#and look it's just as murdery as the first | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drawlfoy · 2 years ago

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

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darkintothedawn · 4 days ago

Text

DAY ONE || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Day one of 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. Stiles goes out with you and a couple friends to the new fun fair at Beacon Hills. But after you all split up Stiles takes it upon himself to have as much fun with you as he can and you take it upon yourself to break his very first rule.

1. Thou shalt not steal the last curly fry without proper negotiations.

Memo— You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here.

Word Count — 2199

Warnings — Fluff. Making out.

The funfair had rolled into Beacon Hills overnight, setting up in the empty parking lot just past the edge of town in record speed. Stiles had practically dragged you over there the moment it opened, rattling off how it was the "perfect place for a quintessential date experience." Scott, Alisson, and Lydia had tagged along, through the group had quickly splintered off once you arrived. Lydia had gone off to find some funnel cake, Scott and Allison disappeared somewhere around the Ferris wheel, and you… well, you ended up alone Ans stuck with Stiles.

Not that you were complaining.

The fair was alive with colour and noise, the smell of fried dough and cotton candy hanging heavy in the air as Stiles tugged you through the crowds. Lights flashed in vibrant reds and blues, kids screamed on nearby rides, and the hum of carnival games and pop music blended into a chaotic symphony. But despite the buzz around you, your focus kept drifting back to him.

Stiles had been giddy all day, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tried to decide what to do next. His excitement was contagious, his smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt just looking at him. And while he was focused on the games, the rides, and the fair's endless array of sugary snacks, you were focused on him—the way his hand stayed firmly wrapped around yours, his thumb occasionally brushing against your skin, the way he leaned in close to point out things he wanted to try.

It wasn't long before the stolen moments began to add up. The lingering touches, the soft brushed of his lips against your temple or cheek when he thought no one was looking, the way he'd pull you in closer when he won you something. He'd tug you closer every chance he got—whether it was an arm around your shoulders as you wandered through the fairground or a quick squeeze of your waist as he steered you away from a particularly aggressive clown trying to sell balloon animals.

And you weren't exactly subtle, either. When he'd won you a ridiculously oversized bear at the rig toss, you'd kissed him right there in front of everyone. It wasn't much more than a soft and gentle kiss but it left him pink-faced and grinning for the next ten minutes.

Now the two of you had drifted further from the rest of the group, weaving your way through the smaller side attractions. You weren't even trying to find the others at this point—Scott had texted Scott had texted Stiles a vague "we're good, don't wait for us" twenty minutes ago, and that was all the encouragement Stiles needed to focus entirely on you.

"You know," he said, his hand slipping into yours once again as he led you towards a row of food stalls, "We could just ditch them entirely. Make this a real date. No werewolves, no hunters, no banshees, no murdery supernatural weirdness. Just you, me, and an alarming amount of greasy fried food."

"Tempting," you teased, giving his hand a squeeze and bringing it up to your lips for a quick peck. "But I think Scott might actually cry if we leave without saying goodbye."

"Scott's a big boy," Stiles replied, grinning. "He'll survive. Besides…" He stopped suddenly, tugging you to a halt beside one of the brightly lit stalls. He turned to face you, his eyes softening as his free hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind you ears. His hand faltered for a second afterwards, clearly not wanting to move away just yet so you leaned into it. "I kind of like having you all to myself."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and pulled you closer with his hand on your cheek, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. The fairground seemed to blur around you for a moment as the kiss deepened ever so slightly, the noise and lights fading as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. When he finally pulled away, his lips still barely brushing against yours, he smirked, licking his lips and subsequently teasing yours.

"Was that too much?" He asked, his voice low and teasing.

"No," you replied breathlessly, a small smile growing on your lips. "It was definitely perfect."

"Good," he murmured, stealing another quick kiss before lacing both hands with yours. "Now, come on. I saw a stall back there selling deep-fried curly fries, and I feel like we need to make some terrible decisions together." He spun you back into his side, his hands dropping from yours in favour of wrapping one of them around your waist.

Laughing, you let him lead you further into the maze of flashing lights and carnival chaos, your heart feeling light as you got lost in his touch, his smile, and the simple joy of just being with him.

The curly fry stand grew impossibly harder to resist as you grew closer to it, the pull of it almost magnetic. Stiles had almost sprinted to it the second you'd both set off. The golden spiral of fried perfection on someone else's plate encouraging his speed. Now, the two of you sat on a bench just far enough from the crowds to give you some semblance of privacy while still being surrounded by the fair's chaotic energy.

The pile of curly fries on the tray between you was already shrinking exponentially, thanks to Stiles' total lack of self-control and your mutual enthusiasm for greasy carnival fried—specifically curly fries, of course.

"Okay, this is heaven," Stiles declared around a mouthful of fries. "Like, if heaven isn't endless curly fries and you, especially you, I'm suing."

You snorted in response, shaking you head and motioning for him to chew his food as you plucked a particularly long curly fry from the tray. "Heaven might not be greasy, Stiles."

"Blasphemy," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "Now, feed me. Like the queen I am."

