his hand traveling up and down your back comfortingly. After a while, your tear ducts run dry and there’s simply nothing left but exhaustion. You rest your head on his chest.

Once Luke notices that you’ve calmed down slightly, he adjusts his grip on your body and stands the two of you up. “C’mere,” he murmurs. Without waiting for a response, he bends, wraps his arms around your knees and lifts you into his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting your sobs subside while he whispers how much he loves you in your ear.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Luke suggests.

You close your eyes against his chest and simply breathe him in as Luke carries you bridal style out of the warehouse.

You spent the rest of the night attached to Luke. The car ride home you’re glued to his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as he mumbles soft words into your ear. When you walk up to your shared house, Luke makes sure to guide each step you take, his steadiness making up for your shakiness. His strong hand resting on your hip. Only once you’re back in the four walls of your own house, do you venture away from him.

You find yourself crawling into bed still fully clothed. You don’t have the energy to do anything else. You’re staring at the blank wall in front of you when you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist. Luke rests his head on your shoulder. You leaned into his arms, finding his hand to hold tightly.

“It’s over.” Luke whispers in your ear.

The words made you relax slightly.

“It’s over,” he repeats. “He’s dead– he’s gone.”

Luke plants a soft kiss to your shoulder blade and you tug him closer against you. His warm breath is comforting and familiar on your neck. And you finally feel safe, in his arms.

“It’s over,” you repeat, exhaling the breath of air you’ve been holding.

#criminal minds #luke alvez #luke alvez fic #luke alvez imagine #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x reader imagine #luke alvez x reader fic #criminal minds imagine #luke alvez x reader fanfic #criminal minds x reader

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a-aexotic · 1 year

Text

SINCE YALL LOVED THE JJ X READER X RAFE, im writing a part 2 💞💞. thank u so much for the support, i love u all<3

taglist: @eli-yeah @hallecarey1 @midnightsgetawaycar @vigilanteshitposting (if you wanted to be added to my taglist, check out my google forms in my navi!) here are all the people who requested a part 2! @gillybear17 @capnsoyboy @honeysavanna-blog @desssxo-blog

cw’s: angst (to fluff ofc), crying, drinking, ooc camerons, lmk if i missed anything

You'd stopped hanging with the Pogues for a few weeks and John B had just thought it was just a phase. You'd always get tired of them every once in a while and would try to find other friends but you'd always come back. That was until Kie had informed him that your new friends were the self renowned Kings of OBX; Rafe Cameron, Topper Thornton, and Kelce, that was when he got concerned.

You got home late again and you tried to sneak in by your window again so Big John doesn't catch you. And when you got in, John B was sitting on your bed, waiting for you.

A confused expression contorted on your face as you looked at your older brother. "Hey?"

"You've been hanging out with Rafe and Topper?" He got to the point immediately and you were taken aback. You weren't concerned as you took off your shoes, rolling your eyes.

"I have, is that a problem?" You countered as John B sat up, getting up to face you.

"You know it is, Y/N." John B whispered. "I don't know what's been up with you lately, all your snarky comments and shit but I cross the line at you hanging out with those assholes."

"Snarky comments? John B, you're becoming dad." You couldn't help but laugh but John B didn't find it as amusing as you. "They're nice once you get to know them."

John B sighed, running his hands through his hair, stressed. "You think you've found new friends?"

"Yes, John B. Don't get all jealous on me, you're still my best-"

"You really think they want to be friends with you?" John B didn't mean it like that but you suddenly furrowed your eyebrows. "Wait-"

"What's that supposed to be mean?"

"Look, they're rich assholes and what do you think they realistically want from you? They obviously want to piss me or JJ off so they got to you-"

You scoffed at him, getting heated. How self-centered can someone be? "Oh, so you're saying no one would be friends with me for me? That obviously they want to be friends with me so they can get to you! Wow, okay-"

"That's not what I meant, Y/N."

"That's how it sounded, John B."

There was silence as you both looked at each other, hurt in your eyes and regret in John B's. His intentions were pure, you knew that but you couldn't help but think that John B truly thought this way. He saw you as a little baby who needed to be babysat and he needed to protect.

You're older now. You don't need John B or his friends anymore, you had Rafe. You didn't wanna be naive but it felt like he truly cared; old inside jokes, friendly smiles and tight embraces were the new norm for you two. He made you feel important, something that the Pogues had never made you feel.

Yeah, he is an asshole; but at least he cared for you.

"That hurts, John B." You whispered, feeling your eyes water. You didn't want to cry, that was pathetic. You walked away to your vanity, taking off your earrings as John B watched.

"Y/N-"

"Did you even care about how I was feeling when I blew you and the Pogues off? Did you even notice?" You suddenly asked, not facing John B as you looked at the mirror instead.

"I... Yes, of course we did. We just wanted to give you time." John B said. It was the truth, that was how he felt. But he didn't know how the others felt; they obviously cared about you but maybe not to the extent of how he did.

There was silence again. "John B, I'm going to bed. Can you get out?"

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean it like that, you know that."

"Do I?"

Before he could respond, you sniffed and looked away from his eyes as the tears started to fall. "I'm gonna get dressed, get out. Please."

He wanted to stay; hug you, comfort you. But that wouldn't do anything, he knew his words were permanent, there was no taking it back. He nodded and walked out of your room and you immediately locked the door after him.

You walked to your bed and collapsed dramatically, hugging your pillow and let the tears fall. All your worst fears had come true; they really did think that you were just some anti-social baby who needed to be taken care of.

You hadn't thought of JJ in weeks and now, he plagued your head. You missed him, too. You were embarrassed, did he truly only think of you as John B's little sister?

"What the fuck?" JJ shouted as John B explained the situation. The Y/N he knew wouldn't go fucking around with the Kooks, so what happened? "Why would she hang out with Rafe?"

"I'm not sure, it doesn't seem like her. I'm worried about her, she's probably getting brainwashed by them.'' Kie muttered as she sat on the couch. She was genuinely concerned; she didn't want you to become like Sarah, she wanted her best friend back.

John B was quiet as JJ and Kie discussed the situation at hand. He was confused, you'd never mentioned even talking to Rafe or Topper. They seemed like the kids who bullied you at the Kook Academy, so why were you associating with them now?

"I know it's that fucker, Rafe. He probably drugged her or some shit, he's like a sociopath who wants to use her as a weapon against us." JJ was pacing on the porch as Kie sighed. JJ was also worried, this was nothing like you. He was worried about you the moment you stopped hanging out with them but he just brushed it off like John B.

"He probably likes her." Kie stated as the two boys had looked at her, eyes widened. They hadn't even thought of that.

"Is he even capable of liking someone?" JJ sputtered, anxiously staring at Kie.

John B got up and started walking to the car, seeing red. If Rafe had even thought about touching you in any way, he'd rip him apart. You were always shy around guys and he knew that Rafe would use that against you. He didn't want to assume but Rafe was surely going to do something that made you uncomfortable.

Kie and JJ followed him. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Getting Y/N, by force if she doesn't want to."

Kie grabbed him firmly as turned him around. "Are you stupid? You're going to push her farther away. That's why she's with the Kooks right now, because you smuggle her like a little kid. You're literally a helicopter parent."

"I disagree, Kie. Personally I'm going to go over to that fucker's house and I'll punch in the mouth for taking Y/N-"

"JJ, stop. She's not a baby!" Kie shouted. "You two are driving her away. She just needs time, okay? If she needs help she'll call us."

John B had taken a few breathes and looked away from the Pogues, weighing his options. He decided Kie was right and nodded slowly, walking away back to his porch.

"I knew something was wrong the moment Y/N didn't go on that fishing trip a few weeks ago. I told you Kie, remember?" JJ recalled as Kie nodded, walking back towards John B. "And when she blew us off on Pope's birthday, and when-"

"We get it, you're the Y/N whisperer." Kie responded as she took seat on the chair, JJ taking a seat next to John B. "I just miss her."

"Me too." John B muttered.

JJ was quiet for a second. He remembered the past few weeks and they just weren't the same without you. Your amusing remarks, warm hugs and your eyes against the sun on the boat. He missed you more than anything.

You walked into the Cameron's estate, Topper and Rafe trailing behind you. You and Sarah made up a few nights ago and now, you essentially spent the entire day with her or Rafe. It was the most fun you'd had in months.

