#marketing is just… marketing is dropping the ball these days

[meandmypagancrew]

So, I don’t know if I’m the only one who noticed this, but with the exception of Barbie, am I the only one who thinks most movies recently have been really poorly marketed?

Like, Oppenheimer was a critical success but I think we can agree the marketing team did an abysmal job - like Christopher Nolan’s name definitely sold plenty of tickets but for the most part, it seems they just let the Barbieheimer memes carry them to the finish line.

Now, I’m not sure if this is related to the strike, if marketing teams for movies completed before it but not released yet are striking or if they’re one of the exceptions that was carved out - which, if they’re striking, good for them, but if not, I don’t think they’re doing very good jobs. I think a good example of this is A Haunting In Venice. This movie comes out in less than a month, and I haven’t seen a single trailer for this movie despite going to the movies several times over the past few months, and while my local theatre does have a poster up for it, this is it.

Now, this is a bad poster. The only thing it’s inspired in us is confusion. After Indiana Jones and Barbie and all the Ghibli Fest movies we’ve gone to we’ve stood and looked at this poster and all we’ve felt is confusion. I mean, we recognized that that’s the actor who played Hercule Poirot in Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express, but did that mean this was another one of those or is it a mere coincidence that he’s in another movie? Actors do that, you know, they play multiple roles. And especially since the Agatha Christie book this is based on is actually called something different, it really doesn’t convey enough information to actually get people interested, I feel.

So I took five minutes and improved it. I feel this poster is 50% more likely to sell tickets because it’s at least 75% more informative and has 100% more false advertising because I couldn’t resist.

[teamatsumu]

compression. (sakusa kiyoomi x reader)

summary: atsumu is the perfect person to feed your obsession with kiyoomi’s arms.

word count: 1172

warnings: swearing, very mildly suggestive (if you squint), detailed descriptions of kiyoomi’s arms in compression sleeves so it’s not for the faint hearted

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

When you studied Marketing and Communications in university, you didn’t exactly anticipate that your future would include you managing a V League Division 1 sports team. But every day when you went into work, you thanked the gods above that this is where your career path had led you, because that meant you could ogle Sakusa Kiyoomi and his infamous compression sleeves all day.

Oftentimes you were certain Kiyoomi didn’t mean anything by them. For him, they were practical. They kept his arms taut and ready for the ball. They made his movements sharper. He received the ball better. He didn’t have to feel his bare skin on the dirty court. These were all reasons you had heard straight out of his mouth. When you heard him mention them so nonchalantly, it almost made you feel bad for the absolutely sinful- borderline deranged- thoughts you had in your head about the way those sleeves made his arms look.

You were well aware of the kind of thoughts Kiyoomi’s choice of athletic wear caused among his fans. To put it simply and bluntly, they went feral over it. There were whole Twitter accounts dedicated to just his arms, or his chest. And as someone who often managed social media profiles for some of the members, you got to see the most unhinged of these comments with your own two eyes. And you would be the first to (secretly) admit that you agreed with 90% of what was being said, because holy shit did those sleeves do something to you.

Most of the time during practice, you could feel your eyes drift back over to the man in question, wearing a black sports tee and those godforsaken sleeves, working up quite the set as they played set after set to prepare for their next game. As the hours passed, Kiyoomi would get more and more disheveled, curls becoming unruly enough that he would grab a towel, biceps flexing as he ran it over the nape of his neck and dipped into the collar of his shirt. Christ almighty.

You should’ve known that you would eventually get caught. But if it was anyone who would notice, you had expected it to be Meian or maybe Coach Foster. But the person who did bring it up to you happened to be the biggest nightmare in this scenario; Miya Atsumu.

“Ya should be a little less obvious ‘bout it.” He commented when he trudged over to the bench where you sat, grabbing a water bottle and beginning to chug. You tore your eyes from Kiyoomi who now had his back to you, the muscles under his shirt flexing with every movement. You raised an eyebrow at the blond, not yet correlating his words with your hidden obsession. He placed the bottle down and placed a hand on his hip, giving you a knowing smirk.

“A blind grandma could notice the way yer lookin’ at him.”

Your eyes widened and cheeks flamed when he nudged his head in Kiyoomi’s direction, and you knew you had been caught. You clenched your jaw hard.

“You say a single word-”

He threw his hands up as if in surrender, effectively silencing your threat in its tracks.

“I won’t, promise! But there is one thing…..”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. Of course, of fucking course he would blackmail you with this.

“What do you want?” You deadpanned, glaring at him and preparing for the worst.

Atsumu looked a bit affronted, as if the mere insinuation that he might want something was preposterous to him. You gave him another tired look, until he sighed and gave up, plopping down heavily on the bench next to you.

“A phone number. Ya know that cute girl who comes by once a month? From the Volleyball Association?”

“No.”

Atsumu’s mouth dropped like a child who just got slapped. “Hey c’mon! Ya didn’t even hear me out!”

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a characteristic frontal headache begin to build, courtesy of Miya Atsumu. “I’m tired of setting you up with people, Tsumu! It won’t end well, as always-”

“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with his compression sleeves.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I can get hundreds of those off the internet.”

“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with just his compression sleeves.”

That made you halt in your tracks. You searched Atsumu’s face for any form of mockery or lie, and you found none. Your eyebrows shot up when you realized he was being serious.

“In the locker room. I can get it for ya today.”

Oh my god. Instinctively, your eyes darted over to the man in question, who was talking to Hinata about something. It looked like volleyball tips since he had his arms before him in a receiving position, and Hinata was rapidly nodding to what he was saying.

“No.” You shook your head. “No, that’s wrong.”

“I’ll take a selfie with him, yeah? He will know there’s a photo. And I can send it in the groupchat.”

You look back at Atsumu, seriously contemplating his offer. He kept yapping, as per usual, thinking that the more he talked, the likelier it would be to convince you. And the bastard was right, it was working.

“No one else will bat an eye. We see each other in the lockers all the time. No big deal.”

You bit your lip in thought. The possibility of seeing Kiyoomi shirtless and only in compression sleeves had your pulse rising.

“And you just want her number in return?”

Atsumu nodded eagerly. You gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

“Send the picture. Then I will give you the number.”

His triumphant grin made it feel like he had already won. “Deal.”

That evening, when your phone pinged with a text notification, you nearly flew across the bed to grab it, opening the picture Atsumu sent in the groupchat with eager fingers and freezing as soon as you laid eyes on it.

Atsumu had held up his end of the bargain spectacularly.

He had taken the picture with Kiyoomi a little further in the background, so he could get the man’s full torso in it. He was facing slightly away from the camera, but his face was turned towards it, capturing the scowl between his eyebrows and the little pout of his mouth. He was gloriously shirtless, still a bit sweaty from practice, and he held his shirt in his hand, one arm flexed as he held it while the other was held carelessly by his side, compression sleeves hugging the cords of toned muscles just right.

There was another ping, pulling you out of your trance and making you realize just how dry your mouth had gotten. Atsumu had messaged you privately.

“My payment? ;)”

You rolled your eyes and sent him the number, immediately going back to the picture and starring it for future reference, a tiny smile quirking up the corner of your lip as you did so.

[gyuzgrl]

off the market ||csc||

summary- You have a crush on your favourite customer. He's big and kind and pretty and god the things you wanted to do to him were unholy. Little do you know, he feels the exact same way.

"welcome!"

That's all you said. All you could say. All it took for Seungcheol to fall hopelessly in love.

He was a regular at your pet daycare center. Him and his puppy Kkuma were there virtually every day, either to pick up a treat or to drop her off in your care for the day.

It was safe to say they were you favourite customers. Sure the dog was cute, but lord, Seungcheol had you acting like a schoolgirl whenever he came around. With his deep voice, his charming smile and god those arms- how could you resist?

You were almost certain however, that he wasn't interested. Sure, you'd caught him staring at you a couple times, sure it was a little odd how he'd tip you a small fortune every now and then, sure his hand lingered on yours for longer than necessary when paying, but there was no way, you were sure. No way a man like him was still on the market.

So you loved him from afar.

Well, as far as he'd let you go, at least.

"Kkuma!" you beamed, reaching out to take the eager fluff ball from Seuncheol's arms.

She snuggled into you, tongue lolling out as you scratched behind her ears.

"spoilt little princess, this one"

You look up to find Seungcheol's gaze fixed onto you.

"y-yeah, she's a little diva, aren't you baby?" you coo, "dropping her off again, Mr Choi?"

He hums, reaching closer to ruffle her fur, "work's gotten a bit much these days- timings are crazy y'know"

Your breath hitches at the sudden proximity. His hand was aimed at the dog, sure, but it was so close- ghosting over the plush skin of your upper chest.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you steady yourself.

"I can uh, I can imagine, sir. I'll keep her safe, don't you worry"

You say it out of duty, but something about that title has Seungcheol fighting demons in his head. Sir. Sir, you call him, like it's the simplest, sweetest thing in the world. Little do you know, behind the crescents of those pretty doe eyes, his thoughts are nothing but pure filth.

Hesitantly, he pulls away, clearing his throat.

"I'll be back in a couple hours, shouldn't be too long... thanks for keeping her"

"it's my job" you laugh, "you're paying me aren't you, sir?"

He coughs, eyes darting all over. Sir. There you go again.

"I'll um- I'll get going. Bye, y/n"

He turns around too quickly to see the crimson hue diffusing across your cheeks. God you loved the way he said your name. It rolled off his tongue so easily.

"bye-bye!" you call after him.

All your interractions had been similar to this. He'd stop by, make polite conversation and leave. But still, still your heart thudded in your chest at the thought of him. He was just so perfect.

A couple of hours later, you hear the door open. It's late at night, so your first instinct is to grab something sharp before you make your way to the cash register out front.

Meekly, you tiptoe outside, clutching a pair of kuromi scissors in your fist.

"y/n?" a familiar voice calls.

It's just Seungcheol. Good.

You breathe a sigh of relief, walking out right away as you greet him with that million dollar smile of yours.

"welcome!"

"hope Kkuma wasn't too much of a mena-" he pauses, glancing down at your hand, "what's up with the scissors?"

"oh- uh, nothing nothing, just as a safety measure- I didn't know it was you so..."

He tenses, unsure of how to feel. On one hand, you insinuated that you felt safe around him, while on the other, you think you're unsafe in the store.

"can I walk you home?"

You're stunned. Your legs feel like jelly and you can barely process his words.

"can you what"

"walk you home. If you feel uncomfortable walking alone this late, that is. I live a minute away, and it really wouldn't be a hassle to step out for a seco-"

"I couldn't ask that of you sir," you interrupt, "it's not that big of a deal either way"

"you aren't asking. I'm offering. and it is a big deal, y/n. I want you to be safe, to feel safe."

Oh that one went straight to your cunt.

"I-" you hesitate.

"look, I'm here almost every day anyways- if that makes you feel any better. if you're gonna refuse, don't do it 'cause you think I'd be inconvenienced. I won't." he says, now gently prying the scissors out of your grasp, "but if you honestly just don't want me to walk you home, I'll back off"

"no it's not that-" you add, urgently.

"how 'bout we try it out today, and you tell me if you wanna continue, that okay?"

You nod, lowering your head in a lame attempt to hide the furious red glow of your cheeks. Seungcheol seems to have noticed already, though. He places the scissors onto the register beside you, and turns to look into your eyes.

When he finds you staring up at him already, he's pleasantly surprised. There's a long silence- a pause in time- and the air around you stills. It's just you and him, gazing into each other's eyes, gauging what the other feels.

He must not know how intimidating his stare is, considering how he refuses to look away. That is until, of course, he spies movement in his vision.

Your hands are shaking. You didn't know they were, until Seungcheol's gaze leaves your own, dropping to your trembling hands.

He steps closer.

"your hands are all jittery today" his voice is low and gentle, "why're you so nervous?"

The space between you lessens as he moves closer, his hand reaching over to hold your trembling one, interlacing his fingers with yours.

You suck in a sharp breath, letting it go in a staccato shudder.

"do I make you nervous?"

Your eyes, wide and round, dart across the room, opting to look anywhere but at him.

"do I?" he pushes, squeezing your hand.

"I-" you start, "I just um- it's a bi-"

Your words are cut off by a shrill bark.

Fuck. Kkuma. You forgot about Kkuma.

"Kku-Kkuma," you stutter, ripping your hand out of his grasp, "I gotta get her out"

He groans, his arm chasing after you as you whip your head around and scurry into the play room. He was so close- he almost got through to you.

His frustrations subside instantly, however, when you return, carrying a sleepy Kkuma in your arms. How the little puppy nuzzled into you, so safe and comfortable, made Seungcheol's heart ache. Kkuma's instincts were never wrong.

"c'mere princess," he coos, and you look up at him with wide eyes. Did he just-

His eyes are on you, knowingly. "missed me, didn't you Kkuma?"

Oh. Right. The dog.

Seungcheol's gaze remains fixed on you, a teasing smirk playing at his lips as you draw closer.

"you're all red" he grins, "here lemme take her" Before you manage to protest, his hands graze the skin of your forearm as he scoops Kkuma out of your embrace and into his.

It was brief, the contact, but you felt something akin to electricity when his fingertips touched your skin. The glow on your cheeks only brightened in response and he bit back a laugh.

"I'll- I should lock up"

"mm you go do that,"

Even with your back turned, you can feel his eyes burning into you, an attentive stare watching all your actions- how you locked up the register, switched off the lights, reached up to pull your shutters closed.

It was endearing to him. You worked so hard everyday, did so much all alone. All he wanted was to help, really.

So he does.

As you nod towards the door, signalling that you're ready to head out, Seungcheol follows.

You pull the main entrance closed, reaching up on tiptoes to yank the outer shutters down, struggling to hook your fingers into the handle. He notices. Of course he does.

Silently, he brushes up against you, his chest dangerously close to your back. His arm extends above your own and he pulls the handle down with ease.

Your brain short circuits.

"what are y-" you gasp, turning around to face him. The air he breathes out fans across your face and his eyes are set on you. This was dangerous. The proximity between your bodies, the warmth of his breath, the way his eyes darted down to your lips- it was too much.

"y/n,"

"yes?"

There's a pause. Seungcheol's brows scrunch up as if he's trying to find the right words to say.

"you don't have to think so hard, Mr Choi," you offer, staring up him with wide eyes.

"Seungcheol." he states, "call me Seungcheol"

You're so taken aback you miss the desperate "please" he adds in at the end of his sentence.

"Seungcheol,"

"sounds so pretty when you say it"

There's a pull between your bodies. It's gradual and painfully slow, but you both feel it. He leans in, eyes darting to your lips, and your eyes flutter closed.

Hot breaths fan your face as you wait for him to kiss you, each exhale burning against your skin.

"is this okay?" he murmurs.

You try to say yes, to say something, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale. Lips parted, lashes fluttering, you looked so pretty. He couldn't resist the way you drew him in.

Slowly inching closer, Seungcheol presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss. It's tentative, hesitant, almost, like he doesn't want to scare you away. His plump lips cradle yours so gently, it's like he's barely even there.

You draw back, breathing hard. "we shouldn'-" you start, turning your head away, before he cups your jaw and pulls you in once again.

This time he works urgently against you, sucking at your lower lip so fervently, it leaves you breathless. Any semblance of doubt leaves your mind, and you pull him closer, fisting his shirt.

It takes everything in you to hold yourself together when his tongue licks at the seam of your mouth, demanding entrance. While he explores the hollow of your mouth, your hands roam the expanse of his broad shoulders, feeling each hard-earned muscle tense under your touch.

Your lungs burn for air, pleading for sustenance, even for a second, but his grip on you stays firm, holding you in place. Feeling woozy from the lack of oxygen, you have to push him away, almost, fisting his hair with one hand and tugging him back.

Finally, you breathe.

"woah, there-" he grins, when your knees buckle, causing you to faceplant into his chest.

You groan, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"c'mon, let's get you home, hm? we should probably sit down and uh, talk." he mutters, motioning between you and him, "about this, I mean"

"yeah let's- let's go home"

The walk is surprisingly pleasant. Any expected awkwardness, any uncomfortable tension, seems to have vanished.

You chat as you walk side by side, Seungcheol holding Kkuma's leash while you hold onto his free arm. It's painfully domestic, honestly. Your heart thuds violently in your chest with every step you take with him.

"...and then she told Hansol to call her his cutie sexy baby- you should've seen the look on all our faces, I wanted to quit my job then and there-" he shivers as he narrates an incident to you, and you giggle away like a schoolgirl. The way Seungcheol made you smile so effortlessly was commendable. No matter when he showed up, what he said, where he was going, he always made you smile.