Rolling your eyes and huffing out a laugh, you leaned in and held the fry up to his lips, trying not to bellow out a laugh as he made an exaggerated biting motion and missed completely. Partly due to his terrible aiming and partly due to you moving it away from him ever so slightly.

"Stiles, stop," you laughed out, pulling your hand back before he could bite your finger. He's done it before and you can't exactly trust him not to do it again.

"No, I'm like a majestic shark," he said, leaning forward again, this time catching the fry with his teeth and the tip of your fingers with his lips. "A fry-eating shark. Top of the food chain."

You burst into laughter, wiping a bit of grease from the corner of his mouth with your thumb and licking it clean. "Majestic. Sure. Whatever you say, Stiles."

"You don't appreciate my greatness," he said with a mock pout, tossing a fry toward your mouth. You barely caught it, surprising the both of you, and Stiles quickly cheered like you'd won a gold medal at the Olympics. "That's it! That's my Olympic curly fry catcher!

A breathy laugh escaped you as you told him to "Shut up," throwing one back at him. It bounced off of his nose, and he gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you'd just insulted not only his honour but also his jeep and father.

"Oh, it's war now," he declared, grabbing a fry and tossing it straight at your mouth. You managed to catch it again, the act easier with your earlier experience. His look of mock indignation melted into unfiltered pride. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

"Maybe a little," you admitted, grinning as you leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

Stiles tilted his face towards you at the last second, catching your lips with his instead. His mouth was warm and a little greasy, still tasting faintly of salt and grease, and his hand came to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss for just a second before pulling back with a satisfied grin.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured, laughing softly as you swiped another fry from the tray and shoving it into his mouth.

"Ridiculously in love with you," he said without missing a beat, his voice dripping with faux drama as he swallowed the fry.

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to press another quick kiss to each corner of his mouth. "And I'm just as ridiculously in love with ridiculous you so it works out."

For a moment he didn't say anything, his hand brushing your arm as he leaned closer. The two of you sat like that for a while, trading light, stolen kisses between mouthfuls of fries, the noise of the fair fading into the background.

Then Stiles grabbed one of the longest curly fries from the tray you'd seen yet, holding it up with a gleam in his eyes.

"Okay, okay, new plan. It's genius, trust me," he said, twirling the fry like a wand and wincing when it looked like it was about to snap in half. "We're doing the Lady and the Tramp thing."

"What?" You asked, already laughing at the ridiculous suggestion.

"You know. The pasta thing, but with curly fries." He said, wiggling the fry in your direction.

"Stiles—"

"Come on, just humour me," he said, leaning over the table and holding one end of the fry towards your mouth. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you couldn't help but smile as you leaned forward and took the other end into your mouth.

Slowly, the two of you chewed your way toward the middle, your laughter muffled around the fry as you made eye contact. When your lips finally met, Stiles immediately deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to cup your cheeks as his lips moved against yours with a little more heat than strictly necessary or appropriate for a public setting.

"Stiles," you whispered against his mouth, pulling back slightly as your hand gripped his collar.

His lips chased after yours even as you tried to create some space between you, a needy and breathless "What?" escaping him when he realised you weren't going to make it easy for him.

"We're in the middle of the fair," you reminded him, your voice soft and amused, carrying it's only subtle undertone of want that he picked up on instantly.

"So?" He whispered back, drawing you in for another kiss.

You managed to stop him with a small smirk, hands now firm against his chest. So, you're not dragging me into a full make out session in front of a curly fry stand with twenty or so families around."

"You're no fun," he said with mock offence in his voice, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"Eat your fries, Stilinski," you said, giggling as you reached for another one. But this time, you hesitated, looking down at the tray.

"This is the last one," you said, your tone almost casual as you glanced back at him.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Stiles' eyes widened as realisation dawned onto him like the sun on an early summer's day. "You can't jus take the last fry! That's against the code! You have to negotiate!"

You just grinned, holding the fry just out of his reach. "I'm telling you I'm taking it. Is that not enough of a negotiations?"

"Absolutely not," he said, his tone scandalised.

Before he could say anything else, you leaned forward and kissed him, long and slow, your hand sliding up to cup his jaw as you tongue swiped across his. For a moment, he froze, clearly thrown off by the sudden affection, but then his hands found your nape, pulling you closer to the point you were pressed against the edge of the table. But that wasn't on your min, not with the way he kissed you back with enough enthusiasm to make your head spin.

When you pulled back, his lips were slightly parted, his cheeks flushed as he stared at you like he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or impressed.

"Not a proper negotiation?" You teased, popping the last fry into your mouth before he could stop you.

He was already shaking his head in disbelief as he spoke, "Not even close. But, okay, fine. You're forgiven. Mostly because that was a really good kiss."

"Good to know," you said, winking as you stood and tugged him to his feet.

He laced his fingers with yours as you began to wander back to the centre of the fair, his thumb brushing against your hand. "New rule," he said after a moment, glancing down at you with a crooked grin. "Thou shalt never steal a curly fry without a kiss bribe."

"Noted." You squeezed his hand and brought it to your lips for one last quick kiss. "Though I can't promise I won't break it again."