Sarah ran down the stairs and squealed when she saw you, embracing you tightly. "I missed you!"

"It's been like two hours, chill out." Rafe quipped, annoyed as Sarah flipped him off as she let you go.

"Shut up, you're just jealous."

"Of what?" He looked at Sarah up and down in an disgusted manner as you and Top laughed.

"That Y/N loves me more than you."

"Oh really?" Rafe looked over at you, a grin on his mouth as you smiled back. "Is that so, Y/N?"

"Yes, of course. I love Sarah more than anyone."

"Mhm." he responded, disbelief in his eyes as Sarah grabbed your hand, smiling in victory. You both looked at each other and he felt his heart jump at your sweet smile.

"Okay, guys. It's getting late, let's get going." Topper announced as they all nodded, walking out of the house. There was a bone-yard party tonight and you were all going together.

You were silently praying that the Pogues were going to blow it off and go to the Chateau instead, but that was unlikely.

As you arrived, the smell of smoke engulfed you and you resisted the urge to cough. The sun was setting and it was getting cooler, the salty ocean breeze running through your hair. You missed these parties, you hadn't been to one since the summer had begun.

Your gaze moved to the crowds, subconsciously trying to see if the Pogues had made it out to the party. You were nervous to see them, you hadn't even talked to them in a couple weeks. You heard some footsteps and you smelled the faint scent of his cologne.

Rafe stood next to you. "You okay?"

You turned to Rafe, looking up to his dreamy blue eyes. You smiled at his concern as you shook your head, "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Just nervous."

"If they hassle you, I'll be there quick, okay?"

You laughed at his care. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

You heard Sarah come up to you and grab your hand, your gaze still on Rafe, his grin evident.

"Let's go get some drinks. I need some ASAP." Sarah grabbed your hand and started walking away.

"Be careful!" Rafe shouted as you guys walked away.

You and Sarah walked to the kegger, getting a cup and filling it to the brim with beer. "I'm not excited for tomorrow's hangover."

"Let's not think about tomorrow, just tonight and how much fun we're going to have."

You laughed at Sarah words and she took a drink of her cup, smiling. You also took a drink, the bitter taste flooded your taste buds. You will never get used to the bitter taste of beer.

Kie and Pope watched from afar, disappointment apparent in their expression. They were sitting on piece of wood, beers in hand. Kie felt betrayed as she watched you dance with Sarah, having fun. She wasn't even mad; she was disappointed.

"Looks like the Kooks have officially seized Y/N away from us." Pope declared as Kie nodded, taking a sip of her beer from the red cup.

Sarah put her hands on your shoulders, swinging you two in a slow dance as you giggled at her antics. The sun was set and the boneyard energy was finally at its height; the cool ocean breeze, the smoke from the fire, the faint music, the mutter from people all across the island.

Your gaze moved from Sarah to behind her: Rafe was sitting with Top and Kelce, laughing. A smile invaded your face and Sarah turned around and then back at you, a smirk on her lips.

"So what's up with you and Rafe?"

Your face felt warm once you turned your gaze back at Sarah. "Um, what do you mean?"

"Do you think I don't see those little looks and smiles? Especially the hugs, it looks like he doesn't wanna let go of you." Sarah noted as you blushed bashfully, looking away. "He doesn't hug anyone that way, so what's up?"

"Nothing, we're just getting closer."

"Okay, Y/N." The smirk was on still apparent on her face. "Whatever you say."

It was the truth, sure, he made you feel like few others have made you feel, but it was just nothing. That was it, for now at least.

You heard footsteps behind you and you saw Sarah's face morph into an annoyed one. She let go of you as you turned back to see JJ.

You were startled. You hadn't seen him in weeks and it seemed like all the feelings you tried so hard to get rid of, came back as soon as you locked eyes with JJ. His soft gaze and worried expression made your heart sink to your stomach.

"Hey." He said quietly, no exact emotion in his tone. "C-can we talk?"

You looked back at Sarah and she gave you a small nod. "Sure."

You and JJ walked away from the crowd, walking along the shore of the beach. It was quiet for a second before JJ spoke up. "Why'd you leave us?"

His tone was evident now. It seemed hurt and that was something you rarely heard - especially when it was directed to you. You moved your gaze to anywhere but JJ, trying to think of an explanation.

You licked your lips before looking at JJ. He didn't look at you either, wanting to gaze at the sand below instead. "I felt like... like I was just John B's sister." That was partly the truth - you couldn't admit the other half.

"Just John B's sister?" JJ repeated. Again, there was silence before JJ spoke up again. "You're our best friend, too. Our little sister we love and want to... protect."

"I don't feel like it, sometimes." You admitted. JJ's heart broke at your statement. He's known you his whole life and he's always wanted to make sure you fit in. He felt bad now because you didn't feel it.

He stopped and grabbed your arm, so you could turn and look up at him. "I'm sorry, if I ever made you feel unwanted. You are wanted, it's not the same without you and our little jokes. No one does it like you, Y/N."

You felt yourself tear up at the statement. That was all you wanted to hear all month - that you were wanted. Not only wanted to hear, but feel. JJ's gaze felt warm against your face as you locked eyes. His blue eyes melted into yours and your heart sped up.

His hand slowly went down your arm, leaving goosebumps as he went down to your hand. He pulled you closer and you held eye contact. His gaze moved to your lips and then up at your eyes again.

As he leaned in, he heard a familiar voice behind them. "Y/N."

You both turned to see Rafe and Sarah, watching you both. His jaw was clenched as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Oh no, you thought to yourself as JJ let go of your hand.

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megalony · 1 year

Text

Safe and Sound

This is a new Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) imagine that will have a follow up part. I hope you all like it, this was requested by the lovely @musicistheway I hope you like it hun.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @anonyymoouussssss

Masterlist

Summary: Grace tries her luck with the famous Tommy Shelby but she doesn’t have a chance when he’s married to his teenage sweetheart. So she plots her revenge on his little family.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Tommy took a second to tangle his fingers in his hair before he tried to stand, fighting the tiredness overwhelming him. It had to be early, there was scarcely any daylight breaking through the gap in the curtains. The room was illuminated in waves of grey and just a few mustard yellow streaks that told Tommy it was early, probably before six in the morning.

His eyes did another tired sweep of the room, confirming that (Y/n) wasn't in bed with him and that was probably the reason he was awake now.

His legs barely shuffled across the carpet and finally started to move properly when he plodded down the stairs, trying to keep his steps light enough that he didn't make much noise. He didn't want to wake the three-year-old asleep in the other room upstairs.

The lamp beside the sofa was switched on bathing the living room in dim lighting but there was a river of light coming from the kitchen.

Tommy followed the light like a beacon, squinting the further he got until he walked into the kitchen. He leaned his weight into the doorframe, crossing one leg over the other and his arms over his chest while a soft smile broke out on his face.

There she was, the one thing in the whole world that could give Tommy a full night's sleep and battle the memories that plagued him to keep him safe and sound asleep. (Y/n) was hovering near the oven, a frying pan of bacon and eggs sizzling away on the stove but what made Tommy's smile brighten was how (Y/n) was stretched up on tiptoes, an arm reaching out like she was aiming for the sun in the top cupboard.

All his other senses seemed to come flooding back to him and his ears finally switched on to the sounds in the kitchen. He could hear the oil in the pan spitting out around the bacon and he could hear the music from the radio playing very quietly from the windowsil near the back door. And he could finally smell the breakfast cooking in front of him that made his stomach growl and tighten and show him how hungry he really was.

"Need some help?" His voice was laced with sleep but still as deep and low as ever.

"I'm sure you do this on purpose,"

Dropping back down to her feet, (Y/n) turned to look at her husband who simply grinned. Tommy himself wasn't freakishly tall but he was taller than her and therefore (Y/n) knew he liked to hide things from her. He would pupt things on the top shelf- just like he had done now with the teapot- so (Y/n) couldn't reach and had to clamber onto the worktop or give in and ask for his help.

She felt his bare chest press up against her back and his fingers curled around her hip, giving her an assuring squeeze before he reached up to get the pot down for her.