"poor him," you offer, sympathetically, grinning from ear to ear as you neared your apartment. "this is me,"

"if you're tired from today, we can talk sometime else, oka-"

You interrupt him with a tiny peck on his lips, earning a look of disbelief in response.

"god help me"

Which is how you've found yourself here- stumbling out of the elevator with his lips pressed on yours, hands grabbing feverishly at the flesh of your hips.

"wai- Seungcheol hold on-" you giggle, fumbling to thumb in your house code.

He backs away, pouting and looks down at Kkuma apologetically.

"come in"

There's a hint of tension in the air now, with everything becoming far more tangible than before. This is happening. This is real.

You beckon him over to the couch, letting Kkuma settle on a rug somewhere in the kitchen, slowly drifting to sleep.

He sits beside you, leaving respectful distance.

"I uh, I don't want this to seem like I'm just fucking around- I don't usually do this,"

"do what?"

"this" he motions between your bodies. "I've been wanting this, wanting you, for so long you have no idea"

"oh-" You feel the breath knocked out of your lungs. Seungcheol felt the same way you did? He's wanted you for all this time, just like you've wanted him?

"I'd like to take you out on a date. Properly. I really like you, y/n-"

It's a miracle you don't melt into a puddle of mush then and there.

Choi Seungcheol. Hot customer. Has feelings for you.

"and it's okay if you don't feel the same way- really- I just uh, didn't wanna kiss you and leave things unspecified"

"I-" you start, staring up at him as you searched for the right words to say, "I like you too"

His face softens, a soft smile taking over his lips. You feel an all too-familiar heat growing between your legs.

"I'm glad"

The distance between your bodies is bridged by his hand- a galiant soldier crossing borders into foreign territory. It slides over yours, interlacing your fingers in a firm knot.

A sharp breath puffs out your lips, and all you can do is say his name. You aren't sure why, you aren't sure what you're asking for, but you call him- your voice airy and desperate.

"Seungcheol,"

"hm?"

Words escape you. There's nothing you can find in yourself to say. You stare into his eyes, watching the way the brown of his irises hold your picture within them.

"oh, sweetheart..."

And his lips are on yours.

Seungcheol guides your hand to his shoulder, sliding his own to your waist as he draws you closer. The way your lips mold against each other is nothing short of perfect, like you were made for eachother.

He nips at your lower lip, dragging it as he pulls back ever so slightly, and you can't help but moan. He grins. Your face grows beet red and you pull away, panting, embarrassed.

"you're adorable, y'know that?"

"shut up"

"you've got a lotta attitude for someone who can't handle more than a little teasing"

"I- I can handle more" you argue, brows furrowing as you shuffle closer to him.

"oh?"

Your eyes widen.

"n-no I didn't mean it like tha-"

"like what?" he smirks. "how'd you mean it then?"

You lower your gaze, opting to stare instead at the fabric of his trousers. Seungcheol hooks a digit under your chin and tilts your head right back up, forcing you to look at him, cheeks burning.

"who're you hiding from, hm?"

"m'sorry," you breathe, looking at him through your lashes.

"I wanna make you feel good," he mumbles as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. "may I?"

It's a simple thing- asking for permission- but it has your heart fluttering. He asks you 'may I?' like he's at your mercy. Like you have him bewitched. He'd do anything and everything you ask of him, now more than ever.

You nod, leaning in to kiss him yet again, before he lifts you off the couch and into the bedroom. His strong arms hold you steady, and all your worries fade away. All the questions in your head dissipate, until all that's left is him.

Only him.

"this okay?" he murmurs, placing you on the bed.

"more than okay"

"I'm gonna take this off now, hm?" Deft hands slide up your torso, lifing your shirt off to reveal the lacy bra underneath. He has to pause for a moment to compose himself at the sight.

"so pretty,"

"Seungcheool" you whine, tugging his hands to your breasts, "touch me"

Any resolve he'd built up, to control himself for you, comes crumbling down.

Like a man starved, Seungcheol devours you, placing hungry, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he trails his lips to the cup of your bra.

He kisses the swell of your breasts, while his hand slides under your back, unclipping the garment with ungodly precision. You gasp when your nipples brush against the loosened fabric, sensitive and hard.

"fuck," he drawls when he tosses your bra aside to reveal your bare chest. Seungcheol kisses the tender skin, taking one of your nipples into his mouth while his hand caresses the other, pinching at the sensitive bud.

His actions elicit a whine on your part, back arching into him with every swivel of his tongue, every pinch of his fingers. There's a dark grin painted across his handsome face when he pulls away, looking down at you.

"look so pretty under me, sweetheart"

You turn away, bashfully, feeling small under the weight of his stare. It's hot, how Seungcheol's self-assurance radiates off of him. He's confident but not pushy, not arrogant like the other boys you've been with. The prolonged eye contact feels more intimate than anything you've ever experienced- just you and him, gazing at each other like the world outside is a problem for another day. Right now, nothing exists but the two of you.

A hand travels down the valley of your breasts to the hem of your pants, teasing the skin right under the waistband. He wants to savor this, to savor you. But god you're so desperate he can't bear the thought of dragging this out any longer.

"gonna make you feel good, yeah sweetheart? would you like that?"

"please" you whimper, rubbing your thighs together.

Anticipation swells in your belly as Seungcheol crawls down to face your cunt, keeping his eyes fixed on yours with each sultry motion. He grasps the button of your pants with his teeth, tugging it open before his hands slide them down your legs, fingers ghosting over the smooth flesh of your thighs.

"pretty, pretty girl"

Shamelessly, he spreads you open, rubbing along your slit through your soaked panties.

"fuck baby- you're dripping" he groans, pressing the fabric into your folds. Your body jerks at the touch, and you let out a pathetic whimper.

"all of this 'cause of me? such a good girl" he coos.

"all 'cause of you Cheol- fuck- only you"

That was it. Seungcheol considered himself a patient man, usually, but tonight? God, he wanted to rip those flimsy panties off of you and have you cum on his tongue again and again until you were crying.

In one swift motion, he leaves you bare, shoving your panties in his back pocket like some kind of trophy. His tongue finds your hole, dipping in just a little to collect your arousal before dragging it up to your clit.

"oh-"

You feel him grin against you, lapping at your clit slightly faster now. Your hands fly down to hold him in place, back arching as loud moans flood the room. You can't recall the last time a man has made you feel this good. Heck, you can't recall if they ever have.

"please- fuck don't stop don't stop," you whine, hips rolling up to match the rhythm of his tongue.

He groans when he realizes how you're using him for your pleasure, sending tingles across your skin.

"that's it, sweetheart- fuck that's my good girl" he mumbles against your cunt.

You feel your high approaching with the expert flick of Seungcheol's tongue, and you pull him closer in a desperate attempt to reach your orgasm. He senses you're close with the way your thighs begin to tense and quiver under his hold, so he slyly slips a finger into you, without warning, sending you straight over the edge in seconds.

Your voice breaks as you moan, head tipping back into the pillows as he pumps his finger in and out of your heat, working you through your orgasm.

"there we go, pretty- just like that, shit"

Seungcheol licks you clean, sending sparks shooting up your spine, before drawing back up to your lips to pull you into a messy, sticky kiss.

You taste yourself on his tongue, moaning as he licks into your mouth like he'd die if he didn't. The friction against your bare skin draws you back to reality, and you realize he's still clothed

"w-wait-" you pant, planting your hands on his chest.

He pulls away, eyes fluttering back open in confusion.

"what's wrong? d'you wanna sto-"

"no!" you interrupt, eyes widening. "not at all- I just..." you trail off, tugging at his shirt.

He chuckles.

"you just?"

"y'know" you reply, coy as ever, grasping his shirt once again.

"words, sweetheart, gotta tell me what you want" His voice is teasing, playful.

"your- your shirt..." you pout.

"mhm what about it?"

You glare up at him, brows setting into a deep frown. "don't be mean c'mon,"

"say it and I'll stop, promise"

"t-take your shirt off," you mutter, blushing wildly, "wanna see you"

He cocks a brow at you and you hastily add in a desperate "please", leaving him satisfied. Without wasting any more time, he settles back on his knees for a moment, yanking his shirt off to reveal his sculpted form.

Your mouth hangs open.

Sure, you figured he was fit- those arms were a dead giveaway- but this took the cake. Hard, chiseled muscles greeted you, sculpted by the gods themselves, and you felt your mouth water.

"oh wow" you breathe, reaching up to touch him and feel those muscles for yourself.

He grins, hovering back over you.

"perv"

"have I told you how much I like you?"

There's a pause, before you break out into a fit of giggles, grinning at each other like two lovesick teenagers.

Seungcheol shimmies his pants off too, kicking them away, leaving only his boxers on.

"are you gonna-"

"eat you out again? yes. yes I am."

You smack his chest, rolling your eyes.

"you can do that tomorrow- I wanna... wanna feel you," you whisper, "wanna feel you in me"

He mutters a quick "fuck" under his breath, hastily shoving his boxers down as he balances his weight on one arm.

"are you sure, sweetheart?"

"mhm"

"anytime you wanna stop jus-"

"just tell you, yes sir" you quip, rolling your eyes yet again, only this time, you take notice of the way his gaze darkens at your words.

Oh this is going to be fun.

"sir," you whine, rolling you hips up into his, "please- please fuck me I've been good, haven't I?"

You're unsure of where this sudden boost of confidence has come from, but Seungcheol's blown pupils and parted lips spur you on.

"I'll be so good for you, sir- promise," you pout.

"do you even- fuck do you even know what you're doing to me right now?"

"mhm"

"brat-" he snarls, dragging his cock against your folds. You moan, losing whatever semblance of power you managed to build.

"that's better,"

You're about to bite back, say something mean, but he interrupts, pushing his dick inside you, slow but firm.

"you're- fuck you're so big" you whimper, eyes welding themselves shut at the stretch of your walls. "it won't f-fit"

"I'll make it fit, I promise baby I won't hurt you, hm?"

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes when he pushes further. He was huge. Your toys had nothing on him. Nothing.

"shh sweetheart you're doing so well for me," he coos, pressing in until he bottoms out.

Your eyes brim over and you sniffle, trying to accomodate his size. It takes a minute, with him kissing your tears away and mumbling into your hair, but you finally give him the green light.

Automatically, his hips draw back and snap into you, thrusting in and out at a steady pace. His size was overwhelming, almost. He hit your g-spot effortlessly with each inward motion, and your brain fuzzed over with pleasure.

All you could think, all you could say, was him.

seungcheol, seungcheol, seungcheol- you chanted his name like a prayer, any notions of god, of a higher being, leaving your mind with him taking their place.

He held your life in the palm of his hand, commanding metaphorical deaths with his body. You'd be happy to die in his arms every night, and rise like phoenixes with the sun- souls unified after the previous night's escapades.

The steady but firm edge to his thrusts have you sobbing, crying on his dick, begging for something even you aren't sure of. Your cries echo through the room, followed by the sound of skin on skin. Your neighbours won't like this one bit, you'll definitely be in trouble tomorrow, but you can't bring yourself to stop.

He just feels so good.

"s-seungcheol I- please m'so close please please ple-" you sob, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer.

He leans into your lips, capturing them between his own. It isn't a kiss. Your mouths hang open, moaning and sighing into each other with breaths so hot you feel like you're on fire. Like you're alive.

Distracted by the heat generated by your enmeshed breaths, you fail to notice how his hand creeps down to your clit. You cry out when his fingers make contact with the sensitive flesh, rubbing tight circles into you as his thrusts increase in speed.

"m'gonna- sir m'gonna cu-" you moan, cutting yourself off when you feel your body slip into pleasure. Your throat has gone bone-dry, like the last time you touched water was when you were in the womb.

"shit-" he curses, using you to finish himself off, before quickly following suit and finishing on your thighs.

"you're so beautiful- you're so goddamn beautiful" he rambles, collapsing on top of you.

Your throat hurts, and all you can do is wheeze as you try to soothe your burning lungs.

He notices, and grins to himself, ripping his body off of yours- "wait here, I'll be back".

He's gone for a minute, before returning with a towel and some water. "here" he says, holding the glass to your lips as you shuffle to sit up, "drink."

While you do that, he crawls back between your legs and gently wipes away the mess he made on your thighs.

It's basic decency, you know it is, but you can't help the way your heart flutters at how caring Seungcheol is.

"thank you" you murmur, cringing at the sting in your throat.

He looks confused for a moment.

"f-for cleaning me up"

God you were so cute. He couldn't bear it any longer.

"I always will, you don't need to say anything, sweetheart"

You blush, for the nth time that night, grinning from ear to ear as you're hit with realisation.

Choi Seungcheol is officially off the market.

[sp0o0kylights]

Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him. 

They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down. 

His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror. 

This is his golden ticket. 

The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before. 

He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.

 Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.

No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now? 

He's fucked. 

He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.) 

 Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB. 

If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.

Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it. 

"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin. 

Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)

"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters." 

Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss. 

"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!" 

Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough. 

"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.

Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks.  "Looking forward to it." 

Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling. 

Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him. 

Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face? 

The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.

Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth. 

("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that." 

Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!” 

Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!" 

"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness." 

Eddie flipped him off.) 

One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.

No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later. 

Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!

[dontexpectmuch]

Jude with a mechanical engineering student, and she's working on f1 and is a good friend of the drivers and jude gets jealous and hard launches at a race? She works for redbull and is friends with the real Madrid guys, ty, God bless

jude is aware of how much attention he gets, no matter where he goes or whom he talks to. so many people shy away from talking to him due to all the eyes that were on him, yet he tries to stay positive and look at the bright side of the picture. as a rising star, it can be hard to meet someone that would willingly hide their relationship from the world, though when he got to know you, he felt like his prayers have had finally been answered.

it was the miami grand prix he had been invited to, ferrari have shown their interest about his appearance multiple times and when his other friends finally had the time to come along, he immediately went to the race and enjoyed his time there.

it was also the place where he met the cute engineering student that was walking out of the rivals garage, cute cap with the official team shirt on, baggy pants and a book in hand. he sneaked away from the group and followed you to the water fountain in the middle of the two garages, desperately trying to look cool yet uninterested.

so when you two fall into a conversation [slight argument] about the team and who would win the race, jude knew that he had to keep in touch with you, exactly what he did.

now, two years later, the two of you have been in a private and secret relationship, something both of you enjoyed at the beginning. the relationship blossomed quietly, only his most trusted friends knew about it, same with you. having an intelligent partner who works for one of the best sports team ever is something that jude is incredibly proud [and turned on] of, it’s like a match made in heaven. no one could disturb your little bubble of happiness and peace, and you would like to keep it that way as long as you can.

but these days, jude really wants to post about his relationship, just to mark his territory. just to let all of those sneaky, weird, [and attractive, fuck] drivers know that their ‘friend’ slash engineer was off the market.

especially now, when all you talk about is the garage and the people you work with.

“well, and then i told max to-“

you immediately stop talking when you hear jude let out an annoyed sigh, eyes wide as you look at your boyfriend.

the atmosphere around you is quite comfortable, you’d say, or at least it is to you. it has been quite some since you were able to sit down and have a nice, home cooked meal together. normally your schedules clash during the week, and weekends were spent outside the house, exploring new places and trying new things.

and normally, jude would love to hear you talk about your week, about the new stuff you learned that he definitely did not understand, but the sparkle inside your eyes made it all worth it. he didn’t know why he is so annoyed about you talking about the person you literally work with, more likely work for, but just hearing the name drop from your lips makes him want to go and shoot a ball at all of their heads.

“uh, you okay, my love?” your concern for him makes jude melt, and he wishes that he could just ignore this negative feeling growing inside of him, yet he simply can’t.

he shrugs, corners if his lips turning slightly down, “don’t know, why don’t you ask your little friend max. that’s what you always do, right?”

he knew that this was the moment he royally fucked up, no turning back now.

when you frown and look at him with those confused eyes, jude gets even more worked up than he should.

as if you don’t know what he is talking about.

“i beg your pardon, jude?”

you called him ‘jude’, meaning you were also getting worked up about the situation, well, his behavior.

he scoffs again, getting up from the table to put his empty plate away.

it was delicious, he would say, but right now he just wants to be pissed about this whole situation [that he started].

you copy his movements, actually quite sad that your usual chat time after eating is interrupted by this petty argument.

“hey, ‘m talkin’ to you.” your confusion does not seem to go away, no matter how you try to look at the situation. jude simply takes your plate from your hands and places it inside the dishwasher, before he dries his hands to continue the conversation [discussion].

