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invisiblestringmm · 1 year

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chapter one

secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought

pairing: fem!reader x mason mount

summary: A one night fling that turned into the reason of your whole life, then a month of falling in love with him… until he ghosted you. Mason was never there to watch her grow, completely unaware of his daughter’s existence. It was just you and Lilian Maisie against the world until fate decided play with you and change that — now you have to face the consequences of your decision to keep him out of her life for almost five years. And also try not to fall for him again when he reveals to be the best dad to your little girl.

author: I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Thank you for sticking around, it means a lot!

warnings: this chapter contains fluff, angst, mentions of a tough pregnancy, language.

word count: 4.879k

Watching her was one of your favourite things to do; the way the soft dark brown curls bounced as she swayed around the living room, the way her cheerful laugh echoed every corner of the house and those big, brown eyes sparkled with pure innocent bliss - Lily was your everything, she was your whole life and though, at first, being a young single mum terrified your entire being, she became the reason of your existence. It felt like a lifetime, but it was just four years before that day that you were sitting where your dad was, on that large and comfortable armchair, with your feet up as you stared at a tummy poking out. You remember how that was the first time after finding out you were pregnant that you went from miserable to somewhat joyous to know a tiny human was growing inside you.

FOUR YEARS BEFORE

Every little thing bothered you to the point you’d grab the first object in front of you and throw it against the wall. Your hormones were everywhere, the nausea was unbearable and you knew it was a matter of time until you’d find yourself with another IV fluid bag hanging on your bedside. Four months of what had already earned the first place on your “lifetime worst experiences” list, when it shouldn’t be like this. You should be happy, and thrilled, planning your days and making a list of potential boy and girl names for your child. But you weren’t, considering this was far from what you expected of your first pregnancy.

The long sigh that parted your lips clashed against the daunting yet peaceful silence that took over Foxwoods House the minute your parents went out for grocery shopping after you insisted you’d be fine on your own for a few hours and how much you needed it. Even if they meant well and were just making sure you were healthy enough to be on your feet, all the attention could be suffocating, though their attention wasn’t focused only on you. Though exhausted, you tried your best to focus on relaxing once your eyes closed.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Slowly, you felt lighter, your body finally relaxing on your dad’s favourite armchair, and, unconsciously, your hands rested on your stomach and your eyes shot open when you noticed that there was something there that wasn’t the last time you touched it. Avoiding any kind of touching, talking, and staring at yourself in the mirror had been your way of coping with your new reality, even if it wasn’t a smart way of doing it. It wasn’t easier, either.

“Oh hello,” you whispered, poking your tummy with your index finger. “I don’t think you can even listen to me yet, but… can you bear with me, peanut? Hm?” Brushing your thumb against your skin, your eyes burned with tears. You wanted things to work out, you wanted that kid to be born into a healthy environment even if it included just you — of course, your parents would be there, but in the end, you’d be a single mum. The idea of it terrified you but, deep down, you could feel some courage sparkling.

“I’m still new to this mummy thing, and I hope you’ll like me once you’re here with us, running around… but I promise you that I'll do my best.”

Finally, you allowed the tears you were holding to fall, wetting your cheeks as you sniffed and quietly rubbed your stomach. For the first time since the pregnancy test was positive, you felt love engulfing you most softly. You felt peace and a strong motivation to fight for your child’s happiness. You’d be their best friend, the first person they’d think of whenever they needed something or whenever they were happy, sad, or confused. You’d be their everything because, as you watched that tiny bump, you realised they were your everything too.

PRESENT DAY

The final whistle blow and the loud groan that parted your dad’s lips brought you back from memories of the early and hard pregnancy days.

It wasn’t the first time you watched your dad so upset that England was out of another World Cup, but this time Lily mimicked everything he did and as torturing as it was to watch, it was also funny. Both clapped their hands in front of the TV, mumbling words of encouragement to the squad though they obviously couldn’t hear it. Lily was dressed in her England kit, one of the many your dad bought her along with Arsenal kits, as he was a die-hard gunner and used to take her to most of the matches with him. There was no way Lily would grow up without football being such a huge part of her life. It was part of her and who she was, it was in her DNA - even if no one but you and your best friend knew about that.

Watching the scene in front of you became harder when he was on your dad’s big flat screen, and though your daughter was mimicking her grandad, she was the spitting image of him. Her dad.

For the past four years, you’ve found yourself doing your best to run from him but Mason Mount was pretty much everywhere you looked, being Chelsea’s star boy and part of the England squad. It hurt you, it opened a wound that you fought so hard to heal but he had to come back to haunt you now and then. You’d turn your look away, turn off the TV, and ignore his face whenever you drove by Stamford Bridge - but he was everywhere. He was on Lily’s face, bottom nose, and all. And, as far as you reminisced of his laugh, hers sounded identical.

It hurt, it cut deep, and it made you swallow hard the horrible sensation that effortlessly took full control of you - so you had to inhale and exhale at a slow pace as soon as your sight blurred. Mason not being there for her still made you feel vulnerable, and not good enough for your daughter for you often felt like you were keeping her from being happier as she was always mentioning how much she wished her daddy was around, and you had either to make up dumb excuses or distract her with something else. You’d often listen to her through the baby monitor, crying out in whispers for her daddy - it always sounded like she was praying.

The warmth of your mum’s touch, softly squeezing your arm, made you feel slightly better and safe. She didn't know who Lily's dad was, but she knew what went through your mind whenever you spent too long gazing at your daughter. Not knowing the full story never stopped her from fully understanding you - she was a mum too.

“I'm alright,” you reassured her before she could say something, and watched her lips form a delicate line as a reaction to your words. She knew you were far from being alright - with Lily asking more questions than ever about her dad - but didn’t know what to say. It was something she’s never been through and thought you were both brave and a bit stupid for dealing with it all on your own, when even your dad, who wasn’t as warm as her, was entirely supportive since Lily became part of your lives. You adored them even more for being so respectful of your decisions.

“I never judged you and I never will, and I still wish you’d talk to me as you’ve always done… including anything affecting my granddaughter,” your mum confessed, doing her best to hide she was a bit upset, but failing miserably.

You nodded, moving your stare from Lily to your mum. “I see him every time I look at her, and it hurts me.”

“Because you still have feelings for him?”

“I don’t,” you were as quick as possible on clearing that question, it felt like a lifetime ago that Mason was the reason for the butterflies in your stomach and he managed to end that himself with his stupid behaviour. “It hurts me because my daughter is being deprived of a life with her father around.”

“You can always find him and tell him,” your mum moved her hand from your arm to your back, rubbing it softly.

“It’s not-” you sighed, brows furrowed, as your eyes searched for Lily again. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s always simple, love. As a mum, you know it’s always simple when it comes to making your child happy.”

Always the optimist, your mum pecked your cheek before leaving you alone with your thoughts. Not knowing the truth never stopped her from giving you advice that’d often feel right, but so wrong at the same time. If Mason was any other normal guy, you would’ve let him know the day Lily was born and you held her in your arms for the first time, seeing how much she looked like him.

You would’ve let him know the day she took her first steps.

You would’ve let him know the day she screamed her first word - a loud, cheerful “goal” when Arsenal scored, making your dad the proudest grandad in the world.

You would’ve let him know the day she kicked a ball for the first time.

You would’ve let him know because you’ve always wanted Mason around, simply for being around and raising that beautiful girl as best as you both could. But there you were, doing it practically alone.

“Mummy,” Lily woke you up from your thoughts, softly pulling your sweater while curiously staring at you with her big hazel eyes. She giggled when you took her in your arms, sitting her on the kitchen counter with her little legs around your waist. “Are you sad it’s not coming home?”

“Well, baby… I’m a bit sad because grandpa is sad,” you watched her pout, nodding in agreement, as you played with her hair around your fingers. “Why don’t you go there and give him all the smooches in the world, huh? Maybe that’ll cheer the old man up a bit.”

Lily nodded again, a bit more cheerfully this time and you put her back down, watching her rush to her grandpa he nestled her in his arms as she kissed his face and squeezed his cheeks with her chubby hands. The truth was you were more than glad that the torture was finally over, with no more of him on your TV while your dad proudly cheered for England and, consequently, for Mason whenever his gorgeous face showed up.

For the rest of the weekend, you enjoyed the cosiness of Foxwoods House and that included long walks with Lily, baking with your mum, and playing poker with your dad while you shared half a bottle of whiskey - one of many in his collection.

Although you loved London, a life away from the city’s fuss had always been your goal, even more so after Lily was born so you’d often take advantage of your parents owning that huge estate and drive to Cotswolds to enjoy a few quiet days with your girl. You could tell how much she loved, always bringing up that there were just two things that’d make your getaway even more perfect: her daddy and a puppy. Usually, you’d just give her a smile as an answer and kiss her forehead, but on your drive back to London you thought about how Foxwoods would be such a great place for some family time.

On Monday, you quietly walked into the usual warmth of your office, only nodding at a few colleagues who cheerfully welcomed you back after a disappointing weekend for football fans. You spotted Willow, your childhood friend, walking towards you with two mugs of the steamy coffee you always shared in the morning in each hand, and a smile splattered on her face - to which you frowned, because Willow had never been the one in a good mood in the morning.

“I’m guessing you had a fun weekend?” You asked, taking a mug from her hand and closing the door behind you as she made herself comfortable by sitting in the armchair by the window.

“You’d know if you returned my calls, Y/n.”

“And you know how my dad is,” you shrugged, feeling your body happily welcome the hot liquid. A large dose of caffeine and chatting with your best friend was always the best way to start the day, and you were lucky to work in the same place as he – just a few doors away as you two were responsible for different departments at the Swedish fintech you’ve been working for a couple of years. “No phones allowed when it’s Foxwoods weekend unless it’s-”

“An emergency,” she chuckled. “I know, I know.”

“So?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to tell you whatever she had to tell, as you lazily checked a few emails.

“I was feeling a bit bored on Saturday morning and decided to go to Paris.”

“Willow, you’re so fucking random…” You sighed and she rolled her eyes.

“Met with Arthur there, and we spent the weekend together.”

Arthur, her longtime french fling, the idiot who only showed up when he wanted something from poor delusional Willow.

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised, because I’m not,” you moved your eyes from the laptop screen to your friend, who still had that same smile on her face. “Why are you so happy, though?”

“I met his parents.”

“He introduced you to them?”

Then, when she sighed, you knew it wasn’t as she wanted you to believe and she was making a fool of herself again for a guy who just wasn’t interested. This time, there wasn’t a single trace of pride for being right, because it meant your best friend was now hurt. Deeply hurt. You watched her nervously chew the inside of her cheeks, sipping her coffee and looking out through the window as if there was anything fascinating outside.

“Hey,” you called her, bright green eyes looking at you. “Lily’s ballet recital is right before Christmas and rehearsals start today. Come with me.”

Finally, she flashed you a smile; one you loved seeing for a sad Willow made no sense as she’s always been the happiest person in your life, always cheering up everyone and looking after people while you looked after her, so she’d be fine too. The bond you two shared became stronger when you found out you were pregnant, and Willow had been there since day one - appointments, baby shopping, days you spent at the hospital due to HG¹, and sleepless nights when it hit you that Lily would grow up without her dad around. There was no one like Willow, she was the sister you never had.

You wrapped up work a bit earlier than usual so you’d, for once, make it in time for your daughter’s ballet class. It wasn’t unusual for your mum to pick her up from school and take her to classes, and even so, sometimes you’d arrive 10 minutes after all the mums had picked up their little ones once class was over. It made you feel horrible seeing Lily there, anxiously waiting for you, and getting overly enthusiastic when spotted you arriving at the studio - she’d smooch your entire face, and tell you how much she loved and missed you.

“Mummy,” she called you, squeezing your hand as you walked to the studio with Willow on your side. Looking down, you smiled so she’d continue. “Ice cream after ballet?”

How could a wrong choice in life guide you to this? To her? Almost four years later and it still overwhelmed you, because you never believed you had that unique thing that’d make you a mum, but somehow, you managed it just fine — with extra help from your family and friends, unquestionably, but at the end of the day it was just you and Lily. And her fish, of course. The only pet you allowed her to have for now, so she’d start to have some sort of notion of commitment.

“We’ll see about that, peanut, but if we go then it’s on auntie Willie.” Lily giggled as a reply, entertained by the funny scowl on her godmother’s face for she knew that auntie Willie would do anything and everything she asked.

“I’ll pay if you eat dinner first, Lils!” Willow said, and Lily sighed in return, as if her life was the most complicated she now had a tough decision to make.

She remained in silence for a while as you chatted about work with Willow, an important deadline approaching right before Christmas break and she knew someone would have to interfere or the firm would lose such a significant client like Nike. You thought that was the issue of making partnerships with companies that had their marketing branch and the ideas had to match.

That gentle hand squeeze was there again, Lily looking at you with her big, brown eyes that softened your entire being. “Mummy,” she called. “Can Summer come too if we go get ice cream?”

Summer, the ballet bestie you never met because you always dropped Lily at the studio later than the other kids normally arrived, and she was gone before you went back to the studio to pick up your daughter. You only knew what she looked like because one day Lily came home with a cute Polaroid picture of the two of them, taken by Miss Albright, the teacher. Your heart melted a little at how precious that was, the two girls clutching each other, tiny chubby arms around each other and big smiles on their faces — you could even swear they looked alike, maybe that was a bestie thing.

“First I have to meet her mummy and make sure she trusts me, so she feels safe to leave her baby girl with me.”

“Just like you do, mummy?” You nodded, a big proud smile on your lips at how easily Lily understood things. “My legs are tired.” She said, completely changing the subject and stretching both arms at you so you could carry her but Willow was faster and nestled Lily in her arms.

“A ballerina with tired legs? Oh my,” Willow faked a shocked expression, hands on her chest as she gasped, getting a cheerful giggle from Lily. You loved how she closed her eyes and tilted her head back whenever she laughed - your chest clenched at her adorableness.

“I played footy at school today, auntie.” Lily covered her mouth with her small hand, letting out a loud yawn. Your heart skipped a beat for a second, sharing a look full of meaning with your best friend as Lily laid her head on Willow’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Mr. Martin said I’m good.” She mumbled.

Of course, she was good. How could she not be good at something that was part of who she was?

Willow gave you a comforting smile, knowing how much this could affect your mood, as you walked in silence into the ballet studio; a smiley Miss Albright welcomed you, gently pinching Lily’s chubby legs with a kind smile curling her lips. She was the most loving and understanding lady.

Lily quickly awakened from her short nap, impatiently wiggling her legs in the air so Willow would put her down. She stormed out to meet her classmates after blowing you and Willow a kiss - you left out a soft gasp, allowing the blissful effect that your daughter had on you to fully embrace you. Lily was constantly full of energy, always beaming, brightening the room every time she walked in.

Like her daddy, who had no idea about her existence.

A soft poke on your shoulder woke you up from your thoughts and you turned around to face a heavily pregnant woman accompanied by, apparently, her mum, considering they looked a lot like each other. They were both smiling at you, and the youngest pointed at your daughter, who was now clutching a little girl.

“Which of you are Lily’s mum?”

“Guilty,” you raised a hand, eyebrows softly furrowed as you let out a giggle. Taking another peek at the two little ballerinas, you frowned at how indeed they looked alike. It was easy to identify that one. “I assume that’s Summer, and you’re her mum?”

“Jasmine, but you can call me Jaz,” you shook hands, smiling at each other. She introduced you to Debbie, her mum, and you introduced her to Willow who quickly engaged in a cheerful chat with the woman.

“I’m Y/n. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Lily just won’t shut up about Summer,” you giggled, thinking of the never-ending talks about how your daughter’s ballet bestie is the… best.

“She’s Summer’s current favourite person,” Jasmine said, linking her arm to yours and walking you to where the other mums were. That sudden loving gesture made a soft smile curl the sides of your lips - you weren’t friends with other mums, especially the ones from school. They were so hard to bond and you missed having someone else - who wasn’t your mum - who’d understand your daily routine of wonderful moments and struggling as a mum.

It was easy being around them, your mum arrived at the studio shortly before class started, and quickly bonded with Debbie about the wonders of being a grandmother; how they both spoiled the girls and were spoiled by them.

The rehearsal went on fine, full of the cuteness of 4-year-old girls in baby pink tutus. You were happy to be there, so you could see how happy your daughter was as she occasionally waved between clumsy pliés and pirouettes. Nonetheless, she was a natural, and you weren’t being too biased — as a ballet dancer herself, Willow made sure to point out all the right things Lily was doing. Watching Lily so focused on everything Miss Bennett said, all the instructions she gave, and how your little one did everything so clumsy yet so perfectly made your eyes burn a little with some tears. You’d still think she was the most perfect creature even if she wasn’t your daughter.

Once the rehearsal ended, you spotted Lily yawning and blinking heavily, but you knew she’d remember the ice cream. Sometimes, you couldn’t negotiate nor change the little one’s mind, and she got all that stubbornness from you.

“Mummy,” she started, and you took her in your arms, pressing soft kisses all over her face as she giggled.

“I know, my little monster. I didn’t forget your ice cream.”

When you invited your mum and best friend for dinner, they both apologised over and over, saying their time off had been exclusive to Lily’s rehearsal and they had to go — your mum, to your dad, because even after 30 years together they just couldn’t stay away from each other; and your best friend, back home, because she needed to meet her dad for dinner. That was when, kindly, Jaz invited you and Lily for Italian at a place she loved; when your daughter looked up to you with her best puppy eyes and the biggest pout she could pull off, you couldn’t say no. Lily knew very well that most of the time she did that you’d quickly say yes, the dimples showing up when she pouted made your heart melt.

And you were also looking forward to seeing your daughter and her new bestie interacting as if they were two adults, which happened, for your amusement. Though you were engaged in chatting with Jaz and Debbie, who were two sweethearts, you couldn’t help but feel completely hypnotised by how Lily behaved throughout the whole time you spent at the restaurant; she shared a colouring book with Summer and they both talked about school, ballet shoes, and pink tutus.

Bonding with the two women was easy, especially with Jaz. You found out that Lily and Summer almost shared a birthday, with your daughter being just a few days older than hers; that you both had big families although you were an only child and she had three siblings. Debbie quickly explained that the siblings part was a bit complicated, but easy to understand, and in the end they were all family; she didn’t get into a detailed explanation, though, which you didn’t mind for it kept you from having to share something just because they shared too, although you noticed some curiosity sparkle in Debbie’s eyes when you mentioned it was just you and Lily living in a brand new flat that had more space. Your father kept teasing you about giving his favourite girl a puppy for Christmas, and you knew it’d end up in more than just teasing so you’ve decided that more space would be needed considering Lily wanted a golden retriever.

“Don’t forget about Moana, mummy!” The fish, your daughter remembered, to which you just nodded with a smile on your lips.