"Thank you," (Y/n) mumbled quietly, closing her eyes when she felt Tommy's lips moving to press against the side of her neck, hovering over her pulse like a vampire waiting to strike and tear her apart.

"Why are you up so early?"

It wasn't like (Y/n) to be up before Tommy, he was always up and dressed and out the door before her, save for the few occasions when work permitted him to stay in bed until eight or nine in the morning. He didn't like waking up without (Y/n) in bed next to him, it wasn't natural.

"We couldn't sleep so I thought I'd make a start on breakfast." (Y/n) could barely speak when his lips kissed along her neck until his teeth were grazing over her jaw and his hands snaked around her front until his palms were pressed against her stomach over her nightgown.

His name passed through her lips in a groaned whisper when he continued to nip at her jaw and his body became glued to hers, pressing every ridge of him into her. He made it very hard for her to shuffle over to the oven to move the pan before their breakfast was burned.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Hm. Very."

A gasp broke free of (Y/n)'s lips when he spun her around and backed her up into the worktop. His fingers roamed over her thighs and quickly dipped beneath her gown and the pads of his fingers skimmed up her legs until he was gripping her bum. Between kisses to her jugular, he whispered 'up' against her skin before effortlessly lifting her up onto the counter so he could move between her legs. He got as close as he possibly could until her bump was glued to his abdomen and his teeth bit down on her neck, taking a devouring bite.

Her legs hooked around his waist and her heels dug into his lower back over the top of his boxers which coincidently, was all he was wearing. She could feel his hands roaming back around until he was holding her hips and his index fingers were prodding the waistband of her underwear.

Whatever she was about to say was swallowed by his lips devouring hers but it was his turn to groan when (Y/n) looped her arms around his neck and tugged at the short strands of hair at the back of his head.

"Tommy," (Y/n) breathed through his name, barely able to see straight when she opened her eyes and her mind was clouding over until she was barely coherent to her thoughts anymore. She moved her hands from his neck round to his cheeks and cupped his face in her hands, bringing him level so she could taste his lips.

She could feel him smiling into the kiss that left her lightheaded and when she looked into his deep blue eyes, she could have gotten lost forever. But (Y/n) knew Tommy's ever alert mind had clicked onto the sound she could hear.

"Daisy's awake," He muttered quietly before stealing another kiss, and then another until (Y/n) felt like she was going to black out.

Tommy looped his arms around (Y/n)'s back beneath her gown and splayed his fingers out across her back, keeping her as close as he could while he turned his head towards the doorway when the small patter of footsteps got closer. And he smiled to himself when (Y/n) leaned forward to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, looping her arms back around his neck, loosely this time.

"Morning daisychain."

He watched in amusement as his little girl trotted over to him and latched herself onto his legs. He wasn't sure how long they all stayed there, tangled around each other like vines. It could have been a few seconds, it could have been minutes or even an hour but Tommy didn't care, he relished in the comfort both his girls gave him.

That was, until his name came booming from the other side of the front door and John's voice filled the kitchen.

Unlike in John's house, Tommy actually locked and double bolted the front door. He wasn't taking the risk of an enemy or a drunkard from the Garrison trying their luck and walking right into his house. Not with both girls here. Tommy had more enemies than John and in John's house, it was always family who came in without knocking, not strangers.

Scooping Daisy up into his arms, Tommy crossed the living room and unlocked the door, allowing an unamused expression to paint his previously happy face when he looked at his younger brother.

"What do you want at this hour John?"

The discomfort on john's face was crystal clear by the way his lips curled down and his eyes raked up and down Tommy's figure. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen his brother in nothing but his boxers. He was always promptly dressed and ready for the day when they saw each other. Even when Tommy had been shot a year ago, he had only stripped his shirt, not his trousers.

John managed a smile at the little girl who deadlocked her arms around Tommy's neck and burrowed into him, fighting off the urge and need to go back to sleep.

"There's a problem, at the shop. Some of the bets have been ransacked..."

"You'd best come in then."

Tommy turned round and walked back through to the kitchen as John took the signal to follow and shut the door behind him.

"Morning John." (Y/n) smiled over at the younger man who had become a brother to her since she was a teenager. She had known the Shelby's for so long and been married to Tommy for long enough for them to be her own family now. They took her in from the moment Tommy asked her out on a date, it was an instant family that she couldn't love more if she tried.

"Morning (Y/n), I need to steal Tommy, problem at the shop."

"Not before breakfast you don't, you all need to eat." (Y/n) crossed her arms over her chest but she smiled despite the news that Tommy was going to be leaving earlier than planned today and probably for a lot longer.

"You heard the lady, sit down." Pointing to the table, Tommy beckoned for John to take a seat. Tommy for one would never defy (Y/n), she made the rules and he lived by them and he certainly wasn't leaving on an empty stomach. He needed to get dressed anyway soa few extra minutes with his girls having breakfast wouldn't make that much difference.

"Tommy..." (Y/n) pressed her lips together and looked up at her husband through her lashes when he turned to face her.

She dug her hands into the edge of the counter and slowly started to swing her legs back and forth until he edged closer until he was stood by her side, resting against her leg. She could feel the shiver that burst down his neck when she hovered her lips over the shell of his ear and breathed against his neck.

"I'm stuck,"

He had lifted her up onto the counter but she couldn't serve up breakfast if he didn't help her down again. She wasn't jumping off the counter, not with the extra weight of the baby weighing her down and putting her off balance.

Silently, Tommy gently prized Daisy from clinging to his neck and handed her over to John. The little girl whined quietly when Tommy let her go but she quickly nuzzled into John's blazer, frowning nonetheless.

"I got you, love." Tommy hooked his hands under (Y/n)'s legs, squeezing her bum playfully before he pulled her close and slowly lowered her back down. It was going to be hard to leave her this morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tired sigh tumbled past Tommy's lips as he leaned his elbows on the murky bar and arched his back out, clicking his spine into place.

He didn't know what time it was and he didn't really want to know either. The sun was far away now and the moon was high up with the stars, that told Tommy all he needed to know. It was late and he needed to go home.

The voices in the Garrison started to blur together until all the laughs, the burling brawls and the clinking of glasses meshed into nothing but static in Tommy's ears. Both his brothers were sat in the small adjoining room next to the bar and though the closed door kept their voices at bay, Tommy could hear them both getting rowdy with each other. Aunt Polly had gone home a little while ago and now that the talk of business was over, it was time for Tommy to retreat home too.

After one more drink.

He tapped his empty glass down on the bar and dragged a hand through his tousled hair before someone appeared in front of him.

"What'll it be?"

"Shot of whiskey, for the road."

"Leaving already Tommy?" Grace swiped a rag across the bar in front of him before she turned to find the specific bottle that Tommy had been drinking from tonight.

Saying nothing, Tommy just nodded his head and waited patiently for his glass to be refilled. It was time for him to go home, (Y/n) and Daisy would be waiting for him and he hadn't seen them since the early hours of the morning when trouble arose. It had taken all day to sort the mess out at the bet shop but now it was done and the evening's meeting was over, Tommy could go home to his girls.

"You look stressed Tommy, anything I can do?"

He didn't like the way she leaned over the bar towards him or the smile on her lips. Something about Grace seemed to set Tommy on edge whenever he was around her. It was probably because she was always trying to get close, begging for conversation and closeness that he didn't want.

Deep down, Tommy knew what Grace was after but it was something he wasn't prepared to give.

To further his silent point, he began to slowly spin the wedding ring clad on his left hand. The gold band made slow circles around his finger in a soothing motion that was comfortable and familiar to Tommy with how many years he had worn it. He let his eyes flick from Grace, to the ring and back again before he downed the shot she poured him and pointed for another.

The gold band was a second skin for Tommy now, he'd been wearing it since he was twenty, since before the Peaky Blinders and back when John was a pre-teen terrorising the streets. Since he wore it, Tommy's eyes would never stray to anyone else, not like some of the other blokes in his family and his hands never wandered unless it was (Y/n) within his reach. She kept him on the hypothetical straight and narrow, she kept his mind clear and his course straight. She created the rules Tommy made the Blinders live by, kept them from going too far over the edge into the darkness beyond.

"No, nothing you can do other than refill my glass."

Something akin to burning annoyance flooded Tommy's senses when Grace's hand reached out and her finger sweeped across the ring on his finger. Stopping his repeated action of spinning it around while she tapped the gold band and for a moment he thought she was about to try and take it off.