“all ‘m sayin’ is that you love to be seen with your little racer buddies instead of with me.” he moves out of the kitchen back to the dining table to pick up the other dishes and the drinks.

“what the fuck?” is all you can say about his statement as you take the drinks from his hands to put them into the fridge, “what do you mean i ‘love to be seen’ with them? i work with those people and actually get along with them, just like you do with your teammates.”

the tension [not the hot one] between you rises by the second and jude is once again walking around the apartment, “that’s not the same.”

“the fuck you mean it’s not the same? it literally is?”

a few minutes ago jude would have [maybe, probably not] admitted that he might have gone too far with what he had said to you, but now seeing you getting so offensive about something that bothers him, he no longer feels like he should back off. instead he wants to win this, he wants you to understand that he is right and that you being seen with others could be, no it is, disrespectful to your relationship.

“you are my girlfriend, why would you want to be seen with other guys?!” raising his voice was something he rarely did whenever you guys argued. he preferred to keep calm in order to avoid hurting you in any way. but right now, his voice was getting louder with each argument he made, heating up the whole conversation even more.

you genuinely did not understand why he would come up with this argument all of a sudden, it is not the first time that you are seen at max’ side at races or maybe even next to others. you had a healthy relationship with most drivers and pleasant conversations with them in between races and breaks. everyone knew that you are the intern who will soon work for the redbull racing team, and jude actually was the one to be the proudest of you. it is literally how and where you guys met.

“the reason why i am seen with them is because, one; i work with them. we have to talk a lot because of the development of the car and i still have to learn a lot from the other engineers. two, i get along with them, you know, like normal co workers do, because, fuck, why not? you know all of this.” you feel your throat straining with how much and how loud you are talking, but the rage inside of you somehow numbs the pain.

“so people thinking that you are dating one of them also comes with the job, yeah?”

jude now stands tall in front if you, nostrils flared and eyes wide. he isn’t mad at you entirely, he knows it, but more like at the situation and the people that dare to pair you with someone that is not him.

but you cannot know that he isn’t mad at you, because in your eyes it seems like he is blaming you for the stuff the media puts into the news. your heart beats faster than ever and this whole situation makes your head spin.

“i don’t control what the media says? like, it’s not in my hands? to them i am a single woman who is successfully working for a motorsport team, rumors are bound to happen?”

“well, there is always some truth behind rumors, right?”

something inside you snapped, “what about you, huh?!”

jude almost flinched when you suddenly raised your voice at him, a sight he has never seen before.

“you also get paired up with a new woman every fucking day, jude. do you see me complain about it? no! because i trust you.” right now, you really wished to cry. was it that hard to understand?

the comfortable atmosphere from a few minutes ago vanished entirely, coldness and a bitter feeling on your tongue seem to have replaced it. during the two years you and jude havr spent together, you never had such an argument to this extent.

“but i am never pictured next to those people! i never even talked to them ever in my life!”

suddenly still, your eyes widened, mouth dry as you speak up, “are you accusing me of cheating on you?”

silent.

jude looks at you with his mouth open, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

“no, never…” the stark contrast between your voices now compared to just a second ago is almost cinematic, as if you had practiced this scene multiple times already. silently looking at one another, eyes dancing around the others faces in order to understand what just had happened.

“do you also think that way when i talk to aurelien and eduardo?” your voice breaks as you speak up, a defeated feeling replaces the rage inside, “do you actually think like this of me?”

judes shoulders sack down as he listens to you speak, this is absolutely not something he ever thought of, nor would he ever dare to accuse you of such thing.

he wants to speak up, yet you quickly cut him off, “just for your information, to the media and the rest to the world, we both are single individuals who don’t even know each other. and all the guys on the grid know that i am a taken person, they would never do such thing.”

you scoff as you shake your head, turning around to go to the front door.

jude panics as he watches your fast steps, immediately following you, “what- uh, where are you going?”

you quickly put on your shoes and put your bag on your shoulders, not in the mood to continue any of this, “wanna go home.”

“but this is home-“

your head snaps to his direction, eyes cold, “apparently not. at least not now.”

jude closes his hand around your wirst, not wanting you to go away when the situation between you is so heated.

“let’s find a solution, babe, c’mon.” he begs, voice husky and desperate. he did not know that it would escalate like this, but now he regrets to even bring up this topic.

you sigh, all of this arguing took a toll on you and now you want to do nothing more but lay in your bed and not to think of anything anymore.

inhaling deeply, you look at jude, his big brown eyes never left yours anyway, and he truly does look like he wants to fix this, which you do too.

“listen,” you begin, taking one last deep breath, “you cannot accuse me of such thing and then expect me to do nothing about it-“

“i don’t want you to do anything, just, let’s stop arguing.”

scoffing, you tighten the grip on your bag, “you started all if this because apparently, you do not trust me, jude.”

“it’s babe-“

“it’s jude right now, don’t test me.” you threaten him, not in the mood for his little jokes.

shaking your head, an almost mocking laugh leaves your lips, “we decided to keep our relationship a secret. you, by the way, wanted to do it this way the most. i would have launched our relationship ages ago, because i trust you and i trust our bond. y’know, communicating and stuff.”

judes voice cracks slightly as he speaks up, deep sigh leaving his body as he tries to hold your hand, a sign that he is getting desperate, “i trust you, too, babe. ‘t’s just- i don’t know, like, rumors and shit and i don’t want you to have reporters on your neck at all times, y’know.”

you frown at his words, “but that does not explain why you literally sprung at me for mentioning max, or the others. when we first started dating, i already knew what would come along with being with you, and i would take it all, jude, everything.”

jude smiles at your words, now looking down at your hands, so you continue, “all those annoying rumors about me, people following me and what not, i genuinely will take it all, because i love you. not max, not lando nor charles or whomever you’re jealous of.”

“i ain’t jealous.” he rolls his eyes, slowly stepping closer to you.

“don’t lie to me, belli.” you smirk at him.

jude chuckles, his thumb dancing across your knuckles help you to be at ease.

“soo.”

“sooo?” you look at him confused, waiting for him to continue.

“do we just post a picture together? or like, do a sex tap-“

“shut it.” you pinch his waist, chuckling as he squirms away from your touch, “we will do a, hm, maybe a soft launch? yeah, something like that.”

jude groans, throwing his head back, “that takes way too long.”

“well,” you shrug, “ that’s what you get for literally yelling at me for doing my job.”

“and i’m sorry, love.” judes hand now caresses your cheek softly, head tilted down as his bog brown eyes apologetically look at yours, “next time, i will calmly ask you about something that bothers me, okay?”

“okay.” you smile at him, leaning into his touch.

“you have a race this weekend, no?”

“yeah, in belgium this time, why?”

“just because.”

-

“still trouble in paradise?” you hear landos [annoying] kind voice from behind you, making you draw your eyebrows together.

turning around, you tilt your head in question, “wait, how do you know?”

lando innocently smiles at you, shrugging his shoulders, “max and i are somewhat besties, y’know.”

“max.” you grumble, already planning on how to get your revenge from him.

“so? everything okay now?” lando questions again, this time in a slightly more serious manner than before.

“it’s always okay between us, just rocky at times.” you tell him, not stopping yourself from smiling when you think of your boyfriend.

lando nods his head at something behind you, “seems like goal-machine over there still wants to rip off my head, though.”

“goal-machine-?” you turn around and are immediately met with the sight of jude leaning against some tires in the garage.

he looks good, you must admit. sunglasses on too of his nose, oversized shirt with the first few buttons undone, night dress pants and matching shoes, a real snack.

a snack that should not be here, or well, a snack you did not know that would be here. so, you bid your goodbyes to lando and walk closer to jude, coming to halt a fee steps in front of him.

“eh, hi?” you greet him, confused but happy.

he smiles down at you, taking off his glasses to get a better look at you, “hey there, sexy lady.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms in front of your chest, “not now, i am working, y’know.”

“chatting it up with little lad over there is quite some work, huh?” jude points at lando with his head, who still, you don’t know why, is standing inside the redbull garage, subtly [nit really] glancing at your direction every now and then.

“lando just likes to annoy me, nothing more.” you explain, smiling as you watch jude stand up straight.

“well, let’s annoy him back.” he smirks down at you.

“how-“

jude cuts you off by placing his soft lips on top of yours as his muscular arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. at first you feel like resisting, but the more he deepened the kiss, the more you could not get enough of it. tilting your head to gain better control, you feel up his chest before you place your hands at the back of his next, enjoying this public display of affection more than ever. maybe because it is the first time you’ve ever done something like this in a place like the garage-

you immediately push jude away, eyes wide open, “jude! there are cameras everywhere!”

he just smiles down at you, that little tease, before taking your hand into his, “you wanted to go public anyway.”

“i wanted a soft launch, though! i always wanted to soft launch a relationship.” you whine, moving closer to out your forehead against his chest in defeat.

“you can still soft launch it, love.”

you shake your head, still against his chest while you feel his hand move up and down your back, “no, let me grieve in peace, please.”

“love you too, babe.”

“shut it, you ruined my dreams.”

“you’re welcome.”

———————————————————————

enjoy 🥰

[gladiatorcunt]

- JOYRIDE / VIII.

i drink the honey inside your hive

cw: kinktober prompt (daddy kink), southern florist president’s secret child!reader x secret service agent!toji, reader has a vagina, tits used to refer to your chest, age gap (toji is 47 and reader’s early-mid 20’s), dad bf type shit, willing to expand on this, hints of political intrigue and fictional plots, toji x your mom mention, implied and eventual betrayal (not of reader), typical politician behavior, parental neglect & it’s consequences, anal & lack of proper anal prep, dirty talk, light pet play, arguable one sided incest role play & possible actual incest, plus sized!reader, gun play mention, underlying mental health issues, mention of itafushi, flower language, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“There. After nearly breaking my back, the seeds are all planted, finally.”

You'd like to be buried under this magnolia tree, it would be a pretty funeral. Black outfits against the white backdrop of rare winter snow. You have big dreams for this sapling, clearly, as unassuming and drab as it appears freshly planted in the soil of your garden. The ones you’re mom took care of are all gone, maybe they got up and walked after her to somewhere on the horizon. If it doesn’t get so hot the state gets put under another burn ban next summer, this little thing should grow into a beautiful thing that obviously showcases how not depressed you are.

Could a depressed person cope with grief by growing a new life? Well, you wouldn’t know, coping isn’t on your to-do list for a long time if ever. What’s the point of getting better when you’re just going to feel bad again?

Whatever, you shake your head and head back into the shop, you have bills to pay and moping around won’t do anything to help with them. Since you live in a pretty small town, it’s a slow day like always. That is until a tough looking man steps in through the door, opening it and making the bell ding.

His loud sports car is still on and roaring outside, a bright yellow Alfa Romeo 4C.

The man notices your wandering eye and smirks, “You like it, doll? Didn’t take you for someone who’d be interested in cars.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s cool. Must have cost you a lot.”

“Nah. I bought it off one of my buddies at work, fixed it up myself. Well, me and my son’s boyfriend that is. You lookin’ to get somethin’ like that for yourself?”

You’re not really on the market for one, no, because it’s loud as hell and practically rumbling in your ear. You rub it off and ask him what he wants, forgetting some of your politeness, but this man doesn’t seem like he’d care if you spit in his face and kicked him in the balls.

“I’m not from around here.” He rasps and adjusts his sunglasses, leaning one heavy arm on the counter and cocking his hip out, “DC, actually. I’m lookin’ for somebody. You could call it confidential business.”

You hum and narrow your eyes, “Unless that confidential business involves a funeral or getting out of the doghouse with somebody, I can’t help you.”

Suddenly you remember your mother telling you about a big shot politician that knocked her up with you, how he hid you both away when she told him she was pregnant. Your mother was down on her luck 16 year old diner girl, and apparently the politician knew all too well how to use and discard her. The money was enough for your mom to give up her dreams and keep you in this town. When you’ve lived so long without what you think you should, you’re fine to obsessively make sure you never go without again.

He’s the president now anyway, even more reason to make sure you’re the bug that stays squashed under the rock.

The man with the mouth scar notices and decides to drop the act, sighing and taking out his gun. He doesn’t shoot you, just scratches underneath his chin with the puzzle and pointedly makes eye contact with you.

“Okay, let’s cut the shit. My name’s Toji Fushiguro, and I know that you’re who I'm after just as much as you know why i’m here, so why don’t ya just appreciate that y’r old man wants you back and come with me?”

You grit your teeth but you know there’s only one way this interaction is going to end is with you getting in the passenger seat of this nutjob’s car. He watches you shut everything off in the shop and leave a message for the only other employee, asking them to take over until you can come back. He’s a gigantic wolf, tall and silent in the corner, keeping his eyes constantly on his prey. Toji’s never let a bunny or prickly house cat out of his sight in his entire career, but in his current line of work it’s at least legal. Essentially.

“Pretty flowers ya got here.” He says, prolonging your unease. “Maybe his office could use some of these, dull ass beige box that it is.”

Your lips quirk up despite the awful situation, “Yeah I guess. The camellias are new, but hellebores are my favorites, I think. Not many people are into flowers this time of year, but I don’t have anything else to do.”

Toji nods, leading you out of the shop with a hand at the small of your back and oddly content to let you stress babble.

“I’m nowhere near good enough to do arrangements for the White House anyway, regardless of who’s sitting all cozy in it.” You spit and bite one of your nails, nipping at a piece of a hangnail. “Probably’d just throw some buttercups, yellow carnations, orange lillies on the floor, a bit of aconite in there too.”

You know that the agent corralling you into his car doesn’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about, but he seems at ease the more you relax into the leather car seat.

You make yourself fall asleep when he puts the car into drive and speeds down the street.

You’ve been in DC for about a week now, without ever actually meeting your dad of course but you’ve met plenty of his staff after Toji introduced you. He’s a secret service agent, who was given the special task of watching over the president’s only child, you can tell he’s not that happy about it.

Probably not as much action as there’d be in his usual position, you’re very willing to go with their plans of you laying low and staying inside most of the time. You’re still so confused, none of this makes any sense at all. You’ve lived your whole life without being involved in any of this but it’s only when your mother’s dead and your father can’t ignore you anymore that he wants to claim you?

It’s all another move in the game towards the re-election. At least he’s a better president than a father, but that’s not by much. Promises to address climate change and the country’s oil dependance getting pushed to the side, worsening class issues and trickle down economics, putting up more anti-homeless measures. You wish you felt like you could leave, but the tiny sliver of hope that by some weird miracle you could do something keeps you from being bold.

There’s nothing you could actually do anyway, you’re never going to be a part of the groups that their agendas support. You’ll always be the small town reject who saw meth addicts at the local gas station more than your own father.

You and Toji have gotten closer, by necessity and the sheer oddity of being polar opposites. You’re both equally as prickly though in different ways, birds of a molted feather. He’s there when you wake up, there during your mundane day, and there outside your door when you go to sleep. Even if you wouldn’t have liked your “bodyguard”, and you’re not sure you do, the distance between the two of you decreasing was inevitable.

He delivers you food, opens your jars, fixes the pipes in your penthouse, drives you everywhere you want to go in the city, carries your books for you in a bookstore, kneels down beside you in the dirt so he can help you with weeding out your garden, and keeps an itemized list of period supplies and your favorite things.

Your favorite minor holiday is national cherry day, he puts a reminder on his phone with the help of his son to always stop by the supermarket and get you some.

You feel like Whitney Houston right now, and if late at night you listen to her albums more than your mom did growing up, fantasizing about a 40+ year old man who treats you like a bug he has to keep alive, then no one has to know.

But no other man’s gonna do

So i’m saving all my love for you

You also think he’s going to assassinate your father. Sometimes you’ll hear hushed whispers late at night between Toji and someone on the phone, he’ll break protocol and leave you alone to duck into another person’s office and end up leaving with a grim look on his face.

You’ve seen the logs he keeps of your father’s whereabouts, which he should have anyway. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but you get the most awful storm in your gut when you see them under a gun that’s never been fired, like it has a special purpose.

You only speak to your father briefly, tense hellos and goodbyes exchanged over the bridge of a too tight handshake. You immediately expressed your distaste for being involved in his political career and he accepted that, letting you galavant on your merry way around town with his most dangerous agent. Ahead of Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Sukuna Ryomen, your father’s closest gaggle of hyenas.

You call them that because you could easily imagine drool dripping from their jowls if they felt so inclined to attack, to devour.

They give Toji their own versions of the same look when you pass them in the halls or they need to meet to give security updates, watching and waiting.