You watched Lily having her strawberry ice cream as if there was no tomorrow, and you could only hope all that sugar wouldn’t keep her from falling asleep right after you bathed her or it’d be a long night trying to calm her down from a sugar rush. Jaz was going through the same struggle as she watched Summer; you noticed her eyes widening a bit but she giggled each time her daughter hummed in delight with one spoon after another of her chocolate ice cream.

When you said your goodbyes after sharing the bill, and before you left, Debbie kindly invited you and Lily over on Saturday for lunch, so the girls could spend a day together, playing, something they didn’t get the chance to do yet.

“Jaz will have her mocktail and I can make us some mojitos,” the woman said; Lily looked at you again with her pleading brown eyes, blinking heavily as she let out a long yawn.

“We’d love that, Debbie.”

After exchanging phone numbers and Instagram accounts, you went in different directions of the street - you wanted to squeeze both Lily’s and Summer’s cheeks when they blew each other a kiss after a long hug. Happiness washed over you seeing that it wasn’t hard for your daughter to make friends, and bond, even if not having her father around clearly affected her behaviour sometimes, often noticing that she, sometimes, was a bit needy and clingy - but also extremely kind and sweet.

Soon, you were home and while Lily went straight to her bedroom to pick clean pyjamas, you quickly fed her fish and met your daughter already waiting for you in the bathroom; ready for her bubble bath. Even clearly tired, she chatted the whole time, telling you how much she enjoyed dinner and that Summer was her best friend in the world - she also thanked you for being an incredible mummy and allowing her to spend Saturday with her friend, which made you swallow a sob at how adorable your daughter was. Raising that wonderful little girl mostly on your own was tough, but moments like this were proof of the fantastic job you were doing.

Thankfully, after properly tucked under the covers, Lily mumbled an ‘I love you mummy’ and quickly fell asleep. You gently pressed your lips against her forehead, getting a sigh from her in return as if she had been waiting for it; when you walked into your bedroom, flickering heavily as you yawned, Lily was already snoring lightly - you chuckled at the baby monitor. You showered, switched into your pyjamas, and decided to check on your social media once you found yourself after the covers: there was a text message from Jaz but it was too late for a reply, and she also followed you on Instagram; you smiled at a picture of Summer in a pink tutu and of another one where the little one was between her parents, a wide smile, and her tiny arms was over their shoulders.

But you wish you had never met Jasmine, or that your daughter had never met Summer at all when you found a picture of her entire family at a stadium, all of them dressed in England jerseys and a familiar face in the middle was on your screen when you decided to zoom in on the photo. You dropped your phone on your stomach, feeling your mouth instantly drying and your eyesight blurring - if you weren’t already in bed, the weakness you felt spreading from your legs through your body would bring you to the floor.

Breathe, Y/n.

That was Mason, and it didn’t take you much to realise who precisely he was. Or who Jasmine was.

Mason was her brother.

Not believing what your eyes just saw, you went back to scrolling through her Insta and you felt your whole body trembling now, tears filling your eyes and rolling freely down your cheeks; there were a bunch of pictures with him, of the entire family on Christmas, of him with Summer. You felt the urge to vomit, your heart pounding against your chest so loud you could nearly listen to it.

Mason was her damn brother.

Mason, the father of your daughter.

Lilian Maisie.

********* words:

HG: hyperemesis gravidarum: A severe type of nausea and vomiting during pregnancy.

#mason mount imagine #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x you #mason mount series

1K notes · View notes

angelbaby-fics · 8 months

Note

I saw that u write for Daddy stucky x little x little Peter and it's si adorable 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Maybeeeee 🐝

Daddy stucky x little reader x little Peter where the reader is in babyspace like daipers and all the time sleepy and she just want to be in daddies arms but they need to go to the avenger tower and have a Meeting and another cg babysit the little one's but the baby reader dont understand why daddies aren’t there and just cries and petie try to comfort her and when daddies are back and daddy bucky picks her up she immediately stops crying and falls asleep and more fluff u can choose how petie would try to comfort her (he is like 6 or 7 in headspace)

Proud Of You

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairing: CG!Stucky x Little!Reader x Little!Peter (fem terms used for reader)

A/N: hello lovely anon! my requests are actually closed but………… i really liked this idea 😮 sooo i wrote it anyways!! i really really love big brother peter 🥺 and i tried to make this as fluffy as can be! enjoy 💕

It was the dreamiest afternoon, a heavy blanket of clouds pushing away the last sunrays of summer as autumn made itself known. As you napped in your crib, Peter and Bucky were enjoying a movie on tv, curled up on the big couch in the living room. Steve had left on an errand to the grocery store, suddenly inspired by the overcast weather to cook a cozy meal for his family. A scented candle on the shelf in the corner filled the room with warmth, and Bucky took deep breaths as he stroked Peter’s hair, filing away this perfect moment in his mind to look back on whenever he needed to remember just how safe his life was now. He tried to ignore the phone buzzing in his pocket, silently cursing whoever was trying to disturb his heaven, but when the notifications continued to flood in, he reluctantly answered the call.

Peter sat up as Bucky maneuvered to retrieve his phone, the sudden movement of his favorite pillow pulling the kiddo from the brink of an unplanned nap. Peter looked up at his Baba as he answered the phone, furrowing his brows as Bucky sighed. On the other end, Steve lightly chided his husband for not answering sooner, before letting him know that he was currently stranded at the store, the family car unresponsive in the parking lot. Bucky reassured Steve that he’d be right there, running a tired hand over his face as he hung up the phone and picked up the baby monitor that showed your nursery. The video showed you still fast asleep in your crib, pacifier half fallen out of your mouth. Mentally calculating the time it would take to reach the store and back, Bucky decided it wasn’t worth disturbing your nap for an errand that would hopefully be over before you even woke up to notice he was gone.

“What’s wrong, Baba?” Peter spoke up. There was anxiety in his voice, but not very much; he could tell it must not be an emergency if Bucky was so calm.

“Daddy’s car broke and I have to go pick him up from the store.” Bucky tried not to sound too annoyed.

“Can I come?” Peter asked eagerly, but Bucky shook his head.

“Not this time, pumpkin. I need you to be a big boy and take care of the house while I’m gone. Don’t answer the door for anyone and try not to wake up your sister, okay baby?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically, thrilled to be assigned a mission - even if that mission was just to stay put on the couch and not get into trouble.

With a kiss to the top of the spider boy’s head, Bucky was out the door, wanting more than anything to get this done as quickly as possible. Peter stared at the door for what felt like ages after it had closed behind his Baba, counting down the minutes until his return. And then he heard your cry from the baby monitor speaker.

Your precious slumber was interrupted, your peaceful dreams morphing into a heart stopping nightmare, almost as if you could sense your Baba’s absence and your Daddy’s distress. Tossing and turning, you ripped your way out of the cocoon of sleep, letting out a choked sob as you desperately tried to rejoin the waking world. You opened your eyes into the darkness, anxiously staring at your nursery door, almost mentally willing it to burst open and your daddies to come rushing in. But when the door finally did open, it was tentative, and the figure you saw illuminated by the hall light was not who you expected.

Peter rushed towards you as soon as he saw your desperate face. He reached through the bars of your crib to hold your hand as he reassured you were safe, big brother was here and he wasn’t gonna let anything hurt you. But it was no use, you just kept thrashing and crying out.

“Daddy! Baba!!” You wailed, needing more than anything just to be wrapped in their big strong arms, protected from anything and everything that could come your way.

Peter crouched down so his face was level with yours, wanting more than anything just to comfort you.

“Daddies aren’t here right now, but it’s okay, I got you!” Peter reassured you, and although you stopped fighting and let your body calm down, your tears still didn’t stop.

“Baba…” You sobbed, your chest heaving up and down with nervous breaths.

“Can I get you out of your crib?” Peter asked, his hand already on the latch.

You nodded and Peter let down the bars of the crib, helping you down onto the carpeted floor. He held your hand all the way as he led you back to the living room, his protective heart breaking as he heard you sob behind him. He brought you to the couch and helped you onto it, making sure you were comfy and stable, knowing you were particularly small at the moment. Peter wrapped you in a plush throw blanket and grabbed the nearest stuffed animal, tucking it into the blanket with you.

“I gotta go to the kitchen, okay?” He asked, and your eyes widened. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll be right back!”

You watched him all the while he zoomed around the corner into the kitchen, never leaving your line of sight as he ran to the fridge and pulled out a premade bottle. Taking the lid off, he put it in the microwave for less than a minute, just enough to bring it around room temperature, and as an added courtesy, he even made sure to open the microwave door before it could beep too loudly.

Just as quickly as he’d rushed into the kitchen, Peter was right back by your side, climbing up onto the couch to join you. He wrapped an arm around your blanketed body, leaning you into him as he brought the lukewarm bottle to your lips. With tears still in your eyes, you drank. The warm milk filling your belly brought your mind into focus, and your breathing steadied with each sip. With the hand that wasn’t already clutched around your stuffie, you reached out to Peter, gripping his pointer finger with your whole hand. The more you calmed down, the more your brother did as well, now confident in his ability to take care of you. You weren’t even halfway through with the bottle when you heard a familiar key in the front door lock.

Your milk drunk eyes flew open, laser focused on the door as it opened to reveal your two favorite people in the whole world. Peter dropped the bottle, but you’d already forgotten about your post-nap snack, your only care in the world was getting into your daddies’ arms as quickly as possible. Your arms reached out, fingers flexing out at Steve and Bucky, desperate for them to finish bringing in the groceries, locking the door, taking off their shoes. It felt like it was taking forever.

“Well look who’s awake!” Steve’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, just about as eager as you were to have you in his arms. He relieved you from Peter’s lap, and you gripped his shirt up in your fists, burying your face into his neck and breathing in his comforting scent. Peter was left to look up at Bucky, studying his face to try and figure out what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry Baba.” He apologized preemptively, just in case Bucky was mad at your nap ending prematurely.

“Sorry about what, kiddo? You didn’t wake her up on purpose, did you?”

Peter shook his head rigorously, hoping to convey to his Baba that he’d never do that.

“Then you have nothing to be sorry for, okay baby boy? In fact, it looks like you did a pretty good job holding down the fort while we were gone. I’m so proud of you.” Bucky said, picking up Peter and joining you and Steve in the kitchen where the ingredients for that night’s special dinner were all spread out on the counter.

“Yea! Luv oo!” You chimed in, and Peter grinned the widest you’d ever seen him.

#little!reader #stucky x little!reader #agere fic #daddy!stucky x little!reader #bucky x little!reader #marvel agere #daddy!bucky #little!peter x little!reader #chloe's fic

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worldofkuro · 26 days

Note

Could you make a angst!reader x alastor story?

Prince Charming

Pairing: Alastor x Female!Reader

Notes: Well, I hope you'll enjoy it because I sure did while writting it! Tw: Death. Tw: Mind Break. Tw: Blood

Thud

You stared at the blurry sky. Alastor always loved rainy nights like this, he always felt like he turned off the sound around and he could think clearer and be more in control. You had teased him, saying that you could easily destroy his concentration if you wished which made him laugh. You were his greatest weakness. You were his human heart. That's what he said during your wedding vows. He was human because you were next to him, because you were loving him. How could you not? He was your Prince Charming.

Thud

You looked weakly at the man above you who stabbed you once again. You couldn't scream or cry. You couldn’t feel any pain, you just felt.. Cold. You were sure that Alastor would feel so warm against your cold skin. He would hold you close to his chest and talk about his next broadcast’s topic. Sometimes you would ask him to bring up a specific topic you wished he would have deepened.

Thud

You felt a tear streaming down your face. Were you going to die? Alone ? You turned your head to the side as the man took your purse and looked inside it. You were laying in a puddle of your own blood on.. grass? You tried to look around, there were so many trees… Oh yes, you took a walk in the forest near Alastor’s house, trying to give yourself some courage, before your husband’s return. You wanted to go where he had proposed to you but you didn’t expect to be followed and worse yet, you didn’t expect to be stabbed again, and again and again and again..

Will Alastor be okay? How was he going to react to your death? You husband wasn’t a violent man, always trying to talk things through, that's one of the reasons you have loved him. You didn’t want to close your eyes, afraid of not being able to open them ever again. You didn’t want your last living image being this man killing you. You wanted… Alastor.

“ Darling !”

You blinked, smiling softly. Now you could hear his voice. Maybe God sended an angel with his voice so you could go in peace. You could rest now…But not with the dreadful scream that echoed in the night.

You opened your eyes, that you didn’t even remember closing, and saw a man stabbing your assaulter. You wanted to lose your sense of hearing as the screams of the man were now cries of begging. You almost scoffed, he was pathetic.

“ Darling, my love, mon coeur, look at me.” The man knelt next to you and then you recognized your husband, dirty in blood. You always told him that red suited him but seeing him covered in blood… Was it your blood? His?

“ Don’t do that to me, Love. Keep your eyes open, look at me.” he tried to stop your bleeding with his hands as he kissed the crown of your head. You giggled, you were right, his skin was so warm against yours. Now you could let go. Now you could say goodbye… You wanted to say goodbye.

Please God..

“ A…Last…”

“ At last ? What do you mean my Love?” he chuckled nervously, tearing his shirt to stop the bleeding. You almost chuckled, it was the first time you saw Alastor so out of control. You were almost sad to not be able to see more of it.

“ Alas…tor..” you bring your hand weakly toward his face, wiping blood off from his face. “ Kiss…Me…” you coughed blood, tilting your head to the side to spat the red liquid from your mouth. You wheezed as your vision was beginning to darken.

“ Darling, Look at me !” he took your face between his hands and kissed you like a starved man. You were surprised , you expected a cute peck on your lips, after all you had blood all over yourself, but Alastor was pressing his tongue against yours, like he wanted to devour you, to eat you,to consume you, to be the final thing you would feel before leaving. You kissed him back weakly as you felt yourself not being able to breathe anymore.

You weren’t scared anymore, you would not die alone but in the arms of your Prince Charming and with the baby you were expecting.

—

He stepped back as he watched your body sink in his arms. He stared at your face, blood looked good on you but he needed to bring you home to clean you. You wouldn’t like to wake up with blood all over the bedsheets. His sweet Angel.

His heart was beating but yours wasn’t.

He put his head against your bloody chest, waiting to hear your familiar heartbeat but he didn’t hear anything.

How odd.

“ Darling… My Love, look at me.” he stared at your face, waiting for you to open your eyes, tell him that everything was going to be okay. His smile widened as he grabbed his hair, pulling it without noticing.

His heart was beating but yours wasn’t.

“ Are you … sleeping my Love?” he asked, tilting his head toward your face. No answer. Mhn… He knew you liked fairytales, sometimes you would not open your eyes in the morning until he kissed you like some kind of Prince Charming. He didn’t like the idea, he wasn’t nice like this but seeing the love in your eyes each time he put up this act was worth it.

He leaned toward you and kissed your lips and then looked at you. He pressed his ears against your chest.

His heart was beating but yours wasn’t.

Mhn… So, God decided to punish him for his crime of killing by taking you away from him. God took his angel back. He began to chuckle but then he laughed maniacally, his head tilted back, his smile wide.

You were his. You were his heart. You were what made him human. He did kill, hiding this side of his personality to you. He wanted to protect you, there were so many maniacs here. Just like the man who took your life.

But with you gone… He couldn’t feel anything. He wasn’t human anymore.

He smiled as he held you in his arms. He stroked your cheeks lovingly.

His heart was beating but yours wasn’t.

“ Don’t worry Darling, they won’t kill me. How could you kill someone without a heart, mhn? I’ll avenge us my dear.”

He would become the devil that would paint New Orleans in red. He will kill them, the one who took his sweet darling from him. His chest was empty, not heart beating the only thing left working was his mad mind, already looking for a way to kill his next victims. And well, if you wanted to stop him?

Don’t throw away your shot.

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toasttt11 · 5 months

Text

draft day

May 10, 2022

The Hughes family were all sitting around their couch in the lake house watching the draft lottery for the 2022 NHL draft.

Jack and Luke hoping the Devils get the number one pick as it’s known there is only one person going number one and that’s Carter Hughes, despite being a woman she above and beyond any of the others draft contenders.

“The number three overall selection belongs to the New Jersey Devils.” Jack and Luke both groaned both disappointed, Carter was not disappointed as she honestly have not wanted to go to the Devils, she gripped Quinn hand with the hopeful anticipation for the first overall selection.

“The first overall selection in the 2022 NHL draft belongs to Vancouver Canucks.” Carter froze seeing the team she been dreaming up become the first selection, the same selection she’s projected to go to.

Quinn grinned excitedly shaking his sister as he pulled her into a hug, knowing she will be going first overall and the two can finally live out their dream for playing together.

“Oh my god.” Carter mumbled hugging Quinn back feeling Luke hold on of her hands and the hand on her shoulder from Jack squeezing her shoulder gently.

Ellen smiled glad her kids will now both have one of their siblings with them, it’s gives her a peace of mind, also knowing her youngest’s wont be alone either. Ellen has no doubt her daughter will be going first, the Canucks would be stupid not to pick Carter and Carter been protected to go first the entire time no one has got even close to her stats.

July 7, 2022

Carter eyes were stuck on the ceiling of the dark hotel room, the small puffs of breathes coming from where Luke was sleeping across the room in a bed, Jack moving around as he slept in the bed next to Luke, and the silence coming from Quinn who was in the bed next to her.

Carter knew she should be doing the same and getting good sleep for the big day tomorrow, the 2022 draft.

They day she has been dreaming up since she could remember. The day she was dreaming of, that has been nothing but presssure and people wanting to know if a girl will really go first, people either are loving or hating the idea of her doing so.

Cater blew out a few breath before slipping out of the warm blankets and quickly walking a few steps and slipping into the spot next to her big brother, who quickly woke up at the movement.

Quinn turned his head, his eyes squinting open as he felt his sister curl up into his side and his hand naturally went to the back gently rubbing it, “What’s wrong Cart?” Quinn could feel the stuttering breath that she took.

“What if..” Carter hesitated licking her lips, “What if i don’t go first.”

Quinn felt his face soften realizing Carter is nervous for tomorrow more than she’s been letting on, “Then you don’t. And it doesn’t matter where you end up first or last i’m going to be proud of you, i am already proud of you, okay.”

Carter took a deep breath releasing some of the tension in her shoulders, “Okay.”

“Okay, now try to get some sleep it’s a big day for you tomorrow. I love you little sister.” Quinn kissed the top of her head.

“I love you too Quinny.” Carter could feel her body relaxing more and more and her eyes fluttering shut and before she knew it she heard the sound of a door opening and two sets of footsteps and then the blinds being pulled, making the bright sun blast the whole room and four identical groans came from each of the siblings.

Carter dug her head deeper into Quinn chest as he tried to hide his face in her hair. Jack chucked his pillow over his head and Luke turned around shoving his face into the mattress hiding from the light.

Jim just chuckled use to his kids never being morning people.

Ellen took her phone out quickly snapping a photo of a cuddling Carter and Quinn, a sight that’s very familiar to her.

“Come on it’s draft day.” Ellen clapped excitedly.