"You sure? I know all sorts of ways I could help, and I don't see your wife anywhere."

The closer she leaned over the bar, the tighter Tommy's hand clenched around the whiskey glass until he was close to shattering it into pieces. Why was she doing this? what did she have to gain from winding him up when she knew he was the one in charge? She had nothing to gain and everything to lose.

"Yeah, well, the Garrison is no place for a pregnant lady." His voice was quiet enough that Grace could barely make out what he'd said.

(Y/n) was a frequent visitor of the Garrison, especially with all the meetings and family business they held here. But on a night like this, when they were out for drinks and brawls started, Tommy didn't want (Y/n) anywhere near when things usually got hectic. He wasn't taking the risk of someone barging past her or starting a fight and having his pregnant wife getting caught in the middle of it all.

Tommy could feel himself rattling, trying hard to contain the rage burning within him when Grace's hand trailed up his arm until her arm was hooked around the back of his neck, reeling him in so they were both leaning over the bar meeting halfway.

He could see the way she was biting down on her lower lip despite the smile she wore like the cat that got the cream. She wasn't used to not getting her way, Tommy could practically feel that radiating off her.

When Tommy's lips curved up into something resembling a half smirk, Grace's eyes lit up like a wildfire. She leaned closer until their noses were almost brushing and parted her lips, feeling his breath mingling with hers.

Finally.

She was finally getting somewhere with him. It had taken weeks of agonising over what to say, how to act, how close to get without risk of being put back in her place in a not so kind way. But now, she had both arms hooked around him and his face was one inch away from kissing her. This is what she had been searching for, what she had been trying to make happen. Closing her eyes, Grace leaned closer.

A gasp tumbled past her lips and her eyes flashed open to be faced with a wider grin on Tommy's face than she had seen before, but it wasn't exactly a smile. It was something deeper, darker, sinister like a straight line cracked up at the corners.

His fingers were curled around her neck, keeping her hovering over the bar and with a little more pressure, he stopped her from breathing. Her crimped hair fluttered around her face like curtains trying to protect her but nothing could save her from Tommy's mean streak. He pulled her closer until her stomach jammed painfully into the edge of the bar and she was forced to press one hand against the bar to steady herself. While her other hand came up to dig her nails into his wrist, willing him to release her.

"My lips are for my wife only."

The crooked grin stayed on Tommy's lips after he roughly released Grace, throwing her back to her side of the bar before he stood up.

That should be a lesson learned to her. She needed to stop her advances and pesky intuition and burdening, nosey questions that were getting on Tommy's last nerve. He wouldn't be telling her again and he wouldn't be putting up with this any longer. This was his pub that she could easily be fired from and his town that he could run her out of without breaking into a sweat.

She needed to be careful who she messed with.

Tommy grabbed the cap from his coat pocket and placed it neatly over his hair before he turned on his heels and aimed for the door. It was time to go home.

"You'll be sorry."

Who was she trying to kid? What could she possibly do that would make Tommy sorry for killing her advances that he didn't want? As if he was going to be sorry for leaving her here in a flux while he went home, happily, to his wife.

"Fuck off."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on then, who are we meeting?" Polly leaned back in her seat and took a long drag of her cigarette whilst she crossed one leg over the other. A devilish smile curved around the cigarette and and raised a brow at her nephew who sat opposite her at the table.

They were waiting in the main bar of the Garrison for two business associates to arrive, then they would head into the private room for a chat. Polly had no clue who they were supposed to be meeting, only that Tommy wanted her with him rather than his brothers and that gave her a boosted sense of pride.

She was the one who ran the business while he was away and she gave him the advice he always needed, whether it regarded the business or the family.

"A new trade partner," Tommy took a swig of his drink before he checked his pocket watch. If they weren't here in five minutes they would be late and the meeting wouldn't happen. Tommy wouldn't wait around when he had better things to do, nobody made the Shelby's wait.

"Right, well I-"

The air of smoke Polly inhaled got caught in the back of her throat, causing an awful coughing fit. She dropped the cigarette into the ashtray on the table and leaned forward, patting her chest but Tommy could see her eyes were locked on something behind him.

Had the trade partners arrived? Did Polly know them by face or name or even personally?

"Pol?"

Tommy watched her regain her breath and composure but the way she stood up so rigid and tense made him very uneasy and he stood up with her although he wasn't sure why. He turned around to see what had gotten her attention so quickly and feverishly.

It was John.

The younger Shelby brother barged through the doors to the Garrison, his cap disgruntled on his head, his shirt a little skewed and his hands bloodied, but it was what he held in his hands that had caught Polly's attention.

He was gripping a dark purple button up coat that sent Tommy shivering in his polished shoes. It was the coat he bought (Y/n) just before Daisy was born, it was what she wore day in and day out no matter the weather or occasion. It was her favourite and (Y/n) never went anywhere without it. So why was John holding it in his hands? Why did it have splatters of blood on it?

A shockwave rattled through Tommy as he and Polly barged past the tables and rounded over to where John was stood. Within a second, Tommy wrenched the coat from his brother and took it in his own hands to examine it. The coat was damp and wet like it had been dropped in a puddle, but he knew it was (Y/n)'s. Undoubtedly.

"Where did you get this?" His voice was strangely dark with a malice tone but it was the look in Tommy's eyes that sent John reeling.

"Where have you been? What's happened?" Polly appeared at Tommy's side in an instant but she could see tears threatening to spill over in John's eyes. He needed to talk but he knew whatever he had to say wasn't going to go down well with his big brother or his aunt.

"John!"

"It was out in the street, j-just there near the road. Is it...?"

"Where the fuck is (Y/n)?"

Tommy knew no one would have the answer, John wouldn't come in here blundering about like a fool if he knew where (Y/n) was or if she was alright. But he needed to know where the Hell his wife was and what had happened to her for her coat to be left damp and bloody in the street like this.

It had to be a warning sign. Someone had taken his wife to spite him and if Tommy didn't find her, anything could happen to her and he couldn't allow that. He needed to have (Y/n) back safe and sound in his arms now or he might just go insane.

Throwing the cap from his head, Tommy clenched the coat in one hand and dragged his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands until a few clusters of hair wrenched out and got stuck between his fingers. This couldn't be happening to him. He couldn't be dealing with this.

Every part of him began to shake and he spun round on his heels, trying to look ruond the bar to see who was here and who was watching. Was someone sat in the shadows that he hadn't noticed before? Was someone waiting to see his reaction and laugh in his face and taunt him for not knowing where his wife was? Was this some trick or sick, twisted mind game he would have to play to get (Y/n) back?

"You,"

The coat dropped from his hand and he stormed across the pub in an instant, reaching out for her when she tried to walk out the back and avoid his unfiltered rage.

"This is you. What have you done?" Tommy dug his fingers into Grace's upper arms so tightly that he knew bruises would be left in his wake but he didn't care.

She had told him that he would be sorry for pushing off her advances on him. No one else would dare go for (Y/n), no one would try and do anything to her when they knew the penalty for messing with his wife would mean death. Grace had been the one to watch him like a hawk since the moment she got here and she had been watching him tonight, noticing him, filling his glass without saying anything which wasn't like her.

Usually she would taunt him, flirt with him, try and get some kind of answers or useful information out of him. Tonight she hadn't said one thing to him and he took that to mean she had accepted his warning and was giving in her game of trying to flirt with him.

Maybe it was a sign of guilt instead.

"What have you done to her? Where is my wife?!"

He wasn't in control of himself. One moment Tommy's hands were on Grace's arms and the next, he had his fingers wrapped around her rather delicate throat and he squeezed. He squeezed her flesh until he could feel her trachea beneath his fingertips and he could dig his nails into her skin.

Grace stumbled back until she was backed into the bar, her knees buckling from the pressure but she was held up by Tommy's hands. Her face turned as red as the blood on (Y/n)'s coat and the veins started to pop in her eyes. Her delicate lips parted, gasping for any air that she could get but Tommy wouldn't relent. If anything, he added more pressure until he could see her mind shutting down and for a moment he didn't think he was going to stop. He thought he would strange her until she had no life left within her and he could happily bury her with the rest of the unnamed dead in the cemetery.

