#the other two thirds of my books are on a table across the room | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuderiahoney · 1 month

Text

Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion part 3

hockey au part 3: a walk in near the park, a surprising team photo, and the semester comes to a close. 6.2k words

warnings: mentions of sports injury, mentions of bullying, alcohol, academic stress, final exams

Oscar has spent a lot of his life on the move. He moved to the US from Australia for high school at a pretty young age, just to try and play hockey. Looking back, it sounds crazy. What’s even crazier is that it actually worked. He’d play for club teams and in leagues and travel absolutely anywhere if it gave him time on the ice. And then he ended up on a college team and stayed put for two years, and honestly, it felt strange.

Over that time, he got good at putting things in boxes. Keeping life organized. Not so much in a sense of clutter and things having a place- his room is a mess, there’s laundry to be done, and his hockey locker is a disaster- but more so in his head. His friendships and relationships get categorized, information filed away, grouped together. Not by importance or value, but by… context. Hockey friends in one box. Family in another. People like coaches and managers and executives in a third. Moving somewhere new always shakes the boxes up.

By late November, though, Oscar’s feeling a little bit more comfortable in his own skin. He’s found his place in the team, he has weekly lunches with teammates, and he’s even made some friends outside of hockey. His old coach, Mark, says that’s a big piece of it. That it’s good to have something other than sport, just in case it all falls apart, or it doesn’t work out. People to fall back on who aren’t just there for hockey.

Oscar wants to say that his teammates would still be friends with him even if he stopped playing, for some reason, but the truth is that he’s been burned by other overly ambitious hockey kids way too often to truly believe it. That’s half the reason he’s on the Timberwolves now, why he left his old school and team behind. Things feel better here. Lando has an old friend who used to play hockey who still hangs around the house sometimes- Max, the other Max. (Oscar doesn’t call him that to his face.) So maybe Lando at least wouldn’t ditch him if he quit.

And then there’s you, too. Oscar’s not quite sure when you went from being an enigma he struggled to place into one of his carefully organized boxes in his head to, well, this.

You’re sitting across from him at the dining table in his house, one finger tracing the words in the textbook in front of you. You have a TimTam in your other hand-you seem to have developed a fondness for them, the same way that Oscar seems to have developed a fondness for you. The late afternoon sun is shining into the room through the sliding glass door and onto you. Oscar shakes his head to try to clear it.

As he does, you groan and drop your face into the textbook with a solid thud- he winces. “I hate physics.”

He holds back a laugh, because he knows you genuinely are frustrated. “Does slamming your face on the words help?”

You shrug. “Maybe, if I just sit here like this, the knowledge will seep into my brain.”

He hums. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Right, because you know everything,” you mumble. “Genius man.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table. “Come on. Time for a break.”

“I don’t need a break, I need to learn…” you sigh and turn your head, pressing your cheek to the book and looking at him with one eye. “What are we studying again?”

Oscar fixes you with a disapproving look and heads towards the front door. He knows you’ll follow. By the time he makes it to the entryway, you’re hot on his heels, watching curiously as he pulls his shoes on.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“We’re going on a walk,” he says. “Brain break.”

You shrug and nod, reaching for your own shoes as he pulls on a jacket. He tries not to laugh as you struggle to pull them on without untying them. You’re always stubborn like that, it seems. It’s almost painfully endearing. You stand up straight once you have the shoes on and look at him expectantly.

“Where’s your jacket?” He asks.

You shrug and shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. Or is it Charles’ hoodie? Oscar swears he’d seen him wearing it just yesterday.

“I didn’t wear one,” you say. Oscar raises his brows, and you roll your eyes. “There’s not even snow on the ground, Piastri.”

“It’s almost December, Bunny” he says flatly, and reaches for another one of his jackets hanging on the hook near the door.

He hands it to you, and stands there, waiting, until you grumble and pull it on. You wear the other guys’ clothing all the time, but he swears you look almost flustered at the offer. Huh. He’s trying desperately to pretend he’s not flustered over it, honestly. Something about you in his clothing makes him blush. He’d felt the same way about the hoodie you’d borrowed at the party.

“You’re just Australian,” you say, nudging your foot against his as if to usher him out the door. “You’re a baby about the cold.”

He doesn’t have much of a comeback to that, so he steps outside, and you follow right along with him. He walks down the steps and takes off down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. You might be right- he’s a bit of a baby when it comes to cold temperatures- but his breath curls into mist in front of his face and yours does the same, so it really is chilly. The sun paints everything golden- the windows on the buildings, the dead leaves that still cling to a couple trees. Your elbow bumps against his as the two of you walk. He tries to ignore the spark that shoots up his spine at the feeling. You're chatting away about something, someone in one of your classes who’s been annoying you lately. He's found he likes to listen to you talk.

When he turns to take the path through the park next to the athletics building, you stop in your tracks. He turns back, figuring you’ve seen something, but you’re just staring into the park, and at the large building behind it. He frowns.

“Everything alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “I just. D’you think maybe we could walk to that cafe near here? I could really go for a chai latte.”

He nods- a drink does sound good. “Yeah, sure. D’you wanna walk through the park on the way? Won’t be much of a detour.”

The park is nice. It’s one of Oscar’s favorite places on campus. There’s grass and trees and a path that winds around the university’s baseball and soccer fields. But you’re staring at it with a much different feeling, if the look on your face tells him anything.

You shake your head. “No, let’s just…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you take off down the sidewalk, heading away from the park. He’s left to follow in your footsteps, suddenly feeling like he really knows nothing about you at all.

…..

When Oscar thinks of home, now, he thinks of this. Not Australia, or the house, or even his family, really. He thinks of a jersey, a stick in his hand, and the scrape of his skates against the ice. Hockey, for all its cheering fans and yelling opponents and background music, is a strangely quiet sport. Maybe he’s just gotten good at blocking out the noise.

They’re warming up on the ice. He has warm up traditions, now, something he hasn’t had with teammates in years- he and Lando slap each other on the shoulders, and he and George always skate a lap together. It’s not anything huge or elaborate, but it means he’s part of the team, and that’s enough.

Max skates up to him, just at the end of warmup. He nudges his shoulder against Oscar’s through the padding. “Good?”

Oscar had a rough week in practice. It was the kind that would’ve had him benched for a month on his last team. Seb’s been nothing but supportive- constructive criticism was offered, sure, but he’s still on the ice today, so he figures that’s a good sign. He nods and turns to Max. His eyes flicker up into the stands. He shouldn’t know this, but he does- your seat is above Max’s head from this angle, up in the second section, front row. You’re wearing a jersey, probably Lando’s number if he had to guess, and sharing popcorn with Alex’s girlfriend, Lily. He smiles.

“Yeah. Good.” He nods.

Max nods in return, then skates away. Oscar follows.

When he scores later, and ties the game one to one, he looks to the same spot in the stands. Lando hits him on the back, hard, a bit too enthusiastic. You’re standing in front of your seat, arms around Lily, yelling, and he grins. He can’t help it. The smile doesn’t drop from his face for the rest of the game. The rink, the ice, and his teammates may feel like home, but the way you cheer for him feels awfully close to it, too.

At the party afterwards, you pour two shots of tequila and hand one to him. He takes it with a smile, grimaces at the taste, and laughs when you cough. He pats you on the back sympathetically, and when you take his hand two seconds later and drag him towards the beer pong table, he follows happily.

…..

December creeps up on Oscar, and with it, so does final exam week. Suddenly, it’s just… there, bearing down on him. He’s not exactly nervous about most of his exams- he’s prepared well, and though he’d never say it out loud, he’s pretty good at testing. But no matter how well he studies or how much he’s paid attention in class, exams still aren’t exactly fun.

He sees you a lot in the week leading up to it. You’re often in the kitchen, eating snacks with Max, or in the living room, quizzing Charles on vocab, or in Lando’s room taking a nap between classes. You’re stressed. He can tell. He does his best to help in any way he can- when he goes to the store, he picks up your favorite snacks and leaves them on the counter. He helps you study for the physics exam. When he finds you asleep on the couch in his living room on Saturday night, he carefully lays a blanket over you and turns off the lamp. He hopes some of it helps, just a little bit.

The next afternoon, Oscar stands in the lobby of the athletic training building. He and Max had headed over for the afternoon to do a workout together, more to get their minds off exams than anything else. Now he’s in the lobby, waiting for his team captain, and he’s staring. Laser focused. He's making a whole lot of connections all at once. The wheels are turning in his brain, and he’s sure if anyone’s watching him, he looks crazy. He jumps when someone slaps a hand against his shoulder. It’s Max.

“Hey,” his team captain says, shaking him slightly. “You look lost.”

Oscar frowns and turns back to the photo in front of him. Women’s Soccer, a team photo, from what would’ve been his freshman year at his previous school. He’d been looking at the photos while he waited- the lobby is lined with them, and some of them are actually pretty funny. Some of the faces in this one are familiar, people he’s seen in the gym off and on. One, however, had caught his eye.

“Is that who I think it is?” He asks, pointing at the left side of the picture in the third row.

When he turns back to Max, his face has changed. The teasing look is gone, replaced by something solemn and hard set. Max nods and tugs at his shoulder.

“Wait,” Oscar says, trying to stay planted while Max tries to drag him away. “But she-“

Max crosses his arms over his chest and studies Oscar, brows furrowed. “I know. It’s not my story to tell, yeah?”

Oscar nods dumbly. Max nods in response. Then he nods his head towards the door, as if he’s directing Oscar to follow him. He does, because he’s not sure what else to do, and he’s not going to get any more information from the photo. He knows what he saw, anyways. You, standing there with the whole team, in uniform, your name listed below the photo with the rest of your teammates.

If there’s one thing the Timberwolves do better than hockey, it’s soccer. The women’s team has been national champions multiple times. A spot on that team isn’t something someone gives up willingly. But you’re not on the team, not anymore. When Lando asked if you wanted to go to the gym with them, you’d replied that you “wouldn’t be caught dead at the athletic training building.” And you’d avoided the athletic park like the plague.

Max turns to him as they walk out of the building, and the confusion must still be evident on his face, because Max swears under his breath in some other language. Oscar’s too lost in thought to even wonder what language it is, exactly.

“Look, just-“ Max pinches the bridge of his nose. “Trust me, she’ll talk about it when she wants to.”

“Okay,” Oscar nods. “But, like, is she… okay?”

Max gives him a sad smile. “Yeah.”

Oscar hears the silent part in his head. She is now.

They walk home together in near silence. Oscar doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure Max doesn’t, either. When they get to the house, Alex is coming down the front steps, the door still open behind him. Oscar sees your boots in the entryway, your coat hanging on the hook. Alex ruffles his hair as he walks past, and Oscar ducks before he turns to Max.

“Don’t tell her?” He asks, and Max looks sheepish, like that was the exact thing he was about to do. “I mean. If you think she needs to know I saw it, then… sure. But I don’t want her to feel pressured to talk to me about it.”

Max wrinkles his nose and nods. “Okay. For now.”

Oscar nods. They’re in agreement, then. He walks in through the front door and he can hear you and Lando in the kitchen, singing along to whatever song is playing from the speaker. It’s family dinner night. Oscar tries to put the thoughts of you in a soccer team portrait out of his head.

He sits next to you at dinner as you pick at your food. It’s one of your favorite meals, but your appetite seems low. It has him feeling concerned. Max, on your other side, nudges you. Oscar watches the two of you have a quiet conversation and wishes he knew what you were feeling. You finally take a couple bites, and he tries not to show how relieved he is about it.

One by one, everyone wanders off to study and get ready for the week ahead. You stay sitting at the table, though. Oscar clears some plates and comes back to find you, a couple TimTams in hand. You take them with a soft smile.

“You alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “Stressed.”

Oscar nods. “Anything I can do to help?”

You twist your mouth. “Probably not. I should really just go home.”

You don’t make any moves to get up. He sighs and sits down next to you. You drum your fingers on the worn wooden tabletop and set the cookies down next to your plate. You’re chewing on your lower lip, and you close your eyes and let out a breath through your nose.

“It’s like… my brain just won’t stop going,” you say. “Like everything I’ve read is just tumbling around in there and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“Objects in motion tend to stay in motion,” Oscar says, and you groan.

“Do not use physics metaphors on me right now,” you say, and when he starts laughing, you dissolve into giggles, too. “Gross.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly when you turn to look at him. “Why don’t I make some tea, and we can put it in travel mugs, and I’ll walk you home?”

A soft smile slips across your face. “That sounds really nice.”

He makes the tea exactly how both of you like it, pours it into the mugs, and ushers you towards the front door. You stop in the living room to say goodbye to Lando, who ruffles your hair, and Max, who holds onto your arm and says something to you, so quietly that you’re the only one who’ll hear it. Then Oscar heads outside, and you follow. It’s slightly dark, and chilly, but you’ve brought a jacket this time. You wrap both hands around the mug as you walk, a habit of yours that Oscar finds awfully endearing. The streetlights glow bright above your heads.

The walk is mostly silent. He reaches the entrance to the park, and on reflex again, he slows and turns to head down the path. You stop in your tracks and let out a pained little noise. Oscar’s stomach rolls. In the distance, the soccer field is lit up bright with floodlights. Something must’ve happened, to keep you from playing. You’d been good enough to be on the team. Something had changed. He turns and takes a step to continue down the sidewalk, but you stay planted there, staring. He pauses, holding his breath. It’s just the two of you, under the streetlamps, feet on the sidewalk.

“I used to play soccer,” you say, quietly, and his pulse jumps.

She’ll tell you when she’s ready. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He bites his lip and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. You’re still staring out over the park, so he turns to stare, too. He feels you lean your shoulder against his, like you’re looking for support, and he leans into it, just to show he’s there.

“I got signed to play as a senior in high school,” you explain. “And, not to brag, but I was really good. Went through summer training camp and made friends with my teammates and got here and… then I fell just the right way at practice, or the wrong way, I guess,” you say, grimacing. “Fucked up my knee. I had to have surgery, twice, and even then, they pretty much told me I was done. That it would never heal right.”

Oscar’s heart sinks. His chest feels tight. He thinks of you, on the couch in the living room when he woke up feeling off and asked you to go on a run, how you’d said you’d messed up your knee. He thinks of Max and the concerned way he always watches you climb the stairs in the stands at the rink. He thinks of you, younger, like the picture in the athletics building, on the field, in pain. He feels sick to his stomach.

“And my teammates… they didn’t know how to act, I think. They didn’t know how to help, so they just didn’t try. So, suddenly I was no longer a soccer player, and I was alone, and…” you sigh. Oscar turns to face you, and he thinks there are tears in your eyes. “And then I met Lando, and the rest of the team, and the rest is history. But… there are some things that still get to me. The field… it holds a lot of bad memories, you know? And when I’m stressed like this it all comes flooding back.”

He nods. You’re not looking at him, even as he watches a tear roll down your cheek. He wants to reach out and wipe it away, but he wonders if that would be a step too far. He pulls his hands from his pockets. You swipe a hand against your cheeks and clear the tears, and then let your own hands hang at your sides. He takes a steadying breath, steels himself, and links his fingers with yours- casually, lightly, gently holding on. You squeeze his hand in reply- a thank you, he thinks. He does the same in return.

“Did Max tell you why I left my old school?” He asks, quietly.

“No,” you answer, voice low and tentative. “Max doesn’t tell people stuff like that.”

He shrugs, though he supposes that makes sense- he’d refused to tell Oscar what had happened to you. Max seems loyal like that. Oscar rolls a pebble beneath his shoe and listens to your breathing to remind himself you’re still there. He wants you to know this. Wants to share. Wants you to know he understands, at least a little bit.

“I got scouted by them my senior year,” he starts, closing his eyes. Like this, he’s almost right back in it. “And I was really excited. And then I got there and… the guys on the team were awful. I didn’t get any playing time, and they’d all been friends since they were kids, and I felt like such an outsider.” He kicks the pebble down the path lightly. “By the time my sophomore year rolled around, I hated it. I hated hockey. I’d spent my whole life doing nothing but that but I dreaded every practice. I was…”

He huffs. Squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He can feel the hits from his own teammates at practice. Can feel that same empty, lonely feeling sitting at the end of the bench. He can taste the blood in his mouth when he tried to stand up for himself and the team captain shoved him and the coach did nothing.

“It was fucked,” he says. He hates the way his voice wobbles. “So I quit. I walked out. I was done with hockey. I couldn’t even go near the rink for months.”

“But you’re here now,” you say, quietly.

He nods sharply. “I had this old coach- his name’s Mark. Showed up on his doorstep and told him the whole thing. He and Seb used to be teammates. So he got me a tryout. I refused, at first. And then Seb sent Max to come talk to me.”

He remembers that, clear as day, too. Max, bright and smiling, at his dorm room door. He knew who Max was, he had looked up to him for years. Max had walked in, planted himself on the floor in the room, and hadn’t left until Oscar changed his mind.

“I spent the summer training back home. Found my love for it again,” he explains. “But it wasn’t easy. I think I’m still working on it, sometimes.”

You hum next to him. You squeeze his hand again. His breath hitches. Your skin is warm against his. It makes his chest ache. He hadn’t known who he was without his sport. He thinks maybe you know that feeling better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says into the night air. “And I know you must’ve heard it a billion times, and that I don’t really understand what it’s like to have it taken away like that. But…”

“But you get it,” you say, voice rough around the edges. “The lonely feeling.”

He nods and swallows against the lump in his throat. “And thank you. For making things less lonely here.”

“I’m sorry if I was too much,” you answer.

He just shakes his head. “I’m sorry I was so… stuck.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, before you squeeze his hand again. “Come on, let’s go on a walk.”

You knit your fingers with his, properly, and Oscar expects you to start down the sidewalk again. You don’t. Instead, your feet carry you down the path through the park. He understands now, that this place must hold awful memories. Reminders of what was supposed to be, what was taken away. You’re trusting him with this. It sits heavy on his shoulders.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask more questions. When you walk past the soccer field, he turns to sneak a glance at your face. There’s sadness in your eyes, but a smile on your lips. There’s a strength, there, too, that he finds starkly beautiful. You hold onto him tightly, and together, you make it through the park, all the way to your apartment.

He leaves you at the door with a quiet goodnight and a promise to see each other the next day for the regular study session. The exam is on Tuesday, so it’ll be his last excuse to spend time with you like that. He walks home in silence, through the park, and tries not to stare at the soccer goal. That night, he dreams of soccer fields and hockey rinks and you.

…..

When Oscar gets home just before your normal study time the next day, there’s music pouring out of the front door before he even opens it. It’s louder once he does. The house seems mostly empty, but someone is either having a very good or very bad day. He wavers in the doorway, wondering if he should call you. He’s still there when you walk in behind him, bumping into his shoulder. He turns to look at you, eyes wide. Yours are even wider.

“I don’t think we can study here,” he says, frowning.

You shake your head. “We can go to my place.”

So he packs up his things into his backpack, avoiding whatever is going on in Charles’ room that has him causing permanent damage to his eardrums. Then the two of you take off down the street, towards your apartment. He slows only slightly at the turn for the park, waiting to see what you’ll do. You turn down the path through the park and loop your arm in his. He looks away in the hopes that you don’t see the smile that creeps across his face.

Your apartment is, honestly, exactly how he’d always pictured it. It’s soft and cozy and colorful. There’s a well loved, overstuffed couch in the living room, a little table in the kitchen, and so much stuff on the walls. Music posters, photos blown up big, and… collages. Some in frames, some tacked up with tape, scattered across the place. Perfect mixtures of magazine cutouts and pieces of paper and he swears he even spots a dried flower on one.

“Wow,” he says, studying the one that hangs over the couch. “These are so cool.”

You’re in the kitchen, grabbing a snack, and you turn over your shoulder. “Oh. Thanks. I made a lot of them when I was injured. I had nothing better to do, yknow?”

He sees a chunk of an x-ray in the corner of the piece, and his heart twists. You walk up next to him, shoulder to shoulder. When he looks at you, you’re smiling softly. He likes that look on your face. He wants to keep it there, and suddenly he dreads studying physics because he knows how stressed you’re going to be.

“We’ll have to make some sometime,” you say, nudging your elbow against his. “There’s a billion hockey magazines in a closet at your house.”

“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body,” he says.

You laugh. “That’s the fun of collages. You don’t have to.”

He settles in on one end of the couch, and you settle into the other. The soft light of the lamp in the living room makes it feel warm, the same way your hand in his had felt the day before. He tries so, so hard to focus on physics. It’s just… he’s in your apartment, and you’re there, knees curled to your chest, brow furrowed in concentration, and… something about this feels so soft.

He clears his throat, opens his textbook, and flips to the review questions. “Alright. Ready?”

The two of you study for hours. Oscar doesn’t know when it happens, but at some point you move closer, so you can look off the same textbook. Physics terms and formulas and theories rattle around in his brain, all wrapped up with thoughts of you. The sun goes down, and the windows to the outside grow dark. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay right here.

“My brain is full,” you mumble, between a yawn.

You drop your head against his shoulder, and his heart pounds in his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he knows it. You’re just tired, that’s all.

He nods in agreement. “Mine too. I can go home. We should get a good night’s sleep.”

You nod against his shoulder and then make no move to pull away. “In a minute,” you say. “Your arm is comfy.”

Butterflies- actual, real life butterflies, he swears it- swirl in his stomach. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s seen you fall asleep on Charles’ shoulder during movie nights, watched you curl up on Max’s bed and take a nap while everyone around you talked. He’s just another friend, another shoulder to lean on. This doesn’t mean anything, and besides, it shouldn’t mean anything, so why is his stomach swirling with butterflies, and why does his face feel hot?

When you finally pull away and help him pack up his things, he hopes you can’t tell how he’s feeling. You walk him to the door and wait for him to put on his shoes and jacket. It’s just so you can lock it behind him, he knows. But then you reach up and smooth the hair from his forehead and laugh, and his chest aches fiercely, and god, he could kiss you- not even really kiss you, just on the forehead or the cheek would do. He says goodnight instead and steps out into the hallway, then makes his feet carry him down the stairs and out to the sidewalk.

He walks past the soccer field and finds himself hoping that maybe you felt it too.

He gets up early the next morning and finds Max in the kitchen with coffee ready to go. He grabs two travel mugs- his, and yours. Max raises an eyebrow as he spreads cream cheese on a bagel. Oscar does the same in response.

“You were out late last night,” Max says, eyeing him.

He doesn’t bother asking how Max knows when he got back. He feels like it’s written plainly all over his face. He can feel the weight of you against his shoulder. Can feel your hand brushing his hair from his face. Can feel how much he wants to lean in. Max must see it.

“I was studying,” he says, carefully.

“With Bunny,” Max suggests, and Oscar nods. “But not here.”

“No, we got here and Charles was blasting music,” Oscar explains. “So we went to her place.”

“He failed an exam,” Max says, face scrunched up. “Well. He assumes he did. You know Charles.”

Oscar nods. Max is staring at him as he pours hot coffee into mugs. He’s not sure what the team captain is looking for, but he hopes he doesn’t find it.

“She told you,” he says, quietly, and Oscar looks up from the mugs, nearly spilling coffee all over.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Max nods and finally turns back to his bagel. “Good.”

That’s that, then. He puts the lids on the coffee, and Max sends him out the door with two bagels- one for him, one for you. He almost feels like he’s passed some sort of test when Max gives him a sharp nod as he turns to leave, but he’s not sure which test it would even be.

He finds you in the lobby before the exam, hands off the coffee and the bagel and tells you he knows you’re going to do well. You smile brightly at him, and he swears it lights up the whole building.

“We’ve got this,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “And if we don’t, we’ll retake it together.”

He nods in agreement. The two of you sit on a bench and eat your bagels and drink your coffee. Oscar wishes he could attribute the warmth in his belly to the drink, but he’s pretty sure it has more to do with the way you smile up at him and the weight of your shoulder against his. Either way, it sends him into the exam with a good feeling, and that’s really all he can ask for.

…..

Oscar finds himself feeling sad when the holiday break rolls around this year. It’s a weird feeling. For years, he’s looked forward to December for this reason. The exams are over, he gets time off from school, a chance to go home or have his family visit, and a break from everything. He realizes, as he’s staring up at the ceiling, listening to Lando lugging a suitcase around, that he’s going to miss his friends when they leave for the break. It’s been two years since the last time he called his teammates friends.

He drags himself out of bed and into the hallway, because if Lando’s leaving, he wants to say goodbye. And sure enough, there he is, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and taking an enormous suitcase down the stairs one step at a time. Oscar spots you on the ground floor, watching in amusement, and he waves at you.

“Morning, Oscar,” you call out. “Ready for the break?”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Yeah.”

You raise your brows. “That was convincing,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your lips.

He bites back a laugh, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of having called him out. “It’ll be nice to see my family. Just weird to have everyone gone, yknow?”

Lando, who’s made it down three stairs, turns to look at him. “Aw, he’s gonna miss us!” He coos, and Oscar feels his face go red.

Before he can jump to his own defense or try to come up with something to tease Lando about, you speak up from the bottom of the steps.

“Yeah, and we’re gonna miss him, Lando,” you say, shaking your head. “Jesus. Oscar, would you just shove him and the giant suitcase down the steps?”

Oscar’s trying not to dwell on you saying you’ll miss him, too. It shouldn’t affect him nearly as much as it does right now. It makes his stomach twist. He keeps the smile plastered on his face and forces a laugh, and Lando glares at him as menacingly as Lando can glare at anyone. He brushes off the feeling and grabs the side handle of Lando’s suitcase, then helps him lug it down the stairs. Lando shoots him a smile to replace the glare as they get it to the bottom floor. Then he pats him on the shoulder and ruffles his hair. Oscar winces.

“Bye, Piastri,” he says, grinning. “Have a good break.”

He pulls the giant suitcase towards the front door. You stay standing there, even as Lando steps outside and sighs at the sight of the front steps. Oscar steps off the staircase and lands near you, arms swinging at his sides.

“You’re staying here all break, right?” You ask.

He nods. “My family will be here Monday, though.”

“Nice,” you say, smiling wide. “Well. I bought more TimTams and Vegemite, so they should feel right at home.”

Warmth bubbles up in Oscar’s chest. “Thanks.”

You nod. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, and he wonders if you’re holding your breath, too. You shift back and forth on your feet, and then before he knows it, you’re against his chest, arms around him. He barely has time to hug you back before you pull away, and that’s the only bad part about it. He would hold you forever, if he could, he thinks. And honestly, that’s terrifying.

You pull away, and he hopes you don’t notice how red his cheeks are. “Bye, Oscar,” you say, almost shyly.

“Bye, Bunny,” he says back.

Lando calls your name from the front door, and you scurry off. He sighs. He swears he can still smell your shampoo, and then hates himself for knowing what your shampoo even smells like. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and turns back towards the stairs, ready to head back to his room, crawl back into bed, and go back to sleep. He jumps in shock when he finds Alex and George standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing.

“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Alex,” George says.

“Quite interesting, I’d say,” Alex nods, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

Oscar rolls his eyes and takes the stairs two at a time. “You guys are creepy.”