They only give you smiles, of every shape and size.

It’s easy to get a closer look at what your father does, the lives he ruins. Peace can only be an option for so long before other courses of action have to be considered. You don’t know Toji’s motives, this could just be another murder for hire paid for by one of your father’s political rivals. You doubt his heart is that deeply invested in those sorts of things, he’s made himself too apathetic, but you can tell that he still cared a little bit. He told you once that he’s had children who grew up starving before he got the job he has now.

They’re your age now, but he’d still do anything to keep it, to support them.

And then you think that maybe someone who’s only ever been abandoned knows what it’s like to hoard any good thing you can get your grubby hands on.

You give him own little bouquet of flowers one day, half because you’re going stir crazy as the weeks go by with Toji being all you know and half because you think you do want him to kill your father.

Purple Orchid.

Red Lily.

Red Anemone.

Gloriosa.

Red Delphinium.

Red Clematis.

Genista.

The next day, he’s barking at you to get packed for a stay at one of the out of the state safe houses. Don’t ask questions, protocol means you heed his warning and hop back in that canary yellow mid life crisis status symbol.

The tension was bound to be cut with a knife, the whole ride to the safe house is filled with sideways glances and slipknot blaring from the speakers. You have the same uneasy feeling that you do anytime Toji even hints at something being wrong, but something seems especially wrong this time. It’s not your job to worry about it though, and the older man tells you as much.

“Shut y’r trap, alright? You never have to get your panties in a twist when y’r with me, sorta.”

The safe house is as boring as expected, something out of a kindergartener's drawing. One story cube shaped, small roof, faded brown door.

You're only in the tiny kitchen for a second when Toji locks the door and comes to prop himself up on the counter, licking his scar.

He chuckles, “You’re a lot different than I thought you'd be, ya know that?

“I could say the same about you, I mean not really, but there are things I was surprised by.” You retort and sort through the cabinets, picking what cereal you’re going to stress eat tonight.

He comes around the counter and his hands slide from the tile to grip your waist.

“Yeah? Like what, doll?” Is cooed right in front of your mouth when Toji leans down.

You’re not immune to the proximity, your heart does a factory reset. “I never knew you could be so sweet, Toji.”

You’re not supposed to refer to him by his name, but you can’t let the word you secretly want to say slip out. You’d have to tell the employee back at your flower shop to be ready to claim the insurance policy on it after you go back and set yourself on fire.

But God, the miserable man looming over your bunny-tense figure really is sweet, distantly warm in the way a generally emotionally unavailable father is. But Toji’s the kind that would actually give you something to hold close to your heart over his long stretches of being absent until months go by and he tries to be better again.

You’re glad Sigmeund Freud isn’t an immortal vampire who would still be around to psychoanalyze you to shreds.

“Sweet to you maybe, ‘cause I have to be.”

“My dad couldn’t care less if you beat me silly.”

“I know.”

He never once said it was your father that compelled him to be as gentle with you as he is. A woman he met decades one, shacking up with an up and coming politician who he didn’t even try and pretend to be better then. They hooked up once and then he met his late wife, but months later the woman from his one night stand swore the baby in her belly wasn’t his. He never asked for a paternity test.

He never will, he’s already enough like your Daddy anyway, there’s no point in getting a confirmation or a denial to what his soul (and his cock) knows is good enough for a rat bastard like him.

You come out of your shame spiral as he splays one of his beefy gigantic hands out on the counter so you don’t get cold when he pushes your head down.

“I’d kill your old man if he kept me from this ass pussy, but it ain’t like he could if he tried.” Toji grunts, pendulous balls slapping your ass like a couple of grapefruits with every rough thrust in your puckered hole.

You gave up on being shy as soon as he clamped a hand around your throat to direct the first kiss you’d share. “Daddy- ngh, you’re gonna break me”.

His hand is so warm, your cheek squishes against the grooves and minor cracks in his skin as your head bobs forward. Despite you already being pressed down into the kitchen counter as much as humanly possible, Toji seems determined to force you to become one with it.

He gropes your thick ass cheeks, watching them bounce and jiggle as his burly hips slam against you continuously. Performance art in its truest form, whiney little baby pushing their hips back to take him even deeper in their fat ass. He didn’t have the means to properly prep you, just spit on his hand and massaged it into your already wet rim and called it a day. No condom either, but he can probably save the pussy job and it's obvious consequences until after your old man’s been made to lie face down in the dirt.

“I like the way your cunt sits under your squishy belly, ‘s pouting, baby. Both you and your pussy are clingy as fuck, huh?” He laughs deeply, reaching the hand that’s not under your face to smack your clit.

Your empty cunt gets wetter at the teasing, clenching around nothing because Toji likes to play pretend that he can be halfway considerate to the poor thing until he can’t. You want it too much right now, when you’re all loopy from his mean pounding in your ass is the moment he’ll regretfully have to pull himself out to sheath his hung length in your chubby pussy.

You moan, thought it gets precariously close to a wail the longer it goes on. “Daddyyyyyyy, oh fuck, shit- ‘m gonna tear.”

Your words end in a squeal of delight, your off the cuff rambling driving Toji to speed up his thrusts to piston his fat cock harder into your ass. Like he almost wants it to tear, your biological daddy gave you some nasty emotional scars, let your real one leave you with a couple physical ones. That’s what good daddies do, they take care of their babies and always give them something to remember them by when they won’t like their ancient relic of a father so much.

“Now don’t get mad at me, but- Oh, fuck- i was gonna kill ya, that was the plan. Take ya back, blow your brains out in front of your dad, make ‘im piss his pants because he knows he’s next.” He smiles knowingly when his hand on your clit feels it throb at his dark thinking-out-loud musings, wishing he could scrunch his fingers all up in your scalp and roughly pet you. “You like it like that, baby bunny? Daddy gets you gooey and syrupy sweet when he touches you, huh? Could just gobble you up whole, bones and all.”

Fuckin’ hell, you’re more precious than diamonds or gold or any loot he could’ve swiped from your old man’s crib. He’ll have to remember to slide his cock between your slick girls later, soap them up in the freestanding bathtub and spill his thick off white load all over them. You’ll lick up what you can but cleaning you up is obviously Daddy’s job, slurping up his own jizz like a wolf smoothing his rowdy pup’s fur down, nuzzling his nose in the valley of your tits and in the crook of your armpits.

“Daddy-” Your mouth gapes, little punched out ‘unh-unh-unh’s fly out of your mouth as your ass ripples. A few of your hairs stick to your forehead and you look over your shoulder, flushed and overwhelmed.

He just said he was going to kill you, you couldn’t even say when he changed his mind if he’s even telling the truth. But all you can focus on is that you really hope no other security personnel arrive at the safe house to check on you, whatever the fuck you’re doing definitely isn’t protocol.

Toji leans forward and scruffs the back of your neck with his canines, nipping the skin and leaving a mark as he slams his hips forward again. His grip on your love handles becomes iron clad and binding, wishing on a shooting star for bruises to form. He plunges in to the hilt with every thrust and gnaws at your sloped shoulder, he’s gonna cum and fill your cute little butt up. Pump your backdoor so full of cump it bulges and trickles down your trembling thighs.

You keen brokenly, floating up and away into his kiss. Which is basically more of an affectionate bite, but his tongue is mapping out your teeth and your cherry chapstick lips glide against his cold weather chapped ones. So it can be technically considered a kiss, but it leaves you reeling, someone just smashed a rock into your face and you’re collapsed on the ground unable to walk it off.

You try to squirm away from the earth shattering pleasure.

“What i’d say about givin’ me a chance, doll? Anyway, you were good as dead until I actually laid eyes on ya. Pretty thing, soft heart with a softer touch, ripe for the picking and left all alone…”

He can feel you getting close, you’re humping back against him like a bunny in heat as his thumb does a frenzied dance on your clit. He slides his big hand up your body to strum your nipples, his soft as a butterfly’s wing touch contrasting deliciously with his diabolically rough strokes.

In the fantasy he coos in your ear and asks if you agree that he did such a good job making this body, didn’t he? He twists his wrist on your pert bud, timing his ministrations with the upwards angled stroke of his cock. Your whimpering, his thick tip hitting the sensitive place you’ve never been able to reach with your fingers or your extra large toys.

“Fill me up, Daddy, please.” You beg, tears streaming down your face and sticking to his hand cushioning you. You turn your head the tiniest bit to wetly smack your lips together, kissing the rugged appendage. “It’s so hungry, I need it, give it up to me already. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Your cock-crazed eyes widen in panic whenever he acts like he’s gonna pull out, allowing you only the tip before grinning and sliding all the way home once again.

“Don’t worry, baby. I fixed it, didn't i? Got you all plugged up and owned doll, would sooner ride the muzzle of Shiu’s gun than kill ya now. Y’r soakin’ my balls so goddamn good.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you-“

Holy fuck, you can’t breathe. You can’t fucking breathe because how can you when all the air in your lungs is beaten out of you by some 47 year olds’s massive cock. The coarseness of his body is so right for you, abrasive where you’re soft and riddled with signs of being battleworn where your body’s only enemy is you. You feel split right down the middle and you’re half afraid that when Toji eventually pulls out, you’ll fall apart and actually become two bleeding halves of a whole fucked out person.

Your clit throbs at the mental image of his hairy swallowing the muzzle of a gun, Toji licks his lips and mercifully lets you reach behind yourself to claw at his rippling muscular glutes as he fucks you. Your ass squeezes his cock in a vice like grip as you shoot your load onto the pale wood laminated floor below. Your ass cheeks jiggle as your hips jump forward, grinding against the air as you get it all out. Riding that lightning off to who knows where.

“Jesus, oh, Jesus- You’re so fucking insane, Jesus Christ!”

At least Daddy will be there, because you’re certain you’re gonna crave keeping him inside and Toji seems like a terrible guy to try to do cockwarming with.

“Shit, baby bunny, this bouncy cottontail is gonna milk me dry, take me for all my money, isn’t that right honey bunny?” His voice is coated with sickenly toe curling condescension.

He roars a guttural groan, his nails forming crescent shaped indents in your hips as he pushes his cock as far as it can go and spurts his hot cum into your ass with a gruff grunt. He can feel your walls spasm around his dick, the sensation hurtles him further over the edge and his hips jerk and the joints begin to creak from the effort.

He’s not the wild and reckless young man who fucked your mother anymore, but you have him all wrong if you think he’s going to roughouse your shit any differently.

When you’ve both calmed down, his salt and pepper stubble gives you beard burn between the fleshy globes, punctuated by a breathless snicker and a barely there peck to your ass hole.

“Sleep in tomorrow, baby bunny” He says abruptly, his tone dropping to become startlingly serious. “I’ll bring back some breakfast for ya, give you a massage. I better come back and find your adorable ass right where I put it to bed, ya hear me?.”

“Yes, Daddy. ‘Said I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He pats your lower back, curling his thick digits around an invisible ball of fur.

[restlesspazzi04]

Love Island: A Pazzi Fic

Part 1: Day 3

Genre: I've somehow managed to think up a forbidden love/enemies to lovers/reformed player/slow burn love island fic all together so imma pat myself on the back bc ive been getting so many asks for all five

A/N:

This is just the introduction chapter to a series that will be very loosely updated as it's more of a fun project i'm working on but hope you guys enjoy because this is just me riding off the love island hyperfixation im in lol

Extra Note: this is will be on tumblr only mainly bc this series will be trash and purely for my self entertainment so idc as much. slow falling will remain on ao3 only :)

ik some people have difficulty reading on tumblr tho so if i get enough asks i will put this on ao3 if its easier

word count: 3.2k (this will fluctuate depending on my mood)

Format Clarification:

When the contestant name is in front of the text, that means it's a cutaway and not actually said in the villa!

anything in italics is to be read in Iain Stirling voice please i love him

-

Day 3:

It's day 3 and it's heating up in the villa! Will the current couples pass the test of temptation as two new bombshells enter for the ultimate challenge? Find out here on Love Island USA: WLW Sports Edition! 

When Paige first got the call that she was nominated for Love Island, she knew who put her name in the sea of women’s athletes picked for the show. With her social media agents wanting to get the “player” allegations away from her image to make herself more marketable, she was a shoo-in for the show. 

Paige was confident in her coupling. Ellie, the Olympic swimmer from Australia, was up her ally of girls: hot, brunette, and gay. They had been going strong for the first three days in the villa, with Ellie picking Paige on Day 1 coupling. In the mess of drama the other couples were whirlwind into, they had remained together as a voice of reason. 

“I’m just not really feeling her I don’t know,” Kate groans, slapping the ping pong ball back to Paige. 

“Bro it’s been three days and you’re already tired of your match? Couldn’t be me.” Paige responds, returning the ball. 

Kate and Paige being the only WNBA athletes in the villa naturally stuck together as close friends, being each other's confidants on Love Island. They had the common ground of basketball solidifying their sisterhood and frequently took each other's advice.

“It’s not that. I just feel like there’s no spark. Sarah is great and all, but I can’t imagine spending the rest of my villa time with her.”

“Why don’t you explore your options tonight if we recouple? That’ll start some crazy drama.” Paige laughs mischievously, wiggling her eyebrows at an unamused Kate Martin. 

“All the other couples are pretty locked in and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker… plus they’re probably bringing in new bombshells today if I got the formula right. Hopefully, they’re my type because I don’t think it’s working out for me and Sarah. ” 

“New bombshells? I mean none of them better be basketball players. That’s Ellie’s type to a T. It was hard enough fighting against you.” Paige jokes, slightly concerned at the idea of new people. It wasn’t like she and Ellie were completely locked in, but Paige knew she’d be at risk of getting kicked off the show if any of the new bombshells coupled up with Ellie.

“Ellie is not my type. She’s too nice. I need some passion in my girl." 

“I like nice. She’s sweet and brings me orange juice in the morning.” Paige says, dropping her paddle when Kate sends the ball flying past her head, "Drama stresses me out. That's why Ellie is perfect for me."

“Nah, I like a little fight. It’s hot when a girl is mad at you… you should know better than me ‘Miss Star Point Guard on the Golden State Valkyries’. Aren’t women always fighting over you?” 

“I already told you I’m not a player in the real world or the villa. Why does no one on the island believe me?” Paige exclaims, plopping down on the way-to-colorful couch in the Villa playroom. 

“I don’t know… maybe you’re insane eye contact with everyone you meet?” Kate says sarcastically, taking her seat next to Paige. 

“Blame my parents! They’re the ones who told me that eye contact is respectful." Paige argues before adding, "I can’t help I got beautiful eyes.” 

“Shut u-"

Kate is effectively cut off when KK Harvey starts screaming "I GOT A TEXT" throughout the entire villa, everyone making their way to the poolside where she was sitting.

"Islanders please gather at the fire pit for a surprise! #WatchOutCouples #Bout to drop a bomb!" KK reads loudly, the whole villa shouting in response.

"Welp, I guess this is your moment to find a new girl." Paige sighs, making her way over to the fire pit.

"Not yours?"

"Nope, I'm pretty happy with Ellie."

"You sure about that? Not even keeping an open eye?" Kate teased, ragging on Paige's loyalty.

"I'm definitely not re-coupling with some newcomer." Paige asserts firmly. 

"If you say so." 

-

As the Islanders all flock to the firepit, taking their seats next to their partners, they await for further instruction. 

“I GOT A TEXT!” Kate hoots out as the other islanders get excited, “It says ‘Get ready as your two new bombshells join you guys in the villa! #AreYouReady?’”

Paige looks over at Ellie, who’s already gripping tighter on Paige’s arm at the news of Bombshells. 

“I hope they’re not your type,” Ellie whispers shyly into Paige’s ear. It was a cute gesture, one that should’ve made Paige blush. Paige just gives her a reassuring squeeze on the arm, leaning in to whisper back. 

“I already got a beautiful girl, don’t worr-”

Paige is interrupted as shouting rings through the villa as two new girls make their way into the villa. 

“Bro, can you see her?” Kate says, pulling Paige up immediately as two figures appear in the distance. 

“Not with you jumping on my shoulders.” Paige retorts back, leaning up to get a better look, “They’re tall.”  

“Wait, I think I recognize one of them,” Kate says with her eyes squinted

Kate: You guys are ruthless in bringing my exact type. Fuck, I want to stay loyal to Sarah but I do still want to keep my options open, you know?

Paige has to brace herself for this entrance. She recognized the two bombshells immediately as they got closer. The WNBA world was small and both of these contestants were prominent figures in the league. Azzi Fudd and Nika Muhl, the star guards for the LA Sparks would be joining the girls on the island. 