It was Polly and John who clawed at Tommy's arms and managed to wrestle him free from almost killing the barmaid. They all watched her slump to the floor, clawing at her chest and heaving for air like a wild animal about to die.

"She did this! It's her, get her talking!" Tommy frantically pointed and swatted at John until he got the hint and hoisted Grace roughly to her feet. He would have to take her somewhere to interrogate her because Tommy clearly had some inkling or knowledge that she knew what was happening and he was almost always right.

Tommy watched his younger brother drag the barmaid towards the exit before the whole world seemed to crash down around him and he stumbled into Polly for support.

"Tommy, what is it?"

"Daisy. Where's Daisy? Who has her she was with (Y/n)!"

He couldn't breathe. Dark hands wrapped around his lungs and nails pierced into them letting out all the air he had savoured, suffocating him from the inside out.

Where was his baby girl?

(Y/n) had been at home with Daisy today, she didn't say anything about going out anywhere and now something had happened to her. That meant that Daisy was either taken with (Y/n) and could possibly be tortured or she was somewhere else, alone and unsafe.

"She wasn't- I didn't think... all there was was the coat." John didn't even think about his niece when he found (Y/n)'s coat. How horrible did that make him? She didn't even cross his mind. He stared at the familiar coat and a slither of dread crept down his spine at the thought of someone hurting his sister. He bolted from the street to find Tommy, to let him know and find out how they could get her back to safety. He didn't even contemplate the thought of his niece being taken or lost.

Pushing past his brother, Tommy set out in a sprint away from the pub with Polly in tow behind him keeping a steady pace in her heels.

If nothing of Daisy's was left for him to find, maybe they hadn't taken her. He wouldn't put it past Grace to take Daisy too if this truly was her doing but he hoped, he prayed, she wouldn't. She had never seen his daughter, never crossed paths with her in the street and Tommy would never let his daughter in the Garrison.

Each breath Tommy took felt like a knife was piercing his chest over and over, leaving him spluttering and gasping as he bolted down the street towards his home on Watery lane.

For once, the door was open. That was a bad enough sign in itself because Tommy always locked the door from the moment he married (Y/n) and he made it clear even when she was home with him, the door was to be locked.

"Daisy? Baby it's daddy, where are you? Daisy!" The more he spoke, the more desperate Tommy became until he was roaring the words so loudly he almost shook the walls to their core. He needed to find her, he needed to find his baby and make sure she was okay. If she wasn't here he didn't know where he would look.

Polly bypassed him into the kitchen, about to check the garden as Tommy jumped up the first few steps on the stairs before a low, wailing caught his attention.

"Daisy?"

When the wailing got louder, Tommy stumbled back down the steps and almost ran into the kitchen before he stopped.

The cupboard.

He struggled with the cupboard door before finally sending a kick into it and wrenching it open.

There she was. There was his little girl, curled up in the corner of the cupboard beneath the stairs, clinging to one of Tommy's black Peaky coats that was wrapped around her like a blanket to keep her safe and hidden. Her pale face was beet red and stained with tears like she had shed a river and her hair was tousled around her head, matching her dads. But it was the desperate, howling cries she was letting out that broke Tommy's heart completely.

"Daisychain, baby it's daddy. Come here,"

Tommy went down on his knees and slowly reached out towards Daisy but he was surprised when she flung herself at him. Her face, wet with tears, burrowed into his neck and she sniffed and dribbled onto the collar of his shirt. Her arms deadlocked around his neck and she pressed her body into him, scutting beneath his coat to stay protected.

He burrowed his nose in her hair and took a slow, steady breath, trying to stop himself from fainting.

She was here in his arms and she didn't look hurt, only shaken and petrified. (Y/n) must have hidden her away in here when she knew something was happening.

"I've got you sweetheart," With a deep breath, Tommy stood up and took a few steps back as Polly came over and wrapped an arm around them both, tears of relief in her eyes.

"Where's mummy?"

"I'm gonna go get her, sweetheart. I promise."

Tommy kissed the top of her head and slowly rocked her in his arms, letting tears fall down his face. It had been so long since he cried. Nobody saw him cry anymore, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. The only time he had properly cried since before the war was when Daisy was born. He had her safe and sound in his arms, but he couldn't answer her question because he didn't know where his wife was.

He had to find her.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #imagine #the peaky blinders #the peaky blinders imagine

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batsplat · 3 months

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Oh im obses whit your blog like you are such a great historian on vale and love the way you analys stuff admire the way of writing all of your toughs in such a corent way 🩷🩷🐹

this is so nice, thank you!! okay so this ask was initially sent in response to this post about how marc knew what a dick valentino was to his rivals and appreciated/wished to emulate that side of him, in particular in the context of copying the jerez pass. and... well, there is one more follow-up post to that I did want to make. it didn't really work within that post because it's pretty speculative, but I think it's fun! here goes

so you know argentina 2018, right, big drama, reconciliation over, bla bla (I promise this is going in a more fun direction, stick with me here). there's a bit of marc's post-race media scrum that I am a wee bit obsessed with. or well, two specific lines, one in english (0:00) and one in spanish (1:02) - I've included the full responses for context, but in this post I'm really only interested in those two lines

in english:

But he was in the past also 25 years old, and will remember, everybody.

and in spanish:

He has also been 25 years old and, well, I hope that people also remember.

... 25 years old, did you say?

okay, look, fair warning. the rest of this post is going to be reading too much into what was probably an off-handed comment - even if, I'd just like to point out, it is something he felt the need to say twice. but let's just have some fun here, and read too much into it. as a treat

so obviously the most generic way to read this is him saying 'well valentino used to be really aggressive on-track too, so people shouldn't be criticising me more than they did him'. thing is, I wouldn't say there was that much of a noticeable decline in how aggressive valentino was being, and 2017 did still feature some major scraps where valentino very much got his elbows out (cf assen and phillip island, I included a bit more detail on this in the marc race rec post). sure, valentino did increasingly have his reservations about some of the behaviour of younger riders, so maybe he was less aggressive now relative to the field... but I just don't feel like that's quite what this line is implying. it's also not about valentino making 'mistakes' in general, because there would have been no reason to refer back to past-valentino in that regard... the 25 year old version of valentino was considerably more error-free than the 39 year old

so then, my theory is that it's about valentino's controversies! that's what people "will remember", right - it's not the general style of riding, not just innocent mistakes, it's the times when valentino caused a bit of a stir on and off the race track. now, again, you could go the generic route here and say 'ah well maybe marc is just thinking of all the mess valentino got himself involved in when he was younger, from getting into a fist fight with max biaggi at age 22 to pissing off casey stoner through his aggressive riding at laguna at age 29'. but let's say for a moment that marc was thinking a bit more specifically than that... after all, if we're just talking about valentino controversies in general, surely marc should be able to think of a rather more recent example where valentino, like marc at argentina 2018, caused another rider to crash and was subsequently penalised for his riding? of course, marc probably didn't want to bring up that particular controversy - but it's still interesting he feels the need to refer back to a younger version of valentino at all, the fact that this crossed his mind in the first place to make him bring it up unprompted while making his case. so maybe when marc, who is after all a known valentino rossi fan, refers twice to what valentino was like at "25 years old"... he is in fact thinking of what valentino was like when he was 25 years old. and in what year would that be? well, here's the thing. it would be 2004

readers of the sete post can probably guess where I'm going with this, but let's just take a moment to review what specific on-track incidents marc could be thinking of here. let's give him a little bit of extra leeway in terms of the age, even though I trust marc to be more on top of the exact age gap than valentino was in times past. let's throw in one year either way, so 2003 to 2005, and draw up a list of any particularly controversial races valentino was involved in. here's what I've got:

assen 2004 - valentino executed a hard overtake for the win on the last lap on sete gibernau. he's not in complete control and almost loses the front at the next corner, which would have taken them both out

qatar 2004 - after his team rubber up his grid slot the night before, valentino gets slapped with a back-of-the-grid penalty. he ends up crashing out of the race and burns his relationship with sete in the aftermath

jerez 2005 - at a time when their relationship is already very chilly, valentino and sete engage in another duel. valentino executes a block pass with contact at the final corner and is booed by the crowd