They both just laugh as Oscar pushes past them and into his room. He shuts the door behind him, flops down onto the bed face first, and closes his eyes. Outside, he hears Logan’s car start up- the guy really needs to get the thing fixed, it’s loud as hell, but at least it still runs. He closes his eyes and reminds himself that it’ll only be a few weeks until you’re back in town. Then he wonders when having you around became so important to him. He rolls over, buries his face in the pillow, and goes to sleep.

notes: a lil osc pov!! thank you for reading! check out the winter break blurb, or find part 4 here!

tags: to be added or removed just let me know!! crossed out names were unable to be tagged- if it’s yours, shoot me a message!

main taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @verstoppenheimer @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @coolmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @avg-golden-retriever @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofswordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom

489 notes · View notes

a-is-away · 21 days

Text

eight step guide on how to study (as a third year pre-med student with ADHD and a 4.0)

welcome to my step by step guide on how to study. i have a love-hate relationship with studying, but this is what works to get me going. getting started is the hardest part, i promise.

step one: prep your space. get a glass of water or coffee or energy drink and make sure you have everything you need out and ready. throw your phone across the room or just put it out of sight. you will forget that other fun things exist (like tik tok) if you cannot see it. out of sight, out of mind.

step two: sit at your desk (or table or a general designated study space with a chair). studying in bed never works like you think it will and studying on the floor (while enriching) will do nothing but hurt your back from hunching over. sitting at your desk makes you feel much more productive (most of my study sessions start by just forcing myself to sit in my chair).

step three: put some music or ambience on. if i need to use my brain more i'll opt for some fantasy-themed forest ambience or sci-fi droning sounds. your brain is tricked into thinking that you're having fun if music is on, but plot twist! you're actually being productive. music i turn to is soft piano, video game soundtracks (genshin, undertale, minecraft, stardew valley) or lofi, but your mileage may vary. DO NOT do music with words unless you want to be distracted.

step four: make a list of need-to-dos and rank them based on priority and time. start by doing an activity that will take a short amount of time. by completing a short to-do, it builds the motivation to keep going.

step five: start a study timer. i bought a physical study timer that is so satisfying to wind and set and watch the time tick by, but a desktop one works just fine. set your timer based on how much energy you have. some days i go for 60 minutes, some days i do 25, it all just depends. as a study session goes on, it's normal for your amount of energy to go down. i may do 60-45-30-20 then take a long break. know thyself and thine needs!

step six: lock in. do not think about what you are doing, simply do it. do it before your brain has the chance to convince you it doesn't like what you're doing.

step seven: take regular, controlled, and useful breaks. do not start an activity on your break that will break your flow. walk around, stretch, check your phone, refill your drink, have a snack. reward yourself! you're doing great, i promise.

step eight: long break. do something that will rest your mind. maybe watch youtube, eat a meal, play a video game, read a few chapters of a book. be proud of the work you've accomplished.

i hope this helps! happy studying!

#study motivation #studyspo #study blog #studying #study aesthetic #studyblr #do your homework #motivation

359 notes · View notes

persevereforahappyending · 6 months

Text

This isn't Your Fault (Stab)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “You all know it,” she sighed, making her way across the room to stand by the light switch. “We will be watching Stab.” She hit the lights.

Warnings: Panic attack, mentions of stabbing

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Tara pushed open the door to her Film History class. School work was starting to catch up with her, but she was looking forward to class. It was a movie watching day and Tara just wanted to sit next to you, stress free and watch a movie. Film History had quickly become her favorite class and it was all thanks to you. When she looked at the rows of seats she saw you already there, sitting with your headphones on as you waited for her. She smiled to herself before making her way to the seat right beside you. As soon as she sat her bag down you slipped your headphones around your neck.

On your guy’s third date you had told Tara that she should appreciate how much you clearly like her since you take your headphones off for her. She had rolled her eyes and slapped you on the arm. Tara couldn’t help it, even though she had only known you for a short time she loved talking to you, your voice brought her a comfort that she hadn’t felt in a long time, a comfort none of her friends or even Sam could bring her.

You leaned back in your chair, staring ahead as the professor walked in, pulling the projector down. You didn’t glance at Tara, didn’t even say hi to her. Your hand moved from resting on top of the desk to at your side. Tara glanced down, seeing your open palm turned towards her, she covered a smile with her hand as she used the other to slip into yours. You had only been dating a month and Tara wasn’t ready for anyone to know about the two of you yet, she knew it probably wasn’t easy for you, but you still managed to be there for her. You always showed her affection in the most subtle ways, even just simply holding her hand under the table all through class.

After your first date Tara had come into class in the best mood and it only got better when she saw you sitting in the seat beside the one she had been sitting in regularly. She hadn’t asked you to switch seats, she wasn’t sure if you would or if that would be to suspicious, but it seemed you already made the decision for her. She had smiled and said a simple hello to you that time which you quietly returned and just as you had done today and every day before, you had held out your hand under the desk, offering it to her if she wished. She had hesitated for half a second that first time but once she slipped her hand into yours, she had never regretted it. She wished you were in her other classes, so she didn’t have to stop holding your hand.

“Alright everybody,” the professor announced, getting everyone’s attention. She was standing at the center of the room in front of the projector. “Though this is not my favorite movie it is relevant to film history, specifically horror films.”

Tara perked up, she felt you tense. Tara glanced at you out of the side of her eye, she saw your body totally rigid, your eyes never left the front of the room. Tara gave your hand a tight squeeze, watching as you slowly relaxed. She might be excited about the prospect of watching a horror movie in class, but you definitely weren’t. She was already thinking of places she could take you after class, something that might get your mind off whatever scary movie that was about to be played.

“It’s based off a book,” the professor went on. “And a real-life crime.” Tara’s blood went cold, it was her turn to not have her eyes leave the front of the room. She could feel the sweat already coating her palms. She knew what the movie was before it even left her professor’s lips. “You all know it,” she sighed, making her way across the room to stand by the light switch. “We will be watching Stab.” She hit the lights.

Tara slowly pulled her hand away from yours, rubbing it up and down on her jeans, trying to wipe away the sweat. Tara flexed her hand, her scar suddenly becoming painful. She flinched when she felt your hand rest on hers. You gently began rubbing your thumb over her scar, slowly easing the ache that had started. Tara focused on her breathing, taking slow deep breaths, she really didn’t want to have to use her inhaler.

The screen was black, the movie title flashed on the screen, then the phone started ringing. Tara clawed at her pants, you slowly unclenched her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers once they were free. You squeezed her hand tight, allowing her to find comfort in your grip, in knowing you were right there. She was in class, you were right beside her, and this was just a movie.

Tara had never cared for Stab; she’d only seen it like once. Despite Mindy and Chad being related to one of the survivors of the original killings then a victim of round two, she never saw the appeal of the movies. During her phone call with the killer last year, she actually talked about how much she didn’t like them and how she didn’t find them very scary. That all changed after her own attack, the unknown killer, the white mask, eyes that were like staring into a black abyss, it was all funny until she experienced it firsthand.

Tara hadn’t read Gale’s books, any of her books. She tried to read the one she just released, telling the story of last year’s attack but it just pissed her off. She ended up throwing the book across the room, several times. She never got around to finishing it, she couldn’t stand how despite witnessing and experiencing the attack for herself and despite losing someone she claimed to love, she still wrote it in a way that painted Sam as crazy and potentially like Billy Loomis.

Tara tried doing research on the very first attack. She didn’t remember the movie super well and she knew they took some liberties, adding things to make it more Hollywood. Every time she looked up the original case though she couldn’t finish reading about it. She only got glimpses of some of the crime scene photos that had leaked or had been made public before she was slamming her laptop closed. The only thing Tara knew for sure was that Casey Becker’s murder was brutal and that had almost been Tara.

Tara watched the movie, watched the actress playing Casey Becker as she walked around her house, having fun as she talked to a mysterious voice on the phone. Tara shifted in her seat, she felt like everyone’s eyes were on her, when she looked around everyone was looking at the screen. The only person watching her was you, she saw your head turned slightly turned to the side so you could see her but making it, so it wasn’t obvious to others. She tried giving you a smile but based on the way you squeezed her hand again you clearly knew it was forced.

Tara tried to make it through the movie. She really did. The second Ghostface appeared on the screen though she was out of her seat and already out the door. She ran down the hall, bursting through the large doors so that she was outside. Her breathing was ragged, she was starting to gasp for breath. Tara stumbled down the few stairs, moving to the side of the building until her back was resting against the cool stone.

She fiddled with her pocket, searching for her inhaler. She started gasping more the longer she couldn’t find it. She jumped when she felt hands grasping her shoulders. Despite her clear struggle to breath her eyes landed on you. You were standing in front of her, hands grasping both her shoulders as you looked at her with nothing but worry. She saw your lips moving but wasn’t hearing what you were saying, to busy struggling to catch her breath. She saw you hold up a white object, as it slowly came into focus, she realized it was her inhaler. With shaky hands she reached up, taking it from you and quickly brought it to her mouth, taking a puff.

She ended up taking another puff before her breathing calmed down enough for her to finish getting it under control. Everything slowly came back into focus, you were still in front of her, still resting your hands on her shoulders, her back still pressed up against the building. Her eyes looked over her surroundings, seeing students walking through the quad but no one paying her any mind.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

Tara didn’t trust her voice, she could only nod. You nodded as well, loosening your grip on her shoulders before letting go completely.

“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered, her breathing still not fully back to normal.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Tara wanted to disagree. She had interrupted class, she had made you leave class, all because she couldn’t sit through a stupid horror movie. Deep down she knew you didn’t mind. You were at her side within seconds meaning you were right behind her; you were probably out of your seat the second you realized she was moving. She also knew you didn’t like scary movies so the fact that she basically had a panic attack gave you a really good excuse to not have to watch it.

“Want to get out of here?” you asked.

“Class…”

“The professor will understand.” You reached up, brushing the few strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “They never should have shown that stupid movie.”

“It’s part of the curriculum,” Tara mumbled. “They can’t change it just because they got stuck with me in that class.”

“Okay, I’d hardly call Stab worthy of being in Film History,” you rolled your eyes.

“It’s a rather iconic horror film.” Tara hated to admit it, but Stab had always been popular, ever since the first movie released. Stab had a fanbase, an insane fanbase, but a fanbase like no other horror movie. Even if there were better horror movies, horror movies that did more for the genre, she had to admit that Stab held a place in the genre, it was iconic, it influenced so many future slashers.

“It’s nothing special,” you scoffed. “It’s not like Alien or Predator.”

Tara couldn’t help but snort at your examples, letting out a small laugh in the process. “Alien and Predator? I thought you hated horror. Yet you think those are more iconic?”

“Hell yeah!” you stepped back from her so you could gesture widely. “Both of those are iconic! Also,” you held up a finger getting serious. “They aren’t horror movies.”

“Yes,” Tara chuckled, looking at you like you were crazy. “They are.”

“No, they’re not,” you argued right back.

“Yes, they are!”

“No, they’re not!”

“How are they not?”

“How are they?”

“They’re scary!” Tara threw her hands in the air, shaking her head at your ridiculousness.

“No, they aren’t!”

“You’re telling me Alien isn’t scary?” she scoffed.

“Well, sure the aliens are scary but it’s not a scary movie.”

Tara laughed at your logic. “Then what is it?”

“It’s sci-fi,” you shook your head like it was obvious, giving her a look like she was the crazy one. “Just like Predator is.”

“It’s sci-fi horror.”

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s sci-fi. They’re both action movies. No horror.”

“So, you’ll watch a sci-fi horror movie because it’s not actually horror?”

You tilted your head back, looking up at the sky as you bobbed it back and forth, seeming to give the question a lot of thought. “Correct,” you settled on with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” she sighed, a soft smile never leaving her face.

“Maybe,” you smirked. “But it got you to smile.” You grabbed her hand and began swinging your arms back and forth.

Tara tried to glare at you, putting on a frown but she couldn’t stop her smiling. You had effectively managed to distract her and forget all about why she had been upset by starting an argument with her about horror movies. You smiled wide at her unable to be mad at you, making her lightly punch you in the shoulder. She didn’t allow you to let go of her hand as she pushed off the wall and began walking away from the building.

“Want to ditch the rest of your classes?” you asked. You still kept your playfulness, continuing to swing your intertwined hands back and forth but she didn’t miss the sincerity in your question, the worry.

“And do what?” she asked, leaning closer so she could rest her head on your shoulder as the two of you walked.

“Come back to my place?” you glanced at her. She watched as you nervously fiddled with your shirt. Even after dating for a month, you still got nervous around her. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, she had never been to your place before. “Or not!” you said quickly. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that actually.”

“Really? Are you sure?” she nodded. “Great! We can watch Alien and Predator and I can show you why they’re not horror movies.”

She rolled her eyes, even though it was an argument to distract her of course you’d find a way to bring it up again. When you felt strongly about something, which clearly you did about this, you always wanted to prove how right you were. Tara pretended to be annoyed by it, but it was honestly adorable how excited you’d get and how obsessed you’d get at proving yourself right. Not that Tara was much better, when she felt a certain way, she definitely did everything to show you how right she was.

Tara stayed close to you as she followed you onto the subway and then down the street to your house. She looked around, noticing you lived in a relatively nice neighborhood. She knew your dad was in the military and your mom was a traveling nurse. They managed to afford a nice home despite never being home, you only ever said great things about them though. The other week you had mentioned that your mom was back in the states, but she wasn’t in New York at the moment, meaning the two of you had the house all to yourselves.

When Tara entered your home, she took note of how clean it looked. If any of her friends had been left home alone as much as you did the house would be trashed and they’d have parties like every weekend. That wasn’t you though, you hated parties and if she were to guess you barely left your room when home, even if you were alone. She let you drag her up the stairs and to your room. You hesitated, smiling shyly at her before opening the door to your bedroom.

You held the door open, allowing Tara to walk in first. She looked around, this being the first time she’d ever seen your room. You had a bed that wasn’t made, she turned to you giving you a knowing look and you just dropped your head and rubbed the back of your neck. You had a gaming chair set up in front of your large TV. You had a desk on the left wall, with three different monitors set up, she noticed headphones resting near the keyboard, a mixing board, and a bunch of audio stuff she was sure she’d never be able to memorize. She strolled over to the shelf next to your desk, noticing a little table that had a record player sitting atop it, the shelves below stuffed with vinyl records.

“A record player?” she questioned, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

You stepped into your room, making your way to stand at her side. “Yeah,” you said shyly. “You don’t get a sound like that with anything else.”

“What do you listen to?” she got down already flipping through your records before you could answer. She noticed a common theme throughout the records, they were all soundtracks, some for movies but most of them for videogames. “Of course,” she chuckled.

You shrugged and helped her back to her feet. “Shall we watch the movies?” she nodded.

You quickly got to work, pushing the gaming chair out of the way, and grabbing a bunch of pillows and blankets. You tossed everything on the floor in front of the bed and began setting the pillows against the bed frame. When you were all done you gestured for Tara to take a seat, which she happily did. You moved to a shelf by your TV and began running your finger over the DVD cases until you found what you were looking for.

You spun around holding up two DVD’s, one for Alien and the other for Predator. “DVD’s seriously?” she asked you.

“Shut up,” you pouted. “I like the physical editions.” She rolled her eyes. “Which do you want to watch first?”

“Which ever one you want.”

“Predator it is,” you quickly turned around, popping the DVD into your PlayStation.

Once the DVD was in you grabbed the controller and quickly ran to the pile of blankets, plopping yourself down, right next to Tara. You flung a blanket over the both of you, hitting play when the title screen popped up and swung your arm around Tara. Tara looked at you, watching the small smile on your face as your eye never left the screen. She shifted her body closer until she was pressed up against you, your arm around her pulling her tighter into your side. She placed a quick peck on your cheek before resting her head on your shoulder, snuggling as close as she could get to you.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @youralphawolf72

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #this isn't your fault #tara carpenter x fem reader

341 notes · View notes

hyperfixat · 2 months

Text

part three wooowooo this is like. half rushed. urgh. i want to get to the good part already but that can’t happen until i establish a world that it can happen in. she is a bit short this time around, uh i don’t have an excuse, bcs this is probably my least fav location/character bunch ☹️ i still like them but its a bit flat whatever just read it if u want

shortest chap. yet… 2.5k> words… [melts] on the bright side this ‘book’ or ‘series of events’ ..whatever has over 10k words now!!

< prev .. next >

** Written

** Written PRE 1.6 – Any mentions of new characters is pure speculation and or headcanons.

“I guess we have to talk to Ms Herta now,” Caelus sighs.

Part of you wonders why Caelus is so intimidated by Herta’s puppets. Maybe he has Pediophobia or something? The other part of you is intimidated at the prospect of meeting the eighty-third member of the Genius Society.

“I’m sure Herta will provide us with valuable insight regarding,” Welt says your name, “situation.”

Dan Heng has his nose buried into his phone screen, the dim light from the screen lights his face up, highlighting the planes as his eyes flicker from side to side as he reads. March slides into the spot next to him and you, grabbing for the half full coffee pot at the table.

“Ugh, how long till the warp jump?” March’s voice is grouchy as she stirs in a pod of creamer to her cute Pompom mug. She sways in her spot a little and her hand pauses for a second before she comes back to herself.

Dan Heng doesn’t look up, “two hours.” March lets out a dramatically anguished moan.

You had spent the night in Himeko’s room, it’s cozy and elegant like a hotel room. It’s the best way you think to describe it; beautifully decorated and clean, yet lived in. She let you share the bed with her and borrow a night shirt – after the day on the Lofou your lack of clothes was quite distressing. You were stinky and smelly from a busy day, and in desperate need of a shower and Himeko was your saving grace.

The ship stopping at Herta’s Space Station is useful regarding your (lack of) clothes, seeing as there should be plenty of regulation uniforms for you to wear until you accumulate a wardrobe of your own. (Luckily Caelus being an androgynous inhuman, somewhat recently synthesized being had a clean pack of proper undergarments for you to have.)

You had taken your retreat from Himeko’s room when she started brewing her (in)famous coffee.

Caelus puts their head in their hands, fingertips grasping at the gray strands loosely.

“Why are you so… scared, intimidated by Herta?” you breach their stupor, making them offer you a weak smile.

“I’m not scared of her per say, but she can be so brash, and I never know if I’m talking to an active puppet,” they sigh, “seriously she has so many puppets all over the station that it’s creepy like one per room. She does not need that many. It’s just that she’s hard to deal with sometimes, all geniuses are I’m told.”

Taking a deep gulp from her mug, March smacks her lips, “with you with us, I’m sure Herta will give us the time of day.” She smiles at you, still sleepy.

You aren’t sure what to make of Herta Space Station when the Astral Express arrives, the tracks are almost deserted save for a few spare workers. March hooks her arm around yours as your group traverses the grand place. There are some nearly deserted hallways that echo your footsteps, where the lights flicker and the only sound is your collective’s walking; just as there are some that are beyond packed, making you shrink into the center of the group, away from all the new sounds, scents, and people.

Sometimes you come across a Herta doll, prompting one of you to walk up and attempt to initiate a conversation with her, before walking off when she doesn’t react, idly staring blankly. It gives you the time to appreciate the craftsmanship Ms Herta put into the puppets. Their eyes are unlike any dolleyes that you saw on Earth, the glassy sheen over them glowing faintly. The joints look sturdy, as in some of the crowded rooms you saw some staff bump into her with decent force, making no movement from the collision.

“I guess we go to the room for the Simulated Universe testing,” Caelus suggests.

“Sounds good,” Welt affirms.

You wonder why you aren’t using any waypoints, maybe it was simply a game mechanic? You did see a Space Anchor when you were getting off the train….

The guards see Caelus approaching and tap on their wristbands simultaneously and the door’s to the testing room open up.

Herta’s eyes track over you and the other passengers, “I take it you’re not here to test the Simulated Universe?”

“No, not right now. Actually we came here because we thought you might be able to provide some insight to our situation right now. Besides, it concerns you as well.”

“Oh, and your strange guest? I take it they’re the center of this situation.” Herta stares straight into your soul with those doll eyes, making you shift behind Welt a little further. “Get on with it, don’t waste my time.”

“Wait!” March jumps in, “we need to gather a few more people!”

Herta sighs and her doll does an almost eye roll. “I’ll be here, or just get whatever doll is closest.” She sounds exasperated.

Asta is the easiest to find, not too far from Herta’s testing room. She’s standing where you usually find her in-game, looking at her phone, texting someone. She looks up when your group approaches her, giving you all an inviting smile.

“Hey there, trailblazers! Anything I can help you with?”

Her hair is really pretty, you note, the braid is tight against her scalp and it looks like she puts a lot of care into maintaining her look. You decide to subtly move away from the back of the group to stand next to Dan Heng and Caelus as they talk to her, explaining that she should follow them for an important meeting.

“Oh, and who’s this? I don’t think we’ve met before. Hi, I’m Asta, lead researcher here at the Herta Space Station.” Asta thrusts her hand forward for you to take, you do, introducing yourself in turn. “It’s lovely to meet you. Will you be a part of this meeting as well?”

“They will.” Dan Heng nods, corralling Asta into your party to head off to search for the next and final person, Arlan. “Do you know where Arlan is right now Ms Asta, he’s the last one that will be joining us.”

“Hm, I think he was talking with Adler, something about a missing Wubbaboo?”

“That kid…,” Caelus mutters under his breath, though it sounds more fond than annoyed, like one would talk about an annoying little sibling.

It takes a while to catch Arlan, you all find him coming out of the elevator on the second layer of the storage zone, close to where you first arrived. You convince him to join you and set off to look for one of Herta’s puppets to talk to.

“Hello? Helloooo?” March 7th waves her hand back and forth in front of the doll’s face and huffs when it doesn't react. Just when she's about to give up the doll jolts and Herta’s voice comes out of the voice box.

“I’m here. I’m here, what is it?”

“Asta, Arlan, you might want to sit down,” Dan Heng suggests kindly. “It might be a bit shocking.”

“Hm?” Asta tilts her head, eyes carefully decoding the emotion on his face, before taking the initiative to lean against the wall.

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you~!” March laughs, before Welt and Himeko bring the proper air of authority to the situation and begin helping you explain that they’re video game characters, you don’t belong here, and may need their help to get back home. At some point Herta’s doll stops its idle motions, but the light behind the eyes shows she’s still there, listening.

Arlan desperately looks at Asta, then you, then Caelus, as if at any moment you’ll all start laughing about how he definitely believed you for a moment. When that moment doesn’t come he takes a place with his back against the wall next to his pink haired superior.

There’s a block of quiet as they all process the bomb you’ve dropped on them, before Herta cuts into it, saying your name. “I’d like to speak with you, in person. Not now, I’ll have Caelus schedule it, but I may be able to offer some… wisdom.”

“Oh, that’s much appreciated, Ms Herta. Thank you,” you nod at her.

“Don’t be thanking me yet,” and at the mildly ominous words she promptly goes offline.

Hm. That’s not exactly reassuring, but it could always have been worse.

With the whole conversation thing done and dusted for everyone on the spaceship, you take a lone walk, breathing in the somewhat stuffy air, searching for any inner wisdom that could come from time alone without distraction.

Your mind doesn’t provide much thought, though being alone with yourself after so many eventful moments – spanning so close together too, gosh – is therapeutic in of itself. Only when it begins to get to the point of eerily quiet in the part of the station you’d wandered into does a small ‘yip’ sound at the end of the hall from whence you came. Spinning on your heel you spot a small, white and awfully cute dog.

Peppy!

You gasp in elation, kneeling where you stand and holding out your hand hoping the dog will come trotting over to greet you, it does, to your excitement, letting out another woof before following through.

“Hello there, little guy,” you coo at the dog, smiling as it yips happily at your soft touch.

Distantly echoing you here what you think is Arlan’s voice echoing down the halls, he sounds far. You lift your gaze away from Peppy as another echoing call arrives.

“Peppy!” you lift your eyebrow at the dog, giving it a skeptical look, almost as if it knows what you’re attempting to portray it averts it’s gaze, eyes flicking to the side.

An out-of-breath Arlan comes speeding down the hall, only stopping upon seeing you and the target he was searching for.

“There you are, Peppy. Lady Asta was looking all over for you,” he scolds the dog gently. “Sorry about this…” Arlan talks to you, bending in front of you to pick up the fluffy dog. His hands almost disappear into Peppy’s coat when he picks the dog up. “I hope Peppy didn’t cause you any grief?”

“They’re a sweet thing,” you laugh, petting the dog in his arms. Arlan smiles at you, verbally expressing his agreement.

Herta Space Station was fun to explore, and by the time your body begins to feel the wear of the day you aren’t far from a Space Anchor… hmm, you wonder if you could utilize it to make the trip back to the express much easier.

You walk up to the geometric floating object and hesitate before placing a hand on the surprisingly cool ring of gold around it. There’s no one around to hear the sound of alarm you let out when your entire vision is taken over by a bird’s eye map of the station. Oh! It’s just like the game, relief fills you at that.

Now, all you need to do is: click on the Pompom waypoint that will take you to the express and… your vision then goes white and you feel your legs fall.

This time someone is around to hear the sound you make as you crash and tumble into the carpet of the Astral Express. That someone being Pompom. Well. At least you managed to teleport.

Speaking of Pompom they were watering some of the plants over by the passenger log, but when you came in they jump, falling to the ground themself, landing on their furry butt with a huff. “HEY! Don’t scare Pompom like that!”

“Sorry, sorry,” you clasp your hands into a steeple; as if praying for forgiveness. “I didn’t know what would happen:” a half truth, as you had your expectations.

They brush their clothes off and you help them to their feet. You yawn then, holding a hand over your mouth.

“Have any of the others returned yet?”

“No. Pompom has been waiting for the first arrival to start making lunch,” the shuffle their paws together in a way that is sure to look dignified and professional, but from your perspective looks adorable. “Speaking of, the first passenger to return sometimes offers to assist the conductor….”

You pick up what they are putting down, as the idiom goes. “I can help in that case!”

You assist Pompom in the train’s kitchen. For a creature like them they’re quite purposeful with their movements, not that you have any reference of how a creature like them would usually move. That is to say they’re good in the kitchen. The rabbit(thing?) wears the cutest little bonnet and gloves to avoid getting fur into the meal, and tasks you with some simple chores to prepare the meal.

Cooking with Pompom is overall a fun and positive experience, and luckily the rest of the crew arrive just in time to eat. You all sit down around the dining cart’s table to discuss the day’s events and your future plans.

“The station is very clean. I like it,” you start the small talk the best you can.

“Indeed, the staff are very diligent,” Dan Heng nods.

There’s the scrape of utensils against plates and March speaks up, “so Jarlio VI tomorrow?”

“That is the plan,” Welt affirms. “Unless,” his eyes glint under the overhead lighting as they meet yours, “there have been any last minute change of plans.”

“Nope, we should be set.” You nod, feeling warm under the older man’s gaze.

“Well then, that settles it, Jarlio VI is tomorrow’s destination. All this adventuring isn’t meant for someone my age…” his last sentence is quieter and followed by a heavy sigh.

Himeko covers up a giggle with a bite of food, and March looks at you with mirth in her eyes.

“Jarilo-VI, here we come!” She finally laughs, lifting her glass in a mimicry of a toast. The rest of the table joins in, lifting their cups as well.

Jarilo-VI, here we come.

tags (comment or leave an ask to join) : @leafanonsforest @c00kie-cat @andromeda-gay

#verified hyperfixat post #sahsrau #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #isekai #honkai star rail isekai #hsr isekai #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail fanfiction #herta space station #urgh #i hate having to tag posts bro #hsr #honkai star rail

160 notes · View notes

probably-writing-x · 9 months

Text

Figured Out

Summary: reader and conrad taking care of their kid ?

Authors Note: Thank y’all so much for the requests and the love recently. U da best

“Con why won’t she sleep?” You groan, patting the back of the baby in your arms, rocking her back and forth.

“We’ve tried everything. She’s changed, she’s fed,” Conrad runs a hand over his hair, “What else does she want?”

“Should I take her downstairs?” You ask him, “I could put her in the pram.”

“No, it’s still in the car,” He returns, blinking away the sleep in his eyes.

“It’s still in the car? Con I need it tomorrow before you go to work.”

“I know you do, I’ll get it out before my shift.”

“What if you forget?”

“I won’t forget.”

The baby in your arms stirs again and continues whinging in your arms, every so often letting out over-tired cries.

“Come on baby,” You rub her back as she buries against your chest.

Yours and Conrad’s daughter was now six months old, and she’d started the phase of sleep where she just … well, didn’t sleep. She’d sleep for an hour at most and then be waking up, with nothing seemingly relaxing her enough to go back to sleep.

“Come on honey,” You repeat again, laying her back across your arms as you rock her back and forth.

She looks up at you with blinking eyes that begin to slow down in the darkness of the room, until eventually she’s back to asleep in your arms.

“She’s asleep,” You whisper to Conrad, whose eyes open quickly as if he had just been on the cusp of sleep.

“Thank god,” He smiles tiredly, watching as you settle the baby into her bassinet beside yours and Conrad’s bed.