Stiles laughed, pulling you closer as the two of you disappeared back into the chaos of the fair, smiles wider and hearts lighter than they had been in ages.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x reader fluff #gender neutral reader #stiles stilinski fluff #the boyfriend code

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arctic-scorpio · 6 months ago

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(finally gets around to making this post; long posts are scary... anyways)

did anyone figure out what the red robe / clothing / armor?? jiao liqiao was caressing in episode 5 was? it's been on my mind for a while now because we never actually see di feisheng wearing it

this is the robe in question from episode 5:

on a casual watch it looks like di feisheng's red mengzhu robes, but it isn't! for one, he's wearing the standard red mengzhu robes at the presumed same time as this scene is occurring (before, during the welcome back ceremony; and after, at the private waterfall with wuyan):

so it can't be hanging out with jiao liqiao too. I guess theoretically it could be an optional outer robe that's part of the same set? but seeing as we never see him wear it, I'm not so sure...? and the standard red mengzhu outfit looks pretty complete and imposing already, to me?

so, what is this thing? was it even di feisheng's in the first place,,? the best guess I've come to after mulling it over is that... it's his wedding outfit that jiao liqiao prepared in advance and had waiting all these years (!??)

okay, so. reviewing the clues we have:

at first I was thinking that the metallic shoulderpad things make it look like armor... the closest outfit we see with similar metallic shoulderpads would be this one:

from episode 5, just coming out of seclusion; + episode 17-18 official mengzhu business breaking out yanwang xunming 阎王寻命 from prison by crashing qiao wanmian & xiao zijin's wedding

but that's kind of neither here nor there. at least it establishes affinity with the jinyuan alliance mengzhu position. it's clearly got Official / Formal jinyuan alliance vibes to it, which would make sense. esp regarding how jiao liqiao sees him and her position in relation to him (in the alliance, as his subordinate)

okay, here's a bunch of wedding robes:

xiao zijin's, from episode 17

a-fei's ghost groom clothes, from episode 20

jiao liqiao's, from episode 38

they all have the same two long ribbon trimmings down the front, all the way to the floor. complete with matchy sleeve ribbon decorations. this is similar to the episode 5 mystery red robe's gold ribbon design...

compare some non-wedding red robes:

li xiangyi's sect leader robes (episode 12)

jiao liqiao's standard red outfit #1 (episode 5)

jiao liqiao's homey vibes red outfit #2 (episode 17)

jiao liqiao's murdery vibes red outfit #3 (episode 34)

thoughts?? opinions? more theories or any extra clues??

[outer robe for official mengzhu battle armor that never got used in the show? or stashed wedding robe for non-consensual wedding plans that have been in the works for potentially 10 years and counting??]

#mysterious lotus casebook #mlc #lhl #di feisheng #jiao liqiao #clothes #meta #i guess #arcticposting

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antimony-medusa · 1 year ago

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hi saw your daddy kink post discussing the phenomenon of giving grown characters surrogate parental relationships, and I understand where you’re coming from, but i really feel like it’s just a matter of the circles you run in, and the assumptions that you might make because of that. you mention how platonic reads of these dynamics are more uncommon than kinky reads, which i just don’t think is the case, and I think that arguing that people don’t even realize that they’re writing a kink is a little bit bizarre, and sort of assumes that you know more abt them than they do by projecting your own experiences onto them.

it isn’t inherently sexual to crave protection or a parental relationship that you may have missed out on, and it is certainly not universal. in my own family, my “grandpa” isnt my biological grandfather (nor do I really consider him to be my grandfather), but he’s my mother’s surrogate father and has been since she was in her twenties. an adult. he sees her as a daughter. she sees him as a father. there’s absolutely nothing kinky about it. and anybody who automatically assumes that must have their mind deep, deep in the gutter and/or the stranger side of the Internet. really, i find it a bit of a strange argument to randomly post in the first place—as if it’s a problem that so many people enjoy non romantic and non sexual relationships, and that these people must, in fact, have a daddy kink that they are unaware of.

that said, i do absolutely agree that fans bringing any part of that into phil’s chat is weird and they should Not do that, and that infantilizing characters is also very weird, and personally i dont even see him as being father figure to anybody on that island except his eggs, wilbur, and MAYBE an argument could be made for tubbo (which other cc’s on the island have joked about), but to each their own and all that.

sorry this is so long. TLDR, i get where ur coming from in terms of “warning , some people might read your stuff differently than you want here” but really not everything is a kink and paternal dynamics can easily happen in regards to adult characters, particularly young adults, without there being any inappropriate connotations. i know nothing i said will change your mind, obviously it’s set, but ykno diff perspectives and all that. hope ur doing well

Thank you for the ask! I see you were on mobile, I believe. :D I am also going to push the character limit with this response, I fear.

I agree that it isn't inhernetly sexual to go after a parental relationship that you missed out on, and there are many such cases. I'll even go so far as to say that it's not inherently kinky to go after a parental relationship that you missed out on, because there is such a thing as non-sexual kink, and heaven knows that MCYT writing is full of non-sexual kink. Lots and lots of stuff that is platonic that is kinking on fear, or being drugged, or kidnapping, or hypnosis, or familial relationships, etc— there's lots of people who aren't doing that. There are tons of people out in the real world (and in fiction), who are simply just expanding their family as an adult, and that's awesome. When I was in college there was this older couple who kind of adopted me and invited me over for thursday dinner, and they were awesome. There was nothing untoward going on there.