motegi 2005 - the first chance to seal that year's title, and one valentino would very much have liked to take to spite honda. an unwise overtaking attempt on melandri leaves both on the ground

so, my guess is that neither assen nor motegi were really big enough controversies to fit the bill, though maybe they stuck in marc's mind as instances of 'reckless riding' that he includes in a more generic internal understanding of young valentino rossi. we do of course know for a fact that marc was more than aware of what happened at jerez 2005, not least because he, you know, directly copied that move twelve years later (again, link to the relevant post). like marc in argentina 2018, valentino barged into a rival in rather controversial fashion, and obviously it also made the relationship between him and said rival deteriorate still further. sure, you can't really argue the move was 'as bad' as argentina 2018, but as far as I'm concerned it has the same general vibe

you know what else has the same general vibe? here's a race description for you:

a 25 year old rider is sent to the back of the grid for a reason they consider unfair

they proceed to deliver a phenomenal performance even by their lofty standards, quickly working their way up to a position that seemed unattainable to them

they barge a rival out of the way in their impatience, reaching back to apologise for the move

the race ends poorly for them and they fail to score any points

afterwards, their relationship with a rival is ruined as a result of the events of the race, and the whole thing remains a lingering controversy for years to come

one race that fits this description is, of course, argentina 2018. the other is qatar 2004. there's obviously plenty of details that are significantly different - valentino's move on barros is less egregious and far less controversial, and his race ends in the gravel rather than with a post-race time penalty. still, that start of valentino's? the impatience? the post-race fury? the repercussions this race had? come on, look at the race footage I included in the qatar post and tell me there's not a little bit of a shadow of that qatar fury to the argentina recklessness

this is a point I snuck into the marc race recs post, where I included this excerpt from a post-argentina 2018 write-up:

phillip island 2003, hm? as it happens, in the qatar post, I did include a bit of the autobiography that compares those two specific races:

so, phillip island 2003: a performance that made everyone wonder just how much valentino had left in reserve to draw on whenever he needed it. what valentino is saying here is that this performance wasn't a result of him holding back in all the other races that year - this was speed that was accessible to him only in that moment because he was so angry. so yes, maybe it's a valid question to wonder what would have happened at phillip island 2003 if it hadn't just been the ghost of his bike that had to pick its way through the stragglers. then again, valentino says it's not just rage that does the trick for him - it's controlled rage... which is all well and good, except when you lose control

and see also:

that's what argentina 2018 is all about, isn't it? it's a performance that's rooted in impatience, in restlessness, in frustration - where marc tuns his "rage into pure speed", as valentino would put it, in a hubristic dismissal of the rest of the field. ideally, the two of them channel those emotions to spur themselves on to special, signature performances... but sometimes, it gets the better of them. it got the better of marc that day in argentina and cost him the tentative peace with valentino. at qatar, it could have cost valentino the title

(also shades of this in jerez 2020 - an error sets the stage for some extraordinary pace before it all goes wrong) (catalunya 2003 is a fun more compact nephew to that race without the unhappy ending)

now, look, am I saying that marc was really referring back to qatar 2004 specifically, a race that had happened fourteen years earlier, when making an off-hand remark in a post-race media scrum as he tried to do some damage control in the wake of one of the most controversial races of his career? well, no. he could have been! but it's unlikely. maybe he's shit at maths and was actually thinking about laguna 2008 after all. still, I would like to once again point out that he felt the need to mention valentino's behaviour at age twenty five not once but twice. he's telling us that he wants people to remember what valentino was like at that age, and in the most literal sense I am doing what he's asking for. surely it's worth at least noting that there just happens to be a race where valentino was at that exact age and his temper overcame his rationality, leading to him making a costly error... surely it's worth acknowledging this...

even if marc wasn't actually obliquely referring back to that race or indeed any of the races I mentioned above, of course the parallels between valentino's foibles and marc's are in any case interesting. it speaks to how they get those special performances out of themselves, the similarities in how they operate in that regard... but of course also in how they both sometimes stray rather close to the limit, how they repeatedly flirt with crossing the line. a stubbornness and a hubris and a rage that can sometimes lead to disaster for the both of them. and another thing - who knows if marc was thinking about qatar 2004, but he must have been thinking about something. that's the point of that jerez post, right... marc is valentino's successor in so many ways, he has fashioned himself in valentino's image - and he keenly grasps and remains aware of all the different aspects of that legacy. he's the most accomplished of valentino's students and he felt strongly that what he did in that race in argentina was in some way comparable to what valentino himself had been doing at his age, part of the same tradition even. yes, to some extent marc is obviously accusing valentino of hypocrisy here: how can you judge me when you were once young and foolish too? his tone isn't exactly filled with remorse either, is it, he's pretty feisty in that media scrum! still, there's something more to it... something almost poetic to the whole thing, wouldn't you say? valentino had just accused marc of ruining the sport - and in response marc wants people to remember that they are just the same

#the audience (sobbing): you can't just point at everything and say it's about the sete/valentino rivalry #me: *points at argentina 2018* this is about the sete/valentino rivalry #rosquez #//#4693 #2018 argentina #muxas-world #and thank you that's REALLY sweet + appreciated #completely forgot about this sitting in my drafts icl #someone interacted with that post again and i was like. wait a moment i have a follow up in my drafts #i do love marc i always feel like spiritually he's alongside me doing my deep cuts and narrative parallels and all that #there's just something so charming about the idea that he's really aware of what comparable thing vale was doing at any given age #that being said. marc. 'i did a few mistakes' 'i think i did everything well' 'i'm very very... very “happy”' marc everything is on fire #motogp race watch marathon and it's phillip island 2003 // qatar 2004 // jerez 2005 // jerez 2013 // argentina 2018 is this anything #maybe chuck in misano 2019 actually. feels like a good bookend #curse tag #idol tag

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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WIBTA if i cut off someone reaching out for help on tumblr? i am a very anxious person. ive been on tumblr a very long time because most all other social media terrifies me as someone who grew up with the wild west internet a decade past (im in my late 20s) so i feel sometimes with how reckless and spurractic people can be online in chatroom and especially clearly public platforms where any stranger, malicious or otherwise can just archive your digital presence for personal use.

more recently as someone who has been here during the pornban and as an asexual really enjoyed the quiet with no drama farming and a slow pace to talk about more unique political topics in a measured way it is something im strangely nostalgic for and a great example of my sensibilities to people when they insist that i use other platforms like discord or twitter or whatever clone for these services comes out of the old guard introducing feature creep to copy everyone else or any other indi "were the anti corporate version" of the endless scroll apps. i just dont want it. tumblr is special because im desktop only, been here for years, and i have kept track of every single change made so i have manually adjusted the change through hacks to evade every bad decision on here and make my set up look identical to how it was in 2010. so let it be understood that i tend to be a loney person because of this stubbornness. web 3.0 is too dangerous to people with addictive tendencies that my adhd brings out and my need to wear my heart on my sleeve. so i hope i defended my personality type enough to show why someone like me would see a post about some horrible abuses they have fell victim to who also share alot of the marginalized status as me and writing depressive things in the replys of others posts as to attention seek about it.

i directly interact with this person, not only to check if they are real (but wow, modern chat bots make this part horrifying for me. we really cant ever know for sure what is real anymore. trying to find warmth on the internet feels impossible now a days) i have multiple conversations at this point both venting and just casually shooting the shit. but the begging for me to constantly repost their paypal makes me so nervous in a way that i feel so guilty for because it reminds me of all the scams that get associated with this kind of ebegging and the reminder that capitalism takes away all warmth from human interaction to make them purely transnational and conditional. but then it just has been escalating where im so scared that now its not enough that im reposing on my 8 follower, all mutual blog, they are asking me to share it on other socials. accounts i do not have i have a flip phone and a laptop and i am tinkering with a windows 7 tower that will never be connected to the internet so i can always have software sit perfectly in its time capsule for when i need it. i do not have a way to help this person outside of what i learned from collage psyche classes. a part of me is so scared to just abruptly cut them off and just delete my entire account like i tend to do often on tumblr for a multitude of reasons, its a part of what lets people survive being here this long but i worry that would crush them if i did that, i dont want to make them feel more hopeless and unwanted then they already talk about. but i am text on the internet through a screen. i can only do so much. so would i be the asshole if i just deleted my account with a "i hope you hang in there, the world is a harsh place but keep moving" to cut someone so similar to me who is struggling out of my life?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