With every ounce of caution you can muster, you slide back into the bed beside your fiancé and rest down against the pillow.

“What are we doing wrong?” You whisper into the dark, turning your head to glance back at the baby’s bed, as if unsure if the peace would even last for more than two seconds.

Without any response, you hear the faint snores of Conrad from beside you, already collapsed into his own exhaustion. And, eventually, even with a thousand thoughts running through your own mind, you drift asleep too.

Until the next hour hits.

———

“Babe have you seen my keys?” Conrad calls to you, rushing through the house with one shoe still in his hand, kicking the other onto his foot.

“Table next to the couch,” You return quickly, flicking up the toaster before it burns and lathering it with a thin layer of butter.

“Got ‘em,” He announces, kicking his foot into the other shoe as he grabs his laptop bag from the floor, fixing his tie in the mirror.

“Here, take this,” You hand him two slices of toast on a paper plate.

Conrad grins and takes the food from you, holding it in his free hand as he bends down to kiss Ada goodbye, “Be a good girl for Mommy okay?”

She gargles up at him from her high chair and grabs her hands out to reach him as he rushes away.

“See you later, babe,” Conrad calls out to you as he disappears out of the door, shutting it a little too loudly behind him.

You look back to your daughter and she hits at the table clipped on in front of her chair.

“He used to kiss me before he left too,” You smile at her, “But I think you’re his favorite now.”

You’d been dating Conrad since the two of you were 18. And, now, you were 24 and engaged and parents to your daughter, Ada. He had a corporate job that earned you enough to pay for the upkeep on the Cousins house, and you were a writer - having published two books before you’d fallen pregnant. You were in the process, at the minute, of writing the third book of the series. But Ada kept you busy enough nowadays that it seemed you never had the time to catch up.

Though, with a face that cute, you knew you’d choose this every time.

Parenting hadn’t been easy on you and Conrad - the extra budgeting, extra responsibility, extra worry, lack of sleep - it all played a part. You weren’t the same couple that you were before you were parents, and you always knew that would be the case. But sometimes you missed the Conrad you had before. Nowadays, the two of you were always in such a rush. And, when you weren’t in a rush, you were both too exhausted.

“Is someone ready for breakfast?” You throw on a smile and look down at your daughter, carrying over the plate of baby food to start feeding her.

She giggles and hits at the chair, her feet kicking in excitement.

You’d always choose this, you’d always choose her.

———

“This is what I’m saying Frank we can’t keep sidestepping this,” Conrad’s voice comes through the door that shuts loudly behind him, “Well we need to get a team together and-“

You poke your head back to see him coming through the door, his shirt untucked and his tie now loose around his neck as he kicks his shoes off at the door.

“Then they need to-“ Conrad cuts himself off, “Yeah, okay, we’ll talk about this tomorrow. Bye.”

“Ada who’s home?” You look down at where she sat on the floor between your legs, both of you playing with her toys on the floor.

She claps her hands together as Conrad walks into the lounge, visibly relaxing when he sees her.

“Hello gorgeous,” He grins, lifting her up onto him, his arms around her, “Have you had a good day?”

You push yourself to stand up, “She had her breakfast but didn’t eat much lunch.”

“Okay, what did you give her?”

“A couple of those pouches, the spaghetti one is normally her favourite but she didn’t eat it,” You explain, dragging a hand through your tangled hair, “She had some snacks this afternoon though.”

He nods, “Well at least there’s something in that tummy,” He tickles at her belly and she giggles.

“We’ve got tacos for dinner, is that okay?” You ask him, “I can make something else if you don’t fancy-“

“Tacos is perfect,” He assures you.

You force a tired smile and go to walk towards the kitchen before his hand reaches out to stop you.

“I haven’t said hello,” He points out, shifting Ada onto his hip as he pulls you into him, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Hi,” You smile as he pulls away.

Conrad leans in once again and kisses your lips, a little more longingly, “And that’s for this morning too.”

You laugh and he wraps an arm around your waist, letting you lean into his chest.

For a moment, the three of you are content just like that. You can feel his heart in his chest and his arm around you do softly and the way his chin rests atop your head. Ada reaches out towards you with grabby hands and you take a deep breath, taking her out of his arms.

“Come on, let’s start your dinner,” You say to her, heading towards the kitchen, “Babe can you get her bottle?”

“I got it,” He calls back, following behind you.

You set Ada into her chair and turn around to heat up her food. Conrad carries in her cup and her teddy, wiggling it along the surface towards her to make her laugh.

He was always good at this. Coming back from work and just switching off, switching into Dad mode instantly.

“So how was work today?” You ask him, stirring a spoon around the food in her bowl, “That call didn’t sound too happy.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” He shakes his head, “Is Daddy’s office silly? Yeah?” He grins down at Ada and she hits her hands against his.

“What’s going on though?” You question again, checking the temperature of her food against your tongue.

“Honestly, it’s just stupid office stuff,” Conrad reassures you as you walk over to the two of them.

He places a hand on the small of your back and kisses your temple as you lean down to give her the bowl, pressing it down onto the high chair table.

“I can feed her this,” He says, “You go have five minutes to yourself.”

“No you don’t have to-“

“(Y/n),” Conrad cuts you off, “Give yourself a break.”

“I-“ You take a deep breath, “I’ll get started on our dinner.”

He laughs, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, Fisher, aren’t you hungry?”

“Starving.”

———

After bathing her, you set Ada down to sleep and come back downstairs.

Conrad’s changed into a tshirt and sweats and he’s laying across the length of the couch as you come into the lounge. You go to sit on the other couch before he reaches out a hand to stop you.

“Where are you going?” He mumbles, his eyes closed.

“To the-“

“Here,” He says tiredly, reaching out his arms so that you can lay on his chest.

You smile at the sight and move yourself to lay on top of him, letting his arms wrap tightly around you as your head rests on his chest.

“I’m so tired,” He mumbles against your hair, “Who knew having a baby would be this tiring?”

You hum in agreement, trailing patterns along the material of his t-shirt.

You turn your head and rest your hands on his chest, looking up at him, “Con.”

He tilts his head enough to look down at you.

“What’s going on at work?”

“(Y/n) honestly you don’t have to-“

“I know I don’t have to ask, but I want to.”

He takes a deep breath, moving his hands up and down your back, “I’ve got this big presentation on Friday. They want me to present the idea for this new project and it’s just a complete mess - we haven’t got a team together, they don’t want to give us a team, it’s this whole thing.”

You nod, watching the weight lift from his shoulders just a little.

“I just need to find the time to get it done,” He explains, “But I have all this other shit to do during the day, I just don’t have time.”

You wiggle yourself up just enough that you can reach his face, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He hums against the contact and leans into you.

“I’ll figure it out,” He assures you, brushing your hair from your face, “What about you? What’s on your mind?”

You take a deep breath, “I just-“

You stop yourself, looking at him for a moment longer.

“Do you ever think we have no idea what we’re doing with Ada? Like we’re just completely blind?”

He chuckles, “I think that’s what parenting is.”

“No but I mean,” You push yourself up a little on his chest and look at him more intently, “I just get so scared that we’re doing something wrong. It seems to come so easily to all the other Moms and then I just feel like I’m… not good enough.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” He shifts his hands to your upper arms, gripping them as if squeezing sense into you, “Where’s this coming from, darling?”

“I just-“

Before you can say anything, the monitor rings out with the sound of Ada stirring in her sleep, breaking into a cry.

“I’ll get her,” You say quickly, releasing yourself from him and standing up.

“(Y/n)…” He calls after you as you hurry up the stairs.

There are tears brimming in your eyes and a tremble in your hands, a numb awareness that you’d just admitted what you’d been keeping from him for months. You pick up Ada from her bed and soothe her back to sleep, rocking her back and forth to calm her until she eventually drifts back off, fatigue getting the better of her.

You walk through into the en-suite and brush your teeth, wash your face, make yourself feel a little more human. And, before your feet can even drag you downstairs, you sit down on the bed and feel your own tiredness coursing through you, draining you. You’re asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

———

When you wake up the next morning, you’re certain it’s the first night in forever that you’ve actually slept through the night.

A certain Mom panic fuels you as you bolt up to check Ada’s crib - finding it empty, along with the other half of your bed empty too.

You’re just about to worry when you hear the sound of music playing downstairs, your heart relaxing a little before you head down.

In the kitchen, Conrad has Ada in his arms, dancing back and forth with her to an old Green Day song. He hums along to the tune and she rests her head on his shoulder, nuzzling into him.

“Good morning!” Conrad grins when he sees you, where you’re leaning against the doorframe.

“What- uh- what happened last night? I don’t think I woke up once,” You stifle a yawn, blinking the sleep from your eyes.

“Nope, Mommy didn’t wake up, did she?” He tickles at Ada’s chest, “Daddy and Ada agreed that you needed some rest so we took the liberty of being very very good last night, we only woke up once, Daddy gave Ada a bottle and then we went back to sleep.”

“Con…” You trail off, the emotion hitting you just a little.

“We’ve had breakfast, we’ve changed, we’re good to go,” He explains, “There’s pancake mix on the stove if you fancy it, I can make some before I go to work.”

“Oh my god yeah, what time is it? Don’t you need to go?” You panic a little, standing up straight and reaching out to take Ada into your arms.

“(Y/n),” Conrad says softly, resting a hand on your waist, “I’ve got all the time in the world, don’t panic.”

You relax a little and frown at him, “You’ve got all that work to do though, and that important presentation and-“

“Hey,” He stops you again, “Nothing, and I mean nothing is more important than making sure that you’re okay. Do you understand?”

You reach up onto your tiptoes and kiss him quickly, watching as Ada reaches out for you and grabs you. You grin and take her into your arms.

“Alright, go to work Fisher,” You encourage, “I can hold down the fort here.”

He smiles at you and kisses you again, longingly, before rushing off to grab his things to leave.

You look back at your daughter, and again towards Conrad as he’s leaving. How could you be doing anything wrong when this felt so perfect?

———

That evening, Conrad gets back an hour late from work. You can tell he’s stressed as soon as he gets out of the car, but he steps through the front door and erases it all instantly.

“How are my girls doing?” He smiles when he sees you waiting for him, “Have you had a good day?”

“We have,” You return, “Ada’s got a surprise for you too.”

“A surprise?” He widens his eyes at her and she reaches out for him, “I love surprises.”

You walk him through to the dining room and tell him to take a seat. He sets Ada into her high chair and sits down at the table.

“Alright, now I know you’ve got this big presentation, and I know it’s not exactly going to plan right now and you don’t have the time to work on it,” You explain, “So, I thought we’d help you out.”

Conrad narrows his eyes at you as you lean back against the counter, “Are you going to hold me hostage until I get it done?”

“Something like that,” You smirk, reaching behind you and grabbing a wrapped burger, throwing it in his direction.

He catches it quickly, his eyes watching you in adoration.

“We ordered your favourite food, enough to feed like ten people, I’ll get your laptop, we’ll put some music on, we can put a film on, and by tonight that presentation will be perfect,” You explain, walking over with the full tray of the rest of the food and drinks.

“(Y/n) you didn’t have to-“

“I know,” You cut him off, “But you didn’t have to this morning either. We’re just helping each other.”

He smiles up at you and you lean down to kiss him quickly.

“And Ada, you’ve got something a bit less exciting than cheeseburgers,” You grimace, setting down her bowl of food to start feeding her.

She giggles and claps her hands together, reaching out for the spoon in your hand.

“(Y/n),” Conrad pauses as he takes a bite of his food, “I’d say we’re doing pretty good.”

“Do you think?” You fight back a smile as you turn back to him.

He hums in agreement, leaning back in his chair, “We’re figuring it out.”

#tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #conrad x reader #conrad x you #conrad x y/n #tsitp imagine #tsitp one shot #tsitp drabble #tsitp blurb #tsitp request #conrad imagine #conrad one shot #conrad drabble #conrad blurb #conrad request

405 notes · View notes

florence-end · 9 months

Text

May I have this dance?

Azriel x fem!reader Part 2

Request: Could you write a shy reader × Azriel story? Thank you!

Warnings: none

Summary: Azriel’s new mate is painfully shy, despite his efforts to get closer to her. Something shifts between them when Mor needs help with Cassian’s dance lessons.

You heard Mor calling for you all the way from the dining room, which definitely meant she was up to no good if she hadn’t come to your office to talk to you directly. You set aside the book you were combing through, adding it to the pile of discarded volumes that you and Amren had been scouring for clues on how to beat Koschei. As the recently appointed head scholar of the night court, quietly reading in your office took up most of your time and was exactly how you liked it. Groups of people, social occasions, too much noise, it all made you nervous and you retreated even further into yourself than usual.

Preparing yourself for the whirlwind of energy that was the high lord and lady’s third in command, you made your way to the large dining room at the other end of the corridor. Music was playing inside, and as you pushed open the large wooden door, you were met with the sight of Mor dragging Cassian around in a waltz as he tried desperately to keep up with her speed. Rhysand and Feyre were also stumbling through the steps, looking only slightly more proficient than the clumsy warlord. Off to the side, leaning against the large table that had been pushed against the wall and looking far too amused, was Azriel.

His eyes moved to you immediately as though he couldn’t help himself, and he gave you a small smile and wave. You felt the muted rush of affection flood the bond before he could clamp down on it to avoid overwhelming you, and you gave a small smile back to let him know it was okay.

You and Azriel had met on your first day in the night court a month ago, and the bond had snapped right away. Although you were happy to finally meet your soulmate, your shy demeanour and nervousness when it came to interacting with strangers had caused you to panic a little and you kept your distance at first. He respected your feelings and had committed himself to gently courting you ever since.

Mugs of your favourite tea were waiting for you on your desk every time you left your office to search the library. Little trinkets and decorations for your bedroom were left neatly wrapped for you to find, always hailing from whatever court or country Azriel had most recently visited on his missions. He had taken to spending any downtime he had in your office, settled quietly in the armchair across from your desk and helping you work through the never-ending pile of research in comfortable silence. Once, when you were feeling particularly relaxed after a few glasses of wine at dinner in the river house, he dared to take you on an aerial tour of Velaris as he flew you back to the House of Wind. Just the memory of his secure arms holding you close to the warmth of his body while the chilly breeze whipped around you made your cheeks heat up.

The music came to an end and Mor turned to see you lingering in the doorway. “Perfect, you’re here! Please don’t hate me but I really need your help,” she pleaded. Mor explained that Cassian needed to learn to dance in order to impress Nesta on the next trip to the Court of Nightmares. She had asked Rhys and Feyre to attend the lesson so Cassian could see what the steps were supposed to look as Mor taught him the routines but it turns out dancing was not a talent possessed by the high lord nor the high lady.

“In my defence, I have never needed to dance at the court of nightmares, my role is to sit on the throne and look intimidatingly handsome. And I am fantastic at it,” Rhys protested as Mor continued to criticise his two left feet. Feyre had a better excuse, given she had mostly grown up poor in the human lands.

You giggled as Mor and Rhys bickered for a few more moments before she dismissed her cousin and his wife. They quickly bade their goodbyes and left the dining room hand in hand.

“If you’re going to ask me to dance, Mor, I should say now that I don’t know any of the night court routines,” you warned, knowing where this conversation was going and not liking it one bit.

“That’s alright! Luckily for us all, Azriel possesses all the grace that his brothers do not and he knows them all. He’ll lead and all you need to do is follow,” Mor declared, giving you no time to object as she grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to your mate who was watching your face for any signs of serious discomfort. “Az, show her the hold for the waltz and I’ll run over the steps with Cassian again,” she instructed and left you both on your side of the makeshift dance floor.

“You don’t need to do this, just say the word and I’ll winnow you back to your office before she notices,” Azriel offered kindly.

“No no it’s okay, I want to help plus Nesta is my friend and it’ll make her happy. But I really don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmured back quietly, twisting your hands in front of you.

Azriel offered you his hand in a silent question, letting you make the move to touch him. You know he’s sensitive about his scars and would never want to make him feel any more self conscious by hesitating so you slipped your fingers over his palm to link with his and looked up into his warm hazel eyes.

Although he’s flown with you a few times and you eat most of your meals sat next to each other, the proximity and intimacy of the moment flustered you immediately and you broke eye contact. You missed the flash of pride on Azriel’s face at the evidence of how much his presence affected you.

“Now put your other hand on my shoulder and I’ll place mine on your waist,” he explained and you obeyed his instructions without delay.

“A little closer,” he urged, using the hand on your waist to curl around your lower back and press you further into his chest. You were so close now that his scent hovered all around you, you could feel his warm breath brush across your cheek, and his shadows caressed the hand that lay on his broad shoulder as though wanting to prevent you from withdrawing your touch.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his lips inches from your ear. Mother above, this male was going to be the death of you. Your face couldn’t be any hotter if you were actually ablaze. “When the music starts, all you need to do is close your eyes and trust me.”

The reminder of why you were here burst your bubble as you felt your nerves return. “What if I trip or step on your feet?” You questioned anxiously, beginning it pull back from him.

His hands remained firm, keeping you in place. Once again, his whispers sent shivers along every inch of your skin. “I would never let you trip. And it would be an honour to have you step on my feet,” he teased, helping you relax.

“Okay are we ready to try this from the top?” Mor called from across the room. Azriel nodded on behalf of you both, and reminded you to close your eyes.

As the music began, you quickly started to wonder if the Illyrians gave as much dance training as they did for combat because Azriel was flawless. He moved with a quiet grace and certainty, leading you with such confidence that you didn’t have a chance to feel shy or anxious. Cassian’s cursing and stomping footsteps nearby told you that Azriel’s skills may not have been Illyrian-taught after all but you were feeling too giddy to give it much more thought.

One dance turned into two which turned into five. When the music came to an end half an hour later, Azriel released his hold on your waist and leaned back slightly to take in your dazed expression as your eyes fluttered open, chuckling lowly.

You hadn’t noticed that Mor and Cassian had left sometime while you were dancing, and for once in your life you weren't worrying about looking foolish or trying to find the right thing to say. All of your thoughts were consumed by this miraculous male in front of you who had quite literally whisked you off your feet. And to make it even better, he was looking at you as if you were miraculous too.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you #acotar

740 notes · View notes

thewidowsghost · 4 months

Text

The Sky (Annabeth Chase x Jackson!Reader)

After hearing Annabeth gripe about her father for the last two years, (Y/n) had expected him to have devil horns and fangs. She had not expected him to be wearing an old-fashioned aviator’s cap and goggles. He looks so strange, with his eyes bugging out through the glasses, that she, her brother Percy, Thalia, and Zoe take a step back on the back porch.

“Hello,” he says in a friendly voice, “Are you delivering my airplanes?”

Thalia, Zoe, Percy, and (Y/n) look at each other warily.

“Um, no, sir,” Percy says.

“Drat,” he says. “I need three more Sopwith Camels.”

“Right,” (Y/n) says, though she has no idea what he’s talking about. “We’re, uh, friends,” - not exactly - “of Annabeth’s.”

“Annabeth?” he straightens, as if (Y/n) had just given him an electric shock. “Is she all right? Has something happened?”

None of the demigods answer, but their faces must’ve told him that something was very wrong. He takes off his cap and goggles. He has the same sandy-colored hair as Annabeth, and intense brown eyes. He’s handsome, for an older guy, but it looks as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and his shirt is buttoned wrong, so one side of his collar sticks up higher than the other side.

“You’d better come in,” Dr. Chase says grimly.

The Chase’s house smells like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and jazz music is coming from the kitchen. It seems like a messy, happy kind of home – the kind of place that someone had lived in forever.

“Dad!” a little boy screams. “He’s taking apart my robots!”

“Bobby,” Dr. Chase calls absently, “don’t take apart your brother’s robots.”

“I’m Bobby,” the little boy protests. “He’s Matthew!”

“Mathew,” Dr. Chase calls, “don’t take apart your brother’s robots.”

“Okay, Dad!”

Dr. Chase turns to us. “We’ll go upstairs to my study. This way.”

“Honey?” a woman calls. Annabeth’s stepmother appears in the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Who are our guests?” she asks.

“Oh,” Dr. Chase says. “This is . . .” He stares blankly at the demigods.

“Frederick,” she chides. “You forgot to ask them their names?”

The demigods introduce themselves a little uneasily, but Mrs. Chase seems nice to (Y/n). She asks if the demigods were hungry, and they admit that they were, and she lets them know she’d bring up some cookies, sandwiches, and sodas.

“Dear,” Dr. Chase says. “They came about Annabeth?”

(Y/n) half expects Mrs. Chase to turn into a raving lunatic at the mention of her stepdaughter, but she just purses her lips and looks concerned. “All right. Go on up to the study, and I’ll bring you some food.” Her gaze rests knowingly on (Y/n), and she smiles at the daughter of Poseidon. “Nice meeting you, (Y/n). I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Upstairs, they walk into Dr. Chase’s study, and a gasp of amazement escapes from (Y/n)’s lips.

The room is wall-to-wall books, but what really catches (Y/n)’s attention are the war models. There is a huge table with miniature tanks and soldiers fighting along a blue painted river, with hills and fake trees and stuff. Old-fashioned biplanes hang on strings from the ceiling, tilted at crazy angles like they were in the middle of a dogfight.

Dr. Chase smiles. "Yes. The Third Battle of Ypres. I'm writing a paper, you see, on the use of Sopwith Camels to strafe enemy lines. I believe they played a much greater role than they've been given credit for."

He plucks a biplane from its string and sweeps it across the battlefield, making airplane engine noises as he knocks down little German soldiers.

(Y/n) smiles slightly, looking up at her girlfriend’s father.

Zoe comes over and studies the battlefield. “The German lines were farther from the river.”

Dr. Chase stares at her. “How do you know that?”

"I was there," she says matter-of-factly. "Artemis wanted to show us how horrible war was, the way mortal men fight each other. And how foolish, too. The battle was a complete waste."

Dr. Chase opens his mouth in shock. “You –”

“She’s a Hunter, sir,” Thalia says. “But that’s not wy we’re here. We need –”

"You saw the Sopwith Camels?" Dr. Chase says. "How many were there? What formations did they fly?"

“Sir,” (Y/n) breaks in this time. “Annabeth, sh-she’s in danger.”

That gets his attention. He sets the biplane down.

“Of course,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

It isn’t easy, but they try. Meanwhile, the afternoon light is fading outside.

The demigods were running out of time.

When they'd finished, Dr. Chase collapses in his leather recliner. He laces his hands. "My poor brave Annabeth. We must hurry."

"Sir, we need transportation to Mount Tamalpais," Zoe says. "And we need it immediately."

"I'll drive you. Hmm. it would be faster to fly in my Camel, but it only seats two."

"Whoa, you have an actual biplane?" Percy asks.

"Down at Crissy Field," Dr. Chase says proudly. "That's the reason I had to move here. My sponsor is a private collector with some of the finest World War I relics in the world. He let me restore the Sopwith Camel—"

Sir," (Y/n) says. "Just a car would be great. And it might be better if we went without you. It's too dangerous."

Dr. Chase frowns uncomfortably. “Now wait a minute, young lady. Annabeth is my daughter. Dangerous or not, I . . . I can’t just –”

"Snacks," Mrs. Chase announces. She pushes through the door with a tray full of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and Cokes and cookies fresh out of the oven, the chocolate chips still gooey. Thalia and Percy inhale a few cookies while Zoe says, "I can drive, sir. I'm not as young as I look. I promise not to destroy your car."

Mrs. Chase knits her eyebrows. "What's this about?"

“Annabeth is in danger,” Dr. Chase says. “On Mount Tam. I would drive them . . . but apparently it’s no place for mortals.”

It sounds to (Y/n) like it was really hard for him to get that last part out.

(Y/n) waits for Mrs. Chase to say no, but to her surprise, Mrs. Chase just nods. “Then they’d better get going.”

“Right!” Dr. Chase jumps and starts patting his pockets. “My keys . . .”

His wife sighs. "Frederick, honestly. You'd lose your head if it weren't wrapped inside your aviator hat. The keys are hanging on the peg by the front door."

“Right!” Dr. Chase says.

Zoe and (Y/n) each grab a sandwich. “Thank you both,” Zoe says. “We should go. Now!”

The four hustle out the door and down the stairs, the Chases right behind them.

“(Y/n)” Mrs. Chase calls as they’re leaving, “tell Annabeth . . . tell her she still has a home here, will you? Remind her of that.”

(Y/n) takes one last look at the messy living room - Annabeth’s half brothers spilling LEGOs and arguing, and the smell of cookies filling the air. Not a bad place, she thinks.

“I’ll tell her,” (Y/n) replies, smiling slightly at her girlfriend’s stepmother.

They run out to the yellow Volkswagen convertible parked in the driveway. The sun is going down, and (Y/n) figures they have less than an hour to save Annabeth.

. . .

At the top of the mountain are ruins, blocks of black granite and marble as big as houses. Broken columns. Statues of bronze that look as though they’d been half melted.

“The ruins of Mount Othrys,” Thalia whispers in awe.

“Yes,” Zoe says. “It was not here before. This is bad.”

“What’s Mount Othrys?” Percy asks, feeling like a fool as usual.

“The mountain fortress of the Titans,” Zoe explains. “In the first war, Olympus and Othrys were the two rival capitals of the world. Othrys was –” she winces and holds her side.

“You’re hurt,” (Y/n) says, ignoring her own possibly cracked ribs. “Let me see.”

“No!” Zoe protests. “It is nothing. I was saying... in the first war, Othrys was blasted to pieces.”

“But . . . how is it here?”

Thalia looks around cautiously as they pick their way through the rubble, past blocks of marble and broken archways. "It moves in the same way that Olympus moves. It always exists on the edges of civilization. But the fact that it is here, on this mountain, is not good."

“Why?”

"This is Atlas's mountain," Zoe says. "Where he hold s—" She freezes. Her voice is ragged with despair. "Where he used to hold up the sky."

They had reached the summit of the mountain. A few yards ahead of them, gray clouds swirl in a heavy vortex, making a funnel cloud that almost touches the mountaintop, but instead rests on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair and a tattered silvery dress: Artemis, her legs bound to the rock with celestial bronze dreams. This is what (Y/n) had seen in her dream - though it hadn't been a cavern roof that Artemis was forced to hold.

It was the weight of the world.

"My lady!" Zoe rushes forward.

But Artemis says, "Stop! It is a trap. You must leave now." Her voice is strained, and she is drenched in sweat. (Y/n) had never seen a goddess in pain before, but the weight of the sky is clearly too much for Artemis.

Zoe is crying. She runs forward, despite Artemis’s protests, and tugs at the chains.

A booming voice speaks behind them: “Ah, how touching.”

They turn.

The General is staging there in his brown suit. At his side are Luke - and half a dozen dracaenae bearing the weight of the golden sarcophagus of Kronos.

Annabeth stands at Luke’s side - her hands cuffed behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and Luke is holding the point of his sword to her throat.

(Y/n) meets her girlfriend’s gaze, her sword, Tsunami, still in pen form in her hand, a thousand questions running through her head. There is one message Annabeth is sending her, however: RUN!

(Y/n)’s face hardens. “Luke,” (Y/n) snarls. “Let her go.”

Luke’s smile is pale and weak. “That is the General’s decision, (Y/n). But it’s good to see you again.”

(Y/n) spats at him.

The general chuckles. “So much for old friends. And you, Zoe. it’s been a long time. How’s my little traitor? I will enjoy killing you.”

“Do not respond,” Artemis groans. “Do not challenge him.”

“Wait a second,” Percy says. “You’re Atlas?”

The General glances at him. "So, even the stupidest of heroes can finally figure something out. Yes, I am Atlas, the general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I will kill you presently, as soon as I deal with this wretched girl."

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Percy says, and (Y/n) grunts her agreement. “We won’t let you.”

The General sneers. “You have no right to interfere, little heroes. This is a family matter.”

Percy frowns. “A family matter?”

“Yes,” Zoe says bleakly. “Atlas is my father.”

The terrible thing is: (Y/n) can see the resemblance. Atlas has the same regal expression as Zoe, the same cold proud look in his eyes that Zoe sometimes got when she was mad, though on him, it looks a thousand times more evil. The Titan was all the things (Y/n) had originally disliked about Zoe, with none of the good she’d come to appreciate in her friend.