But look. I am an emduo fan who likes to see my guys be murdery, and because of that, I've ended up reading a bunch of Dark SBI. I've ocassionally gone "this cannot be what everyone is doing" and I've read stuff tagged as "family fluff" that I find recommended. I am aware of where the genre is going, particularly with the rise of "dadbur" and "dadnoblade" interpretations.

And look, you have just got to trust me on this one. People are writing stuff that in any other fandom I would be recommending they put kink tags on the work so that people who liked that trope could find it and people who didn't like it would avoid it, but that comment in DSMP would just lead to people getting doxxed, so I just grit my teeth and go "i guess that's baked into Dark SBI or Tooth Rotting Fluff now, I sure hope that doesn't hit anybody's triggers".

Like I PROMISE you. The first draft of this response included excerpts of fics that I've read and I was like "can YOU pick the ship fic from the /p fics here"? But I have a horror of ever leading to someone getting cancelled on twitter, so nothing that could possibly be identifiable of these writers. But like—

Some of the ways that Tommy gets treated in the narrative are almost indistinguishable from a bodice-ripper romance. Some of the tropes being used— within DSMP we've all clasped hands and agreed to interpret it being platonic, but in any other fandom, you are going to start getting comments that you might not want to get. The tag is FULL of stuff that is DD/LB in everything but name. Maybe my mind is in the gutter here, but if you move out of this fandom, you are going to move into circles where a lot of people's minds are in the gutter, and you are going to get a very different response from your comments!

And I was talking about daddy kink here specifically, because I see that one come up a lot and it's gotten egregious lately, but this also applies to dehumanization, and fearplay, and predator/prey, and "instincts" (in every other fandom that's gonna get people in a mashup of A/B/O, Hypnosis, and sometimes Agere responding to it), and kidnapping/drugging, AND the way a bunch of "piglin instincts" stuff is just a BDSM au now where the Brute (dom) needs to be callmed down by their Runt (sub). The SBI tag is super kinky right now. And I don't have a problem with that idealogically, write your truth, but a) please don't bring that up in front of the streamers, b) if you move to another fandom you have got to be prepared that not everyone is doing their kink platonically.

Like I'm assuming that people don't know what tropes they're playing into, they're just building them from first principles, because the other alternative is that they are deliberately and knowingly writing kink and posting it in the & relationship tag with insufficient trigger tags, and I prefer to believe that people don't know.

I'm glad we agree about people bringing that into Phi's chat, or Pol's, or Luzu, or any of the other streamers that people have decided is So Old. A lot of people aren't comfortable even being assigned dad, as we saw with Felps, so bringing it even further is just— uh oh, no.

I do not have a problem with people liking non-romantic and non-sexual relationships. I find it a bit odd that much of the fandom can't concieve of a non-romantic and non-sexual relationship without making it familial and specifically lately father-son— don't you have close friends?— but I am fully in support of gen writing. I primarily write gen! I'm an avid commentor on gen fics!

But some of the tropes at play in the fandom are kinky, there is no way to avoid that. The fact that they are set in a familial relationship doesn't negate that. Some of the ways that the DSMP characters get treated would be distinctly non-familial if you ever brought it out of that context. And I am just warning people, if you bring it out of that context, be prepared for the response you get.

You cannot take DSMP tropes and apply them one-to-one in other fandoms, with other streamers swapped in, and expect them to be read the same way. Like i'm sorry, but that's just true. If you are posting the same sort of stuff that for Cellbit & Phil that you would post for Tommy & Phil, people will assume that you have a daddy kink, because usually when a relationship between a adults that are actually similar in age is refered to with paternal language it's a kink thing. That is how the broader internet works. (And anon, if I had a daddy kink, would I be complaining about the fact that I can open any SBI fic and have about a 40% chance of hitting it and I'm seeing signs of this appearing in QSMP? I assure you I'm not "projecting [my] own experiences onto them" here.)

#long post #anon #discourse #ask #fandom meta

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itsclydebitches · 11 months ago

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Layers I love in the "King Roach" moment:

Roaches are commonly associated with resilience and their ability to survive extreme conditions. Alastor becomes their king right before he fights Adam, nearly being "killed by a hair" but ultimately pulling through

The subject/royalty dynamic given that Niffty is someone Alastor called in to serve the hotel

The reversal too where Niffty is the one doing the dubbing here, demonstrating agency as she grants this title, reflecting how she seems to be on more equal footing with Alastor than, say, him and Husk

We know Niffty has a "collection" of bug-related things (not just the bugs themselves but stuff like bits of Valentino's fur too) so by making Alastor into a bug-thing she's going, "You're mine and important to me! :D"

The crown is made out of literal bugs so this is Niffty presenting Alastor with her conquests. It feels like a cat bringing their owner dead birds if the owner also had a deep appreciation for that because they collected human souls on the side

Niffty has just mentioned putting on "roach puppet shows." Alastor is now a (kinda) roach (kinda) puppet (the threads and strings holding his limbs together when in his demon form)

Alastor has also just admitted that he could get used to staying here. Niffty likes the HH fam because they're nice about those roach puppet shows. It's like a through-line: Hazbin Hotel is good b/c acceptance of roach things + Alastor is now a roach thing = Alastor good for Hazbin Hotel?? You fit! Let's stay!!