Text

november rain // lance stroll

when I look into your eyes, i can see a love restrained but darlin' when I hold you, don't you know I feel the same? (..) if we could take the time to lay it on the line, i could rest my head just knowin' that you were mine, all mine so if you want to love me then darlin' don't refrain, or I'll just end up walkin' in the cold november rain

summary: after four long years and one pandemic cancellation, it's finally time for y/n and lance to return home to mount tremblant and tie the knot.

pairing: lance stroll x newlywed! reader

warnings: co*kwarming, so much implied smut and sexual innuendo and i'm not sorry, weddings, they are so painfully in love it is sickening. a dad who doesn't quite get the jewish traditions but is doing his best. also i googled a lot of the jewish wedding traditions so im not sure they're 100% completely accurate tbh

inspo: wedding dress, lance's suit, welcome sign, the arch, getaway car

ten months to the wedding.

it was a calm, quiet afternoon in the ranch house. lance was asleep, desperate for a nap after his afternoon cardio session with his trainers, and y/n was in her home office, laptop out in front of her as her manicured fingers dragged tabs around the homescreen, a pinterest board full of white dresses open on her phone. the couple's two year old golden retriever was sitting under the desk, resting his head against her lap.

"you're going to be the best ring bearer, aren't you, boy?" she giggled to herself, carding her fingers through whistler's fur as she looked back at the wedding blog open on her screen. whistler licked her fingertips, almost as if the dog was agreeing with her.

15 jewish wedding traditions you should know about.

"hey, baby." lance spoke softly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he ambled into the office, hair messy and shirt wrinkled from his nap. "what are you up to?"

"just some wedding stuff." she replied, getting up from her desk chair to wrap her arms around her lover, whistler padding along beside her as lance reached down to scratch the dog behind the ears.

"are you looking up jewish weddings?" lance asked, lips against the crown of her head. "baby, you don't have to go out of your way for me."

"i want to, lance. this is your ceremony too, and it means something to me that you feel as if your faith is being represented here as well. as long as i get to wear my white dress and pick the song i walk down the aisle to, i'm not picky about anything else."

"as long as you're happy." lance smiled, leaning down to kiss her, fingers lacing with hers as their lips danced gently together. "have you picked a song yet."

y/n groaned, tipping her head back. "you're going to laugh at me."

lance laughed. "no, i'm not! just tell me, darling."

"well, i wanted to walk down the aisle to 'november rain'. it just has a lot of special meaning for me. it's one of the songs that made me believe in love." she admitted, meeting lance's eyes.

"if november rain is what you want, that's what we'll play. have you picked a dress?"

y/n grinned, nuzzling further into lance's chest. "a few contenders have emerged. but it's bad luck to see the dress before the wedding!"

laughing, lance swept y/n off her feet, carrying her towards the bedroom with whistler at his heels. "come on, you really don't believe in that."

"so what if i do?" she smiled, cradling his face with the hand sporting her stunning diamond ring as she placed her on the king sized bed.

"then i guess i'm just going to have to keep fantasizing about that tight white fabric, hugging all the right places." lance teased, his lips grazing the skin on her neck.

"you do that, loverboy. because you don't get to see my dress until i'm coming down that aisle."

"and then i get to take it off you, right?" lance smirked, kissing her on the forehead. "because god, i have had thoughts about what we're going to do that night."

the bed dipped next to them, whistler's wet nose nudging at y/n's nose as she burst out into giggles, lance groaning as he flopped down on the bed, carding his fingers through whistler's fur.

"whistler, my guy, you don't need to be such a cockblock." lance laughed, patting the dog's side.

"baby, this is what you signed up for when we adopted him. you've had two years to get used to this." y/n giggled in turn, gently shooing the dog off of her bed.

"whistler, c'mere buddy." lance clapped his hands and signaled for the dog, lumbering clumsily off the bed. "i just want twenty minutes of alone time, buddy. go play with your raccoon toy."

he continued to attempt to bride the dog as he guided whistler out of the room, gently closing the door as the golden retriever left with his stuffed toy.

"twenty minutes, huh?" y/n joked, taking off her shirt. "you really think you're that good?"

"baby, please. you know that i can have you screaming my name in ten." lance's voice was husky as he leaned over her, pressing her body back against the pillows.

he kissed her deeply, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth as she moaned into his touch, bucking her hips up into his, feeling his erection grow inside his jeans.

"i love you." he said softly, his hands caressing her bare sides. "i can't wait to get married."

five months before the wedding.

"ladies, i think i've found the dress!" y/n giggled, pushing through the dressing room curtains and performing a little spin, the white satin fabric swirling around her bare legs. "this is the one."

"babes, you look stunning!" christa, her high school best friend and maid of honor cheered, raising her champagne glass. christa and her boyfriend bruce had gotten married during the pandemic, much to the disapproval of her greek family, who were expecting a large, flamboyant wedding.

as the wedding seemed to approach faster and faster, y/n and lance had both decided to go shopping for big day outfits on the same day. y/n, however, was pretty sure that lance only came up with that plan because he wanted to sneak a peak at his bride before the big day (and to grab more material of the love of his life for his spank bank while he was at it).

the dress would need a few alterations, currently pinned to her body with wooden clothespins, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, cream fabric hugging her body, the large slit up the side of the dress, she knew that this was the dress she was going to get married in.

"bestie, your phone is ringing." helena, her college roommate, shouted from the sitting room where they had all left their bags. "i think it's loverboy!"

y/n laughed, extending her hand. "bring the phone here, hell."

lancey💍would like to facetime.

chuckling to herself, y/n flicked to a regular phone call and ducked back into the changeroom. outside, helena and christa exchanged looks.

"were you trying to steal a look at me in my dress?" y/n laughed, sitting down on the fitting room's ottoman. "baby, i thought you were smarter than that."

"i hoped you wouldn't realize it was a facetime call at first. not even a peek?" lance asked hopefully.

"not a chance. i think i've found the one, though. it's cream coloured, and tight fitting, contoured to all the best spots." she said with a smile, knowing that lance would be working himself up on the other end of the line. "off the shoulder with a big slit going up the leg."

lance exhaled, and she could just picture the blush rising in his cheeks. "and i don't even get a look with a visual like that? come on now baby, that's just cruel."

"how goes the suit shopping."

"so, it turns out that pastels are on trend this year and i don't know how i feel about that. i had mick take some pictures for me, i'm sending them through now. unlike you, i actually want my spouse's opinion." lance said teasingly. "i'm leaning towards the mint green, team spirit and all, but let me know what you think."

her phone buzzed in her hand, seven pictures taken by mick schumacher sliding into her inbox. she smiled to herself as she flicked through, looking at her fiancé's dorky poses and looks of pure disgust at the mustard yellow suit esteban had insisted he try on.

"you're right, go with the mint green. it goes with the theme, too."

she could practically hear the smile on lance's face as he responded. "i thought you'd say that. right, if we've both got things picked out, i take it you'll be home soon?"

"an hour, maybe an hour and a half. i still have to buy the wedding lingerie as well, you know."

"oh, baby, don't say that when i'm out with my friends." lance groaned. "now i'm hard in a suit that's not mine."

y/n couldn't stop herself from laughing at that one as she took a sip of the champagne. "that's your own fault. so i take it you don't want me to ask what kind of lingerie you want me to buy?"

"something white, lacy and expensive. my dad is paying for half of the wedding, so money is no issue, babes. really, i want you to treat yourself. i know the wedding has been stressing you out lately."

"you try planning the happiest day of your life." y/n chuckled. "i can't wait to get home, if i'm being honest. as great as looking for dresses has been, this morning has been exhausting."

"i'll run a warm bath for you, order takeout from that place on main that you like. i think i know just how to ease those nerves of yours." lance suggested, a seductive tone in his voice that had y/n biting her lip.

"that plan wouldn't happen to involve cotton sheets and bath and body works lotion, would it?" she teased, knowing that every long, erotic night with her fiancé usually started with a massage and ended with a few orgasms.

"uh, yeah, of course it does. how else am i going to get rid of this little problem? seriously, babe, i am out in public."