"Let Artemis go," Zoe demands.

Atlas walks closer to the chained goddess. "Perhaps you'd like to take the sky for her, then? Be my guest."

Zoe opens her mouth to speak, but Artemis says, "No! Do not offer, Zoe! I forbid you."

Atlas smirks. He kneels next to Artemis and tries to touch her face, but the goddess bites at him, almost taking off his fingers.

"Hoo-hoo," Atlas chuckles. "You see, daughter? Lady Artemis likes her new job. I think I will have all the Olympians take turns carrying my burden, once Lord Kronos rules again, and this is the center of our palace. It will teach those weaklings some humility."

(Y/n) looks at Annabeth. She is desperately trying to tell (Y/n) something. She motions her head towards Luke. But all (Y/n) can do is stare at her. (Y/n) hadn't noticed before, but something about her had changed. Her beautiful blond hair was now streaked with gray - but that didn’t make Annabeth look less beautiful in (Y/n)’s eyes.

"From holding the sky," Thalia mutters, as if she'd (Y/n)’s mind. "The weight should've killed her."

"I don't understand," Percy says. "Why can't Artemis just let go of the sky?"

Atlas laughs. "How little you understand, young one. This is the point where the sky and the earth first met, where Ouranos and Gaia first brought forth their mighty children, the Titans. The sky still yearns to embrace the earth. Someone must hold it at bay, or else it would crush down upon this place, instantly flattening the mountain and everything within a hundred leagues. Once you have taken the burden, there is no escape." Atlas smiles. "Unless someone else takes it from you." He approaches the group, studying Thalia, (Y/n), and Percy. "So these are the best heroes of the age, eh? Not much of a challenge."

"Fight us," (Y/n) spits. "And let's see."

"Have the gods taught you nothing? An immortal does not fight a mere mortal directly. It is beneath our dignity. I will have Luke crush you instead."

"So you're another coward," (Y/n) snickers.

Atlas's eyes glow with hatred. With difficulty, he turns his attention to Thalia. "As for you, daughter of Zeus, it seems Luke was wrong about you."

"I wasn't wrong," Luke managed. He looked terribly weak, and he spoke every word as if it were painful. If (Y/n) didn't hate his guts so much, she almost would've felt sorry for him. "Thalia, you still can join us. Call the Ophiotaurus. It will come to you. Look!"

He waves his hand, and next to us a pool of water appears: a pond ringed in black marble, big enough for the Ophiotaurus. Percy can imagine Bessie in that pool. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more he was sure he could hear Bessie mooing.

Don't think about him! Suddenly Grover's voice is inside my mind—the empathy link. Percy could feel his emotions. He is on the verge of panic. I'm losing Bessie. Block the thoughts!

Percy tries to make his mind go blank. He tries to think about basketball players, skateboards, and the different kinds of candy in my mom's shop. Anything but Bessie.

"Thalia, call the Ophiotaurus," Luke persists. "And you will be more powerful than the gods."

"Luke . . ." Her voice is full of pain. "What happened to you?"

"Don't you remember all those times we talked? All those times we cursed the gods?

Our fathers have done nothing for us. They have no right to rule the world!"

Thalia shakes her head. "Free Annabeth. Let her go."

"If you join me," Luke promises, "it can be like old times. The three of us together. Fighting for a better world. Please, Thalia, if you don't agree . . ."His voice falters. "It's my last chance. He will use the other way if you don't agree. Please."

(Y/n) doesn’t know what he means, but the fear in his voice sounds real enough. She could believe that Luke was in danger.

His life depends on Thalia's joining his cause. And (Y/n) is afraid Thalia might believe it, too.

"Do not, Thalia," Zoe warns. "We must fight them."

Luke waves his hand again, and a fire appears. A bronze brazier, just like the one at

camp. A sacrificial flame.

"Thalia," (Y/n) mutters. "No."

Behind Luke, the golden sarcophagus begins to glow. As it did, (Y/n) sees images in the mist

all around us: black marble walls rising, the ruins becoming whole, a terrible and beautiful

palace rising around them, made of fear and shadow.

"We will raise Mount Othrys right here," Luke promises, in a voice so strained it is hardly his. "Once more, it will be stronger and greater than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We are not weak."

He points toward the ocean, and (Y/n)’s heart falls. Marching up the side of the mountain, from the beach where the Princess Andromeda was docked, is a great army. Dracaenae and

Laestrygonians, monsters and half-bloods, hellhounds, harpies, and other things (Y/n) can’t even name. The whole ship must've been emptied, because there are hundreds, many more than (Y/n) had seen on board last summer. And they are marching toward the mountain. In a few minutes, they would be there.

"This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke says "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help."

For a terrible moment, Thalia hesitates. She gazes at Luke, her eyes full of pain, as if the only thing she wants in the world is to believe him. Then she levels her spear. "You aren't Luke. I don't know you anymore."

"Yes, you do, Thalia," he pleads. "Please. Don't make me . . . Don't make him destroy you."

There is no time. If that army gets to the top of the hill, we would be overwhelmed. (Y/n) meets her girlfriend’s eyes again. Annabeth nods.

(Y/n) looks at Percy, Thalia, and Zoe, and she decides it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to die fighting with friends like this.

"Now," (Y/n) says, and together, they charge.

Thalia goes straight for Luke. The power of her shield is so great that his dragon- women bodyguards flee in a panic, dropping the golden coffin and leaving him alone. But despite his sickly appearance, Luke is still quick with his sword. He snarls like a wild animal and counterattacks. When his sword, Backbiter, met Thalia's shield, a ball of lightning erupted between them, frying the air with yellow tendrils of power.

As for (Y/n), she does the stupidest thing in her life - which is saying a lot. She attacks the Titan Lord Atlas.

He laughs as (Y/n) approaches, her sword Tsunami springing to life in her hands. A massive javelin appears in Atlas’s hands and his silk suit melts into full Greek battle armor. “Go on, then!”

“(Y/n)!” Zoe calls. “Beware!”

(Y/n) knows what Zoe is warning her about. Chiron had told her a long time ago: Immortals are constrained by ancient rules. But a hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as she has the nerve. Once (Y/n) attacked, however, Atlas would be free to attack back directly with all his might.

(Y/n) swings her sword, but Atlas knocks her aside with the shaft of his javelin. (Y/n) flies through the air, and slams into a black wall. It isn’t Mist anymore. The palace is rising, brick by brick. It’s becoming real.

“Fool!” Atlas screams gleefully, swatting aside one of Zoe’s arrows. “Did you think, simply because you could challenge that petty war god, that you could stand up to me?”

The mention of Ares sets a jolt through (Y/n), and, ignoring her throbbing ribs, she shakes off her daze and charges again.

The javelin’s point slashes towards (Y/n) like a scythe. She raises Tsunami, planning to cut off the Titan’s weapon at the shaft, but her arm feels like lead. Suddenly, the sword weighs a ton.

And then (Y/n) remembers Ares's warning, spoken on the beach in Los Angeles so long ago:

When you need it most, your sword will fail you.

Not now! (Y/n) pleads. But it is no good. She tries to dodge, but the javelin catches her in the chest and sends (Y/n) flying like a rag doll. (Y/n) slams into the ground, her head spinning. (Y/n) looks up and finds herself at the feet of Artemis, still straining under the weight of the sky.

“Run, girl,” she tells (Y/n). “You must run!”

Atlas is taking his time coming towards (Y/n). My sword is gone. It had skittered away over the edge of the cliff. It might reappear in her pocket—maybe in a few seconds—but it doesn’t matter. (Y/n) would be dead by then. Luke and Thalia are fighting like demons, lightning crackling around them. Percy is fighting the dracaenae, and Annabeth is on the ground, desperately struggling to free her hands.

“Die, little hero!” Atlas says. He raises his javelin to impale (Y/n).

“No!” Zoe yells, and volley of silver arrows sprout from the armpit chink in Atlas’s armor.

“ARGH!” he bellows and turns back towards his daughter.

(Y/n) reaches down and feels Tsunami back in her pocket. She couldn’t fight Atlas, even with a sword. And then a chill goes down her back. She remembers the words of the prophecy: The Titan’s curse must one withstand. (Y/n) couldn’t hope to beat Atlas, but there is someone who might stand a chance.

“The sky,” (Y/n) tells the goddess. “Give it to me.”

"No, girl," Artemis says. Her forehead is beaded with metallic sweat, like quicksilver. "You don't know what you're asking. It will crush you!"

"Annabeth took it!"

"She barely survived. She had the spirit of a true huntress. You will not last so long."

"I'll die anyway," (Y/n) replies. "Give me the weight of the sky!"

(Y/n) doesn’t wait for her answer. She takes out Tsunami and slashes through her chains. Then she steps next to her and braces herself on one knee—holding up her hands—and touches the cold, heavy clouds. For a moment, Artemis and (Y/n) bare the weight together. It was the heaviest thing she'd ever felt, as if (Y/n) was being crushed under a thousand trucks. She wanted to black out from the pain, but (Y/n) breathes deeply. I can do this.

Then Artemis slips out from under the burden, and (Y/n) holds it alone.

Every muscle in (Y/n)’s body turns to fire. Her bones feel like they’re melting. She wants to scream, but she doesn’t have the strength to open her mouth. She begins to sink, lower and lower to the ground, the sky’s weight crushing her.

(Y/n) concentrates on breathing. (Y/n) thinks about Bianca, who’d given her life so they could get to this moment. If she could do that, then (Y/n) could hold the sky.

(Y/n)’s vision turns fuzzy. Everything is tinged with red. She catches glimpses of the battle, but she isn’t sure if she is seeing anything clearly. There is Atlas in full battle armor, jabbing with his javelin, laughing insanely as he fights. And Artemis, a blur of silver. She has two wicked hunting knives, each as long as her arm, and she slashes wildly at the Titan, dodging and leaping with unbelievable grace. She seems to change form as she maneuvers. She is a tiger, a gazelle, a bear, a falcon. Or perhaps that was just (Y/n)’s fevered brain. Zoe shoots arrows at her father, aiming for the chinks in his armor. He roars in pain each time one finds its mark, but they affect him like bee stings. He just gets madder and keeps fighting.

Thalia and Luke go spear on sword, lighting still flashing around them. Thalia presses Luke back with the aura of her shield. Even he is not immune to it. He retreats, wincing and growing in frustration.

"Yield!" Thalia yells. "You never could beat me, Luke."

He bares his teeth. "Well see, my old friend."

Sweat pours down (Y/n)’s face. Her hands are slippery. Her shoulders would've screamed with agony if they could. (Y/n) feels like the vertebrae in her spine are being welded together by a blowtorch.

In her daze, (Y/n) can’t place Percy’s or Annabeth’s positions. She watches, however, as Artemis advances. The goddess was fast, but the Titan’s strength is impossible. His javelin slammed into the earth where Artemis had been a split second before, and a fissure opens in the rocks. He leaps over it and keeps pursuing her. The goddess was leading him back towards (Y/n).

Get ready, the goddess speaks in her mind.

(Y/n) is loosing the abulity to think through the pain in her ribs. Her responce is somthing like agggghh-owwwww.

“You fight well for a girl,” Atlas laughs. “But you are no match for me.”

He feints with teh tip of his javelin and Artemis dodges. (Y/n) sees the trick coming. Atlas’s javelin sweeps around and knocks Artemis’s legs off the ground. She falls, and Atlas brings up his javelin tip for the kill.

"No!" Zoe screams. She leaps between her father and Artemis and shoots an arrow straight into the Titan's forehead, where it lodges like a unicorn's horn. Atlas bellows in rage. He sweeps aside his daughter with the back of his hand, sending her flying into the black rocks.

(Y/n) wasnts to shout her name, or run to her friend’s aid, but she can’t speak or move. She couldn’t even see where Zoe had landed. Then Atlas turns on Artemis with a look of triumph in his face. Artemis seems to be wounded. And she doesn’t get up.

"The first blood in a new war," Atlas gloats. And he stabs downward.

As fast as thought, Artemis grabs his javelin shaft. It hits the earth right next to her and she pulls backward, using the javelin like a lever, kicking the Titan Lord and sending him flying over her, (Y/n) sees him coming down on top of her and she realizes what would happen. (Y/n) loosened her hold on the sky, and as Atlas slams into her, she doesn’t try to hold on. (Y/n) lets herself be pushed out of the way and she rolls.

The weight of the sky drops onto Atlas’s back, almost smashing him flat until he manages to get to his kness, strugging to get out from under the crushing weight of the sky. But it is too late.

"Noooooo!" He bellows so hard it shakes the mountain. "Not again!"

Atlas is trapped under his old burden. (Y/n) tried to stand and fell back again, dazed from pain. Her body feels like it was burning up.

Thalia backs Luke to the edge of a cliff, but still they fought on, next to the golden coffin. Thalia has tears in her eyes. Luke has a bloody slash across his chest and his pale face glistened with sweat.

He lunges at Thalia and she slams him with her shield. Luke's sword spins out of his

hands and clatters to the rocks. Thalia puts her spear point to his throat.

For a moment, there is silence.

“Well?” Luke asks. He tries to hide it, but (Y/n) can hear the fear in his voice.

Thalia trembles with fury.

Behind her, Annabeth comes scrambling, finally free from her bonds. Her face is bruised and streaked with dirt. "Don't kill him!"

"He's a traitor," Thalia says. "A traitor!"

In her daze, (Y/n) realizes that Artemis is no longer with her, and Percy had taken the goddess’s place at her side. The goddess had run off toward theblack rocks where Zoe had fallen.

"We'll bring Luke back," Annabeth pleads. "To Olympus. He . . . he'll be useful."

"Is that what you want, Thalia?" Luke sneers. "To go back to Olympus in triumph? To please your dad?"

Thalia hesitats, and Luke makes a desperate grab for her spear.

"No!" Annabeth shouts. But without thinking, Thalia kicks Luke away. He looses his balance, terror on his face, and then he falls.

"Luke!" Annabeth screams.

Percy helps (Y/n) as they rush to the cliff’s edge. Below them, the army from the Princess Andromeda had stopped in amazement. They are staring at Luke’s broken from from teh rocks. Despite how much (Y/n) hated him, she couldn’t stand to see it. She wants to belive the son of Hermes is still alive, but that is impossible. The fall is at least fifty feet, and he isn’t moving.

One of the giants looks up and growls, "Kill them!"

Thalia is stiff with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks. (Y/n) pulls her back as a wave of javelins sail over their heads. They run for the rocks, ignoring the curses and threats of Atlas as they pass.

"Artemis!" Percy yells.

The goddess looks up, her face almost as grief-stricken as Thalia's. Zoe lies in the goddess's arms. She is breathing. Her eyes are open. But still . . .

"The wound is poisoned," Artemis says.

"Atlas poisoned her?" Percy asks.

"No," the goddess says. "Not Atlas."

Artemis shows them the wound in Zoe’s side. (Y/n) had almost forgotten her scrape with Ladon the dragon. The bite is so much worse than Zoe had let on. (Y/n) can barely look at the wound. Zoe had charged into battle against her father with a horrible cut already sapping her strengh.

(Y/n) feels a hand lacing through her’s. She glances over to find Annabeth standing beside her.

“The stars,” Zoe murmurs. “I cannot see them.”

“Nectar and ambrosia,” Percy says. “Come one. We have to get her some.”

No one moves. Grief hangs in the air. Even Artemis is too shocked to stir. The demigods may have met their doom right there, but then (Y/n) hears a strang buzzing noise.

Just as the army of monsters come over the hill, a Sopwith Camel swoops down out of the sky.

“Get away from my daugther!” Dr. Chase calls down, and his machine guns burst to life, peppering the groud with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering.

“Dad?” yells Annabeth in disbelief.

“Run!” he calls back, his voice growing fainter as the biplane swoops by.

This shakes Artemis out of her grief. She stares up at teh antique plane, which is now coming back for another strafe.

"A brave man," Artemis says with grudging approval. "Come, We must get Zoe away from here." She raises her hunting horn to her lips, and its clear sound echoes down the valleys of Marin. Zoe's eyes are fluttering.

"Hang in there!" Percy tells her. "It'll be all right!"

The Sopwith Camel swoops down again. A few giants threw javelins, and one flew straight between the wings of the plane, but the machine guns blazed. I realized with amazement that somehow Dr. Chase must've gotten hold of celestial bronze to fashion his bullets. The first row of snake women wailed as the machine gun's volley blew them into sulfurous yellow powder.

"That's . . . my dad!" Annabeth says in amazement.

They don’t have time to admire his flying. The giants and snake women are already recovering from their surprise. Dr. Chase would be in trouble soon.

Just then, the moonlight brights, and a silver chariot appears from the sky, drawn by the most beautiful deer (Y/n) had ever seen. It lands right next to them.

"Get in," Artemis says.

Annabeth helps (Y/n) get Thalia on board, and Percy helps Artemis with Zoe. They wrap

Zoe in a blanket as Artemis pulls the reins and the chariot sped away from the mountain,

straight into the air.

"Like Santa Claus's sleigh," (Y/n) murmurs, still dazed with pain.

Artemis takes time to look back at her. "Indeed, young half-blood. And where do you think that legend came from?"

Seeing them safely away, Dr. Chase turns his biplane and follows like an honor guard. It must have been one of the strangest sights ever, even for the Bay Area: a silver flying chariot pulled by deer, escorted by a Sopwith Camel.

Behind them, the army of Kronos roars in anger as they gather on the summit of Mount Tamalpais, but the loudest sound is the voice of Atlas, bellowing curses against the gods as he struggles under the weight of the sky.

. . .

Annabeth and (Y/n) fly along side by side on the back of the pegasai.

“Your dad seems cool,” (Y/n) tells Annabeth.

It was too dark to see her girlfriend’s expression. She looks back, though California is far behind them now.

“I guess so,” Annabeth replies. “We’ve been arguing for so many years.”

“Mhmm,” (Y/n) hums. “You mentioned that.”

“You think I was lying about that?” It sounds like a challenge to (Y/n), but a pretty half-hearted one, like she is asking it of herself.

"I didn't say you were lying. It's just . . . he seems okay. Your stepmom, too. Maybe they've, uh, gotten cooler since you saw them last."

She hesitates. "They're still in San Francisco, Percy. I can't live so far from camp."

(Y/n) doesn’t want to ask her next question. She is scared to know the answer. But I asks it anyway. "So what are you going to do now?"

They fly over a town, an island of lights in the middle of the dark. It whisks by so fast they might've been in an airplane.

"I don't know," she admits. "But thank you for rescuing me."

"Hey, you’re my girlfriend. I would go through Tartarus to rescue you."

"You didn't believe I was dead?"

"Never."

She hesitates. "Neither is Luke, you know. I mean . . . he isn't dead."

(Y/n) stares at her. She doesn’t know if Annabeth is cracking under the stress or what. "Annabeth, that fall was pretty bad. There's no way —"

"He isn't dead," she insistas. "I know it. The same way you knew about me."

Word Count: 5630 Words

#annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase x jackson reader #annabeth chase x female reader #annabeth chase x fem reader #percy jackson x sister reader

186 notes · View notes

elyssialumengard · 3 months

Text

Alastor x Reader : Fragile Link ( Part 2 )

______________________________________________

Link to the first part for those who haven't read it :

https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741783404758073344/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-1?source=share

Summary : In this chapter, Charlie presents his redemption hotel project to (y/n), an powerful overlord. Alastor, with his own motives, tries to persuade (y/n) to become involved in their confrontation against Adam.

______________________________________________

Taku knocked a second time, but the silence remained implacable.

Tangible anxiety flashed across his face as he prepared to strike a third time, softly saying :

- My Lady, may I come in ?

Getting no response, he made a face that the two people behind him did not see. Charlie frowned at Alastor, wondering what was going on. The radio demon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, wondering why (y/n) was slow to respond, when usually, she was so responsive. He could sense her presence, so it wasn't due to a mistake in location.

The demon, under the overlord's orders, did not hesitate to not ask permission, instead deciding to carefully push open the door. He entered, Charlie and Alastor on his heels, where the blonde was amazed by the clean layout of the place.

The room was bathed in soft, calming light that filtered through the thin curtains, letting in the golden rays of the artificial sun. The walls were painted in light tones, accentuating the brightness of the room and creating a warm atmosphere. Delicately framed paintings adorned the walls, bringing an artistic touch to the whole.

At the back of the room, a solid wooden desk was placed, on which were placed a kettle, a selection of fine teas in pretty metal boxes, delicately decorated porcelain cups, as well as small biscuits arranged on a plate.

Two plush sofas were placed opposite each other in the center, separated by a glass coffee table on which were a few magazines and a vase filled with fresh flowers. The elegantly patterned cushions added a touch of color and comfort to the seating.

Shelves full of books stretched along one of the walls, offering a varied selection of reading material for all tastes. Potted plants were scattered here and there, bringing greenery and freshness to the room.

In this welcoming and peaceful environment, (y/n) stood near a window, her back, silently contemplating the landscape through the glass, absorbed in her thoughts.

Approaching with growing concern, Taku called out to him again. Hearing this time, (y/n) gracefully pivoted towards them, revealing her strangely angelic appearance, which always disconcerted those who saw her for the first time.

Her hair, as white as fresh snow, flowed in silky cascades around her face, framing delicate, celestial features. His gaze, both gentle and penetrating, could have probed the deepest souls. Slight wrinkles framed her eyes, testifying to the countless trials she had endured. Fine deer antlers stood on the top of his head, rather large, extending back, adorned with light beads that had been made for her decades ago.

She was wrapped in a long taupe gray t-shirt, loose and flowing, the long sleeves of which fell almost delicately over her slender hands. The hem of the garment caressed the bottom of her buttocks while she had taken care to slip the front into her straight black fabric pants, thus defining her silhouette. A navy blue belt, carefully adjusted, captured the whole in subtle harmony. On her feet, sandals matching the color of the belt, with black wedge heels, seemed to extend the slender line of her legs.

Despite the apparent casualness of her outfit, she emanated an aura of dignity and serenity, giving her presence a natural nobility and captivating maturity.

Yet, despite the brilliance of her beauty and the imposing aura that surrounded her, an enigmatic fragility seemed to emanate from her, as if the burden of the entire world rested on her proud shoulders. Silent tears beading from her white eyelashes, sliding slowly down her cheeks, leaving in their wake sparkling traces on the porcelain of her skin.

Faced with this heartbreaking vision, Charlie's heart ached with empathy. She could almost feel the pain and suffering emanating from (y/n), even though she didn't know her.

Ignoring Charlie and Alastor, (y/n) walked towards Taku who was walking towards her. Their gestures betrayed a deep and ancient familiarity. She held out a trembling hand, which Taku took tenderly, placing his other hand on her hip for support.

Tears continued to fall down (y/n)’s cheeks as she begged for comfort.

- Taku... I am gripped by doubt and torment... Did I make the right decision ? Was I right to act this way ? She whispered in a broken voice. My heart breaks thinking that another member of my family will suffer loneliness and fear because of the consequences of my actions.

Taku looked at her affectionately, his hand gently stroking hers to comfort her.

- You acted according to your duty. He replied in a soothing voice. Lynn broke established laws. It has threatened the balance that you have so ardently preserved. You had no choice but to punish him.

An encouraging smile appeared on Taku's lips, trying to ease his mistress' pain.

- Your wisdom and prudence have protected our family and our territory. Don't let the burden of your decisions torment you. We are all at your side, aware of the rules, ready to support your choices, however difficult they may be.

(y/n) closed her eyes, feeling the tears continue to fall down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back.

- I know, Taku... I realize that none of you hated me for that, that I did what had to be done, but... But that doesn't lessen the pain. She whispered, letting out a sigh of sorrow.

Taku, still close to her, dried her tears delicately, his fingers tenderly caressing her skin. He moved even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could in this moment of torment and vulnerability, no longer caring at all about the guests.

Observing this touching scene, Charlie was overcome by an emotion mixed with surprise and fascination. She didn't expect such intimacy between Taku and (y/n), but she couldn't help but find it magnificent, given the evidence of the deep attachment between them.

While as far as Alastor was concerned, he felt a surge of rage wash over him, his fingers tightening around the top of his cane with increasing intensity. His sinister smile widened, tinged with a dark glow as he observed this lesser demon, acting as if he was entitled to such closeness.

A shadow passed through his eyes, mixing jealousy and desire for possession.

- Remember this, my Lady. Your wisdom has always brought us serenity and protection. Your decisions were dictated by necessity and prudence. He continued in a soothing voice, trying to ease her pain.

(y/n) listened carefully to her advisor's comforting words, her expression relaxing slightly under his influence. However, when she heard the crackles of the radio growing louder in the room, her eyes suddenly widened, recognizing the sound with a disturbing certainty.

- Alastor, I advise you to control your emotions. Taku intervened, diverting his attention to the demon. I did not grant you an audience here, with my Lady, for you to cause trouble.

Alastor bit back a growl, his stag horns growing slightly in response to his growing frustration.

- I'm not the one who starts the trouble, my dear Taku. He replied, his gaze burning with a dark glow. But no matter, I wouldn't want to spoil your little intimate moment with your precious overlord. He added acerbically, his pupils narrowing, leaving more room for the black of his eyes.

Before Taku could respond, a bitter cold suddenly filled the room, dropping the temperature several degrees and obscuring the surrounding light. (y/n)'s silver eyes glowed menacingly as she stared at Alastor with an icy intensity, filled with hatred and menace.

Detaching itself slightly from Taku, (y/n)'s aura transformed into a terrifying presence, imbuing the room with a heavy and sinister atmosphere. His antlers grew larger as did his shadow which expanded, morphing into a tight grip around Alastor's body, immobilizing him. All this happened in barely the blink of an eye. Alastor's mischievous smile froze, becoming more awkward as he tried to keep his composure.

Charlie, panicked, let out a little cry of fear when she saw Alastor in danger. (y/n) walked towards him with determined steps, her piercing gaze staring at him intensely. Once in front of him, the same size, she addressed him in a cold voice :

-What are you here for, radio demon ?

Aware of the palpable threat in the air, Alastor responded with feigned confidence :

- Just to chat, my dear overlord. I come as a friend, as always.

- As friends ? She replied, an icy glint in her eyes. You have no friends here. You only have enemies waiting for the right moment to destroy you.

A shiver ran down Alastor's spine, but he kept his composure, his sinister smile stretching slightly across his face.

- Oh, but my dear, it's a shame. I'm sure we could get along if you gave me a chance.

(y/n) stared at him with contempt.

- You don't belong here, Alastor. And if you even think for a moment about sowing chaos in my territory, know that I will make you regret every second of your existence.

When Alastor should have fought back or tried to defend himself, a subtle observation revealed to him an unsuspected truth, escaped everyone's attention. The shadow's hold on him, although similar to that of his memories, was not as stifling or threatening as he had thought. He felt within himself the possibility of freeing himself from it, if he really wanted to. Staring intently at the face of the woman he had come to meet, he noticed that the tears had stopped flowing, giving way to an expression valiantly fighting against fatigue.

Smiling even more, he decided to lighten the atmosphere with his usual sarcastic humor.

- Let's see, my dear, you take me for a more belligerent demon than I really am. He said, giving a mocking smile. I'm here on a much more interesting matter than causing chaos. Actually, I'm here to introduce you to someone !

(y/n) arched an eyebrow, her expression hardening even further.

-And who is this person you are talking about ? She asked in a biting voice.

Alastor let out a small laugh, turning to Charlie with a theatrical nod.

- Allow me to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, heir to the throne of Hell and the founder of the Hazbin Hotel !

Charlie, feeling a little uncomfortable under (y/n)'s unforgiving gaze, gave her a shy smile and bowed slightly.

- Hey… Nice to meet you, Lady (y/n). She said in a calm but respectful voice.

( y/n ) looked away from Alastor to stare at Charlie, his expression softening slightly. She observed the young princess with a mixture of curiosity and evaluation, taking the time to look her over from head to toe, making her slightly uncomfortable, feeling as if the one who was taller than her she probed the depths of his soul.