“No way they brought in more girls from the league!” Kate whispers into Paige’s ear. 

“Did they run out of gays for other sports? Or is the league just super gay?” Paige responds in a nervous whisper. Ellie had literally told Paige on the first day that her type was basketball girls and it was one of the main reasons why Ellie had picked her. It was not to Paige’s advantage to have multiple girls chasing after her girl. 

“Wait, I know both of them. We worked out together at Kelsey Plum’s dawg class for a few days. She’s super hot not gonna lie.” Kate whispered lowly so Sarah wouldn’t hear. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve met them a few times. Did you know that they both were gonna come to UCONN but chose UCLA last minute?” Paige droned on, her eyes oddly trained on Azzi as they finally reached the fire pit. It suddenly dawned on Paige that she had never seen the younger girl in a bikini and it set an uncomfortable fire ablaze in her stomach. 

Azzi: Hi, my name is Azzi Fudd and I’m a 5’ 11” shooting guard for the Sparks. I wanted to come to Love Island to find my future wife and make a strong connection with someone. I have been in a lot of relationships and they don’t seem to go well for me, so I hope I find my match here!

Nika: I’m Nika Muhl and I’m a 6’ foo-

Azzi: 5’ 10” don’t lie Nika

Nika: Don’t cut me off! Anyway, I’m a point guard for the LA Sparks and I wanted to come to Love Island to finally find my love match and establish a strong connection. I’m super excited to meet the Islanders. 

Another text sound rings through the air, coming from Azzi’s hand. 

“Bombshell’s Azzi and Nika, Pick two people to go on dates with tomorrow before bed tonight. Have fun getting to know everyone tonight in the villa! #newcomers #shootyourshot!” Azzi read out, inciting excitement through the villa again. 

“Hey you’re Azzi and Nika, right? Guard’s on the Sparks?” Coco asks, making room for them around the fire pit to welcome them. 

“Yeah, we’re shocked they picked us to go together since we knew each other. You’re Coco Gauff. I’m a big fan.” Azzi gushes, hugging Coco. 

“Hey Kate,” Nika says, acknowledging the blonde in the crowd as she scans around, “How’s the island?” 

“Good. Surprised to see you guys here but I’m hyped. We need more basketball representation in here.” Kate jokes. 

“We get enough ‘basketball is the best sport’ debating from these two. Now we got more.” KK Harvey jokes, motioning to the two basketball blondes in the pit. 

“Basketball is amazing though, you gotta admit.” Azzi plays along, earning a few lighthearted groans from the rest of the villa. 

“Just promise you shut up Paige before she goes on a whole rant. Kate just eggs on that little pest.” Coco groans. 

“I’m never wrong Coco, don’t play with me. Tennis is fun but basketball is art.” Paige says, earning more groans from the group. “Do you guys know who you wanna pull for chats?” Ellie asks the two bombshells, jutting into the conversation. 

“Um, I have my eyes on a few people but I’m gonna see for the next few hours as I get to know more people on the island,” Nika responds. 

“We know you guys are in couples right now, but we just wanted to wait until we got to know more people’s vibes,” Azzi adds, looking around all the girls in the pit. A few couples had already gone off to different parts of the villa, but she was getting a good look at everyone left. There were a few people on her radar and a few people who weren’t. 

Azzi: Kate was making some pretty clear eye contact with me, but she’s on my “pulling for chats” roster.

The group spends the next few minutes getting to know each other and filling in the two on the island news. Paige tried to focus on Ellie squeezing her arm, but she was distracted by things she couldn’t comprehend. 

Things such as Azzi Fudd making flashing bouts of eye contact with her to no end. Paige was not one to falter at strong eye contact, but she couldn’t help but grow slightly nervous under the shooting guard's gaze. It wasn’t rare for Paige to catch the eye of someone. New people entering the villa the past few days had flocked to her, but she rejected them to no avail to remain loyal to Ellie. It was still fun flirting and making stable eye contact was one of her specialties. But Azzi Fudd seemed to be looking at her with a specific glint that Paige couldn’t pinpoint. 

Paige: Did you guys see the way she was looking at me? I can’t tell if she wants me in her bed or wants me dead.  

Annoyance? Lust? Hatred? C’mon Paige tell us what you see!

“So you guys want a little villa tour?” Kate asks suddenly while stepping slightly closer to Azzi, “It’s super nice.” 

The group makes their way around the villa, showing the two new islanders all the spots. Ellie and Paige stayed hand-in-hand as they walked, Ellie refusing to let go. Even when Paige got closer to Azzi coincidentally, the shooting guard would make it a point to take two steps away and it didn’t help that Ellie was pulling her in the other direction. They end up at the rooms as they finish off the night, the girls entering their assigned makeup rooms to get ready for bed. Azzi is put into Paige, Kate, Coco, and KK’s room, getting spilt up from Nika. 

“So Azzi, what do you think of the villa?” Coco asks while wiping her makeup off. 

“It’s nice, bigger than I expected. Soul ties are a lot more secretive than I thought.” Azzi answers, unpacking her bags. 

“Yeah, a lot of shit goes down there. If you go to soul ties at night we know you’re fucking or something.” KK laughs. 

“Do you know who you’re picking for your dates tomorrow? You get two right?” Paige asks, speaking up for the first time. 

“Yeah, two. I’m not sure who I’m picking yet. I think they’re asking me to pick in an hour so I have time to think in the shower.” 

“What’s your type?” Kate asks Azzi boldly, getting an approval look from Paige. 

“Uhh, I tend to focus a lot on personality. Just someone who can match my competitiveness and my energy. But if we’re talking looks, I tend to go for tall blondes.” Azzi says casually, immediately getting Kate to snap her eyes to Paige. 

Paige: Is Azzi flirting with me or Kate? If it’s me, I’m in trouble. Ellie is not going to be happy if I go on a date tomorrow. 

“Is there a separate shower room? I need to unpack my bottles.” Azzi says while standing up.

“Yeah, it’s down the hall to the left. That’s where our group showers.” Coco instructs, getting a nod of thank you before Azzi leaves. 

“Hold up, was she talking about me?” Kate polls the group the second Azzi safely leaves the room, “Or was she walking about the other two blondies?” 

“I think she was just stating her type buddy.” KK Harvey jokes, “Plus, she’s totally talking about me. She’s been giving me the eyes.”  

“Really?” Paige chimes in curiously, “Like slightly angry but confusingly hot?” 

“No, like she wanna look into my soul…What type of looks is she giving you?” KK questions. 

“Nothing… she wasn’t really looking at me, just wondering,” Paige adds quickly. She was probably just overthinking due to the reveal of her type. 

“Back off KK, you’re happy with Kylie. Sarah and I have been distant for days.” Kate playfully challenges. 

“Kylie’s great, but Azzi and Nika are hot, not going to lie. I kinda hope I get to go on the date with them. Don’t tell Kylie though, she might kill me.” 

“As long as you don’t tell Sarah. I wanna test my connection with the bombshells but I don’t want to blindside Sarah.” 

“You guys are acting like Azzi and Nika want you guys. She could be talking about girls in the other room.” Coco jokes, butting into the heated debate.

“Please, Coco. We get it. You and Paige are in happy little couples and don’t need to worry about recoupling. I would say Kylie would leave me the second another hockey girl comes in here.” KK says sarcastically before adding, “I’ve never gone for a basketball girl before.” 

“I have. And I know them better than you loser. Azzi said tall, that means basketball. She was clearly talking about me.” Kate argues back. 

“I’ll be right back,” Paige says suddenly, jumping from her makeup chair. 

“Where are you going?” Kate asks as Paige starts exiting the room. 

“Just going to chat with Azzi for a bit. Nothing serious. I’ll be back in 30 seconds.” Paige says quickly, ignoring any questioning she got from the group. 

Paige makes her way down the hall, knocking twice on the shower room door before it slowly squeaks open.

“It’s unlocked,” Azzi says simply, her composure even. 

“Oh. Some people are uncomfortable with people coming in during showers so I always knock. Wasn’t sure if you were showering.” 

“Nope, just unpacking,” Azzi says shortly, confusing Paige again, “Do you need to shower? I can leave.” 

“Oh, no. I actually wanted to talk to you real quick before you pick your dates for tomorrow.” Paige starts. 

“Sure, what did you want to talk about?” Azzi asks cautiously, continuing to organize her skincare on her shelf. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m in a pretty solid connection with Ellie and I don’t want you to waste your date on me because I’m mostly taken. You can still pick me, but I just want to be transparent from the beginning before we get to know each other.” Paige says while sitting up on the sink.

Azzi stood up from her packing, giving Paige a focused look of mild confusion. 

“What makes you think I’m picking you?” Azzi asks with an even tone, eyes unwavering from Paige’s. 

“Well, you said tall blondes are your type and that’s only me and Kate. So I assumed you’d use your two picks on us.” Paige says, slightly less confident.

Azzi steps closer to Paige, closing the gap between them. 

“Is it true that if you take off your top they can’t air it because it’s nudity?” Azzi whispers into Paige’s ear, pulling the blonde in. 

“Uh, yeah? They can’t air it. But they get kinda annoyed when we do it and talk about villa stuff.” Paige whispers shakily into Azzi’s ear. 

“Turn your head,” Azzi says as she takes two steps back, swiftly taking off her bikini top.

Paige had never swiveled so hard, almost falling off the sink counter. Paige turned her head halfway before she realized she could see Azzi in the mirror reflection, leading her to close her eyes as fast as possible.

“I know your reputation in the league, but I’m not trying to air out your business on TV, so I’m going to speak like this,” Azzi yells out before turning around, “You can turn around now, it’s just my back.” 

Paige opens her eyes to see Azzi’s long braids flowing down her bare back, the only article of clothing being her bottom bikini. Azzi turned her head to speak. 

“How are you going to judge me on my so-called reputation?” Paige questioned back, getting offended at the “Player” accusations she hated. 

“You ghosted one of my friends, so don’t act surprised I’m cautious of you. I came to the Villa to find love and take home the win.” 

“So did I. You haven’t seen me with Ellie. I have a lot of layers, you’d be surprised.” Paige says with a smirk, her voice growing bolder. 

“Layers? Yeah, ten layers of player. I know what you did to Alyssa.” 

“Alyssa? Who’s that?” Paige asks, racking her brain for possible Alyssa’s in her past.

“Jesus, you don’t even remember her. That’s crazy.” Azzi scoffs accusatorily, “Anyway, don’t worry. I won’t pick you for the date, I’m not going to intrude on you and Ellie. Seems like you guys are happy.” 

Paige watches as Azzi slips her bikini back on. Watching the muscles on her back contract as she pulls her top over her head. Her bare skin was addicting to look 

So addicting, Paige was caught red-handed admiring her as Azzi turned back around. 

“You sure you're happy with Ellie?” Azzi jokes dryly. 

“Very. She’s a great girl. Exactly my type.” Paige challenges back, leaning her body toward Azzi. 

“What is your type, Paige?” 

“Hot, Brunette, Pretty Eyes,” Paige says a little quieter as Azzi steps a little too close for comfort. 

“I see,” Azzi answers, nodding her head. 

“Don’t think I’m calling you my type. You just happen to fit it.” Paige adds weakly. 

“You saying I got pretty eyes? I know I'm the other two.” Azzi asks playfully, opening the door to the shower room. 

“Maybe. Let me look into them longer and I’ll decide.” Paige chirps back, a surge of confidence coursing through her. 

“In your dreams, Bueckers.” Azzi sings out with a laugh as she takes her exit, leaving a mildly dazed Paige on the sink. 

This was certainly going to be an interesting summer in the Villa for Paige. 

-

A/N: I apologize if this is shit, this is just funny for me.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

Delirious

No matter how much you had offered your heart and arms to him, you were never his. And he was never yours.

Another oneshot requested by my angsty babies, I am glad you chose Rafayel. Yes, the writer you had wished for is back. Hang on tight to your seats baby gurl, this one gonna be hard to swallow.

Warnings: Angst, no comfort. Make your eyes bleed. Character death. Descriptive Mentions of dark topics so if ur sensitive please refrain.

Artwork is not mine, please support the original artwork!

Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. dINg dOng. DiNg dOnG.

You slammed your door opened and the 183cm drama queen stands in your doorway, head hung low, face drooped towards the floor. If he is not made of solid muscle and bones, you would be watching him melting right into the floor. Sighing, you stood aside and let him in, not even bothering to ask him a single question. You sort of having a gist on what had happened.

"Here, soup for you." He replied solemnly, feet carrying him lazily across the living room and to your kitchen. He brought soup this time, must be something big. Him bringing a souvenir over also means he would probably be staying the night. Not that you guys are in a relationship or anything, but 'complicated' is the right term for the both of you as of this stage.

The chair creaked under his weight as he took a seat on the wooden chair slotted at your dining table. "Rafayel." You grabbed a tissue box and sat down on the opposite end, a good necessity whenever he drops by your house unannounced. His hunched over form under the harsh lighting of your dining room's light unexpectedly painted a blob of shadow on your table. You reached your hand out this time, finger tapped on the wooden table just a few centimeters away from his hand. "Rafayel, are you okay?"

"She broke up with me." His reply was short. No details, no whining, no accusations, but just one sentence. This is an untouched territory for you. Most of the time, he would pressed on the doorbell nonstop until you slam open the door and his lips would not shut off till he was done venting. There were a couple of times he did came in looking like a dreaded fish, but the smell of alcohol would be the perfume of his. Today, however, no alcohol smell and no usual harangues.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Few days passed, till few weeks, then few months after. For such a while, Rafayel had been hanging out more frequently with you, bringing you to the most random places to hang out such as going to a bowling alley just to get their waffles because he claims he likes to watch people roll balls but he also likes the waffles there. A trip to the market only to buy crabs and releasing them into the backyard to watch which one could run the fastest then the winner shall be rewarded as dinner on the dining table.

He had never been weirder than ever, but maybe this is his way of coping and who are you to judge? You had never been in love. But reading through romance books and watching all of the romantic shows, when love comes to your mind, Rafayel comes to your mind. You thought, maybe you do love him?

"Get out." Your words were final. Index finger sliced through the air and pointed straight towards your front door. Your cheeks glistened under the reflecting light casted by the television that was playing a teen romance flick. But no attention was spared for the movie anymore. "Rafayel. GET. OUT."

"What do you mean?" Eyebrows sewn together, eyeing your expression that spelled hurt. He was confused about your sudden burst of anger. "All I did was talk about the movie. And you got mad at me all of a sudden."

"You did not talk about the movie. All you did, was compared me to her, with the context of the movie." Your nostrils flared, tears stinging at the back of your eyes as if you had inhaled poison. Your throat and chest tightening further the more you held your tears in. "You lied to me. You said you got over her." Your arm fell to your sides, voice feeble. "But, why do you always find the need to compare me to her?"

"Oh spare me, I just went through a breakup, I could use the space to let loose, can't I?" His ignorance egged you on, seeing how indifferent he is about this situation. "Furthermore, I could use the---"

"And you think it's okay to play with my feelings?!" You belted, eyes welled up with tears, blurring your vision. You stepped up to him, hands pointed towards his face this time and you seethed in anger. "You, came here everytime, when she broke your heart. And out of everytime, I stayed. I waited." Your voice started cracking. "I was there for you when you had nobody else. And I picked you up when you thought you could not live without her anymore."

"Well, you could have just left if you---" He chipped in and you slapped him across his face with your palm. Although your hands are small, but it packed enough of a force to cause his cheek to ache, an uncomfortable throbbing pain following afterwards. He left his head tilted to the side, taking in the reality of what had happened. He just got slapped by a girl. Never in his life, he thought he would do something so outrageous that he would get slapped across the face. Guess he just broke his streak of not getting slapped by women.

"I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU, CAN'T YOU TELL?!" You withdrew your hands and slid onto the floor, full on sobbing as you hugged onto your body to gain warmth for yourself. All of the blood had rushed up to your head which explains why you could not feel your legs anymore, hence the position on the floor. You desperately hoped Rafayel would grab you right now, and hug you tight within his arms.

You heard hurried shuffles, sound of keys jangling and a soft thud next to you. Those noises not tending to your curiosity at all. "I am sorry." His reply was bland, numb even. A sentence for remorse, also a sentence for a goodbye. The doors closed behind you and you were left alone, a forlorn soul basked within the lights emitted from the romance show. Silent sobs overheard by the moon that was peeking in through the windows of your sky roof.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

"Rafayel!" Thomas burst in the front doors, scurrying towards Rafayel's room at full speed after spotting the empty canvas sitting at the living room. Slamming the door that leads to Rafayel's room, the artist was sprawled out on the bed, his room so cold that Thomas could have just witnessed the North Pole without having to be there. The floor was surrounded in trash, papers crumpled up, pencils of all kinds used for sketching strewn across the floor. One may call it an organised mess, but Thomas calls this artist block.