"what are you going to do about it, big boy? spank me?" she joked, having fun imagining just how red her lover probably was right now.

"i haven't made up my mind yet, pretty girl." lance teased. "maybe i will, maybe i won't. you'll just have to wait and see, yeah?"

"i look forward to it. i've gotta go if i want to be done shopping by dinner. i love you, lance."

"love you more, y/n. see you when you get home."

the night before the wedding.

it was just after midnight when y/n slipped out of her hotel room, forgoing shoes as her mismatched socks padded along the hotel carpet. helena and christa were fast asleep, and y/n found herself tossing and turning as her separation anxiety kicked in.

she counted room numbers in her head before she stopped and knocked gently on the door, hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she waited for the door to open.

“you just couldn’t stay away, could you?” lance stroll joked, opening the hotel room door. he was wearing nothing on his top half, his lower body covered in nothing but a pair of montreal canadiens flannel pants.

part of him had known that y/n would find her way back to him before the wedding started. she never had been great at being on her own.

“we both know im not as tough as I pretend to be.” she quipped back, wrapping her arms around her husband-to-be. “I missed you.”

lance smiled against her skin as he placed a gentle kiss on her neck. “come inside, pretty girl. let me run a bath. the bathroom window has a great view of the city.”

y/n closed the door behind her as the couple made their way to the large bathroom, lance filling the large jacuzzi tub with warm, bubbly water as his fiancée undressed. she slipped into the bath alongside her lover, humming in contentment at the feeling of lances body against hers.

“you couldn’t sleep either?” y/n asked, sighing into his arms as lance put his arms around her torso, gently kissing her cheek.

“nah, I was watching the game. its not the same trying to fall asleep without you.”

“now who’s the cheesy one?” she giggled, splashing her lover as he moved his hands, beginning to massage her shoulders softly. “I love you.”

“love you more.” lance hummed as he kissed the back of her head. “how’d you get out of your room anyways? I thought the bridal guard would have you on lockdown. for the sake of tradition, and all that shit.”

“theyre asleep. I snuck out, used pillows to make it look like i was still in my bed. how was the bachelor party?”

lance laughed, pulling his fiancée closer. “I dont know if you could call the hockey hall of fame and whalburgers a bachelor party, but I had a good time.”

“you got a weekend in toronto and all I got was pottery painting and mocktails?” y/n joked, her hand trailing up lances thigh. “im glad you had a good time. I did too.”

with her back pressed up against his chest, y/n dragged her hand further up his thigh and upwards towards his member, wrapping her nimble fingers around his shaft.

“baby, not right now." lance whispered, concern in his tone as he unwrapped his arms from the woman in front of him "what’s bothering you, pretty girl? you get needy like this when something is getting to you and you don't know how to say it out loud.”

she sighed, retracting her hand and linking her fingers with his. “i'm just nervous about tomorrow. scared, I think.”

lance's expression softened. he shifted in the tub, trying to turn y/ns body so that they were sitting across from each other, both her hands in his.

“its not too late to elope if you dont want to do this anymore, love. I can call chloe and she can drive us down to city hall. just the two of us, no stress, no fuss. I just want you to be happy, y/n.”

"no, lance. everybody is already here and i've been dreaming of this moment since i was thirteen. i want to do this. it just scares the shit out of me. it's like when i slept with you for the first time, you have to remember that."

lance laughed, using one damp hand to rake his hair back. "if anything, i was more nervous than you were. because i knew that if i fucked that up, i could have lost you for good. i swear, i would have given up on sex if you never felt comfortable enough with me to do it, i just knew i wanted you in my life."

"and now look at us." y/n hummed, kissing lance's knuckles. "i'm just scared that something is going to go really really wrong tomorrow."

"listen to me baby, here's what's going to happen. you are going to walk down that aisle tomorrow in your gorgeous dress with your parents on either side of you, and 'november rain' playing in the background, and i promise that i will be waiting for you at the altar. i'll also probably be crying from how stunning you look and how surreal this moment is, but i will be right next to you the entire time, okay?"

"promise me you aren't going anywhere?"

"i promise." lance said, leaning over to kiss her before stepping out of the tub and wrapping his well-built frame in a plush hotel towel. he extended a hand for his lover, lifting her out of the tub bridal-style. "now, you and me are going to curl up in bed, watch the last two episodes of 'the night agent', and not think about anything wedding related."

y/n smiled, feet firmly back on the ground before she raised her arms and allowed her fiancé to wrap the towel around her body. "i like that idea."

dried off and wrapped in a silk hotel bathrobe, y/n curled up underneath the comforter. she gently swept her hand across the bed spread to flick off the crumbs, frowning at lance as he redressed in his hockey flannels and joined her in bed.

"i leave you alone for one night and your bed is filled with crumbs?"

"sorry," lance shrugged, a small blush on his cheeks. "force of habit. can't watch the game without a bag of miss vickie's."

rolling her eyes, y/n reached for his laptop, waking up the dark screen before closing the tsn app and opening netflix.

"baby, your skin is freezing." lance remarked, pressing soft kisses to the skin on her shoulders. "look, you've got goosebumps. do you want me to turn down the air con?"

with a cheeky look on her face, y/n turned to look at him. "i can think of another, much more fun way to get warmer."

"oh, you want me to warm you up with my cock, is that it?" lance hummed, gently slipping a hand underneath the hem of the white robe. "baby, if you let me have my way with you tonight, you won't be able to walk down that aisle tomorrow."

"we don't have to do anything. i just want to feel you."

and how could lance say no when she asked with those eyes, with that voice? she hummed in content as he slipped inside her glistening folds, readjusting the blankets around their conjoined bodies as she pressed play on the next episode.

"i love you, lancelot." she hummed, turning her head to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. "i can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

"i love you too, y/n. now, get some rest, darling. if you fall asleep, i'll stop the episode so you don't miss anything, yeah?"

the wedding.

"ladies, i'm going to be real with you, i'm scared out of my mind." y/n laughed nervously, smoothing out the front of her dress while christa fussed with her hair.

christa and helena were not fools: they knew that y/n had snuck out of her hotel room to meet up with lance, but neither of them could fault her for that. christa knew firsthand that y/n had been so scared that she would never fall in love, never have her moment in a white dress, and she wasn't going to stop y/n from being with lance, even if it was just for a night.

that being said, nerves were high on the morning of the wedding, and y/n had to be talked down more than once so that she would be ready to walk down the aisle.

and now that moment was finally here. she walked out of the dressing room to meet with her parents, who would be walking down the aisle with her, as per jewish tradition. lance had gone down the aisle moments earlier with claire-ann and lawrence beside him.

"you're going to do just great, kiddo." y/n father said, pulling her in for a hug. "but remind me what i'm supposed to do once i get up there."

"you're going to stand across from lawrence, diagonally from claire-ann in place of the bridal party. all you have to is stand there, and once the rabbi has said 'you may kiss the bride', shout 'mazel tov' with everybody else."

mr. y/l/n nodded, gripping his daughter's hand. "i'm so proud of you, honey. you picked a good man, and i love that he makes you so so happy."

the bars to 'november rain' began to play, and y/n took a deep breath before she walked into the banquet hall with her parents. her hands were shaking, and she tried not to look around and notice how many people were in the room.

she would celebrate with them all later.

she tried not to think about anything as she stepped up the small wooden stairs (not many steps, just three) to the altar. lance stood underneath the arch of roses (they'd decided against the traditional jewish canopy, but would have their parents stand at the four corners in principle), looking dashing in his mint green suit. he was restless, messing with the white rose on his lapel before wiping at his eye.

"were you crying?" y/n giggled quietly, reaching for her husband's hand

"what, no." lance laughed. "there's gotta be some pollen in here or something."

"good, because if you cry, i'll cry."

weeks, even months later, if you had asked y/n what the rabbi had said during the ceremony, she probably wouldn't have been able to tell you, even though the entire thing had been videotaped for the happy couple. the entire world narrowed down to that altar, to her and lance.

the love of her life.

"i now pronounce you husband and wife."

"mazel tov!"

"too soon, dad!"

"sorry love, carry on!"

TAGS:

@starsanova @magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @daydreamingleclerc @libraryofloveletters

#lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x y/n #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #aston martin f1 #lance stroll #cries in single #Spotify

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