Jack’s head popped up, “You should have started with that.” Jack groaned sitting up running a hand through his fluffy hair.

Luke leaned against the headboard rubbing his face trying to wake up.

Quinn looked up at the ceiling trying to wake also feeling Carter wake up more next to him.

Jack got out of the bed walking across the room and jumping onto the spot next to Carter and cuddling onto her, “Happy draft day little bird.” Jack kissed the top of her head. The siblings having made nicknames for each other years ago and Carter’s has always been little bird or birdy, as she was obsessed with going outside and watching birds and would try feeding them, so she got stuck with the nickname.

“Thanks.” Carter mumbled back still half asleep.

Luke looked over seeing Jack cuddled in the bed so he decided to get up walk across the room and he jumped right across all three of his siblings legs.

“Luke!”

“Really?”

“Moose.”

Three groans and complaints were all said at the same time as the tallest of the siblings decided to lay on all three of them.

“What i want cuddles to.” Luke grinned mischievously turning his head letting his cheek rest on Quinn’s leg looking up at the three.

Carter slipped her hand out of the comforter and put it down towards her legs where Luke was laying and grabbed his hand holding it with hers.

Ellen and Jim shared a fond look, glad their kids are still so close with one another.

“Alright get off your siblings, You all need to get ready, The cameras are coming in two hours and you all need to eat still so please chop chop.” Ellen gently order the four, making Luke get off his siblings and head to the bathroom to shower first, Quinn sat up stretching his arms, Jack jumped out of the bed heading to grab his phone having already showered last night and he can’t do anything till Luke finishes his shower anyway, He jumped onto his bed going onto his phone.

“Quinn you can use our bathroom.” Ellen told her oldest who nodded at his mother and got up grabbing his stuff and heading to his parents room that is connected by a door to theirs.

“And you sweetheart can you order some room service for you and your brothers? When Quinn is done we will get you ready, hmm?” Ellen walked over to her daughter sitting on the bed next to her brushing some hair from Carter’s face.

“Sure mom.” Carter smiled slightly from the comforting gesture from her mother, having missed the days she could get comfort from her mother any day, having lived away for so much of the last few years.

“Thank you sweetheart.” Ellen leaned down kissing Carter’s forehead before getting up and walking back to her room when Jim alreadly went back too.

Carter sat up rubbing her eyes with her hands before leaning over and grabbing the phone and the room service menu, deciding to grab a little of everything knowing her brothers are not that picky with food especially when it’s breakfast food. She quickly dialed the phone and order their breakfasts before handing up and putting everything back on the nightstand.

Carter grabbed her phone deciding to ignoring the long list of notifications from people for today and clicked on the text from her best friend having not seem him for a few weeks having been getting ready for the draft and the combine training.

Connor ❤️

Hey good luck today Roo. You’re gonna do great.

Carter💜

Thanks Con.

Carter and Connor continuing texting for a good while, long enough Carter didn’t even realize Quinn has finished showering untill she felt water droplets hit her face and she looked up seeing Quinn grinning down at her as he shook his wet hair onto her.

“Really.” Carter deadpanned not even bothering hiding her smile at her brother.

“You were really focused.” Quinn excused himself but the glint in his eyes told her exactly what he meant by that.

Quinn and Carter having moved out only a year apart and having moved only a few hours apart from each other and both moving to another country from their family. They spent more time with each other than the rest of their family and have got even closer the last few years. Quinn and Carter’s bond had gotten even more special and became more of each other’s best friends rather than just siblings.

“Shut up.” Carter slapped his arm feeling her cheeks heat up, Quinn threw his head back laughing always finding it enjoyed that his little sister who has never got flustered by anything, always being blunt about everything but anything with Connor and she gets flustered so easily.

Jack looked up from his phone seeing Carter bury her face in her hands and the way Quinn shoulders were shaking with laughter and wondered what Quinn said but just shrugged it off knowing the two are the closest out of all the siblings.

Quinn just chucked walking off towards the door hearing the knock and knowing room service was coming.

Carter texted her goodbyes to Connor and she smiled slightly having always feeling more relaxed around or even texting Connor.

Carter got out of bed stretching hearing her brother bring the tray of food and setting it at the table by the window, giving a great view of Montreal Canada.

Carter walked over plopping down in the seat feeling Jack sit next to her and Quinn sat on the other side of her, the three started grabbing food just as they heard Luke finally come out of the bathroom and not even fully dressed just wearing a pair of basketball shorts and his hair still dripping wet.

“Long enough shower Lukey boy.” Jack teased his brother biting the bacon, knowing Luke is surprising always the longest one in the shower.

“Shut up.” Luke rolled his eyes sitting between his brothers grabbing food and starting to eat.

“I don’t even want to know what takes you so long.” Carter pretend to gag only grabbing a little bit of fruit the anticipation being to much to really eat anymore than that.

Jack and Quinn both snickered having both thought the same thing.

“Really?” Luke deadpanned looking at his snickering brothers and the mischievous smile on his little sister’s face.

“What i don’t.” Carter just innocently shrugged plopping a strawberry into her mouth.

Luke rolled his eyes grabbing a grape about to throw it at Carter when his name as called out, “Luke Hughes you better put that grape down right.” Ellen sternly called as walked into the room.

Luke slowly plopped the grape into his mouth, “Yes mom.”

Carter coughed to cover her laugh, but Jack who seemingly couldn’t do the same got a smack on the back of his head from their mother.

“Mom!” Jack exclaimed looking at their mother in pure offense.

Ellen only raised her eyebrow giving him a look making Jack look back towards his plate and Ellen smile slightly.

“Ready sweetheart.” Ellen looked at Carter seeing her plate already empty. Carter nodded grabbing her phone standing up and following her mother to her bathroom.

Carter having washed and blow dried her hair last night having planned just to straighten today. She sat on the toilet seeing the straighten already heating up. Ellen grabbed the heat protectin spraying it all around Carters hair before brushing it out and sectioning it. Ellen started straightening Carters very long hair, while Carter started doing her makeup.

Carter just chose a very light base that would good with the bright lights and cameras, some mascara and just a light pink glossy lip. Carter finished her makeup just as Ellen finished her hair.

“You look beautiful.” Ellen smiled resting her hands on Carter shoulders remembering all the times with Carter growing up where they did her hair like this.

“Thank you mom.” Carter smiled resting her hand on top of her mother’s.

“Ok i hung up your outfit and your shoes are here as well.” Ellen gestures to the outfit on a hanger hanging on the towel rack and the boots on the floor below the outfit, “I’ll let you get dressed.” Ellen squeezed her shoulder before walking out the bathroom and closing the door.

Carter got up grabbing her outfit she had picked for her a big day and put it on, she picked a all white jumpsuit with a brown belt and a black blazer that will lay over her shoulders, she zipped up her black pointed toe heeled boots.

Carter slipped on all her meaningful rings. A ring she got from Connor, the first thing he ever gave her was a ring that they found when shopping around a market in Sweden it’s silver with two small gems one green and one red, a all silver ringer with the engravings of waves that Quinn gave her when he visited her for the first time in Regina, A infinite knot ring that Luke and Carter have matching and got for each other when they moved away from each other, another ring with a raven figure on the top a present from Jack in honor of her nickname, a ring her parents got that are two rings connected together one all smooth and the other has a ribbed pattern.

Carter smiled in the mirror before she walked out of the bathroom grabbing the other’s attention.

“Well?” Carter softly questioned as did a soft little spin and seeing her family’s stunned faces.

“Oh darling you look perfect.” Ellen smiled clapping her hands, Jim smiled nodding in agreement with his wife.

“Beautiful Cart.” Quinn softly smiled making her smile back.

Luke playfully whistled making Carter laugh.

Jack could only see how much his little sister has grown, it hit him then just realizing how much they have missed with each other’s life’s and how much she really grown up.

Jack stood up pulling Carter in a tight hug, “You look beautiful Ree.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“Thanks Jacky.” Carter squeezed him tighter before pulling away.

Quinn, Jack and Luke shared a look before Quinn got up walking out the room, Carter looked at him in curiosity, before looking at her other two brothers seeing their smiles.

Quinn walked back in with a small box with a little bow on the top and handed it to Carter, “It’s from all three of us.” Quinn smiled knowing how much they all tried to find something for their little sister on her big day.

Carter gently took the box, untying the bow and taking the top off she gently picked up the necklace, she looked at the necklace seeing it’s a pendant with the a bird engraved on the front, she clicked it open seeing a picture of her and her brothers when they were kids and they were all grinning together on the ice. A pendant small enough she could easily play hockey with it on.

Carter gently brushed her fingers over the photo, “It’s beautiful.” Carter looked up smiling. softly at her brothers, “Thank you.” Jack smiled nodding he stood up gently gesturing to the necklace, Carter handed it to him. Jack walked around to her back and gently moved her hair to the side clipping on the necklace.

Carter smiled touching the pendant that fell perfectly onto her chest, having not been able to find a necklace that she liked to wear for her draft day and decided she wasn’t going to wear one but now it’s even more special as it’s a piece of her brothers with her.

“Ready darling.” Ellen looked at her daughter proudly. Knowing the camera’s were going to be coming any minute and the rest of the family would be joining them soon. Carter having wanted to be ready before the cameras wanting to have that moment with her family only.

“Ready.” Carter nodded just as a knock on the door echoed through the room.

Carter wasn’t sure how the time seemed to past so fast but she was already on the bus that was talking them to the arena for the draft. She had asked Jack to sit next to her on the bus, knowing Luke and Quinn were sitting next to her in the Arena.

The four siblings having moved around every draft so they are all there together, Quinn’s draft Carter and Jack sat next to him and Luke next to Carter, Jack’s draft Luke and Quinn sat next to him and Carter next to Quinn, Luke’s draft Jack and Carter sat next to him and Quinn next to Carter, So Carter’s draft she would have Luke and Quinn next to her and Jack next to Luke.

“Nervous.” Jack quietly whispered quietly to his sister even though he knew she had a microphone on her for the video NHL films for the drafts.

“No, Anticipation.” Carter answered fiddling with her rings.

“Yeah that’s the worst part.” Jack gently laid his hand over hers stopping her from fiddling and accidentally chipping her nails, he knew she would be upset if she chipped her red nails.

“I’m excited.” Carter quietly whispered back, feeling like she was back to the days when she was a child and she would go to Jack and hide in his bed during the night and they would whisper back and forth with each other.

“I’m excited for you. I’m proud of you.” Jack gently laid a soft kiss to her forehead already feeling emotional knowing his sister is making history and he’s got to see her grow up into an amazing young women and he couldn’t wait to see how much she continues to grow.

Carter smiled squeezing her brothers hand in gratitude before resting her head on his shoulder for the remainder of the drive.

The bus stopped in front of the Arena and Carter could hear all the cheers from the fans waiting outside, she took a breath before feeling Jack knock his shoulder to hers, She looked up at him and saw Jack smiling at her and gave her a wink, Carter just breathed out a small chuckle before standing up and fixing her Blazer over her shoulder and walking out the bus blinking slighty from the loudness of cheers that grew when she stepped out.

Carter walked down the red carpet signing lots of stuff for fans and taking pictures with alot of the fans, stopping to do a few quick interviews but before she knew she was already in her seat seeing the Arena almost fully filled and the draft just about to start.

Carter reached over to her right grabbing Quinn’s hand latching onto his hand the same way she had for years, Quinn smiled gently squeezing her hand back.

“Canucks you are on the clock.” Carter took a small breath closing her eyes and squeezed Quinn’s hand once more before she opened her eyes watching the many people part of the Canuck’s team walk up on the stage.

“With the first overall selection in the 2022 NHL draft, The Vancouver Canucks are very proud to select from the Regina Pats, The Western Hockey League.” The cheers went crazy as name of the team was said, everyone already knowing who was going to first, “Carter Hughes.”

Carter smiled slightly seemingly breathing out a breath before standing up looking towards her big brother who was grinning so wide, the widest she’s ever seen him smile as he pulled her in a tight hug rocking her back and forth, “I’m so so so proud of you Cart.”

“I love you thank you.” Carter whispered to Quinn and they pulled back from the hug and Quinn’s eyes were misty with tears watching his little sister make history and knowing they will be playing together soon. A dream the two have had for a long time.

Carter smiled turning around towards Luke automatically getting pulled into a tight hug, “Enjoy this moment Reese’s pieces, it’s all yours.”

“Thank you Lu, i love you.” Luke squeezed her tighter before letting her go and letting her scoot by and watching Jack pull Carter into a tight hug, a hug Carter equally hugged back.

“Enjoy this alright little bird, you deserve it.” Jack whispered being torn between being so proud but also knowing firsthand how hard it can be being the first pick and he knows that it will be harder for his sister, not only being the first girl drafted in the NHL but also being drafted first.

“Thank you Jacky so much, i love you.” Carter squeezed him harder having not told anyone but the reason she chose the position she plays was to be like Jack. Quinn was always her protector, Luke her partner in crime but Jack, Jack was her role more and Jack has always been the one she wanted to be the most like.

Carter gently moved past her brother heading right into her mother’s awaiting arms, “Oh my sweet girl i’m so proud of you.” Ellen pressed a light kiss to the side of Carter’s head.

“This is for you mom. Thank you i love you.” Carter having been extra determined to get into the NHL for her mother, the one who gave up her career for her children and didn’t get to play to her full potential. Ellen squeezed her tighter hearing that before letting her go to Jim.

Jim kissed her cheek before pulling his daughter into a tight hug, “Well done sweetheart.”

“Thank you Dad, i love you.” Carter smiled into his shoulders before letting go and slipping of her black blazer letting her dad take it as she shook some of the other draft players hands as she walked down the stairs right before she walked across the cat walk like stage.

Carter took a deep breath before walking across with her head help high and slight smile, she reached the end seeing a man who shook her hand and tuned her towards the crowds that were cheering for her, “Look out there, that’s all for you.”

Carter smiled looking at the crowds before her eyes notice a familiar face sitting in the lower sections watching her, he gave her a slight wave with a proud smile gracing his face, Carter’s smile got a little brighter when she realized Connor was here.

“Congratulations.” The man shook her hand once more letting her then walk across the stage shaking the hand of every person on the stage and thanking them all before taking the beautiful blue Vancouver Canucks jersey from the kid’s hands smiling slightly when she noticed they had got her number on it already, she slipped it on, feeling right at home in the Vancouver Blue, before taking the Hat and putting it on her head. She felt the arms of the other people around her and smiled towards the cameras specifically at the ones she could see her parents holding up at her.

“They already had her number on the jersey.” The player behind the row the Hughes were sitting in whispered to their family.

Everyone already knew who ever got the first pick in the draft would be taking Carter Hughes.

Jack furrowed his brows looking at the jersey when she turned slightly seeing the number 86 on her sleeve, “Oh my god.”

“What?” Luke looked at Jack in question, nothing the mist forming in Jack’s eyes.

“She picked her number.” Jack slowly spoke now realizing why Carter haven’t told anyone the number she chose yet. Carter since playing when she was younger always used 8 and her brothers used 6, Jack then chose 86 and Quinn chose 43, Luke chose 43 as well so Carter thought it was only right for her to pick 86.

Quinn looked at the Jersey loving how well it seemed to fit her already but smiled seeing the number knowing Carter chose that in honor of Jack.

Luke smiled seeing how touched Jack was and now all of there numbers connected with each other and he can’t wait till they are all together on the ice for a game for the first time.

Carter waved slightly to her family chuckling slightly when Jack and Luke were cheering extra loud towards her and the large smile that’s been on Quinn’s face, and the proud expression etched on both of her Parent’s faces.

Carter let herself be lead by the media going straight into a interview before getting dragged to shooting room getting many photo’s and video’s taken before heading to a room to start signing stacks of hats for fans, finally after a few hours she was free to go back to her family after having congratulated the others who were drafted she walked down the hallway that was quiet as most people were already gone or inside the arena where all the seats are, As the draft had already finished for the night.

Carter looked over seeing someone turn around the corner waking down the hallway towards her and she knew that hair from anyway.

“Con!” Carter grinned calling out gaining Connor’s attention making him immediately look up at the sound of his favorite voice.

“Hi Roo.” Connor softly grinned at his best friend quickly meeting her in the middle of the hallway pulling her into a tight hug, “Congratulations Roo you deserved it!” Connor slowly breathed in the soft vanilla scent that has always been around Carter’s.

“Thanks Connie.” Carter rested her head on her best friend’s chest enjoying the comfort that always comes from Connor.

Carter reluctantly pulled away from him, “I didn’t know you were coming today?”

Connor sheepishly smiled brushing a hand through his hair, “Thought it was a good surprise.”

Carter smiled softly grabbing his hands gently squeezing both of his hands, “A very good surprise Connie. Thank you.”

“Of course Roo.” Connor smiled at this best friend, having called her Roo for years after hearing how much she loves Kangaroos, “You should probably get to your family, but if your free later or tomorrow i’m in room 289.” Connor knowing he had to get to an interview and her family was probably waiting for her.

“Alright see you later Con.” Carter leaned up pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before flashing him a soft smile and heading down the hallway towards the inside of the Arena where her family was.

Connor felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and pressed his lips togetehr trying to desperately hold make the grin that wanted to form as he watched her walk down the hallway.

“There she is!” Luke cheered as he walked over towards them. Carter smiled fondly at her brother as she walked to her family and Luke picked her up into a hug spinning her around, Carter just chuckled into the hug use to Luke picking her up.

Luke gently set her down keeping his arm in her shoulders.

“You picked 86.” Jack stated still looking confused as he looked towards his little sister for an answer.

Carter felt her cheeks get a little pink but she ignored it, “We’ll Luke had to have the same as Quinn, i figured i needed to pick yours.” She tired to tease her brother trying to ignore why she truthfully picked that number.

“Hey! I didn’t have to have the same as Quinn!” Luke complained with a groan making his siblings laugh at his annoyance.

Jack walk to his sister pulling her into a soft hug, “Thank you.” Jack saw how Carter tried to ignore the question but he understood why she picked the number.

“Of course.” Carter smiled hugging him back. Before they gently pulled back but Jack put his arm around her shoulder sending a teasing look to Luke.

“You hungry darling?” Ellen asked where her and Jim were watching their kids well almost all adults now.

“Starving!” Carter quickly answered and truthfully she’s been starving for a while.

“Let’s go get you some food yeah.” Ellen smiled at her daughter as the Hughes family walked out the Arena and down the block to the restaurant Ellen had called for a private room for them to eat in.

They got into the restaurant and stayed there till it was already pitch dark outside just enjoying the time with just the 6 of them.

They all got a car back to the hotel before saying goodnight to each other and going into the two separate hotel rooms for the night and all four of the siblings quickly were in their own bed and relaxing.

Carter sat on her bed looking at her phone before getting up out of bed and slipping on her slides, she got the attention of her other three brothers who were all in their own beds on their phones but looked up when she started walking towards the door.

“Where your going Ree?” Jack questioned looking at his sister.