"How long have you been in this room?!" Thomas shook Rafayel's shoulders to wake him up. "Your room is as cold as the cold storage that you use to store your seafood!" Thomas wasted no time in having to collect the pieces of papers and pencils on the floor, arranging them in his hand. "Why are you not done with---"

His nag came to a halt when Rafayel had sat up straight, back hunched over and eye bags the only colour present on his pale features. "What do you want?" Even his voice sounds hoarse, like a teen boy cycling through the age of puberty. "I do not wish to be disturbed."

"Your calls, as usual, went unanswered for the past few days so I helped myself by going over to ask y/n about your whereabouts because I thought you were staying with her pretty often these days." Placing the items onto the artist's white desk, Thomas turned to study his expression, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I know that look from somewhere." He squinted his eyes, studying him even further. "You had that same look when you caught your ex cheating on you that night." Thomas was referring to the girl that came before you. The one that had broke Rafayel's fragile heart. "Funny, now that I think of it, y/n's not doing any better than you."

Coming to realisation, the light bulb in Thomas' head flipped the switch. "Did anything happened to the both of you?"

"Did she asked anything about me?" Rafayel answered his question with another question. Eyes finally slanted upwards to face the manager of his. He just wanted to hear something, at least something to give him a reason to find her. He felt guilty, remorseful even for putting his burdens onto her. Leaving her all alone, drowning her in her own agony that day was the worse thing he could ever do to someone who had only ever been kind to him. And it took him three days to figure that out in his fish brain.

"No, she just asked me to hand you this." The older man reached into the pocket of his blazer, fishing a pink note out of his pocket and he handed it to Rafayel. The paper a little wrinkled, but the contents of it are a mark of your handwriting.

//𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹.// Your cursive writing always a form of art to his eyes. A small, dainty note was all that takes for her to personally pass on the will to him. Rafayel stared at the note for a good minute, the wind coming out of the air-conditioner turning Thomas into a popsicle but filling the silence.

"I have to go." Rafayel uttered, hoisting himself out of the bed in one go and he threw on his dark pistachio green open collared shirt. The one you always quipped about how healthy his skin tone looks in it but with him constantly bantering that the green was a direct insult to his hair and eye colour. Just for this time, he would smother his ego, put on your favourite outfit, and head over to find you.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

The keys he held onto, the same set of extra keys you had entrusted him with, slotted into the keyhole and turning it clockwise, a 'clack' could be heard and he opened the door with the twist of the copper-painted doorknob. The balcony's sliding door remained opened, the sheer white curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind. The lights in your house were dimly lit, providing Rafayel with just enough lighting to navigate himself towards your room.

At this timing, in the middle of the night, he tiptoed through your wooden floors, afraid even the smallest of creaks would give you the spooks. He twisted the doorknob to your door but it jammed halfway. Trying again, with a bit more exerted force this time, the door remained unbudgable. "Y/N...?" He called out for your name, using his knuckle to give a light knock on your door. "It's me Rafayel. Can we talk?"

He was met with a deafening silence. Of course you would not want him to be anywhere near you, be it to hear him apologise for his stupidity or for him to comfort you within his arms. He bet you could care less about him given the last stunt he had pulled on you. He grappled for his phone, pulling out of his pant's back pocket and he turned on the screen, the light on his phone screen puts the dim lightings to shame.

He scrolled through his phone book till he stopped at your name, a heart symbol edited in next to your name. It was not just a stunt for him to catch your attention, the heart emoji has always been there, but after you had taken him in and allowed him to stay with you for a couple of weeks, the heart started making more sense to him, but poor Rafayel couldn’t distinguish what is love and what is bare attraction. If he could get to talk to you this time, then maybe the heart would mean the world to him. Maybe, maybe this time, he will not mess his speech up and break your heart again.

The phone was set to dial mode and he pressed onto the green call button, ready to receive shoutings from the other side of the room. Your ringtone rang, the stupid song for the Toothless Meme played on rewind. Did you slept a bit too well maybe? He called again, and the same scenario happened.

His heart was hit with a sudden pang of fear. You had always been a light sleeper and noticing the obnoxiously loud ringtone not even waking you up for the slightest bit, he decided to take a step back and bust down the door with his shoulder. Luckily, just with one hard nudge of his broad shoulders, the door dislodged itself.

So does his heart. Your whole room was thrashed, filled with the pink notes that you had given to Thomas earlier. Some were torn, some were sheathed, some had scribbles all over it, all of the notes littered with handwritten notes beyond his comprehension. Rafayel watched you, held up vertically, legs far from touching the ground, a noose was the only thing connecting you towards the ceiling. "Y/N!" He ran up to you and grabbed you, his lanky legs kicking all of the notes out of his way. "Y/N!"

A short burst of flames from his fingers burnt the noose and you fell to the floor. Your face a shade match to the moon that was sitting outside. Rafayel's hands fumbled with his phone, calling the emergency hotline as soon as he could. Strings of curses coming out of his mouth afterwards when he asked for help to be deployed to your location as soon as possible.

While awaiting for the ambulance, Rafayel did CPR, or at least what he could remember from the lesson he had taken years ago. Pumping steadily to a rhythm, blowing air through your mouth to hopefully deliver air to your lungs. The sirens of the ambulances huddled outside of your condominium, the blue and red lights adding on a speck of neon to the monotonous night.

"Stay with me please. Please stay with me y/n." Rafayel held you in his arms, your ice cold skin prickled against his warmth. His tears fell down his cheeks and continued its trail down your already tear-stricken face. He never thought his ruse would cause you this much damage. He thought that you could be the end to his delirium, and the start to his new reality.

The paramedics that arrived on the scene stood aimlessly at the door frame, watching the broken man in front of them, amidst the thrashed room, holding onto a lifeless body of a woman who seemingly cried herself to death.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Angsty af, this piece is part and partial of my experience as I had once struggled with my mental health before, and it was also due to a shitty ex. But I am doing much better now, and writing this brings back those shitty feels that I used to have, but also reminded me of how much more happier and stronger I am now, and that I am not choosing death because of my ex! :)

But if any of you, do have issues with mental health, please do seek for reliable help. As cliche as it sounds, life is not at all bad if you have people that are supportive of your recovery journey. If you needed someone to rant to, my dms are always open <3.

I do not wish harm for any of my readers, and I want you guys to know that just as much as ur supporting my works, I want to be there to support you if you have any hardships in life as well. Just know that you are loved, and I love you <3.

Sincerely, Brails.

[mead-iocre]

Brown Eyes | Jessie Fleming x Reader

Brown Eyes. 

You and Jessie have been dating for a little over a year now. When you transferred to Chelsea you were quickly charmed by the shy Canadian, who on one of your earlier training sessions, welcomed you to the team with a ball to your face. 

Hearing “Heads up!!” should’ve given you more than enough warning, but you were so focused on your own drills that you did not think that the warning was directed at you, nor were you expecting the sheer force of the ball hitting you right on the side of your head. 

As soon as the ball made impact you came barrelling down to ground, luckily just about managing to roll yourself over to your side to land safely without injuring yourself any further. 

“Fuck! I am so sorry. Are you okay?” 

You hear the voice coming closer and the sound of their cleats pushing into the grass before you feel them drop down to crouch beside you. You wince as a warm hand lands on the arm currently nursing the side of your head. Your eyes squint as the throbbing continues, trying to take steady breaths to alleviate the dizziness that’s starting to take over your head. A dull ache settled behind your eyes, making it difficult to focus. The training ground around you felt slightly off-kilter, as if gravity had momentarily lost its grip. You attempted to push yourself up, only to be met with a wave of dizziness that forced you to slump back down.

“The medics are coming, don’t move” You squeeze your eyes closed a few times in pain. The dull throbbing in your head making it hard for you to identify who is talking to you, but the accent makes it pretty distinguishable. 

“Jessie?” The Canadian with the freckles and the pretty brown eyes. 

“Yeah. It was me. Sorry about that y/n” Said brown eyes meet yours, concern and guilt swimming in them. However, there’s more to her eyes– something so alluring and captivating about hers. Amber with the smallest hits of green under certain lights, but under others her eyes are like expressive palettes of cocoa, a special treat for those lucky enough to gaze into them. 

Warm, tender and familiar. 

You avert your eyes away from hers quickly when you notice you were staring a little too long, the headache still a dull drum, nagging and incessant. It would be weird to memorise the exact Pantone shade of one of your newest teammate’s eyes so you instead focus on the rest of her. The Chelsea midfielder’s cheeks are flushed red, as she struggles slightly to catch her breath, clearly having ran the entire length of the pitch to get to you. 

“Sorry I–“ 

“s’alright. Just a slight knock” You grin at her— or at least you hope you are grinning and not looking like you were about to pass out at any minute now. 

“a slight knock, eh?” She’s cute. Very cute. And very Canadian 

Before you had a chance to quip back, you were surrounded by the medics. They assess you, going through all the steps to make sure there were no signs of anything serious. They poke and prob at you before concluding that the only thing you’ll suffer from is a sore bump on the side of your head and a lingering headache. 

The entire time Jessie was stood by you, refusing to leave even when the medics and the coaching staff assured her that you were in good hands. She insisted that she stay with you. 

And she did. 

After that incident, you and Jessie were practically inseparable. The quiet, reserved brown eyed girl that you had first met was now the girl that you would sit next to on the bus, partner up with during drills, and have front row seats to her entertaining dry sense of humour.

A few months later, Jessie finally found the courage to ask you out on a date— and of course you had agreed. On your first date, Jessie took you to a farmers market where there were stalls and stalls of seasonal foodstuffs from artisan and local producers. You had the most perfect day with her, stopping at almost every stall to taste the samples that vendors leave out. You and Jessie barely let go of each other’s hands the entire day, much preferring to walk side by side and hadn’t in hand. If you weren’t holding hands, Jessie’s hand was a comforting touch on your lower back or around your waist. 

Occasionally, you would take your phone out from your bag to snap a picture, wanting to document all the cool foods and the pretty flower stalls. You knew Jessie wasn’t too fond of the camera; however, it seemed like every time she noticed your phone in your hand, she would smile at you, even striking a pose or two at times, clearly showing that she didn’t mind you taking pictures of her. 

“Cute” You mumble, mostly to yourself, after you snap a photo of Jessie drinking her iced coffee. 

“Did you say something, baby?” The brunette steps closer to you, personal space be damned, and wraps an arm around your waist. 

You grin down at her as you click the lock button on your phone, sliding it back into your bag. You take a moment to focus on the girl in front of you, appreciating her warm brown eyes, her pretty freckles, her rosy cheeks, and the little flyaway hairs that would not stay down no matter how many times she fix her hair. 

You bring a hand up to cup her cheek, turning it away from you slightly, before you whisper “I said you’re cute” against the soft skin, pecking multiple kisses before planting your lips against her cheek for one more big kiss.  

“Gimme one here” Jessie turns her head towards you, her eyes closed and a small pout already on her lips. 

You bite your lip at how adorable she looks, so different from the aloof girl you met months ago. You must’ve taken longer than she wanted because she opens her eyes and playfully squints up at you. “you gonna kiss me or what?” 

You gently squish her cheeks together with one hand, her lips forming a cute little pout. “how ‘bout a bit of patience, cheeky girl” You press a wet kiss right on her still-puckered lips, moving your hand from her cheeks to cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer. 

If you had to list one of your favourite pastimes it was making out with your girlfriend. For someone so shy at first, Jessie wasn’t afraid of PDA— anytime, anywhere. She is always the one initiating affection, not caring about who may be watching. Jessie always had an arm over your shoulder, a hand placed on your lower back, or a grip on your waist. 

Pulling away slowly, to savour the kiss, you open your eyes to enchanting brown gazing up into yours. A cascade of warmth, like autumn's embrace, like the coffee she solemnly drinks, like the muted shade of her hair against the morning light. 

It’s comfort, it’s love, and it’s Jessie. 

You often wonder how it would be like to see the world through her eyes, but if you were to ask the Canadian she would say you could see a glimpse of her entire world reflected if you simply looked into her eyes— You.

currently obsessed with jessie fleming and as a result: this.

stay warm, my loves

--- butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[brights-place]

Trollex dating headcannons!

- OH GOD I'M SO IN LOVE WITH HIM AND HE DIDN'T EVEN GET MUCH SCREENTIME?!??! - HE'S JUST SO YFGBNV FVGHJUJHKKJ - SOMETHINGS WRONG WITH ME BUT HE IS SO CUTEEEEE - Dating this man isn't easy given that he's oh let me think... THE TECHNO TROLLS KING!??! - practices asking you out with techno beat drop who hypes him up - Trollex and Techno Beat Drop Button are best friends so it's obvious he's gonna talk to him about how he feels about you and how amazing you are when you start dating and when you weren't - You met at one of his raves you were dancing near the front with other techno trolls cheering - He loved your smile and how you danced around literally grinned wider when you two made eye contact - He told Synth to take over and wanted to get to know you... Literally swam towards you and welcomed you happily ( If your an different genre he would ask questions and if your an fellow techno troll he'd ask why he hasn't seen you around ) - He would try to find you the next day and successfully did with the help of his friends - Found you buying stuff at the market and purposefully bumped into you and talk to you more which worked out for him as he asked to hangout more which made you turn red since THE KING of TECHNO TROLLS was asking you to hangout - After like 3 Months this man would start to turn into an flustered mess for wanting to date you even after 3 months - Confess to you and asked to take you out on some dates you both where blushing but trollex was more confident since he practiced so hard on beat drop - First date was at another rave and the second date was him taking you to your favourite places he was so serious and planned everything out just for you which made you blush - Officially started dating on the second date which was quick.... - Kiss his freckles he'd giggle and look at you lovingly - loves you deeply with his large pixelated pink heart - Loves when you admire his body due to how cool it looks he likes how compliment his neon green hair, and his rainbow glowing bands of color on both arms - He doesn't have a single love language he uses gifts, physical touch, words and acts of service to express his love and care for you which is so much... - He makes sure your next to him in the DJ booth so he knows your beside him safe and also so you can be near him - After you've been together for a while he learnt how to identify whenever you need help so he just turn to look at you to know

- He would praise you whenever he can if he’s free

- When you talk about your interests he just nods and smiles lovingly at you <33

- kisses on his face makes him melt he just loves when you show him affection - He understands emotions so well so if you wanted to vent or rant to him he would listen and comfort you the best he can. - When he first started developing a crush on his future S/O aka YOU! he was able to tell pretty quick. - He realized as soon as the butterflies appeared in his stomach whenever they was around he just knew very fast and quickly!

- Would steal some of your stuff to wear out of boredom

- He loves holding your hand or even shows PDA Whenever he's stressed out, he likes knowing that you're there with him, and holding your hand is the perfect way for him to do that.

- he may be abit relaxed to his people but to you and in an private space he’s an ball of energy bouncing of the walls

- He usually shows himself as a calm and realxed dude for his partner but they know better. - he's the biggest softie around and will become comically flustered if this is brought up by them.

- would invite you to all his raves that he is being the DJ for… It’s all of them and you don’t miss an single one unless you aren’t into it he still likes to talk about it to you

- Night owl and early bird duo. Whenever he goes to bed late, you go to bed early and whenever you wake up late, he's up early.

- Tickle fights, chasing you around the beach when you steal his things, passionate kissing in the sand.

- Pepper kisses across your knuckles, the palm of your hand and wrist as he fawns over you, praising you without an second.

- He LOVES to show you off.

- He'll take you out and strut around with you on his arm like he won the lottery - Bliss and Laguna would gang up on him and tell you the stupid shit he did when they were younger up till now.

- will follow you around when you visit if he has the chance, he'll happily chatter away and keep you company

- takes great pride when you compliment or comment on the state of the castle or the decor for the raves - You wake up with him clinging to your ass in the morning

- If you call his name he will turns towards you with the biggest doe eyes and abandons all his duties to talk to you when you just wanted to ask where he put your jacket

- he was wearing it...

- When you go out on dates Trollex wouldn’t hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or lips and hold your hand.

- lights up when he sees you, who always has a new joke or dramatic story to share. - He could go on and on about how much he loves you to anyone who would listen.