- Charlie Morningstar… She whispered, repeating the name as if to engrave it in her memory.

As (y/n) scrutinized Charlie with growing interest, a resolve seemed to arise within her. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she dispelled the shadow that still enveloped Alastor, thus freeing the demon from his yoke. The temperature of the room and its brightness returned to their natural balance, while (y/n)'s deer antlers returned to their initial size.

(y/n), now more relaxed, conformed to the rules of etiquette, respecting them. A gracious smile graced her lips as she gave Charlie a salutation of gracious solemnity, bowing her head slightly in respect.

- The pleasure is shared, Princess Charlie. She replied in a soft but confident voice, getting up. It is an honor to welcome you to my modest home. Please forgive me for the vulnerable and aggressive version of myself that you may have encountered. Under no circumstances should she be present in the presence of royalty such as yours.

Charlie was pleasantly surprised by the sudden change in (y/n)'s attitude, feeling more comfortable in her presence. She bowed respectfully in gratitude, acknowledging the courtesy of the Overlord of Hell, not being used to being shown so much respect.

(y/n) then turned towards the couches, inviting Charlie to sit down.

- Please sit down, Princess Charlie, you must be tired from all this walking. She declared in a friendly voice, gesturing elegantly to the sofa.

Charlie nodded politely and sat down, his gaze following Alastor who stood behind the back of the sofa, his teasing smile still hanging on his lips. Meanwhile, (y/n) sent a command to Taku.

- Taku, please prepare some tea for our guest. She ordered in a calm but authoritative voice, as she sat down her turn, opposite Charlie who was standing straight, playing with his fingers.

Taku nodded silently, bowing slightly before walking over to where the teapot and cups were set out. He prepared the tea with silent skill, discreetly observing his enemy out of the corner of his eye.

As for Alastor, he remained unfazed by the presence of the one he would like to see dead, his expression still teasing, his gaze sparkling with undisguised malice as he observed the scene with palpable amusement.

Once the tea was ready, Taku approached Charlie and handed him a cup with a respectful gesture.

- Your tea, Princess Charlie. He announced in a neutral voice, placing it in front of her on the table, before serving (y/n), who thanked him with a warm but moderate smile.

Charlie thanked him with a grateful smile and took the cup carefully, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquid against his fingers. She took a small sip, savoring the soothing taste of the tea. (y/n) observed him with a slight smile, then suddenly declared, breaking the silence that had fallen :

- If I may say so, you look exactly like your father, Lucifer.

Charlie, astonished, looked at her in surprise.

- Do you know my father ? She asked with a hint of disbelief, unsure of what to think.

(y/n) nodded slightly.

- We met on a few rare occasions. She replied in a calm voice, full of reflection. But I must admit that I don't particularly hold it in my heart. Although I understand that he is overwhelmed by the illness of depression, especially since the departure of Lilith, your mother, I firmly believe that a king, even if he did not choose this destiny, must above all think to his subjects and be ready to sacrifice himself for them. Unfortunately, your father doesn't always seem to understand this, letting innocent people perish every year and condemning all sinners indiscriminately.

A nervous laugh escaped Charlie's lips at this unexpected revelation, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, trying to hide his growing confusion. Another heavy silence settled in the room, (y/n) doing everything to ignore the presence of Alastor, who reveled in his reaction.

After taking a sip, the hostess asked in a friendly but curious voice :

-And if not, can you inform me of your coming here, princess ? I must admit that I never imagined such a thing happening.

Charlie felt a surge of intense excitement course through her body as she jumped to her feet, the surge in her voice ready to burst into song to introduce her hotel of redemption. Her eyes glowed with palpable determination as she prepared to share her vision with those in the room.

- Oh uh yes ! Let me introduce you to my hotel that rehabilitates fishermen ! She began in a vibrant, almost musical voice. A place where the most lost souls can find redemption and inner peace.

His momentum was abruptly interrupted by the authoritarian voice of (y/n), which ended his tirade :

- There is no room for songs here, princess. Please forgive me for interrupting you, but I believe that there is a time for everything, including songs. If this is serious, you can present things differently.

Charlie, disappointed by the abrupt interruption of her creative momentum, sat up slowly, stammering an excuse. Alastor raised an eyebrow and said in a voice tinged with sarcasm :

- Are you sure about that, (y/n) ?

Ignoring Alastor's remarks and the hostile glances exchanged between him and Taku, (y/n) focused on Charlie, noticing his growing state of stress. Telling herself that his condition was because of her, with natural grace, she offered him a soothing smile and said softly :

- There's no reason to stress, princess, I didn't want to upset you. However, I can't stand the music anymore.

Hearing this, Alastor's smile became colder and more sarcastic. Charlie, looking at the woman in front of her, sighed, her shoulders slumping. She still had a hard time realizing that she was here, sharing tea with the person she considered an example to follow. As a result, she could not hold back from sharing her adoration for the overlord.

- You know, I've always heard about you. Rumors say that you are almost as powerful as my father, but that you have chosen a different path. A path of compassion and helping others.You have made pacts with sinners, protecting them and guiding them through the troubled waters of life. It's incredible. Everyone talks about you, but we never see you. You might almost think you're a legend. And yet here I am, facing you, realizing that you are very real. I admire you so much. It's like meeting my idol. Your strength, your generosity... It's inspiring. I mean, who else could boast of having (y/n) as an ally ? That's... That would just be amazing.

As Charlie's excitement began to skyrocket again, (y/n) gave him a kind look and said gently, touched by his words :

- Calm down, princess. Thank you for your admiration. Breathe, I am fully listening to you.

Charlie, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, outlined his plan with frankness tinged with nervousness. She honestly admitted that it was her fault that the purge had been brought forward six months, explaining that in a month Adam and the exterminators would come to see them first. Unable to hide her anxiety, she admitted that she did not know what to do in the face of this critical situation.

-And so… Alastor brought me here to get your help, apparently. She added, casting an uncertain look at Alastor.

( y/n ), staring skeptically at Alastor for the first since this exchange, raised an eyebrow, expressing doubt about the demon's intentions. In a calm but direct voice, she asked him :

- Do you really think you'll help Charlie with his hotel ? Do you believe in this idea of redemption ?

Alastor replied with a hint of amusement in his voice :

- Ah, my dear (y/n), believe in redemption ? It’s like believing in Santa Claus ! However, I see Charlie's little project as an entertainment opportunity. And maybe, who knows, a few souls to collect for eternity. But don't get me wrong, I'm here to save his project, it shouldn't be broken too quickly. I was even the one who chose the name of the brand, the “Hazbin Hotel”!

Faced with Alastor's response, Charlie felt disappointed and blasé, her face betraying her displeasure. She had hoped to find a sincere ally in him, but his words had reminded her of the dark and detached nature of the one who accompanied her today.

(y/n), turning to Taku with a serious look, asked him if the information provided by Alastor was true. Taku nodded soberly, confirming that according to his informants, the stated facts were accurate. (y/n) bowed his head slightly in recognition towards Taku before turning back to Charlie.

- I see… And what do you want from me, princess ?

Alastor spoke up to propose a solution to the situation.

- You know, (y/n), with your power and your army of fishermen, you could put an end to all this. You could even come to the aid of other potential members of what you insist on calling your “family”. He said in a convinced tone, looking at his nails, keeping a straight posture, not wanting to slump against the backrest even if he wanted to, wanting to keep a good face in front of her.

In a gesture of controlled serenity, (y/n) gently raised her hand to interrupt him, before falling gracefully on his knee. Closing her eyes briefly, she gathered her thoughts before responding in a calm but resolute voice :

- I understand your point of view, but I refuse to put the members of my family in danger for a matter that does not directly concern them. Here we are safe.

(y/n)'s reply, although delivered with apparent confidence, does not quite succeed in convincing Alastor, accustomed to detecting chinks in the armor of his interlocutors. He had subtly noticed the change in expression on the overlord's face. A smirk tugged at his thin lips, his eyes sparkling with biting amusement as he prepared to further explore the cracks in (y/n)'s confidence.

- You sure about that ? He asked, his voice softly tinged with a veiled threat. Think about it my dear. Things change, alliances break, and even your fishermen could find themselves caught in the tumult of this impending war.

He remained silent for a moment, letting his words permeate the atmosphere, then he continued in a calm but incisive tone :

- Imagine for a moment that Adam's forces are getting closer. Do you really think they will stop indefinitely at the gates of your pocket dimension ? That your precious fishermen will be spared from their fury ? No, my dear (y/n), your security is only an illusion in this constantly moving world. And if you refuse to act now, you may bitterly regret it when the flames of war lick the walls of your refuge.

He paused, letting his words resonate in (y/n)'s mind, before concluding with a sardonic smile :

- Of course, I do not underestimate your ability to protect your domain. But it's always good to consider all possibilities, even the darkest ones. After all, prudence is the mother of safety, right ?

Alastor knew how to tug on the heartstrings of high-ranking demons like (y/n). He used his charisma and sharp rhetoric to sow doubt in the overlord's mind, giving her a different perspective on the situation and pushing her to consider more aggressive actions to protect her rule and honor.

Before Charlie could intervene with his own arguments, Taku, faithful servant, spoke in a respectful but determined tone.

- My Lady. He began in a voice full of devotion. I understand the arguments made by this nuisance, but I implore you, do not let fear and uncertainty dictate your actions. You are the force that unites us, the light that guides our steps in the darkness. Your prudence is our shield against the chaos that always threatens to engulf us. Yes, times are uncertain and threats are many, but it is precisely in these times that your leadership is most crucial. Acting in haste, under the influence of fear, would only hasten our downfall. Let us remain faithful to our strategy, to our vision of the future. With your wisdom and wise judgment, we will overcome whatever challenges come our way. Because if you choose to engage in this confrontation, you risk losing more than you could gain. Your place is here, alongside yours, to protect our home and guide our destiny. Don't let the words of a manipulative demon sow doubt in your mind. We trust you, my Lady. And as long as you stay strong, so will we.

His hand, resting confidently on (y/n)'s shoulder, testified to his unwavering support, while he awaited his suzerain's decision with respectful patience, trusting in her wisdom and in her ability to make the best decisions for them.

(y/n) turned her gaze towards Taku, letting her face rest on her hand which was placed next to her on the backrest, fighting against the wave of sadness which invaded her at the thought of Lynn, that she had punished for a recent transgression. Alastor, carefully scanning the scene, felt a pang of annoyance as he noticed the proximity between them, a proximity that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

However, her attention was diverted by something that seemed to escape the others, when she raised her arm slightly, to take Taku's hand which was on her shoulder. Another curious and interesting detail, which added to the confirmation of his suspicions. (y/n) raised his face towards Charlie, letting go of his advisor's hand, placing his arm back at his side. In a gentle voice, she expressed her regrets.

- I'm sorry, princess, but I can't help you in this matter. She declared with compassion. I can't afford to put any member of my family in danger, let alone drag them into this.

However, she offered Charlie a glimmer of hope by adding :

- However, if your hotel survives, I will be happy to support you by visiting your establishment. I could then assess whether it truly constitutes a safe haven for those who seek redemption under your protection.

This compromise seemed to assuage Charlie's disappointment, giving him an encouraging outlook for the future of his project. She couldn't hold back her joy and literally jumped with contentment, her eyes shining with excitement.

- You are serious ? Really ? She exclaimed, both surprised and delighted by the powerful overlord's proposal.

(y/n) nodded gently, a kind smile stretching her lips.

- Yes I am. If your hotel manages to offer a path to redemption, then some members of my family may feel drawn to that possibility. And as a worthy leader, it is my duty to help them as best I can. She declared with dignity, thus expressing her noble vision of responsibilities.

Charlie's eyes lit up even more, splashed with a mixture of admiration and gratitude.

- It's incredible ! Thank you so much, (y/n) ! You won't regret it, I promise ! She exclaimed, letting her gratitude and determination to make her project a success shine through.

Sensing Charlie's imminent departure, (y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating his enthusiasm and determination.

- I wish you good luck, princess. Do your best to save your hotel. She told him sincerely, recognizing the passion that animated the young woman.

Charlie, moved by these words, bowed respectfully to (y/n) like a fan to an idol.

- Thank you, thank you very much ! I will not disappoint you ! I will do everything to find a solution to save him, you will see ! She promised passionately before heading towards the exit, carrying with her a mixture of excitement and newfound enthusiasm, not caring if Alastor followed her or not.

Alastor remained still, staring at (y/n) with a mixture of interest and challenge in his glowing gaze. Taku, seeing that the conversation was coming to an end, turned to Alastor with a cold and bitter expression, suggesting in a scathing tone :

- It's time for you to go, demon. Your presence is no longer required.

But Alastor didn't seem to react to Taku's words, keeping his attention entirely focused on (y/n). He let out a little sarcastic laugh, before announcing in a quiet voice but full of innuendo :

- In fact, I intend to talk a little more with (y/n).

She turned her attention to him, with a neutral air, while he announced :

-And one-on-one this time.

______________________________________________

Author's note : Well, I guess there will be a part 3, right ? I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it, and that (y/n)'s character captivated you. Stay tuned for the next part !

#alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #vivziepop

112 notes · View notes

pasukiyo · 1 year

Note

Hi! Not sure if you are still taking requests but I had an idea and so I was curious like Tom has no interest in Quidditch at all, a big zero but! How would Tom react when he comes to the play for the first time, because he promised reader that he would come and watch her play and then something goes wrong and he sees her gets badly hurt?

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!hufflepuff reader 5,694 words warnings: fluff (for once) slight angst summary: tom riddle wasn’t one for quidditch. or love. but everything he thought would be questioned the moment you convince him to come to a quidditch match, and he nearly loses you. it all feels like a dream.

Tom Riddle remembered the day he began to fall in love all too well.

It started off a day like any other, he remembered sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast, Tiernan Lestrange and Clarence Avery at his sides, the others on the opposite side of the table. The two of them were bickering back and forth about some Slytherin girl they both seemed to fancy, the others snickering behind their goblets while Tom remained silent, frankly quite uninterested in the topic as he chose to instead engross himself in his Astronomy book.

“She always sits nearest to me in Potions,” Tiernan was saying, leaning forward to glare at Clarence over the table. “It must be true love then, right Lestrange?” Liam Mulciber sniggered from behind the rim of his cup, and Tiernan turned to curl his lip at him.

“Well, she let me borrow her Divination book,” Avery replied, a smug look washing over his pale face. “I don’t suppose she lets you borrow any of her things?”

“Divination?” Dolohov snorted across the table. “You don’t need the book for that class, all you have to do is make stuff up. Really, Clarence, she probably just thinks you’re stupid.”

Lestrange’s body trembled with the force of his laugh, and Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to will his mind back on the black, inky words of his Astronomy book.

“That’s not true,” Avery hissed, cheeks seared with scarlet flame. “I’ll have you know that I have top marks in—“

“Would the two of you be so kind as to take your argument elsewhere?” Tom’s eye twitched and he tore through the conversation like a knife, leaving the others to tighten their lips, not daring to make even the smallest of sounds. “I am trying to read.”

For a moment, all was silent, and the group blinked at Tom as his shoulders heaved in a sigh, attempting to re-immerse himself back in his book. Lestrange swallowed the boulder-sized lump that had formed at the base of his throat, bowing his head, the others following suit. “Yes, of course. Sorry, my Lord.”

They didn’t dare utter a word for the remainder of breakfast and eventually, they all up and left, leaving Tom on his own at the Slytherin dining table, save for a group of third years at the end. At last, he could read in peace without the others breathing down his neck or arguing over something as silly as love in his ear.

Just as he flipped to the next page of the book, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, laughter and conversation pinging off the stone walls of the large room, Tom’s focus all at once being thrown off course. His eye twitched again as he snapped his head up to the source of all the noise, his gaze following the mass of yellow Quidditch uniforms as they made their way over to the table on the far side of the Hall.

And just at the head of the group was her, hair swept back into a ponytail, her eyes locking onto his even from all the way across the room. Her face split into a brilliant smile and she raised a leather-clad hand above her head, wobbling it in a wave.

Tom Riddle blinked.

It was classic. It was her.

He should’ve anticipated this. She was always there, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, he was always drawn to her, could always feel her presence in a room, could always find her in a crowd. It was frustrating. It was irritating. It was disgusting.

He remembered watching as she sat to join the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players at their table— they must’ve had an early morning practice. He wasn’t sure why he felt inclined to care—after all, it was no secret that Tom Riddle loathed Quidditch.

He could never understand the interest. Why watch a bunch of fools fly around on broomsticks and toss balls into hoops when there were more beneficial ways to spend your time on? To be quite frank, Tom saw Quidditch as nothing more than a waste of time.

But even then, he still couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from her. Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team— he’d heard she was actually quite good at the sport, but a series of losses seemed to muddy her reputation. He’d heard other Houses snicker about it before— “Hufflepuff’s Captain caught the Snitch again, but the team was still down nearly two hundred points, and they lost anyway. Honestly, how unlucky can you be?”

How unfortunate, indeed.

Even then, she seemed content with her team, her House, everything. Tom couldn’t seem to understand how someone could be so happy, so fine with having to settle with everyone else’s ignorance. Nevertheless, there she was, laughing and cheering with the rest of the Hufflepuff team, as if they weren’t the worst Quidditch team Hogwarts had seen in years.

She must’ve felt Tom’s stare on her, for he could see even from all the way across the Hall how she blinked and turned her head, her eyes quick to find his. Her face lifted into a grin and she raised her hand to wave again.

Tom pursed his lips and slammed his Astronomy book closed. He needed to leave.

Tucking his book under his arm, he pushed himself away from the Slytherin dining table, striding towards the double doors of the Great Hall. He could feel eyes beading into the back of his head and he sniffed at the feeling, willing himself to keep his head forward.

He couldn’t understand why she was capable of getting so into his head. No one had ever had such an effect on him before, so why her? They were polar opposites— she loved Quidditch, she loved being around people, she was outgoing, fun, and he was… well, quite introverted.

People adored him, even he, himself, knew it. He guessed it came with being Head Boy, along with his services to the school. But Tom was less than appreciative towards the attention he received— he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, whether it be by the other students or the teachers. Professor Slughorn, in particular, was one of his biggest obstacles. Even his followers were as burdensome as they were irritating, more times than not.

All Tom Riddle really needed was himself. He didn’t care for anyone else, and he never would. He had come this far without trusting anyone— so why did he feel like that all could potentially come crashing down because of her? Why did he feel a pull towards her, like metal to a magnet?

The irritation with himself grew like a weed inside of him and with each angry step he took up the Grand Staircase, he tore through his annoyance with a blade. He needed to get a grip on himself, and as he made his way down one of Hogwarts’ many long corridors, he chanted the same phrase over and over again inside of his head:

You do not need anyone else.

He spent the latter half of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon in the Library, forcing his mind into the hardcover spread on the table before him, his fingers gripping either edge of the book like it was the only thing anchoring him down to the inky, black words on the pages. Still, he could not rid his mind of the Hufflepuff girl— but why? He tried to remember every interaction he had ever had with her, if there was anything she had said that seemed to stick with him. Instead, the image of her smile and the memory of her warm, benevolent words made his insides twist with a feeling he didn’t even want to acknowledge.

He’d tried his best up to this point to make himself as unlikeable as possible— but even being short with her or brushing her off altogether never seemed to steer her off course. She was always just there, finding him even during the rush of lunch or dinner, asking how his day was or wondering how he felt about his classes. She seemed to try to find anything to say that may keep his attention.

She was nothing if not for her persistence.

And no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she was annoying, he still found himself thinking of her, his mind burning with the way her face would split into a smile when she saw him, how happy she always seemed to be to see him.

He hated how fluttery his heart would feel at the notion that perhaps, she fancied him, his stomach doing somersaults at the idea of a relationship with her.

Tom blinked down at his book.

This was really getting quite annoying.

For the second time that day, he slammed his book closed and sighed, leaning back into his seat, absentmindedly staring at the old hardcover. Perhaps a walk would suffice in clearing his mind— yes. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air in his lungs.

He pulled away from his seat and tucked the book away in his knapsack, nodding his head in acknowledgment to the old Librarian as he pushed the doors of the Library open. Keeping his lips pressed tight together, he clasped his hands behind his back as he ventured down the hallway towards the entrance to the Hogwarts Grounds, breathing the fresh air into his nostrils when he pushed the doors open, the afternoon sun kissing his pale cheeks.

The Grounds were bustling with students, which made sense, considering it was a Saturday. He just hoped he looked as unapproachable as possible— the last thing he needed was for someone to bother him, and he desperately hoped his followers weren’t around. He wasn’t confident he’d be able to bear their company without snapping at the moment.

It was warm today, the breeze adding the perfect amount of chill. The sky was a bright blue, and only a few wispy clouds painted its canvas. He thought for sure his mind would clear in no time—it was a beautiful day, after all. That was until just up ahead from the North exit of the Grounds emerged a group of students in bright yellow uniforms, their leader being none other than the very girl he had been trying to rid from his mind.

And of course, she was looking his way, and of course she was trotting up to him, that damned face illuminated with that damned smile.

“Tom!” She exclaimed as she jogged up, and once she was in front of him, he could see the faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, as well as the way the skin on her hairline glistened with a thin layer of sweat. His gaze flickered to her lips as her tongue swiped between them, and for a moment, he eyed the way her chest heaved as she caught her breath.

He could practically feel the knot tying itself at the base of his throat.

He cleared his throat and murmured her name in acknowledgment, nodding his head. “It’s a fine day today, isn’t it?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she gazed up at the sky. “I was lucky to have reserved the pitch for practice this morning. Finally beat your Neil Lament to the punch, for once.”

He blinked— why was it that he suddenly seemed interested in Quidditch so long as she was the one talking about it?

“Yes, I suppose,” he replied, his voice sounding void of emotion. This would usually be enough to scare anyone away— but not her.

“You know, I wish you’d come to our Quidditch matches, at least every once and awhile,” she leaned in, nudging his arm with her elbow. Tom tensed at the touch, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing erect, his skin erupting into flame in her touch’s wake. “We play Slytherin next Saturday, and we looked really good at practice today. Perhaps we’ll even have a shot at getting our first win of the season!”

She trailed off, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “I’d… I’d really love it if you’d come.”

She blinked up at him, and she seemed to flush when he met her gaze, clasping a hand over her wrist. Tom could hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest at the realization that for some strange reason, he felt he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he disappointed her. His voice hardly felt like his own when he said, “perhaps, I will.”

She blinked once, twice, thrice, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Tom, himself, couldn’t quite believe the words that had tumbled from his mouth either.

“Really?” Her lips curved into a grin and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth— Tom hoped the swift glance he stole to her mouth was as discreet as he intended it to be. She grasped the handle of her broomstick with either hand and she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at her team where they stood waiting, calling out her name and waving her back.

She tried to conceal her smile as she began to back away from Tom, hugging her broom to her chest. “I’ll hold you to your word then,” she said. “I expect to see you there!”

Tom watched as she turned and bounded back to her team, peering back over her shoulder at him as the others dragged her away towards the castle.

Tom couldn’t believe he agreed to go to a Quidditch match— something he’d avoided altogether for seven years— all because she said she wanted him to. Tom swallowed a lump of saliva back down his throat— strangely enough, he found himself looking forward to the match next week.

He didn’t think the Quidditch match that next Saturday could come any sooner. Of course, he’d seen her around the castle, but something within him couldn’t quite wait to see her reaction when she noticed him in the questionable Quidditch stands.

Course, he still didn’t understand why he felt the urge to go in the first place. Why was it that he hated the idea of letting her down if he didn’t show up?

If Saturday had only crept up on him, then the time for the match to begin made a break straight for him and sent him pummeling to the ground— and it was only when he entered the empty Slytherin common room that he realized he was running terribly late.

He made haste for the common room exit, failing to notice the group of boys looming in the corner until they were right on his heels, and he stiffened at the sound of someone’s voice.

“My Lord, we’ve been waiting for you all morning.”

He turned to gaze at his followers, expression as hard as stone. Liam Mulciber was at the head of the group, and the ball at the base of his throat visibly bobbed when he swallowed, realizing nobody else was going to speak up.

“Forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord,” he murmured, wetting his lips with his tongue. Tom only looked at him, not bothering to feign interest. “Well, I… we… were wondering where you were going,” Liam managed at last, his shoulders now lax as he inhaled. Tom sniffed, “since when did my whereabouts become your business?”

Liam Mulciber’s body tensed again, and the others seemed to be more interested in the floor than Tom. Mulciber’s lips moved to speak again, but the ticking of the mental clock in Tom’s mind was thundering now— he was late.

“If you all are done interrogating me now, I’d like to get moving,” Tom said simply, turning to push open the door of the common room. “I have somewhere to be.”

Tom left them in the common room speechless, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoing in the Slytherin dungeons. His heavy, methodical footsteps were next to permeate the stone corridor as he strode to the exit, pushing open the next set of doors until he was on the steps of the Grand Staircase. Seeing as nobody else was around, he fell into an uncharacteristic sprint up the stairs.

“Is that Tom Riddle?” One of the paintings on the wall asked somewhere behind him.

“I suppose it is! Hah! Never seen that boy run a day in his life. Always so aloof, that one is,” he could hear another one say. He didn’t allow himself the time to even scowl at this remark.

He bursted through the doors leading to the Hogwarts Grounds, and just over the stone walls on the far side of the yard, he could see the top of the Quidditch pitch, a flurry of yellow and green uniforms every once and awhile peeking from behind the stands. He could hear the muffled cheers and chants even from all the way down where he stood and he huffed, making a break for the North exit.

When he finally arrived, he clambered up the first set of stairs leading up to the nearest green stand he could find, dusting off his robes and huffing when he reached the top.

So this is what the Quidditch pitch looked like, he thought to himself. He’d never been up in the sketchy wooden stands, never been on the pitch itself, never even been within feet from the bleachers. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him as he sat in the nearest available seat in the front row, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw, ignoring the murmurs behind him.

“Jason Wilbrook scores another ten points for Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff is now up eighty to thirty!”

The Slytherin students around Tom all grumbled, the stands on either side erupting into cheers, chanting for Hufflepuff. He blinked— although he knew absolutely nothing that was going on in the game itself, he knew it was an absolute rarity that Hufflepuff was actually winning, and against Slytherin for that matter.

He scanned the air and the different players in yellow uniforms until he saw her, dormant where she sat on her broom, her ponytail whipping behind her as she searched— more than likely for the Snitch. But when she looked down and her line of vision seemed to aim straight for him, he knew the little golden ball wasn’t the only thing she had been looking for.

Even from all the way down where he was, he could see the way her skin lit up as her lips curved into that bright smile of hers, and he could already see her leather-clad hand raising above her hand to wobble down at him in a wave. Tom didn’t make any moves to reciprocate, but he couldn’t seem to peel away from her either. Not even when something small but shiny whipped by her and she gasped, squeezing the handle of her broom with either hand as she leaned forward in pursuit of the Snitch.

“Oh! It seems Hufflepuff’s Seeker has spotted the Snitch!” The announcer’s voice bellowed from the amplifier in his hand. “Hufflepuff scores another ten points, making the score ninety to thirty but— uh oh, it seems Slytherin’s own Seeker, Neil Lament, has spotted the Snitch as well!”

It was all happening so fast, but still, Tom’s eyes were trained on her and the way her yellow uniform whipped behind her as well as her hair while she chased the Snitch. Neil Lament, a burly seventh year with olive skin was at her side, his lips curled in a snarl as he rammed his shoulder into her, nearly knocking her from her broom.

Tom could taste bile on his tongue and his brow deepened with a scowl. The other Slytherins around him were chanting Neil’s name, yelling foul things about her, things that he hadn’t even realized were making his blood boil until he felt his cheeks warm with vexation.

“Hufflepuff scores another ten points and— oh, Merlin! Neil Lament has shoved the Hufflepuff Seeker and—“

Tom needn’t hear more. He saw it as it happened.

Neil was seething, and seemed to have enough with this race. Gripping the handle of his broomstick with black leather gloves, he used all of the strength he could muster in his body to throw his shoulder into the girl beside him and her fingers slipped from her broom, just barely managing to latch back on before it was too late.