“Just getting some fresh air, don’t wait up.” Carter quickly explained before heading out for the hotel room.

Quinn raised an eyebrow having seen Connor in the other section during the draft and that’s most likely where Carter is going.

Carter headed into the elevator going down to level two and walked out the doors once they opened and headed to the the number that Connor said was his room, She knocked four times in row a knock, the knock the two had made a few years ago. She could hear Connor’s feet hit the floor getting off his bed and walking towards the door, He opened the door smiling when he saw Carter, “Hey Ro-“

He was cut off by Carter cupping his face and kissing him softly making Connor blink before quickly kissing her back, his hands on her hips pulling her closer as they walked into the room and Carter kicking the door shut behind them.

Connor slowly pulled away from Carter letting them catch their breaths as their foreheads rested together, both of them having kissed a few times before. “Are you sure?” Connor questioned looking at her for any hesitation.

“I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else Con.” Carter reassured rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone as she held his face in her hands. Connor smiled nodding before reconnecting their lips and turning them around and gently leading them to his bed and gently leaning down letting Carter’s back hit the mattress before they were in bed together for the rest of the night.

Carter woke up to feeling of an arm wrapped around her and her forehead leaning against a chest, she heard the sound of Connors heartbeat and could see the sunlight peaking through the cracks of the curtains. Carter shuffled slightly under the blankets feeling her body sore from the night before.

Carter hand gently rested on Connors arm that was across her waist, she gently drew little shapes on his arms, before she felt him shift slighty and looked up seeing his eyes open and looking down at her with a soft expression that made her incredibly nervous.

“Hi.” Connor breathed out his voice deeper than usual.

“Hi.” Carter quietly whispered back smiling slighty towards him.

Connor could see she was nervous from what happened last night and honestly so was he. He knew last night was big for both of them neither having done that before but he also knew neither of them were ready to talk about the change in their friendship. Connor cupped ther back of head his thump gently brushing her hand, “Don’t worry we don’t need to talk now ok.”

Carter seemed to relax after Connor said that, “Thank you.” She smiled at Connor, the boy she’s been falling for the last few years but mostly her best friend first, “I’m sorry but i should probably get back to my hotel.”

Connor felt a pang of disappointment but understood, “Of course Roo.” He reluctantly pulled his arm off her and saw Carter slowly get out from the covers stretching her legs before getting up and pulling on her grey sweatpants that were quickly thrown off last night and her plain blue t-shirt before looking at the desk and chair next to the bed and stealing Connor’s Regina Pats hoodie and slipping it on, she slipped on her slides.

Carter turned around back to bed resting a knee on the bed as she leaned over and gently kissing Connor’s forehead and brushing back his fluffy hair, “I’ll see you soon okay.”

Conor’s hand gently rested on her back pressing a kiss to her cheek, “Yeah i’ll see you soon.”

Connor had been glad that she was going to Canucks as he drives or flys home many time during the season and his home is only a few minutes from the Canuck Stadium. Connor and Carter having made the drive from Regina to Vancouver many times over the last two years.

Carter gently leaned off the bed grabbing her phone on the desk and headed out of his hotel room sending Connor one last look over her shoulder before closing the door.

Carter walked into the elevator and clicked on her phone seeing it’s already 8:30 but knew her brothers would all still be sleeping so there was no need to worry.

She walked out the elevator down the hallway opening her hotel door with the key and froze at the sight of Quinn leaning up in bed on his phone.

Quinn looked up at the sound of the door raising an eyebrow as the disheveled Carter standing at the door, not having a hard time figuring out where she went.

“Don’t. Don’t say a word.” Carter shook her head seeing Quinn open his mouth and walked right into the bathroom to take a shower.

“Word.” Quinn mumbled to himself.

#carterhughesau #carter hughes x connor bedard #ch86 #cb98 #jack hughes x reader #nhl x reader #jack hughes #jh86 #luke hughes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier #lh43 #connor bedard x reader #qh43 #luke hughes x reader #vancouver canucks #connor bedard

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prideofcelestia · 2 years

Text

❝ when he sees your baby pictures ❞

« characters - lucifer, leviathan, satan, belphegor, barbatos, mephistopheles »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

« notes - repost from my old blog so there's a chance you might have read it »

LUCIFER

Lucifer drinks the pictures in — his face relaxing into a tender expression. When he tries remembering the last time he had felt laughter fill his chest at the sight of a baby picture, his mind goes back to his days in the Celestial Realm when he had more patience. Words spill from his lips before he can stop himself.

“[Name], you looked like an absolute angel…”

A faint blush graces his cheeks as he realises that in his mind, he just placed you in the same place as all the bright cherubims he had seen as an angel. You put his heart at ease so he takes one of the pictures for his own. Try as you may but that is his property now. He loves to look at it when he’s feeling extremely stressed.

Grinning to himself, he muses, “Time is short for a human… yet their company is so precious.”

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan laughs. “LOLOL such normie baby clothes!”

One would think that he was born wearing Ruri-chan cosplay. The other brothers call him out on his behaviour and refuse to show him your pictures so he pouts and throws a tantrum about how the world is unfair to otakus like him!

When he gets his hands on your baby photographs (after quite the struggle, in his words), he’s thrilled and looks at it with awe. With every passing second, his cheeks get more coloured before he closes his eyes and covers his face with the back of his hand.

How were you so cute as a baby?! He thought they were meant to be awkward and silly. Even though you have some embarrassing pictures, he… he wants to hold the baby you! He has an amazing assortment of toys that will keep you entertained. Just stay away from his precious figurines!

“Leviathan took 9000 damage. This is soooo moe w’aaaah. How is a simple otaku such as myself supposed to react?!”

SATAN

Satan looks at your pictures with utmost concentration. Every time his brothers talk about what a cute munchkin he was (*looks at Asmo*) or what a ball of mischief he was (*looks at the entire population of the Devildom*), he feels irritated. His childhood reminds him of the circumstances of his birth and how he wasn’t there with his brothers when it mattered. Owing to the uneasiness, he’s not particularly fond of children — unless it’s a whiskered baby. His arms are always open for kittens.

Seeing you in the pictures, however, makes his heart flutter in a way he has never felt before. He wants to protect and cherish you, fill your life with books and cat plushies. The urge is so strong that he runs out of the house — his head still full of baby you — as he buys every item that he would like to pass on to a beloved child. The mountain of stuffed toys that you have no use for makes you want to scream as you fix a questioning glance at him. To be honest, there are some fairy tale books you have never seen before so it isn’t a complete waste.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor takes a quick glance at the picture and returns to his nap. With a cheek pressed against his pillow, he mumbles, “Hmmm, you were a cute baby.”

The lack of reaction makes you want to move on but he won’t let you. Grabbing your arm, he pulls you to the bed and whispers in your ear.

“[Name], you looked really soft in the picture. Now I want to cuddle you. It’s your fault for making me feel this way so you’ll take responsibility, won’t you? Don’t move a lot and let me enjoy it.”

He has burned the image in his mind and can’t help dreaming about the baby you giggling up at him. It’s soft and makes him feel peaceful.

Don’t get him wrong. He’s not a fan of children — babies in particular, because they are loud and their cries disrupt sleep. However, seeing the eyes that he loves look back at him from the picture ironically makes him want to protect you.

BARBATOS

Barbatos thinks that you were adorable back then. Not that a lot has changed but some detail about your first years warms his heart like a cup of fine tea.

He knows that baby pictures are a source of embarrassment for most because he often found Diavolo flustered when the matter of his innocent days was brought up. He’s amply experienced with kids to know how to tease you about it and oh boy, this demon uses his knowledge to good use.

“Oh, [Name], I have a gift for you… I happened to see your photo album.” That’s his way of informing you that he’s well versed in your past photos, “I noticed that you wore this colour quite frequently during childhood. However, remember not to spill food all over it anymore. Okay?”

He’ll never let you outlive it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Mephistopheles squeals. Babies are amazing — be it crawling in front of you or in pictures. He snatches the photos away from whoever is holding those as a huge grin appears on his lips.

He’s usually gruff with you while also being gentle (read as tsundere) but now, he’s saying how fascinating it is to look at your life as a baby. He comments on all your pictures and thinks that your activities back then were adorable.

“Look at them playing… Look at them sitting… It’s a balm for the heart.”

He gets so excited that he tries to find similarities between the baby you and the present you just so that he has an excuse to hold onto the pictures for longer without appearing overly affectionate.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me mephistopheles #x reader #x mc #gender neutral reader #obey me headcanons #obey me fluff #shion script

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run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 1 year

Text

Early Retirement

Summary: Izzy washes up on a beach after leaving the Revenge and rowing through a storm. Luckily for him, a kindhearted stranger took it upon themselves to take him in and nurse him back to health. Maybe even give him a new home.

Word Count: 6478

It’s cold. Too cold.

It seeped down into his bones and settled there until he couldn’t feel his limbs, he couldn’t feel anything other than that debilitating cold. He forced his eyes open but saw nothing but darkness, the salt stinging them. His lungs burnt in their attempt to suck in air but received nothing but water.

Then everything just…disappeared.

The amount of time that passed was a mystery to Izzy but when he came back to consciousness, it was warm. It felt like his body had thawed out, limbs heavy but at least he could feel them now.

His heavy eyelids blinked open, the sunlight coming in through a window making him wince. Everything had a slight blur to it but he could make out that he was in a bedroom, one that he definitely didn’t recognise. He was tucked into a bed, pillows cradling his head and plush bedding cocooning his body, his injured foot elevated on a pile of cushions.

The last thing he could remember was…the sea. Fuck. He had left the Revenge after Stede’s return, at least being allowed the dignity to make that decision himself. A freak storm had rolled in when he was half way to reaching land in his rowboat. It ripped his little boat to shreds and the ocean had pulled him beneath the waves.

He had barely even fought it when it happened. Izzy had always known this would be how he went, at the mercy of the sea, better than the end of a sword. Men like him didn’t get peaceful deaths, he accepted that a long time ago.

Yet, here he was and it was too warm and soft to be Hell.

As his senses returned to him he focused on a smell that wafted up from somewhere else in the house, it was something savoury, something warm and comforting.

He wasn’t alone then. It made sense, of course, but it still put him on edge.

Izzy tried to pull himself up from the bed but it felt like his body was weighed down and his foot throbbed when he tried to move it. With a grunt, he fell back down onto the bed. He could barely move, he’d need a proper plan before he flung himself out of bed.

Before he could try to move again, the door to the bedroom he was cooped up in opened. “You’re awake,” you smiled warmly, “how are you feeling?”

The pale, ragged, looking man in your guest bed was glaring at you. You were sure he would be threatening if he didn’t look like he just crawled out of an ocean grave.

“Where am I?” he questioned accusingly.

“Somewhere safe,” you assured him, ignoring his hostility as you crossed the room.

He hesitated, watching you cautiously. You supposed you couldn’t blame him, he was in a strange place and somewhat incapacitated.

“What happened?”

You sighed. “You washed up on the beach a few days ago. Saw you on a morning walk, thought you were dead by the look of you. Nearly scared the life out of me when you breathed,” you told him honestly.

“Days?” Perhaps his surprise would have been a little more audible if his voice wasn’t so scratchy. His wide eyes conveyed it enough though.

“Your foot is injured but it was wrapped so I assume you know that. You had an infection, have been in and out of consciousness with a fever for the last four days. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it,” you informed him.

“So you just happened upon me, dragged me back to your home, and nursed me back to health?” He was suspicious of you and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

“The doctor got some men to help haul you up from the beach and stopped you from dying on us, he left some medication, but then just left me to it.”

“Where are my things?” It was only then, as he shifted on the bed, that he realised he was only wearing his smalls under the blankets.

“For somebody who just avoided death, you are awfully quizzical,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “Everything that survived your little swim is safely stored in another room. I’m generous enough to try to help a stranger but not naive enough to let them have blades on them. I’ll bring you your clothes now that you’re awake and a pair of linen pants, they’ll be easier to get on and more comfortable than those leathers you washed up in.”

“So you know I could be dangerous?” Izzy squinted at you. You know he was dangerous but taking the chance anyway only made him more suspicious. People didn’t just do things out of the kindness of their hearts, especially for people who they thought were dangerous.

“No offence but when a man washes up on the shore, armed to the teeth and clad in black leathers, I don’t assume they’re just a travelling merchant,” you rolled your eyes.

“This happen a lot?” he asked sarcastically. At least he was well enough to give you some snark.

“Nope, you’re my first,” you shrugged, smirking slightly. “So, what do I call you?” you asked.

“None of your business,” Izzy growled, though it came out weak and scratchy.

“Well, you’re in my home but okay,” you rolled your eyes at him, as if he wasn’t a threat. Then again, he supposed he wasn’t much of a threat right now.

Izzy frowned, but his glare remained hard on you. “Who are you?”

“You tell me and I’ll tell you, for now you can just call me…your guardian angel,” you offered, making him scowl. “Anyway, you’re looking a lot brighter than when you washed up. You should be able to keep solid foods down now, so I made some healing stew special for you. Oh, and the bread just came out the oven this morning.”

Before Izzy could question you further, you had waltzed out of the room.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to return though, this time entering the room with a tray balanced on your hip. You walked up to his bedside, placing the tray down on the table beside his bed.

The tray held a bowl of stew, a couple slices of bread, a mug of herbal tea, and a glass of water.

Izzy just glared at the tray as you took a step back.

“Look, I’m not holding you hostage. If you want to leave, you can, but have some common sense and stay put for a while. Your foot was inflamed when you showed up, the doctor had to shave down the bone and redo the stitches. You need to rest it if you want it to heal properly,” you chastised him.

The man frowned, looking down at his foot. You saw the pain in his eyes and it made your voice soften. “Doctor said you’ll be able to move around in a couple of days if you use a crutch, then you’ll just have to use a cane. Once it’s healed though, he said it probably won’t affect your movement or balance at all.”

“You sure?” he dared to be hopeful.

“The doctor seems pretty sure. But you have to follow orders if you want it to heal properly. So you can’t go hobbling around looking for your ship just yet.”

He squinted at you, suspicions returning at full force. “What do you know about my ship?”

“Relax. I don’t know anything. I’m just not stupid, I figured you’re a pirate,” you shrugged.

Apparently, that only made him more suspicious of you. “And you still risked taking me in?” You had to have ulterior motives, it’s the only thing that made sense.

“You gonna kill me?”

“No. Not if you don’t give me a reason too.”

“Rob me.”

“No, unless I kill you.”

“...take me hostage and sell me?”

“No…”

Izzy sighed. You were right, he wasn’t a threat right now and even if he was, he had no intentions on hurting you unless you gave him a reason too.

“Then it looks like we’re safe,” you smiled, like you had just sorted some problem out. “Eat, I’ll be back soon to collect your dishes and change your bandages,” you ordered lightly before leaving the room again.

The next time you returned it was to take away his dirty dishes. He had emptied the bowl, having not realised how hungry he had been until he took that first bite. He would probably be able to eat more but knew better than to risk it, too much too soon could have him bringing it all back up.

You had brought some supplies with you to change the bandages on his foot. He had glared at you the whole time, as if expecting you to do something to purposely hurt him. You didn’t though. Instead, you handled his foot and ankle delicately, cleaned the wound as carefully as you could and rebandaged it. Working diligently, only speaking when you were apologising for something you couldn’t help or asking him if the bandages were too tight.

The rest of the day went much like that. He didn’t speak whenever you came into the room to bring him food or take away empty plates, and you didn’t try to engage him in conversation, just polite small talk before leaving again.

The next morning, Izzy woke up to you bringing him another tray of food. “Morning,” you greeted him, placing the tray down beside him. “Made you some breakfast, have to keep your strength up.”

Izzy tried to sit up, making himself wince. You moved quickly, helping him shift into a comfortable sitting position. His whole body still ached but the comfortable bed was helping, he couldn’t imagine how he would have felt if he had been recovering on his little cot back on the Revenge.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, sounding like you genuinely wanted to know, weren’t just being polite.

“Like my boat wrecked,” Izzy mumbled, letting you settle the tray over his lap.

“Well, that’s to be expected. You look better than you did yesterday already, that’s a good sign,” you encouraged. “I’ll be around, have some things to tend to, but just shout if you need something.” Izzy only nodded before you were out the door again.

The next few days went very much the same but with each passing day, Izzy could feel his strength coming back. He could sit up perfectly fine on his own, had even stood once, only to fall back down when his injured foot touched the floor. He could feel himself recovering, the room was comfortable and the food was good. He supposed he shouldn’t complain but…he was feeling cooped up, trapped, useless.

Izzy lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling when he heard movement outside his window. It was probably nothing of interest but even that was appealing to him right now.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bracing his weight against the bedside table as he stood on his uninjured foot. He kept the wounded foot from touching the floor as he hobbled towards the window.

It was morning, you had just taken his breakfast dishes from his room, and the weather outside was bright. He looked out over the garden.

From what he could make out, he was on the second floor of a cottage, no other residences in sight.

From his window, he could see your garden where you were tending to your chickens. Tossing feed out for them. He lent against the window frame to support his weight and just watched.

You wiped your hands on your apron once you were finished tending to your chickens, looking up to see your guest in the window of the guest bedroom.

Izzy felt his face heating up, a shame building in his chest as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. But you just smiled brightly and waved at him, silently noting to yourself to chastise him for moving around without support.

Izzy scowled at you from his position, perched on the edge of his bed.

“Here you go,” you presented him with the wooden crutch the doctor had given you for him. “Think you can manage?” you kept your hands out, as if ready to catch him if he fell, as he pulled himself to his feet, letting the crutch take the weight off of his bad foot.

“I’ve used a crutch before,” he grumbled, determined to be able to be properly independent again.

“Just making sure,” you were still watching him closely, hands hovering around him as you moved out of his way.

Rolling his eyes at you, Izzy gave the crutch a test run, using it to walk across the room without grabbing at tables and walls. You just nodded to yourself, satisfied that he was adjusting well to it.

“Listen, now you move around more by yourself but don’t take the piss,” you scolded, surprising him a little. “You still need to rest, to stay off of your foot as much as possible. Okay?”

As much as he wanted to scoff and dismiss you, he could tell you were serious.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Seriously, just accept some help, alright?” you found yourself rolling your eyes at him again, you had lost count of how many times you had done so since this man could hold a conversation again. Still, you found you did it with a little fondness.

Now that Izzy had started using his crutch, he could move around your cottage, moving up and down the stairs with your help. He insisted that he didn’t need your help but you wouldn’t let him near the narrow staircase unless you were with him.

At least that meant he could come downstairs and sit in the living room or the kitchen instead of being locked away in his room all alone, he could even go and sit outside and get some fresh air.

He was currently in the living room, you had left him in front of the fire with a selection of books to choose from, while you finished cleaning up in the kitchen. You had just put the last of the dishes away when you heard hissed cursing coming from the other room.

Tossing the rag down, you rushed into the living room to find Izzy standing, gripping the back of the couch with one hand and clutching his crutch with another. The pain was etched on his face.