The roaches have red eyes so they pair well with Alastor's suit and there are pink flowers that pair well with Niffty's outfit

Big ol' smile from Alastor that comes across as genuine, like those he shares with Rosie

Another file for the "Big bad manipulator becomes a kitten around cutsey, murdery ladies, huh?" folder.

The fact that obviously Niffty is making awesome bug-flower crowns in her spare time. Charlie recruiting her for bonding arts and crafts when

It looks like there are teeny tiiiiiiny daggers hanging off the crown. You know, in case Alastor should ever need one and Niffty stares soullessly into the camera when I finally notice that

Alastor dislikes touch yet (not for the first time) he lets Niffty climb his head while showing off her twisted little mind <3

#Hazbin Hotel #Alastor #Niffty

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exy-conspiracies · 3 months ago

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World’s dummest criminals??

Ok so this is going to sound crazy at first, but just listen. The 2 twins from Palmetto State (I forget their name, mini something?) are hellbent on murdering someone because being twins they could have the perfect alibi, right? Except they actually suck at it. That time in Columbia when the less-murdery looking twin actually murdered someone, his brother was supposed to be somewhere else to provide an alibi but they got their wires crossed and ended up in the same house! How dumb is that? And then in the middle of the championship final the more-murdery looking one tried to murder the King of exy himself, which is insane to start with, but once again they screwed up because of being in the same place at the same time! I mean hello, you’re on the same team, idiots! Not only that, he’s so incompetent he missed Riko’s head entirely. What a fool. But then he did end up dying anyway, turning a comedy of errors into a tragedy. Which worries me a lot because with the mini twins you never know who might be next. What if it’s Kevin? The more-murdery looking twin hangs around him all the time, and the law of averages means even the world’s dummest criminals have to get it right sometime. Run, Kevin! Run!

#YES Andrew is chasing Kevin but not in the way you think he is #aftg #all for the game #psu #palmetto state foxes #psu foxes #andrew minyard #kevin day #aaron minyard #twinyards

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shoot-the-oneshot · 9 months ago

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Crimson Cage 3

thank you guys for being so patient

Rafe Cameron x Reader Outer Banks Masterlist

Closing your eyes, breathing in the sea air, waves crashing was the only noise surrounding you, if you tried hard enough you could imagine you were at the chateau, home.

The crisp blue waters and white sand beaches of the Caribbean are only a stones throw away. Almost any time of day you could be found here, on the balcony, hot tea in hand the breeze blowing through your hair, you were used to the feeling but the surrounding luxuries that accompanied it were new. Lush white furniture, the flawless railing you could run your hand across a thousand times and never get a splinter.

You weren’t used to these luxuries but you also weren’t used to being a Cameron.

“Marry me” Rafe spoke, the softness In his tone making the question almost sound like a real proposal, stealing a glance at the shiny band on your left hand, you suppose it was.

“Do you think I’ll get a ring like that one day?” Wheezie asked from her spot next to you when she saw you looking at it, "If you want one" You nodded your head.

“If Rafe doesn’t scare everyone off.” She mumbled, her lips pushing out in a pout when you laughed agreeing with her, thinking back to all the times he scared tourons and pouges away from you in your teen years. “He is really good at that.”

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite girls.” You both turned to see Rafe leaning against the open door, the easy smile he's had on his face since you got here still on his face as he walked closer, pulling you both under his arms. Ruffling her hair making her squirm. You liked this version of him, softer less murdery. While Wheezie struggled to get out of her brothers' playful grasp, you leaned further in.

“And how's the beautiful Mrs Cameron doing?” He asked pulling your left hand to his lips. After the wedding, he called you that for a week straight, it was the first time you saw him happy in a long time.

“Oh, you know soaking in the rays like every day.” It was true despite your cage getting an upgrade and having more freedom than you did, it still wasn't home.

Rafe perused his lips, pressing a kiss to your forehead staying there as he spoke. “I have to leave for a bit.” You jerked back eyes wide at the sudden news.

“you’re what!”

“That French guy found a buyer for the cross, I'm taking the boat down there and once I'm back we can do whatever we want.” His voice lowered “Think about what we could do with all that money.” You could finally get away from Ward, you thought to yourself. Rafe hands continued on their paths up and down your arms, hoping you wouldn’t fight too much.

"Can I go with you?" You knew it was a long shot but in your mind, anything was better than staying here with Rose and a bedridden Ward, unsurprisingly he shook his head, dipping his chin to meet your eyes.

"Baby I got this, trust me. You just stay here with Whez and I'll take care of everything, okay?"

“Excuse me?” Rafe turned hearing a new voice, rolling his eyes at the newcomer.

“What are you doing here?” Kiara demanded. “What am I doing here? Why are you here!”

“I was wondering if the reunion would cause sparks you know.” The man's voice cut off the two bickering. “Who are you?” Rafe asked. “My name is Carlos Singh Mr Cameron,” he turned to Kiara. “Miss Carrera.”