[mariespen]

Stress Relief ˚𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

modern!anaikan skywalker x fem!reader summary: after studying relentlessly for her upcoming exam, anikan realizes she needs a little more help. warnings: 18+!! swearing, oral (f!receiving), explicit sexual content

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨���┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

The glow of your computer lit up the living room of your small apartment. Your fingers were stiff from altering between writing and typing and you had a headache but deemed it a waste of time to get water. You sat on the floor below the couch, resting your back on the cushions whenever you needed to distract yourself from your cramping legs. Your biggest exam was two days away and you felt like the least prepared girl to ever take the course. Dried tears pulled at your cheeks as you got another failing grade on the practice quiz. Life felt utterly helpless.

Of course, right as you were considering permanently dropping out of college and living your life broke, your boyfriend, Anaikan, strolled out of your shared bedroom to grab whatever interested him in the small pantry. Your head was stuck in your arms as you tried not to sob again while face down on the old coffee table. He walked past the living room and noticed you, sighing knowingly when he say the sprawl of note sheets.

“Baby..” He whispered softly, changing his path to comfort you.

He kneeled down, cautiously backing the coffee table away from you so he could hook his big arms around you and pick you up, holding your tense body to his as he sat you both down on the sinking couch cushions.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked, bringing a hand to your cheek as he wiped your tears when they spilled out of your eyes.

“This exam.. I just..” You huffed, voice shaky as you continued, “M’gonna fail it.” You admitted defeat, letting your head fall back into his chest as you curled up into a little ball on his lap.

“S’okay baby.” He mumbled, holding you close to him and kissing the top of your head.

You sat in silence for a while as Anaikan waited for you to calm down. He knew how frustrated you got and he needed to get you to relax. He rubbed your back as you slouched into him, quiet breaths filling the room. Anaikan brought your chin up with his thumb, kissing you gently on the lips.

“Let’s go for a drive, hm?” He asked, brushing hair from your face.

“No ani.. I gotta-“ You started, trying to shift off of his lap to go back to studying.

“C’mon baby, let’s go.” He cut you off, deciding for the both of you as he held you closer, kissing you again before helping you off of his lap. 

You were utterly relieved, smoothing your comfy skirt as he got up. He smiled at you and leaned down, closing your computer and making his way to the front door. You both slid on shoes and he grabbed his keys, twirling them on his finger after he opened the door for you. He watched you go, closing the door and locking it behind him as he followed you. You held his hand, trying to hold on as his hand sized up yours.

Eventually you made it to the car and he started it while you waited for your phone to connect to the bluetooth. You sighed when your favorite song started playing and he smiled at you, resting his hand on your thigh and rubbing your skin with his thumb as he drove off. You relaxed into the setting, feeling your worries become more and more distant each time he smiled and glanced at your face when you sang the lyrics aloud. You’d never get over how in love with him you were.

After around half an hour of driving around in the rain with music playing loudly enough in the background he pulled into one of your favorite spots. You smiled at him knowingly, unbuckling your seatbelt as he walked out of the car to open the door for you. 

“M’lady..” He said with a smile when you giggled.

He offered his hand and you took it, entering the small local market. You quickly let go, however, when you walked excitedly to the row of refrigerators. He waited for you patiently as you grabbed your favorite drink. When you grabbed it, he walked over and decidedly grabbed one for himself too, walking behind you over to the checkstand. You stood impatiently next to him as he paid, walking out hand in hand.

“Had to take care of my girl, yeah?” He mumbled, smiling when you reached up to kiss his cheek as you walked out of the store. 

After a while of driving while you playing mindlessly with his fingers, he parked again, this time in a small secluded lot. The view was beautiful, the lot was overlooking the bright, rainy city. The song changed and he kissed your cheek over the center console.

“Thank you, Ani.” You muttered under your breath with a giggle as he kissed you.

“Anything for my girl.” He said, his hands just above your hips.

You turned to him and kissed him, one of your hands on his cheek and the other in his messy hair. You felt his smile on your lips as you raked through his hair. You let yourself relax and slump into him more and more while his hands moved to the base of your hips.

“Ani..” You said breathlessly when you pulled away, your thumb tracing his cheekbone.

“I wanna take care of you, sweetheart.” He panted out, kissing the air out of you again, “will you let me?” He asked, his hand moving to your inner thigh.

“Yes please..” You nodded breathlessly and he smiled before kissing you again and pulling away quickly to help the two of you into the back seat.

He was on you again, sucking the skin of your neck as you whimpered when he sucked on your favorite spot.

“Ani..” You whimpered, your mind slowly becoming blank as one of his hands massaged your inner thigh, working its way up to your core, and the other cupped your cheek.

You raked and hand through his hair as he lifted your legs so that you sat sideways on the seat. He kissed down your neck, hands beginning to fiddle with your shirt before looking up for your approval. You gave him a desperate nod and he smirked, taking off your top and unhooking your bra, leaving hickeys on your perky tits.

“So perfect for me baby..” He panted out, sucking on one of your nipples as he rolled the other in between two fingers.

You squirmed below him, already sinfully wet from the hickeys he left. He chuckled at your needy state before kissing down to the hem of your skirt, his big hands slowly pulling it down your legs as he kissed the hem of your panties. He looked down, eyes widening in surprise as he realized just how wet you were for him.

“Fuck.. this all for me?” He asked, laughing to himself as you nodded and squirmed your hips to try and find any friction.

“Stay still love..” He said, kissing your inner thighs and letting his thumb put pressure on your puffy clit.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled your panties off and left a soft kiss to your clit, licking a stripe down to your entrance. You let out a high moan, bucking your hips until he held them down with both hands. 

“A-ani.. ani please..” You panted and he continued to suck your clit like a man starved.

He added a finger, looking up at you with hooded eyes as you arched your back, moaning his name loudly. Your hand found his hair within seconds, pulling at the dark brown strands. He let out a low groan, causing vibrations to course through your pussy. Your legs shook and he noticed, taking one arm off of your hips to hold your hand.

“C-close ani.. s’good.. please!” You moaned, squirming around and throwing your head back.

He went harder, applying more and more pressure until you finally came, your thighs locking around his hand as he worked you through your orgasm, licking your clean. You moaned his name, your voice wobbly and high as you came, pulling his hair harder than before. You shook with overstimulation as he continued his work on your pussy until you had to gently push him away. He smiled, coming up to kiss you deeply so that you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“S’good for me baby..” He whispered, sitting beside you and picking you up onto his lap, letting you lay on his chest, mind hazy as you came down from your high.

He watched your legs fall open again and you squirmed whining at the cold air on your spent pussy. He gently adjusted you so your back was resting on his chest and he pulled your legs open again as you moaned out for him.

“You got one more sweetheart.. know you do.” He said breathlessly as his middle finger came down to your pussy and drenched itself in your arousal.

He spread it out over your swollen clit and you whined in overstimulation as he massaged your clit slowly.

“Ani.. c’can’t..” You whined, the overstimulation slowly turning into pleasure as he pressed into your clit.

“Yes you can..” He replied, kissing your neck before dipping a finger in your entrance.

He let the heel of his hand grind up into your clit as he slipped another finger into you and thrusted as you cried out on his lap. Your legs shook much quicker and he whispered soft praises into your ear.

“C’mon love… been so good. Let go for me.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you threw your head back onto his shoulder and clenched your thighs around his arm. He coaxed you through your high, reluctantly removing his hand as you panted out, tears of overstimulation drying on your cheeks.

“So good for me sweetheart.. so perfect.” He praised, licking you off of his hand before picking you up, sloppily putting your skirt back on and carrying you up to the passengers seat again before he sat in the driver's seat. 

Your head rolled back on the seat as the post-orgasm exhaustion hit you. You fell asleep for the rest of the drive as he massaged your leg lovingly while he drove you back to your house.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When I Say Run 1

Warnings: dark elements, such as chasing and kidnapping.

Note: I do appreciate all your feedback if you read this. I will hopefully have the next few part done soon. I don't intend this to be very much more than three or so parts.

Inspired by @navybrat817's Monday Thot

You've seen the man before. Often the market is overcrowded enough that you rarely see the same face twice, but you recognize him at once. His deep blue eyes are hard to forget along with the grim shadow cast over his unaltered and unamused expression. You know him because he always seems to know you. 

More than once, you caught him watching you. At first, you convinced yourself he was looking past you, or through you, as it felt. But he doesn't look away that day, you do. 

You move to the next stall to examine some figs. You realise why you really noticed him. He doesn't belong. What it seems, by his fraying ball cap and canvas jacket, is that he is hiding from someone. 

The more you think about him, the more uneasy you are. How is it that you see him every time you come to the market? You come early and he is there, late and he is there. The coincidence feels too canny to be believed. 

Still, you aren’t convinced it is more than that. You get carried away and make up ridiculous hypotheticals in your mind. There are many who come to the market every weekend. You probably run into a dozen people over and over and never even realise it. Why then, does he stick out in your mind? 

You grab a carton of cherries and a couple of peaches. You pay and take your change, brushing against someone as you pull your hand back. You feel something fall on your foot and kneel down to help gather the dropped plums. The man’s gloved fingers touch the bruises on the skin and you hold back a gasp as you look him in the face. 

“Sorry,” you utter as you hand him a dark plum, “I didn’t see you there.” 

You stand as he takes the fruit and slip your own into your cloth bag. You sling it over your shoulder as he assures you it's fine but you don’t wait for a conversation. You hadn’t even noticed him get that close. Before, he was well across the plaza with a horde between you. That he moved that fast, so seamlessly is eerie. 

You enter a tent a few stalls down and pretend to admire the patterned china of a teapot. There is a putrid taste in your mouth, the rotten flavour of paranoia on your dry tongue. You check the tag on the pot and leave without purchase. 

You look around as you emerge back into the late morning sun, the heat of the crowd adding to the sheen of sweat over your brow. You clear your throat as you don’t see the man and keep your head down as you resign yourself to your light haul. You will feel better once you got home. 

You weave through the swarm to the edge of the market and dip down the side street as the hum of voices fades behind you. Your apartment is a few blocks down, nestled above a bookstore cafe. It's s humble and affordable, but you can’t complain. 

You pull out your change purse as you near the shop but as you reach the front door, it swings open before you can reach for it. It’s him. Again. The leather gloves, the vibrant irises, the dark shanks of hair that frame his squared jaw. He is striking in more ways than one. 

You thank him as he holds the door and enter the small shop. You’re nervous. You can get your coffee and wait him out. You don’t want to lead him back to your apartment just above. Or you could lead him on a chase through the city until you lose him and circle back. Your mind races as you try to convince yourself you’re overreacting but you just can’t. 

You order your cinnamon blend but the man once more curtails you. He hold a bill out to the cashier and grits for her to keep the change. 

“Sir, you don’t have to--” 

“I’d like to buy you a coffee,” he insists as he waves the bill at the cashier, “want something sweet to go with it?” 

His accent is subtle. He doesn’t speak your language naturally but he does it well. You shake your head and step away from the till. He follows you to the corner where you await your order. 

“You can have the coffee,” you say, “I’m not interested.” 

“Why not?” he asks. His bluntness makes you squirm. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you lie as you rub your neck, “here--” 

You unclasped your coin purse and he stops you, squeezing your hand until the clasp clicks shut. “No, you don’t,” he says, “it’s my treat.” 

“I don’t want it,” you recoil from him and repeat, “I’m not interested.” 

You make to brush by him and he catches your arm, “why not?” 

“Because,” you jerk away from him, “why are you following me?” 

“Following you?” he scoffs, “you feel special, don’t you?” 

“No, I told you, I have a boyfriend.” 

“You know, when you lie,” he says, “I can see it…” he hovers his finger along your throat, “right there. Your pulse picks up.” 

You push his hand away and sidle past him. You’re shaking as you hurry to the door and look back. He watches you but stays where he is. Your order is called and he turns to grab it. You leave under the chime of the door and peer up and down the street. 

You go to the left, heading for the market to hide among the sea of people. It will give you time to figure out what to do next. The station is on the other side of the plaza, you could probably get there without much trouble. That will scare him away. 

Your footsteps echo around you like a movie scene. You grip your bag on your shoulder and stop short as a figure appears from the alleyway. You can hear the market just ahead of you, just one corner away. 

“You forgot your coffee,” the man says as he blocks your path, “don’t you know that it’s rude to refuse a gift?” 

You swallow and back away, speechless. You glanc around. How did he move so fast? You spin on your heel and walk in the other direction. You listen for him behind you but when you dare to peek over your shoulder, he is gone. 

You quiver and hook around the next corner, hoping to loop to the west entrance of the market. He’s there too. He tilts his head as he grins and tosses the coffee so it spills down the brick wall. You retreat away from the splash and blink at him dumbly. The street is mostly empty but you hear someone else. 

You spin back and fight not to break into a sprint. That time, you don’t look back. You head back along the same way you came but turn down another street before you get to the alley. A metal rattle sounds from overhead as a blur drops down in front you from the rickety fire escape above. The man fixes his hat and chuckles. 

“I think you should start running,” he taunts. 

You nearly trip over your heels as you rear back. Fear bubbles in your chest and you fall into a run, spurred by his ominous timbre. The bag bounces against your side as you squeeze your change purse in your other hand, feet hitting the old brick road heavy and hard. You stumble as you glance back but find no pursuit. 

You slow as your chest burns and stop to catch your breath. It take a moment to get your bearings. You bend over and gulp. You straighten up and face the street behind you, searching for the man in the grey jacket. There is only a couple holding hands and a group of young boys giggling as they kick around a beaten football. 

You look up along the rooves of the buildings and the balconies. You don’t see anything. You shake your head and puff. Fucking creep. Probably just wanted to scare you. 

You don’t go back to your apartment right away. You’re too agitated for that. You can’t help but look around every few steps and peek down every alley and street before you pass. It’s a good forty minutes before you realise you're lost. You never come to this part of town. 

You swear under your breath and cringe. You should have gone to the precinct like you planned. You were so panicked you didn’t think. You were more focused on getting away than getting safe. 

You drop your change purse into your jumbled bag of cherries and peaches. You reach into your pocket and your heart drops. You search both pockets. Your phone must have fallen out when you were running. 

You resign yourself to a listless trail back home through the urban maze. You could figure it out, there has to be a map around here somewhere. You are sure you just passed one a moment ago.  

You start down the street and mourn the loss of your phone. That would take a while to replace with your lousy wages. Fuck. Why didn’t you buy the warranty? 

The roar of a motorcycle cuts through the din of the city streets and echoes all around you. You ignore it and follow the sidewalk as you squint at the street signs above. You try to find something familiar, something to find your way. 

Suddenly you're taken off your feet, a crushing grip knots the back of your shirt as you're hurtled forward. You scream as the brickwork hazes beneath you and suddenly the engine revs and you’re turned sharply with its motion. You float just above the ground, dangling from your shirt. 

You looked up in confusion, the strength of the man holding you with one arm sends ice through your veins. The twinkling eyes, the angle of his jaw, and the slight curve of his lips makes you wince. He thrusts you closer and bends you over the front of the motorcycle so that you're trapped between him and the tank. 

“Better tuck those feet in,” he warns as you're folded over the metal on your stomach, “I told you to run.” 

He veers suddenly and the momentum pushes you against him as you clung to the bike, wind whipping your face as it hovers before the dingy pipes of the bike. It feels as if you’ll fly off at any second. You reach to grasp onto the man's jacket as you clench every muscle of your body to keep from slipping. 

The engine rips through the air as your head spins. You have a choice; fall off and die or hang on and live. 

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

@jilymicrofics august 7: domestic

She looks like a sunrise, sitting up on the counter, one knee pulled up to her chin, the other leg dangling toward the floor. She’s wearing James’s oversized jumper, the sleeves pulled down over her hands as she takes a long sip from his father’s favourite mug, her gaze fixed on the window. It’s what affords James this moment at all, leaning against the wall of the kitchen, watching her.

“Is that mine?” he finally says, because the only thing better than seeing her like this is seeing her when she looks at him.

A bright smile lights up her face as she turns her head. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles at her in response, stifling a yawn. “You’re up early.”

Lily holds up the mug, her hands almost disappearing in the sleeves of his jumper. “I smelled coffee.”

“Dad definitely made that for you,” he says, chuckling. “Neither of my parents drink coffee. Surprised they’ve even got it in this old house to tell you the truth.” He glances around the kitchen, smaller than what he’s used to at the main estate. The truth about this ‘old house,’ though, is that James has always loved it a ridiculous amount.

“Where are they anyway?” Lily asks, pulling her other leg up onto the countertop.

“Market,” James says. “Mum goes every Saturday morning of the summer when we’re at Godric’s Hollow. Seems she took Dad along today.”