“Alright, come on,” you spoke softly, with care, as you hurried to his side.

You took hold of his arm, listening to him complain as you encouraged him to lean some weight against you. Still, he let you guide him back to the couch and sit him down.

Once he was sitting and you had placed the crutch to the side, you knelt down in front of him and pulled his wounded foot into your lap.

He had knocked it against something when he was walking around and when you unwrapped the bandages you saw that it was a little red but looked perfectly fine otherwise. He hadn’t broken any of the stitches, he wasn’t bleeding, it didn’t look too irritated. Thankfully, he was still on the mend.

“You have to take it easy, be careful and don’t over do it,” you sighed. Something about this man told you that he wasn’t used to sitting idle for long.

“I’m fine. Just knocked it,” he insisted petulantly.

“Yeah, well…just be careful. Once the bandages come off for good and you can put proper weight on your foot again, you’ll be able to get around with just a cane.”

“And then I’ll have outstayed my welcome,” Izzy nodded like he was agreeing with something.

“What? No!” you frowned, sitting back on your heels. “Of course not. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

Izzy blinked at you, face contorting in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I’m kind and you’ve been a decent guest so far,” you shrugged, like it was truly that simple and that true, standing and brushing off your knees. “Now, sit still for once and I’ll fetch you some tea,” you ordered and, well, Izzy could follow orders, couldn’t he.

You were just about to leave the room, just about to cross the threshold, when he spoke up.

“My name is Izzy.”

You paused in the doorway, taking a moment to make sure you had heard him correctly. You turned back to him with a smile, all soft and sweet in a way that warmed him from the inside out.

“Izzy,” you repeated, testing the word on your tongue. Izzy found that he liked the sound of it and you decided that you liked the feel of it. “I like it.”

Izzy only nodded when you gave him your own name, still smiling as you disappeared back into the kitchen to prepare that tea for the two of you.

That evening, the two of you enjoyed a soothing tea in front of the fire together.

“I think it makes you look distinguished,” you complimented as you monitored his movements, smiling at how far he had come since you found him half dead in the sand.

“That’s a generous way of saying old,” Izzy rolled his eyes, adjusting his hold on the handle of his new cane. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was simple and sleek, good enough for him in his opinion.

“Absolutely not,” you tutted. “Anyway, you wear the age well so it still wouldn’t be an insult,” you shrugged.

Izzy looked away from you meaningfully, hoping to play it off as casual. “If you say so.”

“You could get a real nice one with a silver handle or something. Oh! You can get one with a hidden knife in it!”

You could just picture holding a sleek but ornate cane, just simple enough to satisfy him. Looking all distinguished and formal until somebody says the wrong thing, looks at him the wrong away, and he unsheathes his hidden blade.

“Huh…that’s not a bad idea, actually,” Izzy hummed, looking at the cane more approvingly this time. Yeah, maybe he could make this work.

Evening tea had become a bit of a routine for the two of you now. Sitting in your cozy living room in front of the fire, blankets over your laps, a cup of tea in your hands, and maybe a book each depending on your mood. It was a pleasant, calming way to end the day.

Izzy kept glancing at you, watching as your eyes followed the lines in your book, lost in the fictional world. He wanted to speak, to get this off of his chest, to take the weight off of your shoulders but…but he found himself worried that saying what he needed to say would take all of this away from him. He liked this, even if it wasn’t a life made for him. He would miss it.

“I’m really able to leave now. I’d find a ship,” he finally managed to speak, to push the words out without faltering.

You paused, lowering your book to look at him. “And I’ve told you, you’re still welcome. I like living out of the way, like the quiet, y’know, but it’s been nice to have you here. You’re interesting and I enjoy your company. Izzy scoffed. “Really, I do,” you insisted.

“Well, you’re probably the only person who does,” he muttered, thumbing at the pages of the book he hadn’t been reading.

“That can’t be true.”

“Apparently, I’m difficult.”

“Okay…yeah, I can see that. But it’s kind of…endearing, you know?” you laughed a little.

Izzy pondered it for a moment, still not really believing it despite how sincere you sounded. “...if you say so.”

“I do,” you didn’t care how many times you needed to reassure him, he needed it and that was all you needed to know. “Anyway, don’t you go worrying about rushing out of here. You can stay as long as you need.”

“You wouldn’t want me here if you knew who I was,” Izzy insisted firmly.

“Well, tell me who you are, Izzy,” you placed your book down, completely forgotten about, so that he could see your full attention was on him. “Tell me, Izzy. It won’t change anything,” you promised.

Izzy sighed, placing his unopened book down as well, refusing to look at you as he spoke. “You can’t promise that.”

“You’ll never know unless you tell me,” you shrugged.

Izzy took a stabling breath but nodded, knowing you were right, that you would probably find out eventually anyway. It would be better if you heard it from him.

“My full name is Israel Hands and you were right about me being a pirate,” he started. For some, that would be enough information.

“...that name is familiar,” you hummed thoughtfully, trying to remember where you heard it. It didn’t sound like a common name and you were certain you didn’t know anyone with the name ‘Hands’, but you had definitely heard the name before somewhere.

“I’m the first mate of Blackbeard,” he added.

For a moment, you could only gape at him. It wasn’t everyday you found out you were housing one of the most infamous pirates of your time.

Izzy waited for the horror or disgust to set in. He knew the stories and tall tales people told, some true and others wildly fabricated. He knew that you had likely heard one or two stories yourself if you recognised his name.

You shook off the surprise but found yourself more confused about how he ended up here. “What is the first mate of Blackbeard doing washing up here with a missing toe?” you asked, not sounding disgusted or afraid of him.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, figuring you didn’t really want to hear it anyway.

“I have the time.”

Izzy was certain that you were just being polite, perhaps even afraid that if you weren’t he would hurt you in some way, but when he looked at you, you were nothing but genuine. Your eyes held the usual care and sincerity that they usually did when they gazed upon him. Your smile was still soft. Like nothing had changed, and maybe it hadn’t.

So, unable to find a reason not to, Izzy told you everything. You just made yourself so easy to talk to. He started from the very beginning because you wanted to know who he was, not just how he ended up here.

He told you of a young boy at the docks sneaking onto a ship, of a cabin boy aboard Captain Hornigold’s ship, of a newly made captain and first mate that still had sparks in their eyes. He told you about the creation and rise of Blackbeard, of the fuckeries, the victories, and the losses. He told you about Queen Anne’s Revenge and of all the years they served her well. He told you of men growing bored and restless, of a ship christened The Revenge. Of the landed gentry come pirates.

He told you a saga of hope and pain that ended in betrayal, desertion, mutilation, reunion, and finally in the enlightenment that had Izzy Hands climbing into a dinghy in the middle of the night. Only two days away from shore. Only one day before a storm that only his previous captain could have predicted.

Izzy told you everything in front of a crackling fire, the warm mug of tea growing cold in his hands. And you listened, like he was somebody worth listening to.

That night, you both fell asleep in the living room. The fire burning out but the blankets draped over you both keeping you warm. For the first time in a long time, neither of you fell asleep alone.

When you woke up the next morning to find the other side of the couch empty and the house silent, you worried. Your talk last night went very well, in your opinion. Izzy had opened up and you had listened, had reassured him when he was finished or doubted himself.

You threw off your blanket and jumped to your feet, heading out the front door. You walked around to the rocks that overlooked the beach, finding him sitting there, looking out at the sea.

You relaxed at the sight of him, reassured that he hadn't run away in the middle of the night. You joined him quietly, he didn’t look up but he seemed to welcome your company.

The two of you watched the sun rise over the horizon but you couldn’t help stealing looks at Izzy’s face, he looked so…content. There was a faint longing in his gaze, lost in his thoughts, but he looked happy, the early morning sun illuminating his face.

“Do you miss it?” you asked, staring out at the gentle water with him.

“Sometimes…” Izzy confessed on a soft exhale. “It’s all I’ve ever known, really. It’s strange being on land. The ground is always so still.”

“Yeah, it tends to be,” you joked a little, catching the way the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in the imitation of a smile.

A beat of silence passed. “I understand if you want me to leave now.” Unfortunately, he kept speaking before you could protest. “My foot is healed enough. The worst that can happen now is that I need the cane for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

This again…you sighed.

“Izzy, I don’t want you to leave.”

“Even when you know who I am?”

“Even then,” you nodded, smiling fondly. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not some violent barbarian that people tell stories about. I’ve known you long enough to know you wouldn’t hurt me and that I’m rather fond of you. My home is open to you for as long as you want it to be,” you promised.

“Kindness gets people killed,” Izzy chastised quietly.

“Lucky thing I have the best swordsman in the Caribbean to protect me then, huh?” you teased, knocking your shoulder against his.

“Yeah…real lucky…” Izzy mumbled out at the ocean.

“So you’re staying?” you asked, not hiding the hope in your voice. Izzy just nodded. “Good, I’m glad,” your smile grew.

“At least for the time being,” he shrugged.

“I’ll just have to make the most of it then, won’t I?” You tried not to roll your eyes at his attempt to play coy. Izzy shook his head at you but found himself smiling despite himself.

“Now come inside and get something to eat,” you patted his shoulder.

Izzy let you help him to his feet and hand him his cane without complaint. He even let you take him by the arm and guide him back into the cottage, though he pretended that he didn’t find the whole thing comforting.

You walked into Izzy’s room, which you had started calling it instead of ‘the guest room’, and found him shaving in front of the mirror.

“Aw, I was likely the scruffy look,” you pouted playfully.

“It’s a fucking nightmate,” Izzy muttered as he shaved his cheeks clean. Now he could stop scratching at the stubble. You just chuckled fondly at him.

“Want me to trim your hair when you’re done?” you offered. His stubble had grown in almost enough to not be considered stubble anymore and his hair had grown as well, you figured he’d want that trimmed back down if he was so particular about his facial hair.

“I can do it myself.”

“I have no doubt. I usually do my own as well, but a little helping hand would do no harm.”

Moving on to neatening around his goatee, Izzy sighed. “Fine…just…”

“I’ll do it exactly the way you want, don’t worry,” you promised him.

“Fine.”

You sat on the bed while Izzy finished shaving and trimming his goatee until it was perfectly neat. Izzy’s stubble had grown in while he was bed bound, so this was your first time seeing him properly groomed the way he liked. Turns out, you liked it too.

He was huffy about it but allowed you to pick up the shears and comb through his hair. You worked slowly, making sure to speak to him and not take it too short. As you spoke and worked, Izzy seemed to relax, trusting you.

You cut his hair back down to the length he preferred but he still hadn’t slicked it back with pomade like he usually did, hadn’t done so since he woke up in this very bedroom. Instead, it hung loose and soft over his ears. It made him look soft, less intense. He supposed it was more suitable for his current living conditions so he tried not to dwell on it too much.

“There you go. You look lovely,” you complimented, running your fingers through his hair and letting it fall, smiling proudly at your handiwork. Izzy scoffed. “Oh just accept it,” you tutted, “you’re all neat and tidy again, all nice and handsome.”

“Christ,” Izzy complained, glaring at your reflection. “I will maim you.”

“Ah, so there is some pirate left in you. Very nice to see,” you teased. “I’ll leave you to keep grooming yourself.”

You could hear him muttering curses to himself as you left the room, giggling to yourself.

Izzy sat at the kitchen island, cane propped up beside him, peeling apples while you worked on making a pastry. “You really need to make a pie?” Izzy questioned, but didn’t slow his work.

“We need to use up the apples somehow or they’re just going to go bad and that would be a waste,” you reminded him. “Anyway, you’ll like it. I make a great apple pie.”

“...you’ll have a high standard to beat,” he warned.

“You’ve made me curious, Izzy,” you looked over at him but he didn’t look like he wanted to talk any further about it, so you didn’t push. “You can tell me another day.”

You continued to make the pie, the fluidity of your actions telling Izzy that you had indeed done this many times. You would give him a task here and there, and he would carry it out diligently. You could imagine him as a first mate, just as diligent on the deck as he was as your sous chef.

Izzy watched you plate up two slices of freshly baked pie. “Here, have a slice while it’s still warm,” you placed a plate in front of him. “Cream?”

“Sure,” Izzy nodded and poured some over his slice before joining him, sitting beside him. Izzy took a spoonful of pie and brought it up to his mouth before pausing and scowling at you. “Stop fucking watching me like that.”

“I want to know if you like it,” you whined.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he huffed.

“No you wouldn’t. You’d mumble ‘yeah, it’s fine’ even if it was the best thing you had ever eaten.”

Izzy fought back his smile, knowing you were right. “I promise to tell you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Fine,” you sighed heavily, dramatically. “If you insist.” No, you weren’t pouting.

But you also didn’t watch him eat, and that was enough to satisfy him. “Okay, yeah…” Izzy sighed after swallowing his second bite. “This is good,” he praised.

“Thank you,” you grinned, bright and proud, before digging into your own slice.

Izzy just chuckled and shook his head at you, going back to enjoying his pie.

Izzy slows his chewing when a thought dawns on him. This was all so…domestic, the way you moved around each other, shared the space together. He didn’t think he’d ever be sitting in a kitchen of a cute cottage, eating a pie that was made for him by his…fuck, he needed to shake off that thought immediately.

His what? His carer? The person who took him in when he was on death’s door, who took pity on him.

“We could go for a walk later, maybe even down to town if you feel up to it. Give that cane a proper test run,” you suggested between bites.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“But I swear, if I see a single flinch or hesitation in your steps, we are turning around and coming right back home.” You didn’t come off as a threatening person, you were rarely stern with him, but he knew you were being serious about this.

Maybe he was focusing on the wrong part of your warning but…

Home.

You talked about it like it was both your home and his home, a home you shared. Like it could be his home. Could this be his home? Fuck.

“Sounds good,” Izzy nodded.

Izzy had allowed himself to grow too comfortable, he only realised that when the worries seeped back in. He had grown used to your home, your presence. He didn’t like change, never had, and a lot of things had changed lately but the two of you had developed a bit of a routine that helped calm his nerves. Now it felt like it was all changing again.

You had been acting strange, almost distant towards him. As much as you could do while sharing the same space. He would often catch you losing yourself in through but never voicing them, never letting him in on it when he asked. Something was wrong, he must have done something wrong, it was the only thing that made sense. Maybe you were building up the courage to kick him out and send him on his way, you had realised he was more trouble than he was worth.

“Izzy, can we talk about something?”

This was it, you were going to ask him to leave. He has outstayed his welcome, if he has ever truly been welcome in the first place.

“Sure.” His voice didn’t falter and he was proud of himself for that.

“You told me how you ended up here, about what happened and I was wondering…well, the crew, Blackbeard, aren’t expecting you to return, are they?”

That question threw him off. Oh, maybe you were worried about Blackbeard coming to your shores and causing trouble. “Probably not. They’re probably relieved about it as well,” Izzy answered, honest but a little bitter about it, even he could admit to that.

“And you aren’t going to try to go back?” you asked, though the question wasn’t judgmental in any way.

“Wouldn’t be welcome if I tried, I imagine. But I have contacts, I’d find another ship or something,” he didn’t want to lie to you but he also didn’t want you to keep allowing him to live in your home out of pity or guilt. He would manage, he would survive, he always did.

“…Blackbeard was talking about retiring, right?”

Izzy felt himself sigh before he heard it. “Sure. Guess he managed it too, in his own way I suppose. Didn’t think retirement was a fucking option. Still not sure it is,” he admitted.

You looked nervous again, aimlessly fixing a cushion on the couch you both sat on. “What if this could be your retirement?”

“What do you mean?” Izzy frowned.

You might have huffed and rolled your eyes at him for being dense but you could see his genuine confusion. “Somewhere peaceful and quiet for you to relax. Good weather. Somewhere comfortable by the sea. Sounds like a good retirement spot to me…”

“I…what are you saying?”

You had to fight the temptation to reach out for him. “I’m saying that maybe you deserve to have a retirement too. Some…some good days without constant worry and fear. Maybe you deserve it and have earnt it just as much as Blackbeard,” you gave into the need, reaching out and placing your hand over his, “and I’m asking if you could have that here, I’m asking if you would stay.”

“You want me to stay…for good?” His face was scrunched up like he was trying to figure out some complicated puzzle. Like he didn’t believe that you could just want him to stay here with you.

“I do,” you nodded like it was as simple as that, because it was. “I’ve lived out here for a long time. Never felt lonely despite the distance I am from town. I think I would be lonely if you left. Think I would miss you. No, I know I would.”

“I don’t need charity,” Izzy growled, pulling his hand away from yours.

It made you ache but you didn’t fight him, didn’t try to touch him again, giving him the space he needed. “I’m not doing you a favour. I just want you here, Izzy. If you want to go, I’ll support you and do whatever I can to help, of course, but I want you to stay.”

Izzy couldn’t argue with you, apparently. He didn’t snap or accuse you of lying, he paused and considered it. Why would you lie? What would you be getting out of this if you were lying?

“…why?”

There was so much you could say, so much you had yet to put into words. But one of the many things you had learnt about Izzy during your time together was that actions spoke louder than words, the care you had shown him had earnt his trust more than anything you had said.

You acted before you could talk yourself out of it.

You shifted closer to him on the couch, placing a hand against his shoulder when you lent in. The kiss you pressed to his lips was short and tender, just enough to express the way you felt.

When you pulled back, hand still on his shoulder, he was just looking at you. The lines on his face softened and lips slightly parted as he blinked at you.

“Will you stay with me, Izzy?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Izzy nodded, looking a little stunned but the answer felt right. “Yeah, yes, I will. I want to stay as well.”

You smiled adoringly, lifting your hand from his shoulder to stroke his cheek.

Izzy had woken up in your home thinking he had died out at sea but he knew there was no way that was the case because this couldn’t be his afterlife. He hadn’t done enough good to earn this, you were just giving him this out of the kindness of your heart.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, didn’t think he did deserve it, but he was here anyway. Maybe you were right, maybe this could be the next, maybe even the last, phase of his life. He would do whatever he could to earn it now, to earn you and this home.

#israel hands x reader #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #our flag means death izzy #ofmd x reader

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kivino · 7 months

Text

TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK X GN!READER

Word Counter – 6.4k words

Summary – The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it.

Tags/Warnings – Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, don’t expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death.

A/n – So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion I’ll link it here. Enjoy <333

also available on my ao3

upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didn’t see anything, move along 👁️👁️

“Kyle, I think…I think I’m bitten.” was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking you’ll be there no matter what. And of course, he didn’t doubt your words even for a split second.

Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into people’s minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But now…he only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did.

Because you needed him. Now more than ever.

And so, he kept trying. If he didn’t then both of you would be done for. You didn’t deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldn’t give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it.

That’s why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it – too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.

“Always save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know who’ll need it more”

Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesn’t suffocate in his misery.

And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he can’t recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when he’s awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way.

The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldn’t succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each other’s embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that you’re safe.

That would be great, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, you’re too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.

“Kyle, that’s twice what I usually eat.” You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.