With her heart thudding against her chest, she willed her balance back onto her broom, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she looked up and—

—everything went black.

Tom’s lips parted as he watched the large, mud-colored ball ram into the side of her head before dashing away as if nothing had happened. He watched as her fingers unhooked from around her broom and her eyelids fluttered closed, her consciousness slipping away from her as she fell slack, her body limp as it fell from the broom and began to make its long descent for the ground.

Tom’s fingers were curled around the wand in his robes before he could even wrap his head around what was happening, his lips parting and forming the word “Levioso!” just before her body could hit the ground below. His blood was running cold, frost icing over his lungs as he guided her down into the green of the pitch, and he released his breath as soon as she was sprawled on the grass.

Everything after was a blur.

He barely remembered the trip down the wobbling wooden stairs of the stands, hardly remembered searching for the entrance to the pitch, but he did remember when a group of teachers emerged from beneath one of the stands, her body limp in the arms of Albus Dumbledore.

His feet were moving without his brain willing them to, and it wasn’t long before the professors acknowledged his presence.

“Tom, my boy,” Professor Slughorn’s lips curved into a smile as he grabbed his shoulders, locking him in place as her body was being taken away. His eyes couldn’t leave her. “That was you that casted the Levicorpus charm on her, yes? I must say, I admire your quick thinking and—“

“Apologies, Professor. But I wish to see to her—“

“Not to worry, dear boy,” Slughorn clapped his shoulder, brushing a piece of lint from the black of Tom’s robes. “Rest assured, Madame Everleigh will see to it that she’s nursed back to full health. Now, in the meantime—“

Tom couldn’t bear to hear whatever it was Slughorn had to say next. He was tearing away from the professor’s grip and making long strides toward the castle where Albus Dumbledore, along with the rest of the teachers, disappeared into. His feet were on autopilot, making a beeline for the Hospital Wing.

When he finally arrived, she was already settled onto a bed, Dumbledore and a few other teachers talking amongst themselves as the Matron, Madame Everleigh, tended to her. Albus Dumbledore caught Tom’s eyes where he stood at the entrance to the infirmary. He excused himself from the other teachers and sauntered over to where Tom stood, hands clasped behind his back.

“That was some quick thinking you had back there,” Professor Dumbledore praised, but Tom was hardly comprehending his words. “Is she alright?” Was all Tom could bring himself to ask, and Dumbledore turned to glance over his shoulder before turning back to Tom, pursing his lips and nodding his head. “She’s unconscious, but she’s stable. She’ll definitely wake up with a ghastly headache, that’s for certain.”

Tom blinked, expressionless. He wasn’t one for humor. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore already knew that. He wouldn’t question it, for now.

“I’m sure Madame Everleigh will have nursed her back to consciousness soon,” Dumbledore said. “She needs rest. I wouldn’t suppose Mrs Everleigh would find any issue in you keeping her some company, so long as you stay out of her way.”

Tom bowed his head, and Dumbledore reciprocated as he watched the Head Boy pass by, noting the concern the boy had for the girl lying on the hospital bed. Interesting, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself before ambling towards the exit, pushing open the door in front of him.

Madame Everleigh paid him no mind, most likely not even realizing he was there at all as she fluffed the pillow beneath the girl’s head, making sure it was well supported. The other teachers had since dispersed, leaving the only ones left in the infirmary Tom Riddle, Madame Everleigh, the Hufflepuff Captain, and a young Gryffindor on the opposite wall, groaning into a large tin bucket.

Tom cleared his throat and it was then that Madame Everleigh acknowledged his presence, blinking up at him. “Excuse me, Madame Everleigh,” he began. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed and kept her some company, would you?”

Madame Everleigh shrugged, her small frame circling the bed to reach for something from the table on the other side. “So long as you stay out of my way, I see no problem with it.”

Tom Riddle spent the afternoon sitting in a chair at her bedside, letting Madame Everleigh tell the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players her condition when they finally arrived, a somber air around them as they grumbled about their loss when the game had started off so promising.

It wasn’t until after dinner that the girl on the bed finally began to stir, and Tom pushed himself up on his seat, blinking down at her as her eyelids began to peel open. She grumbled something incoherent as she cradled the side of her head, the very one the bludger had hit hours before.

When she finally came to, she squinted over to the boy at her bedside. “Tom?” Her voice was low in a hoarse whisper, and Madame Everleigh was quick to join her at her other side, holding a cup of water to her lips.

“You will be sore for a while,” the Matron informed her. “It’s best if you stay here and rest for the time being. You’re lucky you weren’t unconscious for days.”

She waited until Madame Everleigh was gone before turning back to Tom, even in pain, her face splitting into a smile. “Quite the first Quidditch match for you, wasn’t it?”

Tom, with his expression as hard as ever, leaned back in his seat and scoffed, not a hint of amusement on his face. He couldn’t believe she was cracking jokes when she was in pain, when he was over here worried for her. Her ignorance was astounding.

“You were hurt,” he replied, voice deep and rumbling. Her smile dropped and she frowned, furrowing her brows. “But I’m alright now,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. For a few moments, neither said anything. Her gaze was penetrating, as if she were trying to see through him.

None had ever tried and succeeded before.

“You were worried for me, weren’t you?”

Until now.

Tom blinked, his eye twitching as he tore his gaze away from her, choosing to instead peer out the windows on the far wall. It was all becoming too real, this ever-growing feeling inside of him for the girl before him. Up until now, he could’ve played it off as being all in his head. But now that she was saying it aloud— it was too much. Too real.

She released a breathy laugh, and she reached to prod a finger against his forearm, his skin tingling with the phantom of her touch. “You were totally worried about me,” she tittered. “How lucky am I to have Tom Riddle, Hogwarts’ very own Head Boy looking after me?”

Tom sunk his molars into the flesh of the inside of his cheek and he sniffed, shifting in his seat. “Do you want an award or something?” He questioned, and she chuckled. “Now he’s making jokes?” She raised an eyebrow to her hairline. “You’re full of surprises, Tom Riddle.”

“It’s called being sarcastic.”

“Is it?”

Tom pressed his lips together to form thin, white lines and after a few beats, she turned back to look at him. “What happened after I got a bludger to the head?” She asked, noting the blackness outside the hospital windows. Tom shifted in his seat. “I left after you were injured,” he replied. “Your teammates came to visit.”

She perked at this. “What did they say? Did we win?” She asked, and Tom shook his head. “They said they substituted another Seeker in for you. Hufflepuff lost one hundred to two hundred and forty.”

She groaned and banged her fist against the mattress, spatting a “damn!” She grumbled, “if not for that blasted Neil Lament, I would’ve had the Snitch and we would have actually won for once.”

Tom scoffed at this and she eyed him from the corner of her sockets. “What?” The wrinkle in her brow deepened at this. “Last I checked, you don’t even care for Quidditch. Why should you care if your team gets another measly win?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about Quidditch. It’s the fact that you’re fussing over a damn sport when you’re lying in a hospital bed, injured.”

Silence swept over them like a wave and she blinked over at Tom who couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore, staring out the windows instead, his arms folded over his chest. She eyed his pale skin, the sharpness of his jaw, his full, pink lips as they pursed together, his piercing, dark eyes as they looked anywhere but at her.

She could feel her heart as it drummed in her chest, a warmth washing over her that she’d felt many times before. She ached with affection for him, ached with want, with desire. And now that he was sitting here, her only acquaintance in the otherwise empty hospital— save for the small Gryffindor boy now sound asleep on the other side of the room— she felt a burning in her chest, a burning of hope that he felt the same way too.

After all, why else would he spend his entire day sitting with her until she woke up when he was always so insistent on using his time for other more important things? With the clearing of her throat, she mustered all the confidence she could to her mouth as her words formed on the tip of her tongue.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better Tom, I’d think you were falling for me.”

Her heart was racing, especially when he turned to gaze back down at her, that murky, black stare of his piercing right through her. She felt like she was suffocating the longer he made her wait for his response, she could feel the crimson heat as it crept to her cheeks.

Tom Riddle was usually calm, cool, and collected, always knew what to say and when to say it. This was the first time he could remember being rendered speechless.

It was real now— never had anyone been able to see through him before, no one had ever been able to see him, to slowly begin to figure him out. But she did. She somehow knew about this strange and foreign feeling within him, something he wasn’t sure what to name. Attraction? Desire? Infatuation? Love?

Could this be love? Could love be this sudden, this unexpected? Could this be what love was, to care so deeply for someone without even fully understanding why? To burn for someone else, to have your heart beat erratically at just the idea of them? Was love something else?

Tom didn’t know. But perhaps, this was what it was like to fall in love with someone else. This was a day he’d remember all too well.

Tom straightened in his seat and cleared the heavy lump in his throat, his lip quivering as he opened his mouth, although unsure what to say. “Perhaps, I am.”

Her lips parted and her brows knit together, and suddenly, she didn’t feel like she’d just taken a bludger to the head, or that she had nearly fallen to her death only hours ago. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for Tom Riddle to kiss her. Her lips were practically throbbing with the idea of Tom’s on them.

“I don’t know whether or not I’m dreaming right now. And I really, really hope I’m not,” she murmured, losing herself further into the darkness of his eyes until she couldn’t tell when she ended and he began anymore. “Perhaps I’m dead and this is all just a hallucination,” she whispered, breathless. “Whether or not this is real, I’d really like for you to kiss me right now.”

Tom could feel warmth surge through him at her words, his lip quivering as he leaned forward, their faces now so close, their lips but mere wisps against one another. “I hope you aren’t dreaming either,” he murmured and she trembled, feeling her lungs shudder in her chest.

And then Tom’s lips were on hers, and she was sure this was real.

Tom Riddle’s lips were on hers, soft and pliant, kissing her with an urgent, tender need. If she was a candle, then he was her flame, and she was melting like wax, sinking further and further down into the plush of the hospital bed’s mattress. If it weren’t for the pain in her head, she’d follow his lips when he pulled away, blinking down at her. Her gaze met his and his irises were so dark, she couldn’t quite tell when his pupils began or ended.

All she could feel was his hot breath as it lingered like an ember on her skin, and she shuddered as she exhaled. “If I’m dreaming, please don’t pinch me,” she whispered, and Tom breathed, the closest she’d ever heard him come to a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back and the corners of her lips curved into a smile, a giggle slipping through the cracks.

Tom Riddle was making a joke.

a/n; i literally just finished writing this like twenty minutes ago and i shit you not, i wrote the last like 3k words of this in one sitting 😭 not sure how i feel about the beginning, but i think i feel good about my writing at the end for once. and i actually wrote fluff and not smut for once!! look at me!! anyways, IM NOW CAUGHT UP WITH REQUESTS! so feel free to send in more if you’d like lol

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza @lyis @upsidedownspidey @michelle-26

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader #voldemort #voldemort x reader #harry potter #wizarding world #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic

558 notes · View notes

abbeym28 · 6 months

Text

Carry Me Out

In which you and Satoru realize you don't know what to get Megumi for his birthday, and in which Satoru comes up with a simple way on how to know.

Third drabble, could be read stand alone again! Sorry this took so long to get out! Almost 2,000 words! This has been a work in progress for a while, and to be honest, I have no idea why I finished it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Megumi’s birthday was coming up.

You’ve been there for two of his birthday’s, but this year, he was turning ten. Obviously, this was a very big deal for you and Satoru.

The problem you are facing is that when the two of you asked what he had wanted, Megumi just shrugged and told you that he wanted what he would normally get. (Which since being under the care of Satoru, was pretty much a mix of money, books, toys, candy, or other things Megumi was interested in. Sometimes he asks for things for his dogs, so treats, balls and chew toys will occasionally be added to the pile.)

So, a week before the day of your adopted son’s birth, you and Satoru held a private meeting between the two of you to brainstorm.

“I think he said he wanted monster high dolls. And some pokemon cards, as well as a disk copy of that latest Teenage Mutant Ninja turtle iteration. Also, a day spent looking at candy shops.” your ever-so-helpful boyfriend was lying down across the length of your shared bed.

You hit him with one of your pillows as you paced around, anxiously tapping a pen onto a notepad. “Satoru, those are all things you want.” you paused, thinking a bit for a little. “But actually, I will put monster high dolls down. I think I caught him staring at the Sweet 1600 Clawdeen the last time we went to Target.” You jotted a few notes and then looked back at Satoru.

His arms were settled behind his head and his eyes were closed, his sunglasses placed on his bedside table. Satoru still smiled as he confidently whispered, “See, I’m helpful.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned before you flopped down next to him, face first. Satoru began rubbing small circles onto your back and you turned your head to look at him. His blue eyes stared back into yours, which was slightly alarming and caught you way off guard.

“I know this is super important, but you should take it down a notch. It’s not good for your skin.” You sighed.

“Satoru, it's Megumi’s 10th birthday. Two digits! My skin doesn’t matter as much as him having a good birthday.” He pulled you closer to him and he pressed a kiss onto the top of your head.

“Okay, you know what? I’ll talk to him. Maybe, all he wants for his birthday is some quality time with daddy, the strongest sorcerer and man in the whole wor-”

Satoru wasn’t able to finish his sentence before a pillow hit him in the face and you were out of the room.

Satoru decided that the best way to get answers is to catch Megumi off guard.

So, he was going to do something he hadn't ever done before- pick him up from school. At first, he had left it up to Nanami to drive his kids around, but pretty soon it was you who took up that spot.

He had to admit, something about watching three of the people he loved most come crashing through his front door, all in a mess to shed off school related things just to get a snack quickly, warmed his heart up in way’s he figured would never be possible.

Satoru leaned onto his (expensive) car door, arms crossed in front of his chest, a smirk on his lips as he greeted other random parents who were also waiting for their kids.

The sun was beating down pretty bright onto his face, extra bright from the reflecting of the white snow all over the ground, so even with his sunglasses he almost missed the school doors opening. But, he did have his six eyes and multiple other powers that allowed him to doge the punch Megumi had thrown at his knees.

“Why are you here?” Megumi went in for another swig and a kick, but Satoru picked him up before he could. Megumi squirmed as his dad placed a wet kiss on his cheek.

“I’m here to pick you up! Aren’t you so happy?”

“Dad!!!”

“Tsumiki!!!”

Satoru placed down Megumi so he could sweep up his daughter, who was running right at him, matching huge smiles on both of their faces.

“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is great, ‘Miki. Just figured you guys would want to see my face a little sooner than normal.”

Tsumiki giggled as Satoru pressed a bit more of a softer kiss onto her face.

“All right, let's get in the car and go home! Snacks are waiting for you.” He set Tsumiki down in the back seat, buckling her in and then patting her shoulder. Satoru shut the door and then jogged to the other side of the car where Megumi was struggling to reach the door handle and get in.

Satoru opened the door and smiled at him, but Megumi just scowled and climbed up, using all of his strength to get in the seat and buckle himself. The drive started quiet, the jolly holiday music softly playing from the stereo.

“So…. Megumi. Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it? Is there something you would like?” Satoru looked at his son through the rearview mirror.

Megumi grumbled something, too low for even his sister to catch.

“What was that, oh sweetest child of mine?”

“I said I want you to disappear.” Tsumiki gasped and Satoru tutted as he made a turn, getting closer to home.

“How about you make a list! All of the things you want, all on one paper! It would make both of your parents very happy!” Satoru’s sing song voice made Megumi scoff.

“Megumi! That is such a good idea!” Tsumiki spoke excitedly.

Megumi turned towards her fast while a smile grew larger on the dads face.

“We can work on it together! I’ll help you! Oh my gosh, this will be so much fun!” Megumi’s expression soured.

This, he thought, would not be fun.

You were doing dishes when you heard the loud crashing that walked through your front door. Wiping your hands on a towel, you walked over to find your family struggling to take off your boyfriend's shoe, the left one.

Well , Tsumiki was trying to help.

Megumi was repeatedly hitting Satoru in the leg with his small light up sneakers.

“You have big fat feet! Get out of my way!” You couldn't help but giggle as Megumi yelled at Satoru.

“Gumi, there’s hot chocolate on the table for you. How ‘bout you leave your dad alone for now, hmm?” Megumi’s eyes brightened despite his continued grumbling as he left Satoru standing, still struggling to get his shoe off.

“Is there one for me too?” Tsumiki perked up, stars surrounding her as she asked you that.

“Of course!” She yelled a quick hooray before running after her younger brother. You moved closer to your boyfriend as a pout settled onto his face.

“How did you even get your shoe stuck on?” Kneeling down, you laughed at him as you tried to loosen the laces a bit, tugging on a few places to help widen the hole that still was hugging his ankle.

“They must be older than I thought.” Satoru shrugged. “Are they always more happy to see hot chocolate than they are to see me?”

There was a slight hint of jealousy and pettiness in his tone, making this even more hilarious for you.

“Hey, stop laughing! This is a really serious situation!” The shoe you were pulling on popped off, making you fall back a bit. Before you really could though, Satoru attached one of his hands to the area just between the middle of your back and your waist.

“Oh! You got my shoe off! Thanks hun!” He pressed a kiss onto your cheek and then tugged you up, keeping you in place in front of him, still in the doorway. “Anyway, I had a genius idea! Megumi’s going to make a birthday list!" There was a pause that was filled with silence.

"Tell me that I’m a genius please.”

You snorted as a response to his need to inflate his ego. “That is smart, good job Toru.” You put your hand on his cheek and he seemed to snuggle into your palm as a smug smile grew on his lips.

“Do the kids have paper? You should probably get some down for them.” Your brows furrowed as you moved away from him (killing the moment in the process) and towards the dining table where both your son and daughter were nursing their hot drink as they watched Sofia the First on the tv Satoru set up on a portion of the huge kitchen counter.

You pressed a soft kiss on both of the tops of their heads before getting some markers and then sitting down besides them.

“Honey! I got the paper!” Satoru came back over to you guys, pressing a wet and loud kiss onto you and Tsumiki’s cheeks before getting hit in the face by Megumi.

“Stay away from me, old man.” Satoru’s expression turned from ecstatic into despair as he sat down in the chair next to you, his head finding home on your shoulder as he and his son engaged in a glaring match.

“Still salty, huh? You literally have hot chocolate!”

“I don’t enjoy seeing your face right when I get out of school. Don’t you think you've extended your stay here?”

“This is my house! And I’m on vacation. You will be as well, so prepare to see me even more!” Megumi stuck out his tongue which caused Satoru to huf and to bury his face more into your collarbone.

“Are you sure he deserves a good birthday?” He muttered to you. You pushed him off of you (which was a bit of a struggle) and slid the papers and markers to be in front of Megumi. He gave you the cutest confused look you have ever seen.

“It’s for your wish list sweet boy. You can write whatever you want on there.” He nodded, a little bit of blush colored his cheeks.

You could almost also think that he was excited.

Megumi handed his list to you after you had tucked him in and read him his favorite children's book about dogs. He didn't say anything when he did, so you took it with a thank you and an I love you.

You settled into your own shared bed with Satoru after you had done all of your nightly routines. The lamp from your bed side table was alight when you decided to read your son's list.

“So? Are his demands doable?” Satoru slid into the sheets beside you and pulled himself closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist in the process.

“Most of them are. He is really good at making lists, it turns out.” Satoru hummed as you continued to skim through Megumi’s scribble writing. It was the second to last one there that made you pause.

A day with my family doing fun stuff.

The words were drawn on slightly lighter than the other items on the list.

He spelt doing with a b.

All of the letters were closer together and looped, as if he didn’t actually want you to see what he had written.

All of those things melted your heart for some strange reason.

“Hmmm. That was cute of him.” Satoru cuts through your thinking with his slightly teasing words. “Oh. look at the last one!”

And so you did, only to find a less sweet wish, but still as cute as the one before it.

Replace Satoru with a dog.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk megumi

177 notes · View notes

wisteria-blooms · 8 months

Text

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (1/?) pilot

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

A/N: Pilot chapter of the Charlie Weasley version of 'long hair & tattoos.' Hastily edited before work so I'll fix things up as I go. I hope you'll like it!

CHAPTER 1: When Lucius threatens to bring Goyle over with the intent of courtship, you fight back. Malfoys never lose, right? 1.9k words

CHAPTER 1: 23, STILL CRAZY

Before you knew it, September had fallen over the Malfoy Manor.

Now, what did a September dinner look like at the Malfoy Manor?

It looked like a long dining table engulfed by the even larger room it presided in. It looked like a warm and gorgeous chandelier, embedded with thousands of crystals, that hung overtop the middle of the table. It looked like the rattling of leaves, threatening to redden and the brown, outside in the rolling gardens. It looked like the velvet sun seeping into the windows, casting frightening shadows on the patriarch’s face.

With every second that ticked by, you felt the last of summer slip through your hands. In a few weeks, it would get darker earlier and earlier until you were dining with your family in darkness.

“Genevieve’s wedding really was beautiful,” your mother, Narcissa, remarked for the third time today. And the tenth time this week. But who was counting?

You nodded blithely. Of course, it was beautiful. Anything Malfoy money touched, despite how little thought or meaning was put it in, was stained beautiful. Truly, it was something, watching your eldest cousin, Genevieve, marry on the cliffs overlooking the French Riviera. She wore the most gorgeous dress, and her hair was done to perfection, not a strand out of place.

You were happy for her but you had to wonder: wasn’t your own happiness what mattered the most? When Genevieve was holding Maximillian’s hand, saying vows that were too pure and sweet to come out of her mouth, you were sat alone watching. Your eyes would drift everywhere. First, at Draco, beside you, who had brought Astoria. You watched your two littlest cousins, Charlotte and Clara, holding each other and tearing up at Genevieve’s vows. Then, to your cousin, Claude. Claude was Genevieve’s older brother and was clasping his girlfriend’s hand that was perched on his lap. She was probably a soon-to-be-fiancée after this event. Genevieve’s picturesque romance sparked a fever in everyone, including yourself.

And you trudged on alone the rest of the night, nursing your champagne, embraced by only the sweet sea air.

Everything was perfect from start to end. They had perfect weather (cloudless blue skies and sunshine), the perfect people in attendance, the perfect vows, and the perfect dinner, the perfect wine, and—

As much as you hated to admit it, it was bitter to be alone.

Really freaking bitter.

“You should consider a location for your own wedding, (Y/N),” Narcissa, always the optimist, continued. “These venues book up quite fast. Susan’s daughter has been on the waitlist for her choice venue for a year now.”

“The booking isn’t the hard part,” Draco, your little brother by two years, added. “The hardest part is (Y/N) finding a man that can actually tolerate her.”

“That’s true,” you said in agreement, much to Draco’s chagrin. “I don’t think any man is suitable for my standards.”

“Maybe the men aren’t the problem,” Lucius, your father, said through gritted teeth. You had probably evoked some bad memories of you abandoning the gentlemen he’d tried introducing you to at the country club.

“That’s just it, they are the problem,” you shot back. “Money or status doesn’t better a person make.”

“You won’t be holding onto that belief when you inevitably end up alone,” Lucius stated.

“Father, I may have a solution to (Y/N)’s predicament,” Draco piped up. A devious smile spread across his face. “Dear sister, you remember my friend, Goyle, don’t you?”

All that came to mind when you heard Gregory “Goyle” was a sweaty and stout boy with a forehead bigger than the rest of his face. The size of his noggin clearly housed nothing because the thoughts that came out his mouth were puzzling. And any chance of Goyle nurturing his intelligence or academic pursuits was shot down whenever a pretty girl walked by. At least he had quidditch to fall back on. He was definitely a decent beater by strength, rivalling your best friends, Fred and George Weasley. They often complained to you about his dirty tricks on the field.

“I wish I didn’t,” you lamented.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “His father and I are acquaintances,” he mused. “He would be a decent choice of a partner.”

Goyle? That was the best your family could come up with for you? How low could they go now?

But still, you looked at your father in bewilderment. “You’re not serious, are you?” When Lucius didn’t answer, you continued. “Kiss any chance of intelligent children in your bloodline goodbye,” you quipped, swirling your wine glass around. “Wasn’t like Draco was going to propagate that trait anyway.”

“I would do a better job than you!” Draco retorted, slamming his own glass down. You smiled a bit; you’d broken him with that remark. “If I recall correctly, dear sister, there were some classes you didn’t fare well in, leading to mother and father having to visit the Headmaster personally.”

You flushed red. It was true, everything he said. It wasn’t your fault that it was just one class you couldn’t do well in, no matter how hard you tried.

“Well, if you spent more time reading than sucking off Pansy’s face in the library, maybe you would’ve graduated with distinction, too.”

“At least someone wanted to date me. Or were you snogging both of the Weasleys when I wasn’t looking?”

“That is enough!” Lucius bellowed. He was loud enough to shut both of you up. “(Y/N), this is despicable conversation and I will not have this at my dinner table.” Of course, this was all your fault. And likely, your father’s head was imploding at the thought of you having relations with a Weasley. Any Weasley.

“Yeah, (Y/N),” Draco whispered. “Don’t be indecent at the table.”

“Shut up,” you whispered back, taking a slow sip of wine to regain composure.

“I will personally extend a dinner invitation to Gregory and his family. We will dine here in a fortnight,” Lucius announced.

“What?” you blurted out. You thought this whole thing was a stupid joke. “For what purposes will you have him here, father?”

“I reckon it’s long overdue that the Malfoys officially make allies with the Goyle family,” Lucius stated. “And I’ve been left with no choice.” He was referring to all the times you’d rejected his friends’ sons.

The look on his face was stern. And for once, you couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“If even Genevieve can find a partner to spend her life with, then so can you,” Narcissa cajoled. You would’ve laughed at her veiled insult towards your cousin, but the situation was too dire for humour.

Your father couldn’t possibly want you to romance Goyle. You were envious of Genevieve’s fairytale wedding, but you didn’t want that if Goyle was your betrothed.

You felt acid at the back of your throat. You clenched your jaw. Anger was burned your face, anyone who couldn’t see it would be a fool.

“I won’t have it, father,” you stated coolly. You weren’t going to let Lucius, who never lost at anything, win this one. “If the purpose of the dinner is for me to entertain Goyle.”

The tension in the room was palpable; the atmosphere had taken a complete nosedive. Narcissa and Draco remained completely silent.

“You don’t get to choose everything you want to do in your life, (Y/N),” Lucius gritted through his teeth. “You’ve made a fool of me a million times over because I let you do what you wanted.”

You slumped back in your chair and huffed. Whatever your father wanted, he got. But what if there was a way to circumvent that? The wheels in your head began turning. What if it was improper to have Goyle here in the first place because—

“I’m not sure how my boyfriend would feel about that, honestly,” you said, swirling your wine nonchalantly like you hadn’t told the biggest lie in the world.

And with that, three heads swung around and fixated on you.

“What did you say?” Narcissa asked, her curiosity visible on her face. “I’m not sure I heard correctly.”

“That I have a boyfriend and I’m not sure how he’d feel if he found out my father was trying to set me up with another man,” you responded.

“That’s impossible,” Draco stated. “You just said there was no man suitable for your standards.”

“In general, yes, of course,” you said. “But he’s different.”

“Who is ‘he’?” Draco asked, trying to get you to perjure yourself.

“Why wouldn’t he have come to the wedding?” Narcissa asked. You were lucky that her sudden interest superseded any of Draco’s questions.

“I wasn’t sure how well-received he’d be around such uptight people like Uncle Theo and the rest of our family,” you said. “And he’d would’ve drawn all the attention off Genevieve, which would’ve been disastrous given her constant need for it. Maybe you could meet him in a more intimate setting, like at this dinner father is suggesting we have.”

Lucius’s lip quirked. “And to what—”

“Advantage you’ll have? If you’re looking to better our family name, I assure you he will do a much better job than the Goyles ever could.”

You were so cool despite your frantically-beating heart that you were impressed with yourself. Who knew that deep-down, you could be a stone-cold Malfoy, too? Fred and George surely wouldn’t be impressed with that revelation.

“Fine,” Lucius finally ceded. “Invite him over in a fortnight. But I must warn you, (Y/N), if you do anything to embarrass the family name…”

“I understand, father,” you responded with your hands in the air. You knew the lecture by heart. “I’ll renounce the trust put in my name, and allow Draco inherit it instead.”