“So you know our names is this about the cross or not?” Rafe deflected his intimidation tactic. “This is about the cross Mr Cameron and something much more than that,” Singh spoke of some diary his words going in one ear and out the other until he got fed up.

“Alright I'm done with this, tell her all about your little book.” He exclaimed walking out of the room facing an armed guard. Rafe huffed out turning back to Singe.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Mr Cameron? You have the cross, she and her friends had it at one point. If you truly don't know where the diary is it’s in your best interest to convince Miss Carrera to change her mind. You have one day to decide.”

After he finished they were escorted to a bedroom upstairs that was locked by one of the armed men. "Look out the window if you would like a demonstration of just how serious I am," Singh said before they were taken away. creeping to the window keeping clear of each other they watched a man that Rafe had never seen dragged away before a single gunshot.

"What, Who was that?" Rafe asked, seeing Kiara back away from the window.

"Jimmy Portus, he tried to help me." her voice cracked. Rafes mind ran overtime, rubbing his hands over his buzzed head. "Okay, this diary do you know where it is?"

"Have you forgotten what you did!"

"Which part?" Rafe being the smartass he was replied.

"Killing Peterkin, shooting your sister, stealing the gold and the cross from us beating up Pope!" Kiara shouted. Rafe groaned pacing the length of the room before turning back with his eyes glossy.

"I know you all think of me as some kind of monster I get it and I feel bad about what I did to Sarah, but I'm a victim too. Don't look at me like that, I am, okay!" Rafe paced in front of the window as Kiarra watched silently, waiting for him to explode again

“Listen listen I know you don't trust me or like me honestly I don't care.” He spoke raising his hands to point at his chest. “But you care about Y/N.”

The girls brows furrowed. “You mean my friend that you kidnapped."

Rafe rolled his eyes "She was my girlfriend I saved her from a suicide mission, but that's not the point."

His tone dropped stepping forward, Kiara matching with one of her own backwards until she hit the bed frame.

"She married me." raising his left hand showcasing the gold band on his finger. At the sight, she took a deep breath no doubt about to start yelling.

"Everyone thinks my dad is dead, which means the business the money the gold, it went to me and now Y/n." his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer.

"Rose can't touch her when I'm there but if I die she gets everything. what do you think Rose would do with all the power and money right there for the taking?"

"You might not want to help me get out of here fine, but do you really want whatever happens to her on your head?" Rafe cocked his head watching her resolve crumble and her teeth grind.

"Fine, I have an idea."

Rafe crept through the house, it had to be around midnight with how dark it was keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible he pushed the bedroom door open, seeing the silhouette on the bed. who sensing his presence flipped over and gasped.

"Rafe!" quickly moving he knelt on the bed his hand going to her neck.

"shh baby you're okay, it's me I'm back" his thumb rubbed back and forth soothing her back to laying down now on his chest. god how he missed this, the feeling of her pressed against him, her breath fanning across his neck as every inhale filled with the smell of her shampoo.

"Did you sell the cross," you whispered. feeling his arms tighten around you.

"Don't worry about that, but I did some thinking while I was gone." he sighed into your hair. "I think it's time we go home." you shot up a hand pressing against his chest not giving him a chance to escape, not that he would go anywhere with you looking at him like that.

"We're going back to the Outer Banks?" grabbing your hand and pressing soft kisses long it as he sat up, his face illuminated by the moonlight allowing you to see his smile through the darkness. "We can leave in the morning."

Seeing the happiness glowing from the love of his life he's glad he withheld the finer details of the pouges and Singh, all that mattered was getting home.

Meanwhile, across the world, your sibling was floating back to the same island with their now alive father. who after steering the boat for a few hours joined John B down below.

“Where’s my butterfly is she still in OBX with that Cameron boy?” His father spoke sitting across from him at the table. it was still surreal to see him alive and well in front of him

“Uh, I don't know?” John B tucked his head. “What do you mean? She wasn’t with you"

“No, after Ward framed me for Peterkin, Sarah, Y/N and I were going to run on JJs dads boat, but she never showed up.” He watched as the information sunk into his dad as he slowly sunk into the chair his full attention on his oldest child.

"Sarah was with you on the run?"

"uh yeah." John B rubbed the back of his neck. "We're married, Dad." his foot tapped nervously waiting for his father's response.

"You married Sarah Cameron? Ward's daughter Sarah?"

"Are you mad?" he asked, trying the read the look on his father's face, who cracked into a smile.

"That you went after the big catch? not at all son, just sorry I missed the wedding" John B released a breath of air he was holding when the room went serious.

“So where is Y/N John B?”

“Sarah told me on the island that Rafe took her thinking she was on a suicide mission following me, she was on the ship with the cross when I last saw her. She stayed behind.”

The older man was silent in thought, “So Ward tried to kill me. Rafe shot Peterkin, you got framed and went on the run while Rafe kidnapped your sister. You found her but left her and got stranded on a island and married his sister, is that right?” John B nodded mumbling “There were a few things in between but yes”

"You know his sister so tell me bird, would he hurt her?" John B has never seen his father so serious about something other than treasure.