“Well, you have to eat plenty to recover.” He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that you’ll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that you’ve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s growing cold”

You didn’t realize that you’d been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simple…you knew it’d hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.

Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undead’s head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again.

“Let me help you.” Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didn’t look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasn’t for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, one’s teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. “There we go.” He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you can’t help but feel like you’re a burden to him.

You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.

He’ll die if he continues like this.

You knew it. He was exhausted, and you’ve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasn’t about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, he…sooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he won’t be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didn’t notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someone’s camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you won’t be here to witness it. Hopefully.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyle’s hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples.

“Just thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old days” You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being his…burden.

You didn’t need to be reminded of this. Of the “good old days”. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.

Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didn’t feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldn’t come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldn’t help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper.

You didn’t have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didn’t understand your wish to preserve something that wasn’t even yours, but he didn’t interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone else’s bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.

Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasn’t a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.

Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasn’t unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that you’ve been through it was always a known fact that you’ll stick by each other before someone else.

All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didn’t think you deserved it. You’ve found the world in each other. A purpose.

So what is Kyle going to do when you’re gone?

The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.

“I think the herd's close. See that dust?” Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. “They’re moving weird.”

“What does that mean?” you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.

“Means if we’re lucky they’ll pass the school.” Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

And then it clicks.

When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each other’s side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition?

The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.

The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something out…and to get there…He can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. “If you smell like them, they won’t notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or they’ll get real friendly with you.” Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.

He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undead’s attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. He’s thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But it’s nothing. It’s alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.

After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesn’t go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.

He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didn’t feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he won’t be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.

When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasn’t the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while he’s at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.

First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. He’s a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesn’t mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and you’re sure he might’ve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that you’re real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.

All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldn’t trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, you’d be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didn’t matter that you’d be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undead…he didn’t have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.

Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldn’t blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.

You would want to live in illusion too.

“There you are.” You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldn’t even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. “Come on, we have to go, now, we can’t stay here.” He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,

“No.” Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t…have anything on you. Then how, how did you even…” You didn’t have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.

You came here to die.

“They stop paying attention to you once you’re far along enough. So…I guess that’s it.” He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. “I…I don’t have any time left.” Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones.

“No. No, no, no, no, you can’t say that! Why are you saying that?” And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.

Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He can’t remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh.

He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.

“Where is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?” Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.

“Fuck, listen to me, listen. To me.” you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket “You know what you have to do.” He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. “I don’t want to become one of them! You have to make sure I won’t come back.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?! I-” Kyle didn’t understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.

“Have you?” you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didn’t care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. “I’m asking you one thing, and you can’t even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t feel the way tears burned your cheeks.

“Listen to me, please! I’m not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?” Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because you’re talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you don’t even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.

“I’m fucking dying and you’re worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyle’s corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you – you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.

“You know that’s not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?” Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldn’t just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didn’t quite agree. You always were patient with him. What’s gotten into you now, what happened?

You don’t have any more time. That’s what happened.

“Oh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I don’t harm anyone and you can’t even do what I’m asking you to?!” Your voice rises to a volume you didn’t even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.

Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.

“Well, tell me, what’s the point of me living if you’re dead?!” You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.

The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is.

“I’m sorry.” You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then it’s followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You can’t help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.

It’s almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. You’re terrifyingly cold. And he’s too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.

“I can’t stay mad at you when you make that face.” Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that you’ll be here. With him.

His embrace feels suffocating. It’s so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And you’d forgive Kyle if that happened. You’d forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. You’d let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. You’d let him bite into you, whatever he wanted – neck, arm, a leg, he could have. You’d lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. You’d slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then you’d be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.

“Please…don’t leave me.” Kyle couldn’t feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed – to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you weren’t clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. “Please…please.” He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.

He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, that’s all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like he’s trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you won’t come back, to grant your last wish, but he just…he can’t. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.

But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasn’t quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.

Kyle’s heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasn’t pumping blood through his body as fast he would’ve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.

There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyle’s mind, this isn’t you. This just can’t be. Absolutely not.

Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself. He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.

It wasn’t long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyle’s heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Kyle’s endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.

“Turning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. They’re just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that it’s not the end for them, it can’t be.”

Right now, Kyle would’ve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He would’ve believed any tale. You can’t just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and years’ worth of memories in his head?

All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.

A minute passes. Another one follows.

A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.

Taglist - @mockerycrow, @stridersdiner

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noyoyoy · 4 months

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I figured I’d give SOME oversight on Simon and M/n since my blog will probably focus a lot on him.

If you’d like me to go into detail with the two, I will, just let me know.

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Tw: mentions of abuse, alcohol. infidelity, age gap, blood, and murder.

Additional information:

While growing up, M/n hadn’t experienced love he deemed real. Parents always fighting, cheating on one another and screaming. Siblings never around, old enough and moved out already starting families, I guess it’s safe to say M/n was a mistake in his parents eyes. It caused M/n to hide in his room, isolate and never go out, failing school, no hobbies, just laying in bed all the time on his phone, sleeping, or crying, scared he’d one day act the same as the people he grew up with. You are your parent’s child after all.

M/n’s first ‘real’ relationship lasted more or less 3 years, it’s been so long he doesn’t remember how long he was with her. She was always talking to other guys and girls, arguing with him when she never did anything for him. But he was 13 when they started dating, 16 when they broke up due to her cheating on him. Yeah that didn’t feel good, he was always raised to be a man. Never cry, don’t show emotion, don’t be weak. But he was. M/n was sensitive by nature, growing up in a toxic environment didn’t help either, he couldn’t handle being yelled at, storms, loud noises, or confrontation without getting emotional, he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why.

M/n and Simon overview:

When he met Simon at 18 after moving out, they bonded fairly quickly for growing up in a similar way (without the murder of his family.) They didn’t talk often, Simon being in the army was the main reason why, he didn’t have his phone often, but one perk is he let M/n stay in his home while he was gone since he had nowhere to go. Simon enjoyed coming home to someone, anyone, a friend he knew felt the same way. Since the incident when he was a teenager, he hadn’t felt any security other than the army. The blood, fighting, not having to care about what other people thought of him because he scared everyone away with his demeanor and stance. M/n made him feel again, he always had a smile on his face when Simon walked through the door, normally cooking or making Simons apartment more cozy and homey. (He asked don’t worry)

When M/n turned 19 Simon started to hang out with him more and more, talking together, cooking together, eating, even reading together in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. They both had to admit, it felt good to be at peace, no screaming, blood, gun fire. Just silence, the sound of pages turning and the smell of Pine in the house, curtesy of the candle M/n bought.

First realization:

M/n knew he liked men more so than women, his mother and last relationship blew that out the water for him. He had a fling with a man at one point during high school but it didn’t last long due to how his father acted when he found out. He was.. angry. He didn’t raise a .. homo as he would say, granted he didn’t raise him at all. M/n would never say that to his face. But with Simon.. he made him feel safe. Was it because he was older? Or the fact that he was capable of killing people as a living. Eh maybe both.

Simon never had a relationship. Growing up with a mother who worked all the time, mostly absent trying to provide for her family, while her husband and his father was a drunk who tormented him in any way possible. All he had was Tommy. Had. When he arrived home to the house disheveled, the tree knocked down, ornaments broken, glass on the floor. He knew something was wrong. And this wasn’t a ‘dad is drunk again’ wrong this was… wrong. Wrong. A wrong that made his heart sink to his feet, a wrong that made him sweat, and lose his breath. Walking through the house as quietly as he could, he stopped in the kitchen and froze at what he saw. His mother, lying on the floor, a hole in her shoulder and what looks like another wound of a knife in her side and chest. He stared at it for what felt like hours. He didn’t even want to go through the rest of the house, scared at what he’d find.

He doesn’t talk about anything else after that. Never going further and into depth about what else happened that night. Only saying that he fled and never looked back.

They might be broken and trying to piece each other together, but at least they are together. Safe, happy, and well, together. He vowed when they started dating that he’d never involve M/n into the affairs of the 141. The 141 would never know about him, no one would ever know about him. Unfortunately that changed when they got married. Having to talk to laswell about not telling price or anyone else about him. It took… much persuasion but she did keep her word. Blanked out the section where M/n’s information would go, before printing and putting it in his file.

He’ll be damned if something were to ever happen to M/n. He was his husband, and just because he doesn’t wear the mask around him, doesn’t mean he won’t bring Ghost into his life if it ment keeping him safe.

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I write fast. I have nothing better to do these days.

#simon riley x male reader #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod #male reader #artists on tumblr

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homeofthelonelywriter · 9 days

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Drawn to you | Pt. 8

(A/N) Writing this was fun, but I've never cried so much while writing fanfiction.

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: sick!Reader, cancer, major character death, Reader finds out the truth

Synopsis: He remembers you. Finally.

“I am sorry…you have cancer.”

You didn’t react. After all, you had already suspected it for quite some time. This was just the confirmation. But Alastor…oh your sweet Alastor. You glanced at him and watched all color drain from his face.

You squeezed his hand and tried to smile at him reassuringly.

“Is…how bad is it?”

The doctor glanced at the man by your side before he looked at you again, and you immediately knew the answer.

“It’s stage four. I’m honestly surprised you are still as lively as you are.”

Alastor looked up, panic clear on his face. He couldn’t lose you. Not you.

“What about treatments? There has to be something we can do, there-.”

You gently pulled at his hand, grabbing his attention. With a soft smile, you turned back to the doctor and asked for a moment alone with Al. The doctor of course agreed and left the room, giving you two some space.

“Al…”

As he looked at you, you watched tears gather in his eyes. Not you. Anything but not you. He fell to his knees in front of your chair as you pulled him into a tight embrace, resting his head against your chest. You tried your best to soothe him as the tears spilled from his eyes. It took a few minutes for him to calm down enough to talk.

“I can’t lose you.”

You smiled at him, swiping some of his hair out of his face.

“No matter what happens Al, I’ll always be with you. Watching over you. You’ll never truly lose me, okay? Let’s just make the best of what time is left.”

After a moment, he nodded but still stayed on his knees in front of you until the doctor knocked on the door. You spent the rest of the day at the clinic, Alastor calling in sick, as the doctor explained what would be done. He offered treatment, but you knew that you were too far gone and declined. But you accepted some medicine that would help on bad days. At the end of the day, you left hand in hand with Alastor, who insisted on taking you back to his apartment for the night.

You soon had to quit your job and stay home most of the day. But Alastor fulfilled every promise he had ever made to you. He bought a big house with a pretty backyard and he took the time to plant your favorite flowers. He built the swing where you’d spend most of your time, wrapped up in blankets, no matter how warm it was. And after a few weeks, he got down on one knee and asked you to marry him. Of course, you said yes, not having the heart to tell Alastor that you’d never make it to your wedding day. You knew that your days were almost up, so you asked Alastor to take a week off, saying that you wanted to do some wedding planning.

But on the last day of his week off, the two of you were sitting on your swing, you in his arms. And you knew it was time. You glanced up at your lover and could see in his eyes that he knew as well.

“I love you Al. Always will. Don’t…don’t forget me, okay?”

He smiled, tears in his eyes.

“How could I ever forget you? I love you so much my darling. Go rest, you deserved it.”

You passed away in his arms that night. It was peaceful and quiet and even after you had died, Alastor continued to hold your body while crying, swearing that he’d never forget you.

Heaven - right after

The next thing you remembered was feeling like you did before you had gotten sick. You felt healthy, cheerful, and energetic. You turned to look around and found a person standing, waiting for you.

“Welcome to heaven, dear.”

Heaven? You never thought that it was real, but now that you had actually died, you felt a sort of relief wash over you. With steady feet, you walked up to the person, a blonde, young man with wings.

“I’m Saint Peter, and I can see that you’re on my list, so walk right in.”

He smiled and gestured towards the large gate that slowly swung open. You were about to step towards it, but you had something you wanted to ask him.

“Do…do you know when everyone dies?”

Saint Peter nodded.

“My…my fiance…when will he…will he live a long life?”

The man quickly checked his list but came up empty. Instead, he grabbed the file that was lying on his desk and flipped through it.

“Oh, you mean Alastor?”

You nodded, relief washing through you that he had found him. That must mean that he’d go to heaven as well.

“I’m sorry dear, but he won’t live much longer. And when he does die, he will go to hell.”

Hell? That can’t be right. The sweet man who had changed his entire life to take care of you. The man you had loved since the moment you met him.

“You-You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not I’m afraid. Serial killers don’t usually get into heaven, you know? Not that you knew about any of that, if you had you wouldn’t have ended up here.”

He smiled as if he had just told you that the next few days would be sunny, while you couldn’t believe your ears. Alastor couldn’t have-, he wouldn’t-, he…and suddenly everything you had ever wondered about made sense. The fact that he always seemed annoyed when he had to warn the public about the serial killer. The stains on his clothes. His weird behavior the mornings after a new victim was found and how the attacks practically stopped after your diagnosis.

You took a few steps back, still trying to work through everything. Your love, a serial killer. But where you expected your heart to break and disgust to fill your veins you only seemed to love him more. The first two killings were of men who had only ever mistreated you. He had killed for you, to protect you and make your life easier.

“I want to go to hell.”

Saint Peter looked up, clearly confused.

“If he goes to hell, then so do I.”

The angel in front of you truly tried to talk you out of it, he did. But your mind was made up. And so, he sent you to hell.

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Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor fanfic #alastor love

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yeondollie · 3 months

Text

ʙᴀᴍ ʏᴀɴɢ ɢᴀɴɢ ౨ৎ ♡ .ᐟ

'i closed the chapter on the days we spent together.'

. . warnings ; ANGST .ᐟ, breaking up, argument, fem reader, taehyun is kinda mean, crying, heartbreak, reader is needy, taehyun gets annoyed of reader, just over all sad ecfhuehfusih !!

a/n ; i have been listening in bam yang gang on repeat its so so so good but so sad :(. the beat is so adorable and so is bibi i love her sm sm but the song is so sad and as soon as i heard it i thought about making a story with it . this is just a drabble so i dont have a word count sorry :< anyways, enjoy !! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

"why do you want so much out of me? can i have some peace and quiet to myself? god.." here we were again. arguing with taehyun was getting more and more common, though you hated it. taehyun knew you were a sensitive person and didn't like conflict but you were just pissing him off lately.

you didn't know what to say really. though you were only trying to check up on him after work, he wasn't having it. "it's like you're attached to my hip, truly." you suck in the tears in your eyes as he says this. you didn't wanna fight, you just wanted to please him in any way you could.

"yes i-i.. i'll give you time. i’m sorry." you say, tearing still welling in your eyes. this, for some reason, set taehyun off completely. why couldn’t you stand up for yourself? it was pathetic in his eyes. “see! thats why im upset. you’re like a doormat- you get walked all over, it’s pathetic.” he scoffs, letting out a small laugh even.

holding the tears back, about to flow, you mutter out some words. “you’re r-right, i’m s-sorry.” you sniffle a bit, looking up at the ceiling to avoid the tears falling out of your eyes. you’ve never felt more pathetic in your life, it was such a horrible feeling. taehyun didn’t seem phased at all, walking up and getting in your face.

“so thats it? sorry? you think thats gonna fix everything?” he says, his face only inches from yours. it was weird, usually when he was this close he would be kissing you or looking at you longingly but no. not this time, not anymore. the only time he looked at you was with lust or anger behind his eyes.

it felt like the two of you would only have sex or only argue, it was tiring- so tiring. he used to hold your cold hand in his own warm hand. he used to kiss your forehead and play with your hair, what happened? the tears flickered down your cheek as you answered him. “t-tyun i.. i don’t know what else to d-do.” now quickly wiping your own tears.

when he realizes you’re crying, he doesn’t bat an eye. its like all his love for you was drained from his heart- you hated it so much. “you know what _____? we’re done. i cant fucking do this with you anymore. you’re just so.. so needy and dumb!” he raises his voice, now watching you flinch in front of him.

you didn’t even have the energy to stop him, watching him with blurry eyes. watching how much he changed over the span of you two dating was shocking and saddening to you. oh how you longed for the sweet taehyun you once had.

before he could exit your house, forever saying bye to him you did one last thing. “taehyun..?” you whisper, not even having the energy to talk loudly. “what?” he whips back at you. you grab his school name tag he gave you, when he first confessed his feelings for you when the two of you were still in high school.

grabbing his name tag, along with your own- you walked up to him gently. you placed your name tag in his hand, looking into his angry eyes. “so you can remember me, you promised me you’d never forget me right?”

his eyes flickered with sympathy one final last time.

#txt fanfic #txt x reader #txt scenarios #txt #yeondolliesworks #tomorrow x together #tubatu #txt angst #beomgyu #kang taehyun #txt taehyun #taehyun x reader #taehyun angst #soobin #huening kai #yeonjun

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kiarastromboli · 2 months

Text

Teach me 6 (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Part.1 Part.2 Part.3 Part.4 Part.5

Masterlist.

Warning: Smut content, don’t like it = don’t read it :) dom!reader & sub!chris (soft)

Summary: After spending the night with Chris, y/n finds herself in a dilemma when she wakes up to realize that neither of them woke up on time, and she finds herself in an even more awkward situation when her mother starts knocking on the door to talk to her.

Note: Okay, it's been a while since I've been away. I've written quite a bit in the meantime, and I might potentially post a lot of stuff. I'm not sure yet if I'm really back, but feel free to leave requests if you feel like it. I'll write them with pleasure.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

When I woke up this morning, it felt like I had just emerged from a dream. I was at peace, and for once, I had slept really well.

As I opened my eyes, I discovered Chris's arms around me. I panicked for a moment before remembering what had happened the night before.

So that's why I had slept so well...

Grabbing my phone from beside me, I panicked again, but this time upon seeing the time. It was 10 in the morning. My dad was probably already at work, but my mom was definitely at home. Thankfully, I had locked the door last night; otherwise, she would have walked in and seen Chris in my bed, which would have been a disaster.

The problem now was getting Chris out of my house, especially knowing that my mom was awake this time. It's not like when Chris sneaks into my room at night while my mom is asleep. She's awake now, and believe me, this woman has ears everywhere. If Chris makes even the slightest noise while leaving through my window, it's over for us.

I sat up, not really sure what to do. Chris was deeply asleep, and I didn't want to disturb him, but I didn't really have a choice. If I don't leave my room before noon, my mom will really start to worry. She knows I'm not the type to wake up so late usually.

"Chris!!!" I whispered, shaking him to try to wake him up.

"Mmmh," he simply responded, still half asleep.

"Chris, wake up, you need to leave!" I whispered a little louder, feeling panicked.

"Mmmh, just 2 more minutes," he said without opening his eyes, and I groaned at his response.

"It's 10 am, Chris, you need to leave before my mom—" Before I could finish my sentence, I was interrupted by my mother knocking on the door and trying to open it.

"Y/n? Are you awake? Who are you talking to? Open up, I need to tell you something," she said from behind the door.