“And we’ll invite the Goyles over with the intention of courtship.”

Lucius thought you’d be upset about that, that it was a good enough threat to put you in line. But you didn’t care. You had the wealth of your own savings and the knowledge that Draco would always be your family’s favourite child. If your parents had it their way, Draco would inherit everything and he wouldn’t have to split it with their failure of a daughter. He was brilliant and golden; you were the runt. Empty threats like that meant nothing to you.

“You’re a liar,” whispered Draco from beside you.

“I would never,” you shot back. “Just wait and see.”

“Oh, I’m just aching in anticipation,” he said. “To see how badly you’ll embarrass yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, and adjusted your posture on your seat as the main course, salmon and asparagus, was served by Dobby.

When dinner concluded, you ran up the stairs without a look back. When you were certain you were alone and that every single sound-proofing charm was cast on your room, you frantically opened your drawer. You pulled out a directory and slammed through the pages. Names of old classmates and acquaintances whipped past your vision, but no one seemed to fit what you were looking for: a fake boyfriend to get your parents to sod off for the rest of your life.

You were going to wage another Wizarding War if you asked your male friends who were dating or engaged to other women. And any of the boys you danced off at the country club certainly weren’t going to be on your side.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, slamming the directory shut.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back again the bed. You would figure this out tomorrow, if Fred and George could carve out some time for you.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

<< CHAPTER DIRECTORY

#charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley fic #bill weasley x reader

167 notes · View notes

thegettingbyp2 · 2 months

Note

hii, i have a request for Jess Mariano if you’re still writing for him! could you do one where Jess is in love with reader, but they’re just friends (for now…👀) and reader is doing homework with Jess. he can’t focus though because he’s so in love. just a lot of fluff. no pressure, you don’t have to do this, it was just an idea. thanks! :)

You Know This

Join my Patreon

Tip me on Ko-Fi

Jess didn’t need any help with his homework. He was bright, he knew all of the answers pretty much as soon as he looked at the paper. Yet, he never said no when you offered to stop by the diner so you could help each other with your homework. He loved your company, you were his best friend and, you didn’t know it, but he was in love with you too.

The two of you were sitting at the table in front of the long window in the diner, your books scattered around you on a couple of tables as you groaned in frustration. Your hair was piled on your head in a messy bun, secured by a pencil which Jess knew that if he were to pull the pencil away from your head, your hair would fall back down around your shoulders in the way he loved so much.

‘What did you get for the second question?’ you asked, looking up to see Jess staring out the window, his head propped up by his hand. ‘Jess!’ you exclaimed, tapping him with your pen and jolting him out of his thoughts, making you giggle, a sound that made Jess’ heart beat a little faster.

‘What did you say?’ he asked, looking over at you, smiling softly.

‘What did you get for the second question?’ you repeated your earlier question, laughing at the way he gently shook his head before looking down at his own papers.

‘I haven’t got anything,’ he said, looking back up at you before getting up to go and fetch the coffee pot.

‘Well, what about the third one?’ you called across to him.

‘I don’t know, have a look to see what I put,’ he replied as he grabbed a plate and started to load doughnuts onto it before heading back over to you with the doughnuts and coffee pot in his hands.

You reached over and snagged his paper, pulling it over to you so you could read it, both of your eyebrows raising in surprise when you saw that he hadn’t filled any of it in. ‘Why haven’t you written anything?’ you asked as he sat back down, automatically filling your mug before setting the pot down and grabbing himself a doughnut.

‘I’ve not been able to focus,’ he mumbled, looking down, not wanting to meet your gaze.

‘Yeah, what’s with that? For the past couple of weeks you’ve not been focused, Jess. The amount of times I’ve looked over at you in class and you’re in another world. What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing, I’ve just been thinking about other things at the moment, not really left any room in my head for school, you know.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?!’ you exclaimed, putting your pen down and fully turning in your seat to look at him. ‘Jess, every time I see you at the moment, it’s like you’re here but you’re not here, what’s got you so unfocused that you can’t do anything - ’

‘I’m in love with you!’ Jess blurted loudly, making you cut off your sentence. Jess looked up at you and you were surprised when you saw that he was nervous; you never saw Jess nervous. When you didn’t say anything, Jess sighed before continuing. ‘I love you, and that’s not how I wanted to tell you, but I’ve been in love with you pretty much from the moment I met you. I’ve not been focused these past couple weeks because I’ve been trying to work out how I was going to tell you and now it’s - ’

‘Jess,’ you cut in softly and you felt yourself melt when he lifted his eyes to meet yours. ‘Can I say something?’ you asked, inching your chair closer to him and slipping your hand into his.

‘Of course,’ he whispered, his eyes moving from your eyes to your lips as he brought his other hand up to clasp yours so that your hand was firmly encased in both of his.

‘I’m in love with you too,’ you replied, smiling shyly at him. Jess let half a laugh and half a sigh of relief before leaning forward to press his forehead against yours.

‘Thank God.’

#jess mariano #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano x reader #gilmore girls

112 notes · View notes

outerspacebisexual · 2 years

Text

Heinous Regret With No Salvation - Eddie Munson

Part Four of Until the Chaos is Through & What Remains in the Wake & Blessed Silence After This Mayhem

Part One - Until the Chaos is Through

Part Two - What Remains in the Wake

Part Three - Blessed Silence After This Mayhem

Summary: Eddie chooses to betray you. He comes to realise it's the worst thing he's ever done.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: angst, cheating (both referenced/implied and described), swearing, injuries, also! remember! we love chrissy irl! but in this, she can burn in hell

a/n: this is the FINAL final part of this little series. it's a full eddie pov, and it's just pure angst

thank you again for how much support i've received for this chaos series

my requests are open!

<3 aeia

Masterlist

Eddie wasn’t sure when it had started, that funny feeling he got when he was with Chrissy.

It definitely hadn’t been there the first time he sold her drugs. He had been kind, friendly, just like he was with most of his clientele, but nothing had gone beyond their shy smiles and an awkward handshake.

It wasn’t until their third deal that he noticed it; the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach, the growing tension between them. It became intoxicating, like a fix he couldn’t get with anyone else. An itch only she could scratch.

Truth be told, you didn’t even cross his mind during those deals. It was only afterwards, when he walked back to his van or into the school that he remembered he was supposed to meet you at your locker at the start of lunch, or that you had been waiting for him to take you home.

He’d never had anyone before you, and you had been his friend before you were his partner. You had always been comfortable, always constantly there for him, unwavering in your devotion.

And he loved you.

But with Chrissy, their spark was red hot and intense, new and exciting. She was a cheerleader for fucks sake. A cheerleader who was into him, the town freak.

The first time things went beyond their brash words and unfulfilled fantasies, he was in shock. Because Chrissy Cunningham was kissing him. Hot and needy, her lips trailing along his jaw and down his neck as he threw his head back and brushed his hands over her waist.

It wasn’t until he found you waiting for him in the parking lot chatting casually with Dustin that the guilt hit him. Your face lit up, just like it always did when you saw him, and your hands came to his chest—right where Chrissy’s had been just ten minutes before.

The fluttering in his stomach soured into a pool of regret, the feeling sticky and repulsive as he kissed you like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t just betrayed you in the worst way possible.

He took you home that afternoon and you laid in his lap, your fingers toying with the ends of his hair absentmindedly, weaving through it in the way Chrissy did when they sat across from each other at the table in the woods.

The nauseating feeling had stayed with him all weekend, creeping into his mind at the worst moments.

By the time Monday rolled around, he could barely look at you.

He hastily pressed a kiss to your temple before racing off to his next class. He drowned out Mrs. Click’s words as he sat in the middle of the room, head resting on his hand, until the bell rang. He took his time packing up his books, and right before he finished, a note landed on his desk.

Chrissy didn’t look at him as she passed by him, pretending that she hadn’t even noticed him.

With a quick glance either side of him, he opened the note, met by her pretty handwriting in glossy pink pen.

Take me to my place after school? My parents aren’t home.

He ditched your plans that night for the first time.

The sneaking around was exhilarating.

It became all he could think about when he passed Chrissy in the halls, barely more than a split-second glance between them.

He got a sick sense of satisfaction whenever he saw Jason. The knowledge that he, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, was sleeping with the jock’s pretty, perfect girlfriend was an amusement worth more than all the taunts he received from the basketball captain.

Eddie pretended not to notice the way that you drew back. He pretended not to notice the crestfallen expressions that morphed into doubtful looks when he cancelled yet another date or told you he couldn’t take you home.

He pretended not to notice. Until eventually, he didn’t.

He didn’t see you eying Chrissy with wary caution, disbelieving that he was capable of it. He didn’t see your teary eyes as you traversed the school corridors without him when usually you were joined at the hip.

He didn’t see that you were trying everything in your power to keep him looking at you, to keep him loving you, even when the self-doubt was threatening to swallow you whole.

The library was practically empty after school, most of the students escaping from Hawkins High as soon as the bell rang out.

Eddie was sat at the back of the library, waiting for you to return from the bathroom.

In truth, he didn’t know why he was even bothering to study. Math was math, and he wouldn’t ever need it after graduation anyway. But you had been persistent that he needed the practice to pass the exam in a week.

He fiddled with his pencil, tapping it to a song in his mind as he waited, his blank notebook staring back at him. His rhythm faltered, however, when he caught sight of Chrissy.

She appeared from between the shelves with feline grace, placing her palms on the edge of his table and leaning forward. “Are you going to the Halloween party?” she asked him, voice barely more than a whisper in the silent library.

Right, the Roland twins’ Halloween party next weekend. Robin had mentioned it to him two days ago and reminded him to tell you so that you would have time to organise your costume. He still hadn’t done that. “Yeah,” he replied, “I’m going.”

Her eyes lit up. “Great. I’m going, too.” She traced a finger over his rings and said before disappearing between the shelves again, “I’ll see you there.”

He only had ten seconds to recover from the sweet, sultry promise behind her words and then you were back, sliding into your seat across from him.

He blinked at you, and you furrowed your brows. “What?”

“Nothing. What were you saying about Pythagoras?”

Your eyes searched his face for a long moment, and Eddie kept it carefully blank. He prayed that you didn’t notice the flush to his cheeks.

Finally, you turned back to your textbook, explaining the formula for the fourth time.

“Did you catch Y/N the other day?” Steve asked barely audible over the music of the band on stage.

It was a Friday night, and they were sat opposite each other at The Hideout. It was rare that the two of them spent much time together by themselves anymore. Normally, there was at least one other person tagging along, whether it was Dustin or you, or Robin or Jonathan.

He hated to admit that Steve Harrington had gone from the popular jock he hated to one of his closest friends.

Eddie turned his attention from the band to Steve. “Huh?”

“Y/N,” he continued, “seemed pretty upset the other day when we drove home from school.”

Eddie frowned. He could tell by the way Steve twirled his bottle in his hands that he was trying to stay casual while still aiming to get something from him. Information about you it seemed. Eddie swigged a mouthful of beer, his attention caught between the band on stage and his friend. “What about?”

Steve appeared a touch surprised. “I don’t know. I thought you would know.”

He shook his head, only half interested in the conversation. “Does there always have to be something wrong?” Steve shot him an incredulous look, one that reeked of Are you serious? and Eddie averted his eyes to the tabletop.“I haven’t really been around for a few days. Between school and deals, I’ve been busy.”

He messed with the label on his beer, trying his best to appear calm and collected. There was no way that Steve or the others could know. He and Chrissy were careful, only meeting when they were sure no one else was around.

“Busy?” Steve arched a brow.

There was something about his tone that made Eddie pause. “Yeah. Busy.” He narrowed his eyes as Steve mumbled something beneath his breath that he couldn’t catch over the loud music. He wasn’t quite prickly, but there was a distinct implication that there was something wrong. “Problem, Harrington?”

Steve brought his beer to his mouth. “No. No problem.”

They stared at each other for a long moment until Eddie eventually backed down. He didn’t even know why he was getting defensive in the first place. This was Steve after all.

He turned his attention back to the band on stage, some middle-aged hard rock band that was just a tad out of time.

In doing so, he missed the set of Steve’s jaw as he studied him, the nonchalance towards your feelings setting off alarm bells in his head.

The random pop song Eddie didn’t care to name blaring from downstairs drowned out anything other than Chrissy’s breathless moans as he trailed kisses along her neck, guiding her to the bed they had found.

He didn’t even know whose room it was, and at this point, he didn’t care. All he cared about was the way she leaned into his touch, his rings tracing along the exposed skin of her waist.

She fell onto the bed, giggling as he grinned down at her. “I can’t believe we’re doing this here,” she whispered.

“Me either,” he laughed, crawling over her until his knees rested either side of her hips.

He knew that you were downstairs, sitting with Robin last time he checked. Chrissy leaned up and kissed him again, and any thought of you emptied from his mind. The only thing he cared about was the girl beneath him.

He reached down and gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. Chrissy moaned as his lips moved further down her neck.

He opened his mouth to tease her about it when he heard voices coming towards the room. Voices that he recognised immediately.

“I’m telling you, man. The bathroom is somewhere up here,” Steve said.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that most of the time you’re wrong,” Jonathan replied, and the door handle rattled.

Eddie didn’t have time to move before the door was pushed open, casting light from the hallway into the dim room, illuminating his compromising position.

There was a good few seconds where the whole world went quiet, nothing but his racing heartbeat pounding in his ears as the three of them stared at each other. He saw it though, the moment that Steve and Jonathan went from confusion, to disbelief, to pure and unadulterated rage.

He slid off the bed, trying to put as much distance between himself and his friends as his whole face burned. Suddenly, the euphoria of their ruse was nothing but embarrassment and shame. “Guys—”

Steve crossed the room in four giant strides.

Eddie shrunk back, and before he could say anything, he was pinned to the wall.

Jonathan slammed the door shut with little more than a glance down the hall, no doubt looking for you—to ensure that you weren’t there to witness this. His eyes flickered to Chrissy, and she curled into herself on the bed, trying her best to become invisible under his intense gaze.

Eddie’s attention was ripped from them when Steve pushed him harder into the wall. “Are you serious, Munson?” he spat, right into his face.

“I—I—uh—” he stuttered. He had nothing. His mind was blank. There was nothing he could say or do that would make this better.

Then, Steve was throwing a punch.

The pain blossomed across his cheekbone, sharp against his dulled senses. He wanted to fight back, but Steve hit him again, this time closer to his eye. It sent him tumbling onto the carpet.

“Jonathan?” Nancy called from the hall, and Jonathan ducked his head out, just enough that Eddie could see Nancy’s eyes darting from her boyfriend to Steve to Eddie to Chrissy. It didn’t take her long to piece it together. Eddie’s face heated even more.

Jonathan mumbled something to her and she nodded, taking one step back, her eyes locked on Eddie before she took off down the hall.

In the back of his mind, he was worried about her destination—which he knew was you—but he could only focus on Steve’s fist as it swung and cracked him on the bridge of his nose.

It started bleeding instantly, and he groaned.

Steve gripped him by the shirt, pulling him up until there were mere inches between them. “If you even think about coming near Y/N after this, I’ll kill you, Munson.” There was a lethal calm about him, one that made the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck stand on end. He had never seen this side of Steve. Not ever. And he didn’t know anyone who had.

His eyes darted to Jonathan, but he wore the same murderous look as Steve, same promise beneath his usually blank face. Upon seeing his eyes on him, Jonathan shook his head, and as if he was too disgusted to even keep looking at him, he left the room.

Steve shook him, bringing his attention back to him. “That’s a fucking promise.” He shoved him into the ground, hard enough to jolt something in his neck as the back of his head met the carpet. Steve looked over to Chrissy, who was shaking and clutching her discarded shirt to her chest.

Steve just scoffed, and Eddie could see the fear in her eyes. Not at what Steve might do to her, but what Steve might say—if he would tell Jason.

Then, Steve was gone, leaving them alone.

And Eddie could only look at the ground, where his blood dripped onto the carpet, sinking into the plush along with the tears that sprung from his eyes.

Chrissy’s house was a lot more intimidating on a random Monday afternoon than it ever was when he was with her. The tall white poles lining the walkway guided him to the front door.

She hadn’t spoken to him in two days. He hadn’t expected her to just show up at the trailer park or appear in the drama rooms during D&D, but he thought that she might have called him. To talk about what happened on the weekend. To talk about them.

He rallied up his courage and rapped his knuckles against the mahogany door before he could talk himself out of it.

He waited in silence, praying that her parents weren’t home. Chrissy hadn’t shared much about her home life, but she had told him that her mother was a piece of work, and her father wasn’t much better, which was one of the reasons that they only came to her place when no one else was home.

A car drove down the street behind him and he turned, watching as it pulled into the driveway next door.

The elderly woman stared at him from inside the car, hesitating in getting out. She feared him, that much was clear. He knew he looked the odd one out in the upscale neighbourhood; his ripped jeans and band shirt making him stick out like a sore thumb.

The door in front of him was pulled open, and he was met with Chrissy’s confused face. “Eddie?” she said, and then quickly glanced behind her. She stepped out of the house, closing the door enough to mute their conversation from whoever was inside. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was a lot more hostile than he was expecting.

“What do you mean what am I—I’m here to talk about us,” he explained. “You were avoiding me today, so—”

“There is no ‘us’, Eddie,” she uttered, voice hushed.

He froze. “W-What?”

She looked back into the house, shutting the door an inch more. “You…You’re nice, but I’m with Jason.”

“Wait,” he managed, shaking his head as he tried to wrap his brain around what she was saying. “He doesn’t know?”

“No, of course not,” she replied, like he was stupid for even suggesting it.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “So, so what? You don’t—”

“Chrissy?” came a female voice from behind her.

The girl, who he recognised vaguely as the co-cheer captain, appeared from the hall, peeking through the gap Chrissy had left. She pulled the door open enough that Eddie could see the sneer on her face. “What the hell is the freak doing here?” she said, like he couldn’t hear her. Like he wasn’t a person who deserved any kind of respect at all.

Chrissy gave him an exaggerated once over. Gone was the soft tone that she was using with him, and in its place was Chrissy Cunningham, Queen of Hawkins High. “I honestly don’t know. It’s getting weird and creepy. How do you even know where I live?”

He could hear his own heart splinter inside his chest.

“Do you want me to call Jason?” her friend asked, eying him up and down like he was deranged.

He started backing away before he heard her answer.

He spun around, catching sight of the woman in the car, who had stepped out and was shooting accusatory looks in his direction, obviously under the belief that he was somehow in the wrong, that he was accosting two teenage girls in their home.

He could scarcely breathe as he clambered into his van, fumbling with the keys as he tried to start it. Once he did, he tore out of the street without a glance back at Chrissy’s house.

She didn’t want him.

His head swam as he drove through Hawkins with barely more than that one thought tumbling around his mind on repeat.

He had…he had ruined his relationship for someone who didn’t even want him.

As he thought about you, his chest squeezed, and the only place he wanted to be was with you.

On a whim, he took a hard left and circled back towards your house. Steve and Jonathan be damned. He could fix this. He would fix this.

There was no other option. He needed to fix this.

He needed you.

But as he approached your house, Nancy’s car was in the driveway. Nancy herself was scary enough, but if Jonathan was with her?

He pulled up opposite your house, looking up at the window to your bedroom. The window that he used to climb through when he missed you too much to even be apart while he was sleeping. The window he climbed through when you called him in tears about a fight with your parents.

His heart clenched even more at the thought of you inside. At how devastated you would be. At how badly he fucked up. The image of you curled up in your bed, tears coursing from your eyes sprung into his mind before he could stop it.

Once, he would have held you while you cried, brushing your tears away with his thumbs as he placed kisses to your swollen cheeks.

Now, he was the cause of them.

The feeling became too much, the guilt and shame and helplessness swimming around him in a dance of soul-searing regret that he couldn’t escape from.

Through blurry eyes, he drove off, just missing side-scraping the car parked in front of him.

When he reached the stop sign at the end of the street, he pulled up and released the hold he had on himself.

He cried, winding his hands into his hair and pulling in exasperation. The pain burst from his scalp, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the tears that were hot on his cheeks. “Fuck!” he screamed to himself, and pounded the steering wheel with his fists.

He misjudged his right hand and hit the dash, causing something to fall to the floor with the familiar sound of plastic hitting the metal sheeting.

Through teary eyes, he picked it up. It was a cassette that you bought him a little over three months ago. Not even for his birthday or for Christmas, just because you were walking through the store and saw it and thought he might like it.

You were just like that.

You loved him enough to think about him in the tiniest little ways. You went out of your way to make him happy, even before you thought of yourself.

He sniffled as he put the tape into the player.

You loved him with everything you had.

And all he had given you in return was heartbreak and deceit.

Eddie barely made it inside before he collapsed on his couch, clutching at his side where he knew bruises would be already forming.

Lately, he had resorted to eating lunch by himself in the drama rooms.

When Gareth, Jeff, Angus, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin had found out about what he’d done, they made their thoughts clear. There had been an incident in the cafeteria involving you and Chrissy, one that his friends had all been witness to.

They found him that afternoon as he was setting up for their weekly meeting.

They didn’t care that he was their DM. They had handed over their shirts with barely more than a ‘Have fun finding a new party, asshole’. It turned out that the loyalty meant nothing in the face of his actions.

He was an outcast amongst the outcasts.

That incident also led to Jason finding out. Today, he found him in the drama rooms at lunch, Chrissy hot on his tail as she spouted excuses and pleas for him to listen to her.

He hadn’t. And Eddie had copped the full force of his fury. He deserved it, but he thought that maybe Chrissy would have cared about him enough to tell him to stop. But she just cried for herself, begging Jason to forgive her while he continued his assault.

That was the thought that stayed with him as he limped to his van, and then the whole drive home.

She didn’t care.

She never had. It was the reason that they snuck around, meeting up only on her terms, when she wanted. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought about you. About how you never cared about his reputation. You always wanted to be with him. You wanted to hold his hand in the halls and sit with him at lunch.

You had cared.

A door down the hall opened up, and Eddie was surprised to see Wayne still getting ready for work.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he asked, watching Wayne take out his lunchbox from the fridge.

“I’m on late starts this week,” his uncle replied, grabbing a cap from the counter. He looked over at Eddie for the first time and blinked as he took in his crumpled shirt and bruised face. “The hell happened to you, boy?”

“Nothing. Just a kid at school,” he mumbled. There was no point in going into it in any more detail. Wayne was silent for long enough that Eddie looked back to him.

“Where was Y/N?”

Eddie started. “What?”

“The whole time you two’ve been together, you ain’t never come home like that. So, what happened?”

Eddie opened his mouth but paused. The whole time you and Eddie had been together, you had kept him out of trouble. You had used what little social credit you had to ensure that he was left alone, mostly to your own detriment. The familiar feeling of anguish rose from the pit of his stomach.

He swallowed harshly. “We, uh, we split up.” Not a complete lie, but he couldn’t bear the thought of the disappointment on Wayne’s face at the disgrace.

Wayne was quiet again, the heater the only sound ringing out through the trailer.

“Kept you out of trouble, that one,” Wayne said finally, and he pursed his lips. “Shame.”

Wayne was reserved on his best days, but Eddie could tell that he wanted to know more. “Yeah,” he muttered, biting his lip hard enough to dull the stinging behind his eyes.

It was a shame.

Before he could even open the door to Family Video, Robin was pissed.

She paused from where she was sorting tapes behind the counter, her gaze cold as he entered the store.

“Hey,” he greeted.

She gave him a once over, and he knew she caught everything. His pale face, the bags under his eyes, the bruises that had faded to a yellowy-green around the scabs. “What do you want, Munson?”

There it was. The use of his last name. He wanted to cry. None of his friends had ever called him by it before. It was always Eddie, or Ed, or Edward when he was being an ass. Never Munson.

It caused his father to flash behind his eyes. The man he hated. The man who he swore he would never be like. But he had done the exact thing to you that his piece of shit father did to his mother.

A lump rose in his throat at the comparison.

“I—uh—” he started. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was there. To see Robin. To talk to her about you.

He had hoped that his friends would have warmed up a little in the weeks since the Halloween party. There had been radio silence from Steve. No offers to meet up for beers at The Hideout. No phone calls.

From Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan, he received the same cold shoulder whenever he passed them in the halls or sat next to them in class. Jonathan had even gone as far as to shove him with his shoulder hard enough to make him stumbled in the middle of the corridor.

And there had been absolutely no sight of you.

He didn’t know if that was on purpose, or if he was just noticing the lack of you everywhere he went.

He hoped that Robin would shed some light on the situation. That maybe she would tell you how you had been and when he could see you. He hoped that maybe she would help him.

Shaking his head, his eyes darted around at the tapes on the shelves. “I’m here for…a video,” he finished lamely.

She rolled her eyes. “Then pick one and get out.” She turned back to the tapes in front of her, sorting them by what looked like genre. When he didn’t move, she collected the tapes in her arms and started towards the back room.

“Robin, wait—”

“Don’t even try,” she said, her voice ice cold. “I’m not interested in hearing your pathetic little sob story.” And then she disappeared out the back.

A very obvious Get the fuck out.

Walking down the main street brought him nothing but the memory of you punching him in the face two months ago.

He had avoided going anywhere for months. He stayed holed up in his trailer when he wasn’t at school, avoiding the disappointed gaze of his uncle.

Wayne had been vocal in just how much Eddie had let him down and disgusted him with what he’d done to you. Not only had he cheated on you, but he had lied to him.

Both of those things were unforgivable in Wayne’s eyes. And Eddie had never seen him more disappointed in him ever.

“I raised you better than this, boy,” Wayne grumbled into Eddie’s face. “You’re no better than your daddy when you do something like this.”

That hurt more than anything else.

He knew it already, but hearing someone else say it. That was worse.

Shaking the thought from his head before it enticed the familiar sting behind his eyes, he focused on counting his steps to the music store. Back before everything, he was a regular there, frequenting the store once or twice a week for supplies for his gigs or books for his new songs.

He hadn’t been in months.

Hellfire wasn’t the only thing that Gareth, Jeff, and Angus quit. Corroded Coffin was now nothing more than him and his guitar. And because of that, he lost their Tuesday spot at The Hideout.

And his songwriting had dwindled down to nothing but him plucking the strings alone in the quiet of his room. You used to spend those hours with him, sitting on his bed as he played chord after chord, trying to work out which combination was best for the lyrics he had written.

And you had never complained. Because you enjoyed spending time with him even when you weren’t doing anything.

As he approached the store, he pushed open the door right as the door to the diner across the street opened. His throat squeezed when he saw it was you. He hurriedly stepped into the store, staring at you from behind the glass.

You were laughing.

Laughing at something Steve said to you. His hand grazed the small of your back as you both exited the diner and he guided you to his red BMW.

Eddie wasn’t sure how he missed it parked in the middle of the street.

You looked happy. Happier than you had been in the weeks leading up to the Halloween party. It hurt Eddie more than he could say that he couldn’t remember that last time he made you smile or laugh like that.

Steve opened the passenger door for you, and you rolled your eyes playfully at the smirk he was giving you.

Seeing you now, carefree and gleeful and beaming caused the loneliness to press in around him. The loneliness from you being gone. The loneliness of his friends casting him out.

He stood still, watching like a fucking creep as Steve jogged around and slid into the driver’s seat, eyes not leaving you until the car turned off the main street.

Resting his forehead on the cold glass of the door, he screwed his eyes closed.

He had no one to blame but himself. It had been all him. Only him who chose to betray you.

Now, he would watch you from a distance. While you were freer than you had ever been, his doomsday would be never ending, a constant suffering that shackled him to his agony.

And it was all his fault.

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things angst #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine #stranger things one shot

780 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 1 month

Text

Hand in Hand, to Hell and Back, I Will Follow You

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Carol Peletier

Setting: France

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood and injury; poorly written smut

Summary: Finally.

A/N: This can stand alone or be the third part following Two Sinners Can’t Atone from a Lone Prayer and You Wanna Shut Away the Pieces of a Broken Heart

©celtic-crossbow 2024. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or placed on any other platform without my consent.