"No, Rafe would kill just about anyone, but he wouldn't hurt her, if anything he'd do it for her in his own twisted way."

"Alright then, we get to the OBX, find the map then get your sister." the older man slapped his thigh going to stand up ready to get them home as soon as possible.

This is the life you missed, it was like nothing changed. the second you landed back in the OBX you demanded Rafe take the roof off his jeep and take you driving wanting to see everything immediately. And who was he to say no?

Left hand free played full blast through the speakers as you drove downtown. your smile widens seeing Haywards, then the beach where you and Kiara saved baby turtles that one summer.

Unable to hold in your excitement you unbuckled your seatbelt and before Rafe could stop you, you stood up holding onto the bar. "I'm home!" you yelled at the top of your lungs against the wind. you could barely hear Rafes laugh at your antics.

His hand landed on your thigh the second you sat back down against the leather. you turned to look at him, you realized how young he looked in that moment no stress on his shoulders, he looked like when you first fell in love and would drive around town just to talk all day. except now there was a shiny ring on his left hand steering the car.

"I love you." the second the words left your lips the car's brakes slammed to a stop, the only reason you didn't hit the dash from the sudden jolt was the arm holding you back.

"What did you say?" Rafe shouted, before composing himself and asking again in a quieter tone. you haven't said it since before the tarmac but also haven't felt this since then.

He watched you intently as you smiled, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. "I love you Rafe." you felt his breath shudder against your lips. his hand tangled itself in your hair. "I love you so much Y/n, always have always will." his lips crashed against yours with the passion of two lovers separated for years, which in a way you were.

You could feel Rafes smile against your lips. "Take me home Rafe."

once again he did as you asked, you don't think you've ever gotten to Tannyhill so fast before. the car was barely stopped before Rafe jumped out and ran to your side.

"Rafe!" you yelped when he picked you up, "Just carrying my bride across the threshold."

The weeks you've had in the OBX have been a dream, it was back to how it was. One morning while cooking breakfast Rafe to your shock, even dropped the keys to his jeep in front of you with a kiss on the head telling you to drive safe, before leaving on his bike to wherever he went during the day.

The first place you went was the chateau, softly shutting the car door all the memories you've made here hit you. The bedtime stories your dad would tell you and John B of pirates and gold, sleepovers with the pouges, even sneaking out to meet Rafe. You thought things would be the same when you came back, but nothing was. Now you had to push away cobwebs just to get inside.

With a sigh you looked around the chateau, kicking aside one of John B.'s shoes he threw everywhere, the floors creaked as you made your way around the house the layers of dust only confirming what you thought. No one was here, you didn't know where your brother was but figured he was as far as he could get from here.

Wiping your hands of dust you decided to go back home. you never thought you would call Tannyhill home but the feeling you had in that large white house felt better than you did minutes ago. Rafe was still gone when you got home so you went to your favorite spot in the house, the master balcony. the water looked nothing like in Guadalupe but you loved it.

Rafe who snuck in behind you, silently wrapped his arms around your waist pulling your back to his chest, his breath fanning your neck as he spoke. "I missed you wifey." you jumped in shock then relaxed back into his hold recognizing his voice, returning the sentiment he turned you around thumbs rubbing your waist from where he snuck his hands under your shirt.

"I had something made for you," Rafe smirked giving one last squeeze before moving his hands one going to the back of your neck the other reaching for something in his back pocket. pulling out a necklace covered in diamonds. before you could protest he clasped it around your neck his fingertips brushing along your collarbones as he fixed it.

"Rafe," "Just say thank you, and let me treat my wife like a husband should." he sushed you still admiring the hardware. reaching up on your tiptoes you pressed your lips together. wrapping your arms around his neck pulling away you showered his face in kisses, his jaw, cheek, nose everywhere. He practically preened loving the attention you were giving.

"There's one more thing," Rafe spoke suddenly looking uncharecterlisticly sheepish, like he was afraid of your reaction. curious as to what would pull that reaction out of him you wordlessly nodded your head. "Close your eyes." doing as he said you felt him pull away and heard shuffling. "Open"

You opened your eyes finding him on one knee eyes hopeful and ring in hand. "I know we are married already but I always wanted to give you the ring you deserve and what better place than your favorite." he choked up a bit on his words his eyes glossy. "So Y/n love of my life, will you stay married to me?"

Honestly, you wanted to laugh he was right the papers were signed but with how he looked right now you couldn't dare make fun when he took it so seriously. "Yes Rafe, I'll stay married to you." you smiled as he released a heavy sigh of relief. This is how you originally imagined him proposing, here not on some boat. the second he got to his feet his hands caged your face pulling in, kissing you like it was the altar. you watched as he slid the biggest oval diamond you have ever seen on your finger. "Oh my god where did you get this its massive!"

If you were paying attention you would've seen his shoulders tense momentarily. "We are Cameron's baby." was the only answer he gave as he watched you admire the ring and the view of the ocean in the same scene. he took his spot back behind you with you held tight in his arms nuzzeling your neck.

“You know this is all ours right? Just how it was always meant to be.” He whispered looking over the backyard of Tannyhill with you.

“We’re here to sell it Rafe it's not ours.” you sighed.