I froze in place, and Chris opened his eyes, looking at me. He was about to say something, but I quickly covered his mouth with my hand.

"Just give me a moment, Mom, I just woke up!" I shouted, pointing to my wardrobe for Chris to hide in.

Chris looked at me, frightened, shaking his head. I shot him a threatening look, pointing to the wardrobe again.

He sighed before getting up to hide in my wardrobe. Meanwhile, I approached the door and waited for him to be well hidden before opening the door for my mother.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked, scanning my room.

"Julia!" I said, clearing my throat and running my hand through my hair. "Um, she asked me to come see her today," I added, trying to seem less suspicious.

My mother looked at me strangely before rolling her eyes. "Listen, y/n, I think we need to have a discussion, you and I," she said.

"Um, about what?" I said, not really sure what she was referring to.

"About yesterday," she replied, and I realized at that moment that I had completely forgotten about that incident in the panic.

"Oh... um, yeah, I don't know, can we talk about it later?" I said, more calmly this time.

"I'm sorry for making you feel that way, y/n, that wasn't my intention," she admitted, and I widened my eyes in surprise at what she had just said.

"Your father and I have always put pressure on you, that's true, and we clearly haven't been the best with you," she added.

"But you're wrong about one thing; you said that I hated the person you truly were, and that's not true, my angel. I don't hate you, far from it, and it breaks my heart that you think that way," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I think I just wanted to protect you from everything I couldn't protect myself from, and I was wrong. I realize now, seeing what it did to you," she continued, sitting down on my bed.

"You know, your father and I had you very young, too young even, and it was difficult for us. We just wanted to give you a better life, but I think we were scared seeing you grow up and make the same mistakes we did in some places," she said, and I also felt tears welling up.

"And I realize how dumb it was, y/n, you're not the baby you were anymore, and it breaks my heart to see you grow up, but I think we need to stop overprotecting you, your father and I, because what you need most right now is freedom," she said, hugging me.

"We love you more than anything, know that. Your father may be tougher than me in some aspects, but I'll make him understand that all of this needs to stop. You're becoming a real woman, and we can't interfere with your choices anymore like when you were just a little girl," she added, and I left her arms, looking at her with a smile.

"Thank you, Mom," I said, wiping away my tears.

"And I don't want you to hide anything from me. I want to be there for you, I want to make amends and show you that I'm sorry," she added, taking my hands.

"Okay, no more secrets then," I said, chuckling through my tears.

"No more secrets," she said, smiling.

"And I'm sorry about your boyfriend at the time, Christian, right?" she asked.

"Christopher," I corrected her, laughing.

"Yes, that's it. I'm sorry, but you know your father and what he thinks of boyfriends. However, if you happen to cross paths with a new man, you can tell me. I won't tell your father; it'll be our little secret," she said playfully, pinching my cheek, and I chuckled.

"Actually, there's no new man. It's still Chris," I confessed, smiling.

"So, you really loved him?" she asked, caressing my cheek, and I nodded.

"I'm sorry if what we did ruined your relationship, honey," she said sincerely.

"Well, actually... okay, we said no more secrets, right?" I asked.

She nodded, looking a bit confused.

"Promise me you won't get mad?" I asked, looking her in the eyes.

"Um, okay, but where are you going with this?" she said, puzzled.

I bit my lip for a moment to suppress a laugh.

"He's in the wardrobe," I said, glancing at the wardrobe.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, rolling her eyes, and I laughed, nodding.

"Y/n!" she exclaimed, rushing to the wardrobe to open it and coming face to face with Chris.

"Hey, you said you wouldn't get mad!" I pointed out, walking towards them, and burst into laughter at Chris's red face.

"Um, h-hello, ma'am," he stammered, clearing his throat.

My mom turned to me, trying to keep a serious face, but she couldn't help but laugh herself.

"You can come out, I won't bite," she said to Chris, who hadn't moved an inch.

He stepped out of the wardrobe, and my mom headed towards the door of my room before turning back to us.

"I'll make breakfast, Chris. I suggest you put on a shirt and join us for a meal this morning if you want to make a better impression than that!" she said before leaving the room.

I turned to Chris and burst into laughter again.

"Why did you do that, y/n, you're completely crazy!" he said, approaching me before grabbing me around the waist and lifting me up, laughing.

When he set me down, we looked each other in the eyes, our laughter slowly fading.

"You should've seen the look on your face," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck and chuckling.

"Shut up, you traitor," he said before kissing me.

Instinctively, I took a step back when it happened.

"Sorry," he immediately apologized.

"Um, we should go downstairs, I'm starving," I said, laughing nervously.

"Yeah, you go ahead, I'll join you in a moment," he said, looking a bit embarrassed.

I nodded, biting my lip, before leaving my room.

What does that mean?

I mean, things seem to be getting better; Mom knows, she won't tell Dad.

And Chris and I, we've found each other again; everything is supposed to be better now that we're friends.

But why is it so hard to just be friends with him?

I felt bad for stepping back when he kissed me, but even though things are getting better, the problem remains the same.

At the end of the vacation, I go back to the other side of the country to resume my studies.

And the thing is, I can't just drop everything for a guy; it would be so irresponsible, and, truth be told, I quite like my life over there.

But if I'm there, it'll be without him, and being without him hurts.

And it's even more frustrating now that I know he and I have a chance again.

So what do I do? Stay in Boston with Chris and live the story we've always dreamed of having? Or go back to the other side of the country, continue the studies that I'm so passionate about, and reclaim my life away from all my problems?

Oh my God, I'm probably going to have to make the hardest choice of my life, and I only have a few weeks left to decide. How am I going to do it??

"Pancakes?" my mom asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Um, yeah, thanks," I replied, grabbing a pancake and putting it on my plate.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, noticing how lost I looked.

I was about to answer when Chris joined us at the table.

"It smells really good, Mrs. y/l/n," he said, all smiles.

"And you haven't even tasted it yet!" she chuckled.

The rest of the meal, I was there without being there.

I watched Chris and my mom getting to know each other, and it seemed to be going well, but I couldn't stop thinking about what I was going to have to do.

On one hand, I could stay with the man I love, and who knows, maybe we'll spend our lives together; maybe he's the one, at least that's what I hope.

On the other hand, I continue my studies, and with the grades I have, there's a good chance I could push my degrees further and eventually have the job of my dreams.

The thing is, I can't have both at the same time, and I feel like by choosing just one of the two, I'll be sad to miss out on the opportunity that the other one represents.

This moment should have been enjoyable; I should have been enjoying it with my mom and the boy I love, and instead, I'm questioning my whole life.

"Well, it looks like everyone's finished eating," my mom said, once again pulling me out of my thoughts.

"That was really delicious, Mrs. y/l/n," Chris said, smiling.

"Oh, you know at this point you can call me by my name since i'm your mother-in-law ," she said, laughing.

Chris turned to look at me.

"Oh um," I said hesitantly, looking at Chris and then at my mom.

"We're not—" I started timidly.

"We're just friends for now," Chris continued, seeing that I was struggling, and I smiled at him timidly.

"Oh, sorry, I thought—anyway, I don't know what you two have planned for today, but your dad will be back soon, y/n, so I suggest you don't linger around too long," she said, smiling.

"Yeah, I'll head back before my parents wonder where I've been," Chris said, smiling back.

"I'll walk you out if you want; I could use a little walk," I said to him.

He smiled at me before getting up, and we went upstairs to shower separately.

Once out of the shower and dressed, I went back to my room to join Chris and put on my shoes.

"Are you okay, y/n?" Chris asked, watching me sit on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes.

I looked up at him without saying anything for a moment; I didn't know if I should tell him or not.

"Um yeah, yeah, I'm fine, why?" I said, trying to play it cool so he wouldn't worry.

"I don't know, you seem a bit distant since I kissed you earlier," he replied simply.

I looked at him, mouth slightly open, trying to find something to say, but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry for kissing you earlier, it really didn't mean anything. I know we're supposed to be friends now, but I didn't think and I promise it won't happen again," he added, seeing that I wasn't responding.

"No worries, it was just a meaningless kiss; I was just thrown off by the conversation I had with mom earlier, that's all," I lied, smiling.

"Are you sure?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said with a weak smile.

"Anyway, I've put on my shoes; we can go now!" I said, getting up, and he followed.

The road to his house was quite silent, to be honest; neither of us really dared to speak. I think we simply didn't know what to think about this whole situation.

Once we arrived at his place, we stopped, and he turned to me.

"Listen, y/n, I lied; it wasn't just a kiss that meant nothing. It was more than I could handle; I really want to be with you, and I don't want to rush you, far from it, believe me, but look, I feel like things are getting better, and I want us to try. I need—" he began to ramble before I cut him off and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to kiss him.

For me too, it was more than I could handle.

And screw it, maybe for once I can put my problems off until tomorrow and just enjoy the present moment.

I have absolutely no idea what to choose for my future, but what I do know is that right now, I'm dying to be with him.

I didn't want to hold back anymore; this was probably one of the last times I had the chance to do this, so I might as well go all in.

Chris took a step back, completely lost, as he looked at me.

And without saying a word, he reconnected our lips in an even more passionate kiss.

"Friends, huh?" he said with a smirk, pulling away from our lips for a few seconds.

"Shut up," I told him, crashing my lips back onto his, hungry for more.

My hands were tangled in his hair, and his were pressed against my hips.

Our bodies were pressed against each other, and our kiss only deepened, becoming even hotter.

"We should go in," he said, separating our lips and licking his own.

"Mhm," I said, nodding my head, too hungry to respond to him.

We entered the house, lucky that his parents weren't there, but his brothers were.

We briefly passed Nick in the kitchen.

"Oh, hi y/n, I didn't expect to see you here. What are you doing?" he asked, smiling.

Before I had the chance to respond, Chris started talking, "She's here to help me with something I've been meaning to do for weeks. We don't have time to chat. Bye," he said quickly, grabbing my wrist and leading me to his room, leaving Nick looking confused.

I chuckled when he opened the door, and he grabbed me by the waist to kiss me again before closing the door behind us.

He led us straight to his bed; we didn't need to talk to understand each other. From the moment we kissed outside his house, we both knew where it was going to lead us.

But this time, I felt more confident. I wanted to take control, although I didn't really know where this sudden change was coming from.

I parted our lips to swiftly remove his t-shirt, and before he could say anything, I went for the zipper of his pants.

"What are you doing, y/n?" he said, smiling against my lips when I started to remove his pants.

"Shhh," I said, pushing him onto the bed once he was only in his boxers.

He looked up at me, initially confused, but then his gaze turned more sensual.

I couldn't help but smile, seeing him sitting there before me, looking at me with such a submissive gaze. It was something different, but I liked it.

He placed his hands on my hips, attempting to remove my pants before I stepped back, shaking my head.

"Keep your hands to yourself," I said with a smirk.

"Come on, y/n, don't play like that," he said, running his tongue over his teeth.

"Play like what?" I asked, removing my pants while keeping eye contact with him.

He didn't respond and simply looked at me, mouth agape.

"What's wrong, baby, cat got your tongue?" I teased, removing my top, leaving me only in a bra and panties in front of him.

"Babe don’t—" he said, trying to sit up, but before he could, I pressed down on his shoulders with my hands, pushing him back onto the mattress.

"Be a good boy and stay still for me," I whispered in his ear.

He looked at me with a surprised expression in his eyes, swallowing hard. He seemed stressed but still incredibly excited by what I was doing.

We had rarely had the opportunity to discuss it, but I knew that Chris had mostly been dominant in bed, whether with me or with other girls.

I knelt in front of him, running my hand along the elastic of his boxers to remove them, and he helped by lifting his hips.

I could feel his breathing quicken and the tension build as I began to place kisses along his lower abdomen and thighs without touching the place where he needed me most.

"Y/n, please," he pleaded weakly, unable to bear being teased any longer.

I smiled against his skin before lifting my eyes to look at him while taking him into my mouth.

I could feel his entire body shudder at the sensation of my tongue on him. He threw his head back, and I continued to suck him, applying pressure with my tongue.

The only sounds in the room at that moment were the sighs and moans of pleasure coming from Chris's mouth.

He tried to run his hand through my hair, but I grabbed it and pressed it against the mattress.

"Oh god—fuck, baby, I'm not gonna last long," he groaned, signaling for me to stop, but I continued.

I even picked up the pace, running my free hand over his chest.

His breathing quickened, and his muscles tensed. I could feel his cock twitching in my mouth.

"Mmph, y/n," he groaned one last time before releasing everything into my mouth.

I swallowed before lifting my head to look at him. He had a completely dazed expression, but I wanted more.

So, I straddled him and kissed him again, which seemed to catch him by surprise judging by the way he jumped slightly when I did so.

His hands gripped my waist as I started rolling my hips against his.

"Fuck—" he began to say before I cut him off by shushing him.

"You wouldn't want your brothers to hear how good I'm making you feel, hmm?" I whispered to him before redirecting my lips to his neck this time.

"I'll fuck you so hard if you keep playing like this with me princess," he said through gritted teeth before I sat up and pushed him back so he was lying beneath me.

"Odd, because you don't really seem to have the upper hand right now, sweetheart," I replied with a smirk before removing my bra.

He tried to raise his hands to touch my chest, but I grabbed them and pinned them above his head, chuckling, before trailing kisses across his face.

"You're going to make me cum again without even touching me if you keep this up, y/n," he said, sounding almost frustrated.

"Maybe if you act like a good boy, I'll touch you," I said, resuming my movements against his erection.

"Please, I need you so bad," he groaned, frustrated that I wasn't giving him more.

"Say you'll be a good boy," I ordered him before kissing his neck again.

"Please, I'll be a good boy, just fuck me," he pleaded as I quickened my movements.

"So impatient," I chuckled before shifting to remove my panties.

"Sit against the headboard," I commanded, and he obeyed without hesitation.

I then straddled him, placing my hands on his shoulders.

He placed his hands on my waist, but I removed them immediately, observing his confused expression. "You'll touch me when I give you permission. Put your hands behind your back," I said with a smirk.

"But—" he began before I cut him off, placing my finger on his lips.

"You said you'd behave like a good boy," I reminded him, whispering in his ear as I rolled my hips against his once more.

He simply moaned, throwing his head back before doing as I had asked and placing his hands behind his back.

"Good boy," I praised him with a smile before seizing his member and aligning it with my entrance.

I was already extremely wet from everything we had done before, so it wasn't very difficult for me to accommodate him.

Although it took me a while to adjust to his size once he was fully buried inside me.

I let out a small moan, dropping my head into the crook of his neck at the stretching sensation it gave me.

"Is it too much for you, baby?" he said mischievously to provoke me, with a smirk on his face.

I raised my head to look him in the eyes, biting my lip, and started riding him. "No, but if you keep this up, it'll soon be too much for you, baby" I threatened, gripping his chin between my fingers.

Something changed from that moment on. Chris let himself go a little more, and the more I bounced on him, the louder he got. We reached a point where even his neighbors could have heard.

"Chris, you really need to stop making so much noise; we're going to get caught, fuck," I said, almost unable to hold back my moans as I felt the knot slowly forming in my lower abdomen.

"I—god—I can't," he said, rolling his eyes before letting his head fall back.

"You look so good just like that, all for me my sweet boy," I confessed, placing one of my hands on my breast.

"I'm gonna cum," he said, lifting his gaze to meet mine.

"Hold it back for me baby," I told him, speeding up the movement.

"Fuck," he said, groaning and watching my breasts bounce in front of his eyes.

"You’re such a good boy look at you," I complimented him, running my hand over his cheek.

"Let me touch you, please, y/n," he begged, almost desperate at this point.

"Go ahead," I simply said, smiling, and the next moment his hands came to grasp my breasts, my waist, my hips.

"You're so perfect for me," he said this time, pushing me to the edge, and I could feel that he himself was struggling to hold back given how he gripped my hips and moaned.

His moans only grew louder at this point.

"Chris, I’m so close, but you really need to make less noise," I said, almost breathless.

Nothing was working anymore; he was completely lost in his own pleasure. His hips had started moving back and forth to meet mine.

I felt like I was losing my mind, and I think he felt that too. In a moment of lucidity, I grabbed the first thing I could find on the bed and shoved it into his mouth to muffle his moans.

It happened to be my panties, the missing piece for him to lose control and come inside me.

And I didn't miss a beat; within seconds, I reached my orgasm right above him.

"Holy shit," Chris exclaimed, pulling my panties out of his mouth.

I let my head fall against his shoulder, saying, "I can't feel my legs anymore," and he chuckled at my remark.

We stayed there for a moment, catching our breath, both of us covered in sweat as if we had just run a fucking marathon.

"If I could marry you right now, I would," he said, caressing the sides of my body, making me shiver.

"Let me at least take a shower first," I said, chuckling.

I was about to get up when he grabbed my hips to stop me. "Nope, stay here."

I looked at him with a small smile, and he kissed me.

And right at that moment, it hit me again.

I was probably going to have to leave the other side of the country in a few weeks...

"Are you okay?" he asked, seeing my expression suddenly change.

It took everything in me to keep my tears from falling, but I wasn't ready to talk to him about it. I was afraid he would only make my decision more complicated once I did.

"Yeah, everything's fine. What could go wrong? Look at us," I said, my eyes shimmering.

What could go wrong? Look at us. Two lost souls hoping that one day the stars will align so they can find each other again.

Maybe inevitably, our two hearts were meant to never find peace together.

Taglist: @chrisloyalgf @christopherscamopants @blahbel668 @thematthewlover @mattsturnioloarchive @carolinalikesthings @bernardsgf @whicked-hazlatwhore @hearts4chris @mattybsbitch @sara2233445

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #smut #teach me

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

sunlight ; jesse pinkman.

track thirteen of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; jesse pinkman x gn!reader

synopsis ; yellow was not a color he often saw in alaska. that was, until you came into his life.

words ; 4.2k

themes ; fluff, angst, slice of life, writer au

warnings / includes ; breaking bad & el camino spoilers, mentions of death/walter/drugs/the nazi group that imprisoned him, jesse is just Traumatized, reader is a sweetheart, jesse befriends a Cat <3

main masterlist.

The color yellow often resurfaced bad memories of his past. Yellow were the hazmat suits he wore with Walt when they cooked meth. Yellow were Jane’s bed sheets when she overdosed right next to him. Yellow were the broiling sands of New Mexico—a place he once called home.

Now that he was in Alaska, yellow was a color he scarcely ever saw. And for that he was glad. Mostly, it was white. With snow—with clouds. Maybe a dash of brown and grey here and there, alongside the occasional green once in a while.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

After everything, a bit of peace was all that Jesse needed.

That is, until you came along.

The first time he met you, you were decked out in an array of soft canary-hued clothes, certainly a sight that he wasn’t expecting at all. You were smiling brightly, so wide that it was a wonder your face hadn’t split into two. There was a basket in your hands, which held nothing other than around a dozen ripe lemons.