“Here! In here!” Carol held open the door, watching the surrounding area nervously while the people she had led away from the battle filed into the small room. Three men. One woman. And a boy. She made sure they weren’t followed and closed the door, pulling down the yellowing shades before pushing a desk in front of the entrance. The papers, letters long forgotten, scattered onto the floor. She took but a moment to consider if they were meant for a loved one who would never read the words.

“Qui es-tu?” The blonde woman was shielding the child behind her, as if Carol meant them harm after running into the fray and leading them to safety. Well, at least some form of temporary safety.

Regardless, she had no time for questions.

Her focus was on the man hanging between the other two. The reason she had crossed an ocean and fought her way through an unfamiliar land on just a single thread of hope she would find him.

“Daryl?” Carol took his face in her hands, lifting his head, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. She had hoped her voice would have been enough to rouse him. “Shit.” Frantic blue eyes took stock of the room, filled to the brim with books and documents, everything coated in a thick layer of dust and entirely useless.

“Who are you?” The woman spoke again and was once again ignored.

Moving quickly, Carol swept her arms across a table, sending everything onto the floor to be forgotten. “Put him here.” The men took a moment to regard one another. “Now!” She barked, reluctant but not unwilling to pull her gun. Daryl obviously knew these people if he was willing to fight with—for—them, but she didn’t.

“How do you know him?”

Carol gritted her teeth. She wasn��t out to make enemies but she wasn’t striving for friends either. Placing Daryl’s crossbow on the desk, she unshouldered her bag and dug through it for the medical supplies she had gathered along her journey.

“It’s okay, Isa.” Carol spared a glance toward the boy, but then gathered her supplies, all she could carry, and returned to the table where Daryl lay prone, pressing two fingers to his neck just to reassure herself he was still there. “She’s his lady Carol. She isn’t here to hurt us.”

She froze for a moment, knife in one hand and the other hovering over the bullet wound in Daryl’s thigh. Focus. Cutting through the trousers and wiping away the blood with a piece of fabric torn from her own shirt and several alcohol prep squares, she could get a better look at what she was dealing with. Through and through. There was no way of knowing if it had hit the bone but it had definitely missed the artery or she would be putting him down rather than patching him up. With any luck, it had gone through the muscle alone. His limp would likely be more profound but it was preferable to a shattered femur.

“Bullet went through.” She sniffed, holding back the tears that so desperately fought to fall. He was there, alive and breathing, and she was going to make sure he stayed that way. Carol unbuckled her belt, granting the room’s other occupants a moment’s worth of her full attention before she slipped the leather through the loops and worked it beneath Daryl’s leg.

“My name is Fallou.” One man offered, stepping closer while she secured the belt as a tourniquet. She didn’t respond and wouldn’t. Daryl may have been less than truthful about his life and family in order to protect the ones he’d left. Without him awake, she wouldn’t risk unweaving the tale he may have told. “This is Losang.” Her eyes flitted up from the gauze she was applying, following Fallou’s gesture toward the other man.

“I’m Laurent. This is Isabelle.”

Carol couldn’t help but nod and give the kid a tight-lipped smile.

“And you’re his Carol.”

His. “Yeah? And how do you know that?” She was genuinely curious. Winding the bandage around Daryl’s thigh didn’t take much focus aside from trying to do so without cutting off the entire pant leg. The wound would need stitched whenever they could find the supplies necessary.

“I can just tell. Monsieur Daryl spoke of you.” She chuckled quietly but said nothing else. She should have been wondering what he had said about her but all she could think about was his facial expression at being called a monsieur. Carol froze again when the boy continued. “You have the same look on your face as he does when he speaks of you.”

Everyone else in the room disappeared and there was only Daryl, peaceful behind the blood and bruises in a way she wished she could see without injury. Finally able to relax, she pulled over the office chair and collapsed into it, leaning forward with one elbow on the table, the opposite hand smoothing the hair away from his face.

“Everyone rest. We have to wait this out.” She instructed, words given on autopilot that she wouldn’t remember later.

He came to gradually and then all at once, a burning, jolting pain in his left thigh that radiated down to his toes and back up to his hip in a hot gasoline trail. “Fuck.” He rasped before even opening his eyes. He was disoriented, feeling everything spin behind closed lids. Where was he? Had they lost? Had the Nest been taken?

“Easy.” Isabelle’s voice broke through the barrier of pain, a relief enveloping him to know she was alive. The steadiness in her tone told him that Laurent was safe, but there was a hesitance there as well, a heaviness that was out of place.

Daryl turned his head toward the soft call of his name and blinked open tired eyes. They had been outnumbered, that much he could recall. Codron has switched sides, offering them knowledge of the attack and thus time to at least form a line of defense. He remembered the blinding pain when the bullet struck his leg. He had only just struggled to his feet after a blow to the head, taken right back down in a cocoon of agony. Then there was nothing.

Almost nothing.

He’d heard Carol’s voice. It wasn’t unusual. He always heard her when he slept. Her soft syllables reminded him of why he continued fighting to keep the boy safe. He needed to finish what he’d started and then get home to her. France could never be home. Not without Carol.

He’d be lying to them and himself if he promised to stay, even when the mission wasn’t complete, when any opportunity to make it back to the Commonwealth might present itself. He’d leave them behind the tide and never look back.

So he never promised.

He had promised Carol he’d make it home. And he’d never lie to her. He didn’t intend to start now.

An electric current of pain snaked out from the wound, and he jerked, attempting to shake it, somehow grasp it and hold it at bay.

“We will return soon and you can rest and heal.” Isabelle was holding his hand and though he didn’t pull away, the touch felt wrong.

“Did—is anythin’ still there to go back to?” Her blurry silhouette shrugged, distant shouts and gunshots muffled behind a closed door.

“We had to run. You were injured and the hungry ones came. She came then too. She led us here and we’ve been safe.”

She? “Who?” Isabelle didn’t answer, forcing him to wait until his vision cleared before trying again. “Who?” She smiled sadly with a distinct jerk of her chin, indicating the other side of him. Daryl rolled his head and his breath hitched before stopping completely. He’d know that crown of silver hair anywhere. “Carol?” Her head was on the table, rested atop her arms just beside his elbow. If he was going crazy, he was taking Isabelle with him. She could see the woman too. It was all enough to have him ignoring the pain and scrambling upright. “Carol? Carol!”

She jerked awake, finding his gaze with ease, her own eyes wide as her hands began to flail in ill fated attempts to subdue him. “Daryl, wait! Calm down, you’re hurt—stop it!”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Carol didn’t resist when he found her upper arms, damn near pulling her onto the table with him to crush her against his chest. He was crying, pride be damned. She was there and whole and there and he couldn’t let go. “Carol.” His voice shook and cracked as he held onto her, not realizing nor caring that she was returning the embrace. He just needed to feel her there. The shame of being so desperate for her would come later.

“I’m here. I’m here.” She soothed, petting the back of his head. She was shaking, sobbing softly into his shoulder.

It wasn’t long before his body reminded him of his injuries, his energy waning, but he refused to let go and sagged against her, clumsily holding on and adjusting his grip on her jacket each time it failed him.

“It’s okay, Daryl. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.” Her voice was fading as he was left no choice but to give in to the pull of exhaustion and blood loss, still clinging to her with weak fingers while she eased him onto his back. “Rest now. I’m here.”

“Carol.” He croaked, hands falling away, one thudded against the table while the other fell right into her waiting palm. He was so tired, overwhelmed by the strong notion that she could still be just a dream. As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, he whispered the same words he always did when he’d seen her while he slept. “I love you. Don’t go.”

He was no longer on a hard table the next time he clawed his way into the waking world. Though the mattress wasn’t much of an improvement, it still eased the ache in his muscles and the throbbing pulse in his leg. She was his first thought, his hand squeezing the soft weight of fingers curled around it.

“Easy, Daryl.”

He let out a sob, uncaring of the weakness he displayed. Carol was really there. His eyes found hers, tired and red-rimmed. “You’re here.” He breathed, struggling to sit up. She didn’t stop him but slipped an arm behind his neck to assist his efforts. “How?”

Once he was upright, still holding tightly to her hand, Carol rubbed at her eyes with her free forearm. Her jacket, he noticed, was discarded on the undisturbed bedroll behind her. “I found a clue and followed your trail.” She smirked and placed a palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the stubble there. “Getting sloppy in your old age.” She chuckled and he blushed, feeling the burn of it all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Glad I was this time.” He admitted.

Carol gave him that gentle smile that always turned his heart inside out. “Your color is better. You were cold as ice when we got you here. I stitched up your leg. Everyone was worried but I know you. It’d take way more than this to take you down.” She gestured toward his leg.

Daryl nodded, grateful for that bit of praise when he truly felt as if a strong breeze could knock him over. He hadn’t had the presence of mind until that moment to look around. The room was unfamiliar but definitely one found within the walls of the Nest. It still stood.

He had grown accustomed to a thin mattress or bedroll on the floor of the shared sleeping area. This room was nice, private and bright with a balcony. One of the upper rooms he’d never been curious enough to explore during his time there. He’d never wanted to, not even in brief stints of boredom. The unfamiliarity of the place had kept him centered, focused on going home.

“I have a way back home. Back to the Commonwealth.” He turned back to her and she flinched, eliciting a tilt of his head. ��That’s if you wanna go.”

“Course I wanna go.” He stated firmly but not unkindly. He was confused. “Why wouldn’t I wanna go?”

“Seems like you’ve got something here.” Carol released his hand. He thought he caught the shine of a tear as she turned away and stood, approaching the door to the balcony. Arms crossed, she looked out over the place. “Like you have someone.”

Now he was beyond confused. “What the hell’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, the sun warming the side of her face in a way that made her look unreal, like a painting that belonged in a museum before the end of the world. She smiled, that same know-it-all grin she had given him when she had suggested he settle down with Connie. “Isabelle. She loves you, you know?”

“Nah, I don’t know.” He was having trouble keeping his tone level in the face of her assumptions. She turned away again.

“I could see it back in that office. The way she watched over you, held your hand.” A beat of silence before she sighed heavily. “You told her you loved her.”

Daryl’s face twisted into a grimace, trying to pull together any recollection. He remembered going down, the pain. He remembered Isabelle when he woke. He remembered being consumed by Carol, nothing but her once he had set his eyes on her.

I love you. Don’t go.

Shit. “Carol, I—”

She chuckled. “You’ve got nothing to explain to me, Daryl. I’m glad you’ve found happiness.” Her shoulders slumped a little, and he could see the defeat in that posture. “I said I wouldn’t leave without you, but I only meant that if you wanted to leave. You don’t have to leave her. Or the boy.”

He hated letting his silence linger but he needed a moment to get himself off that damn bed. Everything hurt. His body had been given one taste of proper rest and had then decided it liked it and didn’t want to cooperate. Finally, finally, he made it to his feet and limped his way across the distance, stopping just behind her.

He didn’t touch her even though his body was being drawn to her like a painful magnet. “Wasn’t sayin’ that to her, Carol.” Her back straightened, but she didn’t move. “Look at me.” He wanted to sound sure of himself, had really tried. It still came out as a weak request. Regardless, she turned around, her head bowed. Daryl hooked a finger beneath her chin and guided her up to where his gaze waited, hoped she could read the honesty on his face, the naked longing. “Not to her.”

“Daryl.” The way she said his name both broke his heart and made him shiver, the combination sparking a flame to life beneath the desire that morphed into courage he wasn’t sure he’d ever gather again if he didn’t tell her right that moment.

“I love you, Carol. S’always been you.” His knuckle caressed her jaw before his palm opened just below it, his large hand cradling the side of her neck while his thumb stroked her cheek. “Wasted so much time, made so many mistakes when I could’a told ya so many years ago. Maybe could’a saved ya some’a the pain ya’ve been through. M’sorry. I was a coward.”

Carol gasped, and even though he’d never taken his eyes off her face, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Daryl Dixon, you are anything but a coward.” She said it with such conviction that he had no choice but to believe it. “You’ve done more for me, for everyone, than any of us ever deserved from you.”

“You deserved it.” He said more forcefully than intended but Carol never even blinked. “Ya deserve everythin’, Carol.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Do I deserve you, Daryl?”

He snorted weakly. It wasn’t funny but the very idea that she didn’t deserve the entire fucking world was ludicrous to him. “Better than me.”

Carol took that last step forward, pressing them chest to chest, forcing her head back to look at him properly. “There is no better than you.” Her eyes followed her hand as she cupped his cheek, fingers trailing over the stubble and gliding to brush his hair behind his ear before stilling on the side of his neck, almost mirroring the way his hand still laid against her. “I’ve had my man of honor all along.”

It was instantaneous, the way he bowed his head and she tilted hers, their lips coming together in a kiss that was way overdue. It felt electric, the hairs rising on the back of his neck beneath her fingertips. She shivered and sighed into his mouth when his lips parted in invitation, her tongue delving inside with no further prompting. They were moving before he’d even realized it, his limp playing a substantial role in the unsteady course toward the bed.

Carol fell first, her hold on his biceps dragging him along with her. Daryl caught himself easily enough, keeping his weight off of her but failing miserably in protecting his leg from bumping the mattress. He hissed a breath through his teeth and arched upward to favor the injury while she overflowed with apologies. “M’fine.” He grumbled, taking a moment to allow the ache to subside. When he opened his eyes, crystal blues were trained on him. Her mouth was turned down, worry and disappointment visible enough in the lines. “Said m’fine, Carol.”

“Maybe we should wait.” She hadn’t made a move to shift from beneath but her body was rigid and ready to spring the moment he gave the word.

Daryl shook his head before jerking his chin toward the area above her, silently demanding that she move more onto the mattress. “Waited long enough.” With a curt nod, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and complied, watching him with such intensity as he gingerly followed that it made him slightly uncomfortable. Tilting and holding his weight more on his right side, he lowered to his forearms—his hips settled between her thighs— to press his mouth back against hers. He knew he was already hard, his poor body trying to figure out whether his pulse should be in his injured leg or his throbbing erection. His hopes that she hadn’t noticed were quickly dashed.

He pulled back, breathless, to find her smirking at him. “What?”

“I think we’re entirely overdressed for this occasion.” Rubbing her lips together behind that same smug smile, she snapped one of the suspenders and he dropped his head. He was never living that one down. “We’re going to talk about these later. And by talk, I mean I’m going to tease you until the end of time and you’re going to say stahp on repeat.”

“Shuddup.” He griped through a lopsided smile while pulling up the bottom of her shirt.

Getting undressed was more challenging than it should have been. The wound in his thigh made moving difficult, several colorful words finding their way past his lips. He was pale and sweating, leaning heavily on the wooden nightstand by the time he was down to his underwear.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Daryl’s eyes lifted to find Carol sitting on her knees, bare save for the modest, mismatched bra and panties hiding the things he wanted to see most. Her eyes skirted down for a moment and then back to his face, that smirk firmly back in place. “Well, parts of you are definitely up for it.”

“You’re killin’ me with the commentary.”

“Sorry, Pookie. Come over here.” She moved back to give him room. “Lie on your back.” Her hands were out, ready to assist if he needed but he wasn’t a fucking invalid. He could manage getting onto a damn mattress.

Maybe.

He groaned once his head hit the pillow, physically and sexually frustrated. He was quite literally aching for her but his body was one giant ball of pain. She noticed his plight. Of course she did. Daryl opened his eyes when he felt her moving beside him and then her hand on his ribs, just over a deep bruise. She had some contusions and lacerations of her own, each with a story he wanted to hear but knew it was not something to ask about at that moment. She was about to give him an out and he wasn’t having it.

“Nah, don’t even.” He shook his head. “Want this, have wanted this. Not willin’ to wait if its what ya want too.” Carol seemed to mull over the words, eyes narrowed but not arguing. He took that as a good sign.

“Fine, but you let me do all the work.”

His mouth fell open to retort but clicked shut when she leaned over him to press a kiss to the skin above where his pulse raced and then to the front of his throat, dipping her tongue into the hollow between his collarbones. When she shifted to circle the wet muscle around his right nipple, he drew in an unsteady breath, the adrenaline flowing from her attentions giving him both the will and the energy to push her onto her back. Goddamn, that hurt.

Worth it.

“I said to let me do all the work!” He was already sitting back, balancing awkwardly on his right knee, and pulling her panties down her slender but strong legs.

“I didn’t agree to nothin’.” He smirked, hooking a finger beneath the material of the bra, just over her sternum. “Take it off.” He had no idea where this confidence was stemming from but he rode with it, would until it fizzled out.

“When did you get so bossy?” She quipped, opting to pull the garment over her head in lieu of wasting the time unfastening it. The sight of her breasts had his mouth damn near watering but he had an agenda to keep before his leg gave out completely.

He fell forward to catch himself with a hand on either side of her hips, wrapped an arm around each thigh to spread her open.

“You don’t have to do—oh.” Carol collapsed back, her protest forgotten once his mouth descended on her. His tongue pushed through her folds, trusting her reactions more than fearing his own lack of experience. He was nothing if not adaptable. He made note of her cues; each twitch, each sigh. The places that made her hips jolt and the motions that made her keen. When his tongue flicked across a stiff little nub, her hands shot up to twist into his hair. He repeated the action, over and over until her thighs were shaking and his name was a broken prayer from her lips. He had originally planned to bring his fingers into the mix but when she arched off the mattress, singing his praises in a chorus of sounds and words that made no sense, he was almost disappointed not to have the opportunity.

Well, that time anyway. As long as she was willing, he wanted to explore every inch of her, inside and out.

He lapped at her languidly, helping her ride out the aftershocks while drinking down her nectar, an exquisite offering he would gladly indulge in as often as she’d allow. He didn’t stop until she pushed him away and pressed her thighs together to smother the sensitivity he’d left behind.

Balancing just as he had before, he grinned and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Told ya I’d go down first.” The way her eyes widened and her mouth fell open was plenty enough reward for his lame attempt at a joke.

“You are unbelievable.” She laughed, actually covered her flushed face with both hands and laughed. He could only watch her with a fond smile for a moment longer before his leg waved the white flag.

“Ah, fuck.” His tumble to the pillow beside her was anything but graceful. His arm was thrown over his eyes, his way of shielding himself from what would likely be disappointment on her face. That, and if he looked at the pale skin of her breasts with those dusty rose nipples, he thought he just might really embarrass himself.

“Are you okay?” There was residual laughter in her voice. The mattress moved as she shifted next to him, her curves pressed to his side in a way that made him groan.

“No.” He sighed. After years of skirting around their love for one another, he was finally where he was meant to be and he couldn’t perform for her. Not for the reasons some men his age couldn’t, no, he was definitely not inept in that department. His cock was painfully hard and with very little persuasion. He was injured and it was just too painful to give her everything he wanted to, show her exactly how she made him feel.

Carol’s small, warm hand came to rest on his stomach, her fingers kneading the skin there, softened by time but still covering strong, capable muscles. The contact was nice, a balm to the fresh burns of his own self-deprecation.

“Daryl.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop that.”

He lifted his arm to peer from beneath it, not moving it away entirely. “Stop what?” Carol ducked below that same arm for a chaste kiss, hovering there with her thumb stroking his bottom lip.

“Doubting that you can please me.” God, she could read him like a book. “You just did something no one else has been able to do. Ever.” He let the barrier between them fall away completely then, his hand coming to rest on her bare hip.

“No one’s ever—?” His eyes flickered down in broad indication of their lower halves. Carol chuckled.

“No, that’s happened.” She clarified. Daryl waited, arching a scarred brow while his fingers drummed on her skin when she simply remained silent.

“You’re usually ‘bout as subtle as a shotgun. Can ya at least pretend to acknowledge that m’clueless here an’ throw me a bone?” The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d opened himself up for another teasing retort and shut her down before the smirk could even fully form. “Not one word.”

Carol ran her pinched fingers across her lips as if closing a zipper, that same hand then finding its way to his forehead to brush back his unruly hair. “No one’s ever—got me there without my—” Daryl squinted and followed her hand as she made a vague gesture while trying to find the right word, “participation.” And then she waited while his head tilted and he pieced together what she was trying to say, nodding with a smile the moment she saw it click.

“Well, least I did somethin’ right.” He shrugged a single shoulder.

“You do a lot of things right, Daryl. They may not be in the category of sexually intimate but they’re just as important, if not more so.” Before he could object or even move to stop her, Carol was straddling his shins and pulling down his faded boxer-briefs.

She knew what she was doing. He was much too focused on the damp heat he could feel hovering above his skin to realize that she was stripping him bare. When his brain finally caught up, Daryl fisted the duvet to avoid the strong urge to cover himself. He had never really worried about his size before, never had a reason to feel inferior. Now he was on display in front of the woman he loved and he couldn’t get it out of his mind that he wasn’t enough for her in absolutely every way.

“Daryl.” That was a warning tone if he’d ever heard one. He forced himself to relax. If Carol had a problem, she’d tell him. He trusted her to do that. Swallowing hard, he watched her crawl back up to sit beside his hip, her gaze not on his obvious need for her but on the square of gauze taped to his left thigh. “Always giving for everyone else.” Her tone was distant, laced with sadness as her fingertips hovered over the bandage. Just like that, her focus was back on him, the smile back on her face. “Now will you let me do all the heavy lifting?”

Daryl snorted at the phrasing, earning an arched brow. “Fine.” He grunted. Blue eyes shot wide when Carol wasted not a single second in throwing her leg over him to straddle his hips. He wasn’t sure when he had grabbed hold of her thighs but he was squeezing for dear life to keep himself in check. She was holding herself over him in a way that he could see the slick glistening on the tuft of hair just above where his cock was hovering over his lower abdomen. If she touched him at the moment, he was coming apart and he knew it. “Won’t—ain’t gonna last, Carol.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft, her eyes overflowing with a million emotions that he couldn’t name but the ones he could calmed his anxiety almost instantaneously: love and acceptance. He knew both to be true already. She had always loved him in some way from the moment he had handed her that pickaxe, just as he had loved her. They had accepted one another, faults and strengths, broken pieces and methods of mending. It’s why he was always drawn to her; why he trusted her when he was hurting.

The moment her fingers touched the velvety skin of his cock, Daryl went rigid, wound tighter than an eight day clock. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to cum before he even had the chance to be inside of her. It was unnerving, the effect she had on him.

“Relax.” Carol cooed. Easier said than done. She didn’t tease him, though it was quite apparent she wanted to, a frustrated restraint in the beautiful lines on her face. His hand was on her cheek before he realized he had even lifted his arm.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, watching in awe as she bowed over him to bring their mouths together, entrancing him with a kiss while shifting his cock to notch against her entrance. His gasp was swallowed eagerly, his tip stretching her open, his hands fumbling for her hips. “Fuck. Fuck.” Every word brushed against her lips while he filled his mind with anything and everything to keep from filling her that very moment. Walkers. Saviors. Fuck, even Mercer made an appearance with that expression of disappointment that was followed up with a reprimand.

She sank another inch, then another, and another until she was flush against his pelvis, her ass tilted to keep any pressure off his injured thigh.

“Gimme—goddamn, gimme a minute.” And she did, occupying herself with tracing the lines on his face, his scars, his collarbones. It was barely working for her, the fluttering of her walls around him making his hips jerk.

She bent down to nuzzle her cheek against his, the shift in angle prompting a sound from him that he wasn’t aware he could even make. “Please,” was all she said and he couldn’t deny her, he had spent too many years doing that trying to keep her safe, to try and choose her path for her when the easiest one would have led them to each other all along.

Fingers flexing on her hips, he encouraged her to begin rocking, the groans leaving both their throats were sinful. If any sisters overheard, they had surely fallen to their knees in prayer. It didn’t take long for him to pull her higher, closer, allowing his lips to finally indulge in a pale pink nipple while his hips lifted to meet each of her downward pushes. Sucking and flicking his tongue over the pebbled nub, his other hand massaging the otherwise neglected breast with movements somewhere between desperate and tender.

The breathy call of his name was enough to assure him that he was doing things right. Still, the sudden buzz at the base of his spine brought everything to a level of urgency. There was no time to revel in how beautiful she looked bouncing over him, her head thrown back with breathy gasps of ah ah ah yes oh my god. He was close and by fuck, he was taking her there first.

Finding her swollen clit was simple from this position, the angle of her hips and his cock splitting her open had the little bundle of nerves pushed out. A large hand splayed over her lower abdomen, his thumb flicked over her and then pressed firmly to rub tight circles. “Need ya to let go, Carol. Need to feel ya.” He was barely hanging on, his hips already losing any rhythm.

“Oh god, Daryl, I—” She clung to him, nails biting into his chest as her body spasmed. Her cunt hugged him tight, squeezing and milking until he shouted hoarsely, his single grasp on her hip, holding her still through the initial waves, the contractions of her inner walls pulling each warm rope of him deeper and deeper inside.

Urgency softened into lazy thrusts and gentle rocking, his hands on her sides squeezing with reach aftershock. He knew the shame and embarrassment would come soon enough but for that moment, he simply watched her with hooded eyes. Her breaths were shallow but quick though the slightest partition of her pouty lips. Her eyes were closed, brows raised ever so slightly. The agonizingly slow rhythm of rising up and sinking back down as she continued to pulse around his softening cock was mesmerizing. Overstimulated as he was, each movement making him fight a jolt, he couldn’t tell her to stop. He wouldn’t. She was too beautiful soaking up that pleasure, the limited bliss he was able to give her.

“Daryl.” She breathed with a smile, eyes still closed. He slipped out of her when she fell to his chest, her face immediately burying in his neck. Just as the shame began to crest, her lips pressed against his pulse point. “I want to do that again and again. You made me feel so good. God, it’s never been like that.”

He reared back and angled his head to see her, content and smiling into his skin. “You shittin’ me?”

“Nope.” She still straddled him, wiggling and slithering her arms underneath his back to press herself closer. “You make me feel new again.”

“Was like—a minute an’ a half at best.”

Carol chuckled. “This time. Next time, you’ll give me a run for my money. Unless you’ve been making the French women say oui oh mon Dieu, it’s been years for you.”

“Don’t wanna know what that means but I ain’t made ‘em say nothin’.” He wasn’t offended, knew she was jesting, but he still felt bad. Still felt like she could do better. He could only offer her a broken man who was mediocre in bed. He had made her wait until they were older and worn.

“If I have to say stop that one more time, I swear, Daryl Dixon—”

“Ya threatening me?” He shot back playfully, out of reflex. “Just—Carol, ya—”

“Do you know what a refractory period is, Daryl?” Carol folded her arms on his chest, rested her chin on them.

“Pfft, course I do.” He didn’t.

She smirked, pushing her ass back against his cock. He was half hard in an instant. His fingers pressed into her ribs, a groan pressing eagerly against the back of his teeth. “Well, yours is impressive.”

“Thank you?” Carol laughed, Daryl sighed. He was just lost in her joyful sounds, the lines on her face that came with age and not pain. “Are ya mine, Carol?” He blurted out, it was unintentional but he didn’t want to take it back, even when he tasted her tears as she kissed him.

“I’m yours. Are you mine?”

“Always have been.” She was laughing when she buried her face in his shoulder again but it was different. It was relief, a gratefulness for something desired for too long, regret for time wasted, and excitement for things to come. Daryl pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of home. His heart echoed all that she was expressing and then some. He didn’t believe in god, not even after his time with nuns and prophets, but something or someone had given him his Carol, and he silently thanked them.

When she finally pulled away and sat up wiping at her red rimmed eyes, he lifted a hand to help, swiping his thumb over her cheek. Of course, Carol being Carol, she wiggled her ass on top of his cock, bringing him to fully hard in no time flat. “Let’s spend a little more time making the nuns blush.”

Daryl chuckled. “Alright. After that,” he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his, each syllable a whisper against her lips, “an’ then we fuckin’ go home.”

Carol nodded. “Then we fuckin’ go home.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #carol peletier #caryl #caryl fanfiction #caryl is endgame #twd caryl #caryl positivity #caryl fandom #caryl spinoff #daryl x carol #carol x daryl #daryl dixon x carol peletier #carol peletier x daryl dixon #daryl loves carol #carol loves daryl #Spotify

35 notes · View notes