Lily smiles fondly, then her grin grows. “So it’s just the two of us? With this whole house to ourselves?”

James chuckles and walks over toward her. “This ‘whole house,’ hm? Pretty sure I cross the length of it in ten steps or so.”

“I like it here,” she says, her fingers tracing the edge of the worn wooden countertop.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She sets the mug down and hops off the counter, her bare feet landing softly on the worn wooden floor, and walks toward him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “In fact,” she says, her voice muffled by his shirt, until she stands up on her tiptoes and drops her lips to his ear, “I like it so much I’d like to live here one day.”

James stiffens, his arms tightening around her waist. “Is that…right?”

“Mhm,” she murmurs, “so maybe put a bug in your parents’ ear now, yeah? Before you ask me to marry you.”

“Before—! Evans…what—”

She falls back down onto the balls of her feet and smirks up at him, self-satisfied. “Oh, please, James. I know you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, even as he feels his face burn. Shit, shit, shit.

She continues to grin. “I’ll let you have your secret, Potter. But can I at least know if you’ve already got a ring?” She takes one look at him and squeals. “You do! God, Potter, why are you so obsessed with me?”

It’s not completely true. He doesn’t technically have a ring in his possession, but he’s told his mother which one to set aside for when the time comes. And in moments like this, with Lily standing in the Godric’s Hollow cottage kitchen, putting ideas in his head about what forever would be like, were he to spend the rest of his days walking down the stairs to find Lily drinking coffee in his jumper on the countertop—well. It gets a little tougher each day not to make the time come right now.

[callsignseagull]

all you had to do was stay ✪ part 1

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter. 

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: Not much, honestly. maybe just a little angsty 

A/N: Here’s part one!! I hope you like it! It's a little on the short side but hopefully there'll be more soon :))

feedback is always appreciated :)

series masterlist

You’re sitting at the dining table, scrolling through your emails with one hand while holding your toast in the other. You’ve become a pro at multitasking.

“Mommy? Do you think they have churros at that market Penny is taking me?” Your daughter is munching on a toast of her own, crumbs sticking to her cheeks. 

“I’m sure.” You smile. “And I’m sure if you ask nicely, Penny will get some for you.” 

She grins before taking another bite of her toast and you can’t help but reach over and give her a kiss. You can’t believe how fast she’s growing up. At now five years old, Josie is your entire world. As shocked and scared as you were when you found out about her, she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.   

Turning back to your laptop, you flag the most important mails so you don’t forget to follow up on them later. The time before one of your books releases is always the most stressful, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. You got so lucky. 

You wrote and illustrated your first children’s book while being pregnant with Josie, it gave you something to distract yourself from all the changes you were going through. And then you posted about it online, it went sort of viral and then a publisher reached out to you. The book was an immediate success. It’s been translated in several different languages and they even make stuffed toys and board games based on your characters now.

And now you’re about to release the fifth book in the series. It’s hard to churn one out every year, but you’re scared that if you drop the ball, all you’ve worked for will be ripped from you. You want to give Josie the best life possible, so you work your ass off. 

When both of you are finished with breakfast, you clean up the table and tell Josie to put her shoes on. As you slip into your own shoes, you whistle for Muffin, the four year old poodle mix you adopted from a rescue last year, and he comes trotting around the corner moments later. 

After checking you’ve got everything you lock the front for behind you, hold your free hand out for Josie to take, the other holding Muffin’s leash. Then, the three of you take on the short walk towards the Hard Deck. 

Penny Benjamin has been a life saver these last few years, throughout your pregnancy and beyond. She’s been there for you whenever you needed her, day or night. You don’t know what you would’ve done without her. And now she’s somewhat of a grandma figure for Josie, and she’s probably the hottest grandma ever. Her and Amelia are the closest thing you and Josie have to a family, besides each other.

Today, Penny is taking Josie to a Food Market while you look after the bar for a couple hours. It’s still early and not many people will be there, but you’re glad you can help Penny out while still getting some work done for yourself.

“There’s my favourite little family!” Penny greets, as you enter the Hard Deck, her arms wide and Josie immediately runs towards her and into her arms. 

“Hi Penny! I’m so excited! Are you excited? Do you think they’ll have churros?” Josie rambles with glistening eyes, her dimples on show and for a moment you’re reminded of how much she looks like her father. You manage to push thoughts of him to the back of your mind most days but sometimes you just look at her and all you can see is him. 

You haven’t tried reaching out to him again. You know you should’ve. But it felt wrong sending him a text telling him he’ll be a father. And you doubted that he even wanted to be a father. So you decided you’d spare yourself, and your daughter, the heartache. Josie hasn’t asked about her father much, but when she did you told her that he’s a pilot in the Navy and that he loves her. You never want her to feel like she’s not wanted.  

✩̿✪̿✩̿

Jake knew he’d come back eventually. He just didn’t know it would take him so long. But if he was being honest with himself he knew that if it wasn’t for him being called back to Top Gun for some top secret mission he still wouldn’t have had the guts to come back here. Hell, he’s been living only a few hours north from here for the past couple of years. He easily could’ve made the drive down. But he’d always been good at coming up with excuses. But now he couldn’t. Not when he’s in the same city for the next few months. He’d constantly be looking for you. Seeing you in every face that just slightly resembled yours. He didn’t even know if you still lived in San Diego, though. But going to the Hard Deck seemed like the logical thing to do. Even if you weren’t working there anymore, Penny Benjamin might know where to find you.

As soon as he enters the bar he’s hit with nostalgia. Nothing has changed. He takes a look around and pretends he’s the six years younger version of himself, still naive enough to think that nothing will ever rattle him.

Since it’s still the early afternoon it’s not busy and there seems to be no one behind the bar right now. With a deep sigh he sits down in one of the barstools, then notices someone crouched down behind the bar, looking for something in a cabinet. 

His breath catches in his throat. It can’t be.

He hasn’t seen you in six years, and even though he can’t see your face right now, he knows it’s you. He can feel it. 

Now he really feels like he’s been transported back six years in time. You haven’t noticed him yet and he can’t hold back the words that are going through his head.

“Can you pinch me? Because I can’t believe you’re real. I thought I was dreaming.” He knows it’s a bit of a dick move, throwing his first thing he ever said to you at you now. But maybe you’re not as mad at him as he thinks? What if you don’t even remember him? He hadn’t thought about that. Fuck. 

✩̿✪̿✩̿

You almost hit your head when you spin around towards him.  This can’t be real.

“What are you doing here?” You must look like you’ve seen a ghost, but it honestly feels like that. He looks the same but he doesn’t. He’s filled out more, even though you never thought it possible. And he just looks overall more mature. It suits him. 

“What am I doing here in San Diego or what am I doing here at the Hard Deck?” He tilts his head, a small smile on his face. You don’t grace that with an answer, he knows what you mean. The smile slowly drops from his face, and there’s a seriousness in his eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“Why?”

“I want to apologise.” 

That makes you straighten up. Apologise? After six years? 

“I was an absolute asshole to you and you didn’t deserve that. I was going through a rough time and I took all that out on you. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I just left without saying goodbye. I got called on a mission right after graduation and when I got back I figured you didn’t wanna talk to me ever again.”

His words take your breath away for a moment. Never in a million years did you think you’d get an apology from Jake. 

“I-,” you stop, wringing your hands together. At a loss for words.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He smiles softly. “I’m in town for a while. Maybe we could … I don’t know … hang out sometime? Catch up?”

As much as you want to protect your heart and tell him no, you know you have to catch him up on what happened after he left. It’s not right to keep him in the dark now that he’s here. You know that.

“You don’t have to answer me now. Take some time to think about it. I’m sure you’re busy, with your books being such a success. And you’re still working at the bar?” He looks curious and you’re a little shocked.

“I’m just helping Penny out for a couple hours. You know about my books?”

“My nieces love them.” He grins. “I have to read them to them before bed every time I’ve got time to visit them down in Texas.”

“You’ve got nieces?” 

“Yeah, they’re two and four. Love them to death. My Mom’s been begging for grandkids for years and she’s so happy to dote on them every chance she gets.”

Your heart constricts. Two and four. They’re younger than Josie. Not only does she have cousins somewhere in Texas, she’s also the first grandchild to a woman who’s never met her. Who doesn’t even know about her. But you don’t know much about Jake’s parents. Maybe she wouldn’t be the biggest fan of a child out of wedlock. 

You glance at Jakes hand. No ring. 

You muster up the courage to your next question. You know the answer might hurt, but you have to ask him.

“Any kids of your own?” 

Jake shakes his head with a laugh, “No, not that I know of.” 

It’s just a joke but you feel like it makes your heart stop before it starts beating rapidly in your chest. This is it. There’s no better moment than now. Just get it over with.

“Jake, I-“ 

“Mommy!” Josie comes barreling through the door, Penny a few steps behind her. “Penny let me have Churros and they were delicious!” She wraps her arms around you and looks up at you with her sparkling green eyes.

Maybe you don’t even have to tell him. You glance at Jake and he looks a bit taken aback.

“Yeah, honey? Did you have fun?”

“So much fun!” She grins, showing off her deep dimples, and you run a hand over her head before giving her a kiss. You manage to look at Penny, who’s glaring at Jake. It takes all your courage to look at him. He doesn’t even seem to notice Penny, his eyes focused on the girl in your arms. You can’t read the expression on his face, has he already realised how much she looks like him? 

“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask you if you have any.” He smiles, his lips tight, then looks at your daughter and his smile turns more genuine. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Hearing the term of endearment again makes goosebumps raise on your skin. 

“Josie.” She’s not a shy kid, so you’re not surprised when she looks at him curiously and asks, “Who are you?” 

Your grip tightens around her but before you can say anything he replies, “I’m an old friend of your Mom.” 

You shoot him a really? look but he just shrugs his shoulders. Well, you guess it is inappropriate to tell your five-year-old daughter that he used to fuck your brains out. 

“Thanks for helping out.” Penny says, “Both of you.” She winks at Josie. 

Muffin comes trotting around the corner and Josie let’s go of you to throw her arms around the poodle mix. “I missed you!” While Muffin covers your daughter’s face in slobber, Jake huffs out a laugh. 

“A dog, too, huh?” 

You shrug your shoulders, not sure what to say to that. 

“Does the house have a picket fence?” It’s a bit of a loaded question, you think, but you don’t read too much into it and reply truthfully, thinking about the little house you put a down payment on a couple years ago. 

“It does.” 

Jake rubs his chest and gives you that tight lipped smile again. “I’m happy for you.” 

He means it, you can tell. “Thanks, Jake.”

He gets up from his seat at the bar, knocks on the wood a couple times then says. “Your husband is one lucky guy.” Another tight lipped smile.

“My wha-?” 

“I’ll see you around.” He nods then turns on his heel and before you can comprehend what just happened he’s gone.

“Mommy, why did he say your husband? You don’t have one of those.” 

“I don’t know, honey.” 

You watch him cross the parking lot to his car and it dawns on you that he thinks that all your dreams came true:  become a full time illustrator, fall in love, get married, adopt a dog, buy a little house, have kids.

Little does he know that you fell in love with him, had his kid, and did all of the rest on your own. 

taglist: @annathesillyfriend ✪ @lovebittenbyevans ✪ @heyhihellowhatsup0 ✪ @one-sweet-gubler ✪ @emorychase ✪ @wooya1224 ✪ @novagreen04 ✪ @iammirrorball ✪ @lolcaca ✪ @caitsymichelle13 ✪ @soulmates8 ✪ @soleilgrec ✪ @lilylilyyyyyy ✪ @winters-queen ✪ @i0veless ✪ @the-romanian-is-bae ✪ @mandyppp ✪ @dempy ✪ @mizuki80 ✪ @lumpypoll ✪ @averyhotchner ✪ @babyice1274 ✪ @captain-fandomwriter58 ✪ @hangmanscoming ✪ @caidi-paris ✪ @linkpk88 ✪ @djs8891 ✪ @xomrsalliej4787xo ✪ @lnmp89 ✪ @startrekfangirl2233 ✪ @gigisimsonmars ✪ @merishfit ✪ @clancycucumber230 ✪ @sky0401 ✪ @emilyoflanternhill ✪ @roostersforevergirl ✪ @celestialeviereads ✪ @blackwidownat2814 ✪ @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak ✪ @grxcisxhy-wp ✪ @atarmychick007 ✪ @dakotakazansky ✪ @fulla02 ✪ @alana4610 ✪ @callsignwidow ✪ @memoriesat30 ✪ @ebonyhogan24

[drawlfoy]

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

[dannyboy-writes]

Just some II

Its here!! i will make a part 3 ofc this isnt overr I haVe IDEAS now!!! so im working through themm... hope you enjoy it Also thankyou so much for the commentss

She was always up before you, you noticed.

There wasn’t one day that you rose and she wasn't already doing something, or having gone training, or to the market.

And it wasn’t that you got up late. Working in espionage made sleeping hours short and effective, and the sun shining brightly in your face made for a good stimulus.

But still, you got up, and she was already doing something else.

You got up to a warm smell coming from the kitchen, and the humming of a song through the walls.

“What smells so good,” you asked, walking into the room.

“Morning.” She smiled. “I made pancakes.”

“Oh, that’s great!” You said, going to get some coffee.

Putting the coffee pot to work, you leaned on the counter, “How early are you getting up, exactly?”

Natasha stopped mixing the pancakes, her face stoic, but worried. “Uh, just now, I guess. I don’t really know.” She panicked. “Why?”

“No, nothing, it’s just… I go to sleep and you’re here, and I wake up and you’re… Making pancakes,” you smiled.

“Oh, these are for me,” she joked. “I didn’t see you make any of them.”

You laughed, “Oh, shut up.”

You continued to make the coffee, dismissing her lack of answer nonchalantly.

The pancakes were too good to keep thinking, really.

After cleaning the dishes, you and Natasha headed to the surveillance spot, and you headed to the window, claiming the first watch.

A pair of binoculars, wooden boxes as chairs, a couple of canned beans and Natasha’s company was all you had. Good company.

Natasha watched you move positions for over an hour. You had started sitting as a normal person, and now she didn’t know which part of your body was more uncomfortable.

Your knee by your chin and your hand locked under it, holding the binoculars, as your head tilted to the side on occasion.

“Okay, my turn. Your slouching is stressing me out.” She held her hand out for the binoculars and you gave them to her, standing up with ease.

“I was comfy, but I’ll take it.”

You went to get a small ball from your backpack and slouched in a makeshift couch Natasha had piled up with boxes. Throwing it against a wall and catching it.

“Really?” she asked with an eyebrow up her forehead.

You smiled, “As much as I like waiting in silence and boredom, I like this more.”

She shook her head with a smile plastered on her face and continued looking out the window.

“You know, I bet I can throw and catch this ball for more time than you,” you proposed.

Natasha wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

Especially when your face shone with excitement, and your smile infected her own.

“Winner picks a movie tonight.” She offered.

“Oh it’s on.”

Hours passed and you continued the challenge, timers on each of your phones, as you kept surveillance.

“Careful there,” you told her from your spot on the window.

“Shush, I’m doing important work here y/n,” she said, throwing the ball once more as you laughed.

Her eyes widened as her fingers slipped, dropping the ball upon catching it.

You cackled loudly, turning fully to face her. “Looks like I get to pick the movie,” you teased.

“Looks like it.” She tried to look annoyed, but your laughter stopped her from acting too much into it.

Natasha showered first when you got back to the house as you focused your energy in making the food, to later switch roles.

“So, what will we be watching tonight,” she asked, grabbing a bite of food.

“I found a couple movies in a cupboard… It, Chucky, and Home alone.” You smiled. “Guess what we’re watching…”

“Not Home Alone again. Please.” She complained.

“Nat! Of course Home Alone, come on.”

She laughed picking up the dishes and setting them in the kitchen as you put the movie on, sprawling on the couch.

“Scoot.” She signalled you, sitting by your side as you moved.

The christmas in the movie infected the softly lit room, and you felt Natasha slowly rest her head on your shoulder.

Her hair still damp from her shower over your shirt, but you didn’t want to move away.

You felt her closer and closer to you, falling asleep, and after some time decided to follow her idea. Your mattress wasn’t much better than the couch, anyways.

She startled awake with the movie credits rolling down the tv, giving her enough light to see you sleeping soundly, your hand close to hers.

Your breaths steady and calm, and your eyelids moving slowly.

She thought of getting up and leaving to her room, but decided against it. Instead leaning into you some more, steadying her breaths with your own, and falling asleep too..

Part III