“Isn’t it? My dad can’t come back here, it's all in my name. I always told you this would be ours one day.” He paused using his grip on your hips to spin you to face him.

“Today is that day.” He nuzzled his nose in your hair taking a breath as you felt excitement fill you at the possibility of being home again. Your hands went to his face pulling his eyes to yours. That easy-going smile he got when he knew he did something you'd like on his face.

“We can really stay?” You whispered hopefully as if a louder tone would ruin everything. Rafe smiled loving that happy look in your eyes once again. He nodded his nose rubbing against yours with the movement. “We’re home baby.” He spoke against your lips before before pressing more fully.

Excitedly smiling into the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck laughing as he spun you. maybe Rafe was right and everything that happened was for the best because this felt like where you were supposed to be.

a few days later you watched Rafe walk in, instead of joining you in the kitchen he leaned against the enteryway watching you, "Let's go for a drive there's something you need to see. his somber tone rattled you. He led you out to the jeep looking like he was fighting himself with every step. the ride was quiet your leg bounced with nerves, normally Rafe was your rock if he was calm you didn't need to worry but his hands kept flexing and shifting on the wheel.

You looked to Rafe in confusion as he pulled the truck to a stop at the chateau. He pulled your hand to his face making you caress his cheek, turning his head he kissed your palm before letting you go and turning to face the house.

“Go, I’ll be here.”

You shook your head. "There is nothing there i already looked." Rafe sighed nodding to the house again.

Not understanding but still trusting him, you pulled open your door and stepped out, looking at Rafe one more time who gave you a forced smile confusing you even more. Shaking it off you made your way to the backyard surprised to hear voices. Turning the corner you froze seeing the pouges all standing around smiling at someone who was spinning with JJ on their back it wasn’t until they turned around you saw who it was.

“Dad?”

The group froze hearing the new voice. Their eyes widened seeing you, who for all they knew was somewhere in the Bahamas under lock and key. now stood right in front of them. JJ slid off your dad's back as he straightened to full height staring right back at you, or you think he was, your vision was blurry welling up with tears.

"There's my butterfly." he choked out, opening his arms. for you to fall into, you were hit with the familiar smell of your father as you wrapped your arms around him. "We thought you were dead." you sobbed against his chest. you felt it rumble with his chuckle. "Seems like there was a lot of that around here."

He pulled back, hands cradling your face and wiping your tears like when you were little. "I missed you, kid."

"I missed you too Dad."

"I missed you too you know!" your attention turned to John B, who was quick to wrap you up in a hug. "I'm sorry I never should left you on that ship, I should've made you jump first-" you laughed cutting him off mid-rant. "It's okay, we're back now, all of us." Big John who was watching turned to the pouges.

"Well, kids I think we need some family time." Sarah hesitates leaving with the others when John B. walks back to her side and grabs her hand. "She's family to dad." Big John sighed, nodding his head. "Come on then." holding the door open you stood still as your brother and Sarah walked into the chatue.

"You guys go ahead I'll be right there." you waited until your dad shot the door behind him before jogging back to the driveway. Rafe who saw you quickly jumped out of the truck to meet you. "Are you okay?" his hands went to your jaw making you look up at him, his thumbs gently swiping under your eyes. you didn't bother telling him about your dad, figuring that's why he brought you here.

"My dad called for family time, you should be there too." Rafe smiled at your words pulling you closer to press his lips against your forehead before taking your hand, letting you lead him inside.

Everyone was sitting at the small table when you both walked in, John B. and Sarah's Eyes widened while your father looked like he almost expected it. You both sat down rafes arm slung over the back of your chair fingers brushing your upper arm. "So fill me in." Big john spoke.

We all took turns explaining our sides it was well after nightfall until everyone was done, Dad sat back in his chair with a glass of bourbon held in his hands. "never thought I'd miss both of my kids weddings." he said before emptying the glass in one go.

"I'd just like to point out we're the only ones that are legally married here, not just some sea law." Rafe pointed out pointing between you and your bother, his ring caught the light. "And we could always have another wedding here like it was supposed to be." He spoke nonchalantly, making you perk up. the Guadalupe wedding was beautiful but it was always a dream to get married here, at home.

Rafe turns back with his smug smile on his face shooting you a wink. John B disgusted by the scene in front of him speaks up. "Maybe a double wedding then huh Rafey." he mocks using your nickname for the man who doesn't even glare back just smiles. "No." your dad laughs at the two as the night comes to a close. You had everything you wanted, Rafe, your dad, and your brother back everything was perfect, until a few days later.

You had just gotten back to Tannyhill from the chateau walking up the wide white steps nothing seemed amiss. "Hello Y/N." you spun around, breath catching in your throat.

"Ward."

wooo that took forever this is truly my favorite series I have written i hope you guys liked it as much as i do leave a comment if you did (they make me smile) check out the other parts here if you'd like to be added to my OBX tag list please let me know!

taglist: @itssoweirdyoureher @scenesofobx @dopedaegus @marauderswhore

#rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #dark rafe cameron x reader #crimson cage #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagines #dark!rafe x reader #rafe cameron x routledge reader #rafe cameron x y/n #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj mayback x reader

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