“Urm, hello?” Jesse hesitantly greeted, opening the door wider.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I live around five minutes away, and there’s barely anybody that lives near me other than grouchy old Bob, so when I found out someone had moved into this shabby little cabin, I just couldn’t help but stop by! Here, I got you a little house-warming gift. I hope you like lemons!” You held the basket out to him, still beaming ever so kindly.

Awkward, Jesse took the lemons from you, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, thanks. I’m Jared. Jared Driscoll.”

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Jared. Hope it’s not weird for me to say that it’s great to see a young face around,” you told him, rocking back on your heels. “Most people living around here are over sixty.”

Memories of Walter, Saul, and Mike flashed in the back of his mind, and he could nearly feel the physical pressure weighing down on his chest. He squared his jaw and pushed the thoughts away.

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, nodding. “Thanks again, for, uhm, these.”

He was just about to shut the door again, mentally smacking himself for being so tongue-tied, before you gently asked, “If you’re not doing anything tonight, I’d love to have you over for dinner. No pressure, though, I’d totally understand if you’d want to settle in first.”

No, was right on the tip of his tongue. No thanks, I’m a little busy with unpacking my stuff. I mean, I don’t have any stuff, but you don’t need to know that.

But the words caught in his throat. You looked so hopeful, your hands clasped behind you and your eyes wide with excitement. You were still smiling—how were you still smiling? His eyes darted down to your yellow cardigan rustling with the frigid Alaskan wind.

“Uhm, alright,” he replied, shooting you a tight smile that came off more like an uncomfortable grimace than anything, but at least he was trying.

Somehow, you seemed to brighten even more at his response.

“Cool, is seven okay with you? I still need to clean up a bit before dinner.”

Jesse nodded wordlessly, a strange, giddy warmth pooling into his abdomen—a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It was excitement. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely been excited for something.

“Alright, to get to my place, you just walk up the main road for a while, until you see a fork in the road—take a right, and walk for a bit, then you’ll see my house. In case you wanna make sure it’s my place, the mailbox has a pink handprint on it, but I doubt you’ll get confused—it’s not a very crowded neighborhood, huh?”

Jesse thanked you again as you left, smiling at you—genuinely, this time.

Two packs of crushed crackers were gripped within one of his hands. It was all he had in his pantry, and he didn’t know what the etiquette was like around here, so he brought them just to be safe.

There was a lot of yellow to your house. He caught sight of the lemon tree in the corner of your living room, situated right against a window for optimum sunlight. You had a pale yellow carpet beneath the dining table, and sheer curtains hanging over the window of the same shade. You even had a little white cat, who had wound around Jesse’s legs with a mewl, staring up at him with large amber eyes.

You apologized profusely, bending down to pick her up. “Sorry, she’s not usually this friendly around strangers. This is Yuki—means snow in Japanese.”

A smile itched at the corner of his lips. “No worries. I’m cool with cats. I, uh, I like her name.”

Seemingly relieved, you put Yuki back down, and ushered him to the table. In the center was a clear vase, holding a variety of ochre and purple wildflowers.

“Hope you’re alright with spaghetti—I’m not that great of a cook, but I make a mean spaghetti,” you said, grinning as you disappeared into the kitchen to brandish a large bowl of pasta. His stomach growled at the smell of marinara sauce—he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent bowl of warm, homemade food.

“No, yeah, that’s great,” he reassured. Silence stretched between the two of you as you began to ladle heapfuls of the noodles onto his plate, making sure to add a generous helping of meatballs with it. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you, so… thanks.”

You grinned at him kindly, before sitting right across from him. “It’s no problem, I promise. To be honest, it gets really lonely here sometimes. I’m glad you moved in.”

Jesse could only give you a small smile in return, before digging into his food. It was better than anything he’d had in months, though it wasn’t much of a competition. The past few weeks had been nothing but stale sandwiches and tough jerky that wore out his jaw.

“This is really good,” he said around a mouthful of pasta, forgetting his tableside manners for a moment. You didn’t seem to mind, only beaming all the brighter.

“I’m glad! Wish I could grow my own fresh tomatoes to make the sauce with but—it’s almost always freezing cold here,” you chuckled lightly. You twirled some pasta over your fork. “Which is why I grow lemon trees—they can withstand the cold pretty well.”

“How long have you been living here?” asked Jesse, finding himself genuinely curious about you.

You hummed in thought. “Four years ago, I think. I just needed some peace and quiet—and where better than Alaska, you know? I’m a writer, see, and I used to think that I had to live in a bustling city to make connections and meet more people in the industry to be successful but… I don’t know, I think a part of me always felt trapped in a corner. I feel free here.”

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, distant. “I get that. So, uh, you’re a writer, huh? What do you write?”

“Short stories, mostly. Sometimes I dabble in longer novels, and sometimes I’ll dip my toe into nonfiction. Depends on what my publishers want from me and also what I personally want to write,” you said, before taking a sip of water. Blanching, you quickly added, “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re my guest and I haven’t even asked a single thing about you. What about you? What’re you doing up in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, Jared?”

The new name felt so foreign—so strange coming from you. He wondered how it’d sound if you said his real name. Jesse.

At your question, a myriad of memories flashed into the front of his thoughts once more. Mike, Walt, Jane, Badger, Skinny Pete, the meth, the drugs, his parents…

He pursed his lips.

Sensing he was a bit uncomfortable, he was surprised when you only nodded in gentle understanding, quietly saying, “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. We all have our reasons.”

The reassuring smile that quirked the corner of your lips upward made his heart just a little heavier. You were just so… nice. It was a bit baffling. An extremely stark comparison to his time kept prisoner by the group of Nazis.

“You got space for dessert?” you queried, tilting your head in the most adorable of ways, snapping him out of his reverie just when the atmosphere began returning back to its original light-hearted state. “I made lemon pie!”

It took him a little under a month to fully settle in. His house was still sparse and relatively empty, but he’d bought a nice new couch to lay back on and a frumpy little lamp he had gotten for free at an antique store. The old lady that worked there had pinched his cheeks and given it to him for free, despite the crumpled bills he was just about to hand over.

She told him that she reminded her of her grandson, and insisted on giving it to him for no charge. Acquiescing, Jesse took it home with him. Who was he to turn down something free, anyway?

He’d gotten himself a job as a carpenter, building together new little cabins not far from where he lived for adventuring tourists or more old couples that would inevitably migrate here in search of some peace and quiet. Most of his free time was spent dillying in his house, reading random books he’d borrow from the musty little library in the small town (he was pleasantly surprised to find a collection of your works on one shelf)—or he’d find himself at your house, playing Scrabble with you, or listening to you ramble about your day, or babysitting your cat when you had to go off to meet with your publisher.

It was safe to say that he’d grown rather fond of you.

And that scared him. Rightfully so—the last two times he’d genuinely cared about someone… he’d lost both of them.

But that was in the past now. Jesse was trying to move forward. With you by his side, hopefully.

One of the benefits of being a carpenter was that he had a nearly infinite supply of spare wood on his hands. He’d been meaning to make you a little thank you gift for how nice you’d been to him his first few weeks in Alaska. He certainly hadn’t been expecting any sort of hospitality whatsoever before he’d arrived.

And so Jesse built you a little birdhouse. It was relatively small and admittedly not his most skillful craft, but he thought it wasn’t too shabby. He’d even stopped by a hardware store to grab some paint, and added a thin coat of light yellow to the outside of the birdhouse. The roof was colored a sweet shade of pink—he’d meant to color it red, but the crimson had accidentally mixed into the white on his brush, and he decided that the pink would look better, anyways.

The day after, he was on your doorstep, ringing the bell with an excited flutter to his stomach, rocking back and forth on his heels.

You swung the door open, smiling upon seeing him. He interestingly noted that you were wearing large yellow overalls, hair tied away from your face. You looked so darned cute—it made him clam up for a second and forget what he’d come here for.

“Hey!” you greeted, stepping to the side so he could amble in. “It’s nice to see you, I was literally just about to call you to ask if you wanted to watch a movie tonight, or something—ooh, whatcha got there?” Your eyes widened as you looked at the little wooden house cradled in his palms.

“It’s for you,” said Jesse, holding it out. “It’s a, uhm, a birdhouse.”

Your expression melted into one of pure affection, and you grinned impossibly wider, before surging forward and throwing your arms around him in a quick hug. Before he could even begin to think about reciprocating the embrace, you were already pulling away, holding the birdhouse up to eye-level to observe it closer. “Oh, my God, Jared, this is gorgeous—I can’t thank you enough. Did you make it yourself?”

Chuckling nervously, Jesse nodded an affirmative, scratching the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “It was nothing, really. Just had some scrap wood.”

“I love it,” you told him. The words made warmth coil about the bones of his ribs, spreading down to the tips of his fingers and crawling up the skin of his neck. “Nobody’s ever made me something like that before! You’re really too sweet, Jared. I’ll hang it outside in a bit.”

Carefully, you placed the little house on your table. A quiet meow roped both of your attentions lower, where Yuki was winding between both of your legs, tail curled around Jesse’s shins. He bent down to gently scratch beneath her chin, earning him a contented purr.

The three of you made your way to the couches, and you ushered Jesse to sit down, after you rushed to go pour him a steaming cup of coffee.

“It’s freezing out,” you told him, curling up beside the man and handing him the mug, before taking a sip from your own. Yuki made herself comfortable between the two of you, tucking her nose behind her tail and shutting her eyes for a nap. “Hopefully you can stay and defrost for a bit before heading back out?”

He hummed, appreciative of the idea. Being with you was… comforting, to say the least. It was peaceful, and quiet, and made his heart ache like nothing else. Dare he say—domestic. It reminded him of his short-cut time with Jane.

At the thought of her, thorns pierced through his lungs and he forced his gaze away from you. He caught sight of a small pile of papers on your coffee table, and he leaned forward to pick one up. You fiddled with the mug in your hands, nervous.

“Oh, wow, is this what you’ve been writing?” His eyes swept along the first few lines, finding himself utterly impressed. “Yo, this is, like, really damn good.”

“Really?” you asked, sitting up straighter, a hopeful look to your expression. “I’ve been in a weird word-vomit mood lately—ever since I met you, I just haven’t been able to stop.”

Jesse risked a glance to you, muffling a smile. “I may not know much about writing but this is… next level, dude. It’s like I can see it all in my head. Like a movie but with… words?”

“Gosh, Jared, you really know how to compliment someone,” you lightly scoffed, hiding your beam behind your mug. “You can keep that copy if you want. Here—” Shifting to brandish a pen from your pocket, you signed his name right under your printed one.

Jesse peered over to look, the smile cracking through his exterior.

For Jared Driscoll.

“You know what’s funny,” you murmured, eyes glued to his fake name on the paper. “You’ve never really pegged me as a Jared Driscoll.”

For a long moment, Jesse could’ve sworn his heart stopped in his chest. “Oh, yeah? Why, uh… why’s that?”

You shot him a glance, before smiling sweetly, handing him the papers back for him to keep. “I don’t really know—it just doesn’t suit you, I guess. Jared Driscoll sounds so—rough’n’tough, you know? You don’t strike me as the rough’n’tough kind of guy. You’re too sweet for that.” You shrugged, sinking further into the couch and running the tips of your fingers along Yuki’s back.

Jesse stared at you for a moment longer. Your words brought a certain kind of comfort to him that he never knew he needed. The affirmation that he was still a good person in your eyes—it meant more to him than he thought it would.

“Thanks,” he said, hesitant, though he gently quirked the corner of his lips into a mild grin. He sipped his warm coffee before adding on, “I think you’re sweet, too.”

“You never told me when your birthday was,” you told him, an accusing lilt to your words. Jesse’s brows rose. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, having just woken up no less than three minutes ago to the door ringing.

Wordlessly, he swung his door open wider so you had space to shuffle in, still glaring at him.

“It’s been a year since you moved in,” you carried on. There was a slight pouty pucker to your lips, face creased into a frown. Jesse thought you were too damned cute to take your annoyance too seriously. “And we haven’t celebrated your birthday once!”

“Bah, it’s not a big deal,” he finally said, yawning behind a fist and waving your words away.

Your little frown deepened. “Well, I’m sorry I missed it,” you softly said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But I got you something anyway.”

From out of seemingly nowhere, you brandished a large brown paper bag, dangling it in front of him on the tips of your fingers. When he narrowed his blue eyes and suspiciously darted his gaze between you and the bag, you huffed out a small laugh, jerking your chin towards the gift. “Go on—open it!”

The bag crinkled loudly beneath his grip as he took it from you. With one last questioning look to you, he turned it over, and out fell a large yellow hoodie, cloud-soft in his palms. It looked like it was the exact right size for him, and he sent you an incredulous glance.

“This is sick, Y/N, thanks,” he said, a genuine beam itching at his mouth. “Perfect size—and it’s yellow, too!”

For a moment, you looked a bit unsure. “If you don’t like the color, I can always switch it out—it’s just, you’re always wearing neutrals, I thought it’d be nice to give you something colored.”

Jesse looked to the hoodie, then back at you.

Sure, yellow brought back bad memories. Far too many, and not nearly distant enough in his past.

But yellow was your color—and he rather liked how it looked on you.

“Nah,” he said, patting your shoulder once, then twice, “I like it, really. I like it a lot.”

Two years in Alaska meant nearly two years with you.

You’d become the one constant in his life—one that he wouldn’t mind being around for the rest of it, as well.

The two of you were sitting side by side on a frosty hill, watching the sun set. A breathtaking mirage of clementines and peaches bled through the sky just when the sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon. A faint, cold wind tousled your hair, rustling the blades of grass around you. It was meant to be a celebratory picnic of sorts, but the two of you decided it was too cold to eat out, and opted to just sit and relax for a bit before heading back inside and having dinner. Wordlessly, you handed him a pack of chips from the little basket you’d brought for the failed picnic, and he wrestled it open, popping one into his mouth. Simultaneously, you bit down on a crisp apple, wiping the spurting juices away with the back of your hand.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” said Jesse, mindlessly tracing shapes into the cold grass. “Time flies, huh?”

You hummed in agreement. “It does.”

Jesse turned to look at you, watching the side of your face relax along with the disappearance of the sun. The last few moments of golden sunlight bathed you in a gentle glow and drew the most beautiful of shadows across your features. You brushed some stray hairs out of your face, the sleeve of your oversized flaxen sweater swallowing your arm. He really couldn’t deny himself anymore—he was completely and utterly in love with you.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. He wanted to tell you the truth. Obviously not all of it—not all at once—but he wanted you to know. Jesse trusted you more than anyone else in his entire life. Maybe that made him an idiot, but… he was willing to risk the chance with you.

Curious, you tilted your head questioningly, laying your hands and face against your raised knees. The very edge of your shoulder brushed against his arm. You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

“You were right,” he finally said.

“Right about what?” You were starting to look mildly concerned.

Jesse inhaled deeply. “Jared Driscoll doesn’t suit me at all because… it’s not my real name.”

Surprise flooded your expression, but not too much of it—as if you’d always had an inkling all along.

“So what’s your real name?” you asked, all gentle, slightly afraid. Afraid that you’d lose him after so long—after getting attached.

“Jesse Pinkman,” he responded, tearing his gaze away from you, not sure if he wanted to see your reaction. “My middle name is Bruce.”

To his complete surprise, you let out a sudden laugh, before clamping your hands to your mouth. He snapped his head back to look at you, a contagious, incredulous grin touching the corner of his lips.

“Bruce like Batman?” you asked, slightly muffled behind your palms. He nodded, and you let out another chortling laugh. Relief wove through the very fibers of his muscles at your relaxed disposition. You smiled at him, all soft and glowing. It made Jesse’s stomach knot together uncomfortably. “I think it suits you. Much more than Jared Driscoll.”

You tested his name out, enunciating different syllables in various ways, your grin growing nearly double its size.

“Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jesse snorted, grabbing the apple in your hand and gently pushing it back into your mouth. With a halfhearted glare, you bit down into it anyway.

Around a mouthful of apple, you told him, “You have a pretty name.” You swallowed down the apple and quietly asked him, “Why are you using a fake one?”

Jesse hesitated, directing his gaze to the ground. His smile melted away. “Maybe that’s a story for another time.”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you smiled at him, still so very genuine it made his heart ache.

“Since we’re sharing secrets… well, mine isn’t exactly a secret, but I didn’t move to Alaska for the peace and quiet. I mean, I did, but that wasn’t really the reason why I left the city.” You cleared your throat, eyes getting slightly misty. “I lost my best friend in a car crash while she was on call with me seven years ago. A part of me will always think that it’s my fault that she died. So I moved to Alaska to get away from everything. From the city, and all those cars… and all the people. It was really hard being here at first. It was cold, and lonely, and sometimes just plain old boring. But honestly?” You tentatively reached over to place your palm over his. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

The sun was long gone by now, and Jesse found himself missing how you looked in its soft yellow glow.

“Best decision both of us made,” he murmured, nodding. Jesse quite liked the feeling of your hand on top of his. “I came to Alaska because I, uh… I lost everyone. Everything.”

You smiled—all soft and devastating. He could feel a part of his heart crumbling into a heap of sand within his chest. Nimbly, he turned his palm over to intertwine your fingers with his cold ones.

“Well, you haven’t lost me, Jesse,” you told him, so quiet that it was nearly lost to the breeze.

Jesse wanted to cry at those words. He blinked away the stinging feeling at the top of his nose, and could only muster a grateful, teary nod.

“I, uhm, I’ve only been in love twice before in my life,” he whispered to you, swallowing the lump in his throat. “And both times, they died while I was right there—helpless. I’ve healed and I’m moving on, but, uh… I’m terrified of losing you the way I lost them, Y/N.”

Shifting, you turned so you could fully face him, now clasping both hands onto his right one. Firmly, you repeated yourself, “You haven’t lost me, Jesse. You won’t. Whatever hurt you back in New Mexico is long gone now. The past is far behind you. You have a fresh start. And I’ll be there with you—every step of the way.”

There wasn’t much yellow in Alaska, and for that he’d been grateful.

But maybe… maybe yellow wasn’t so bad.

After all, yellow was your color—and it looked beautiful on you.

#jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman fanfiction #jesse pinkman fluff #jesse pinkman angst #jesse pinkman imagines #jesse pinkman fanfic #jesse pinkman drabbles #jesse pinkman x you #breaking bad fanfiction #jesse pinkman oneshot #jesse pinkman imagine

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farfromstrange · 5 months

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Do No Harm

CHAPTER THREE: Broken Glass

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have a really shitty night, and it only gets worse until a man in a black mask saves your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, graphic description of domestic violence (flashback), panic attack, mention of blood & injury, alcohol abuse, sexual assault, Reader tries to play the hero and it backfires (might piss you off)

Word Count: 7.6k

A/n: I worked very long and hard on this one, that's why I didn't post it last week. This is very heavy, so heed the warnings. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! I’m spending New Year’s in London, and I won’t have my Laptop, so I’m already wishing you guys a happy new year! Spend the day with people you love. Do something that you love. Just enjoy yourselves and we’ll see each other again in 2024!

Read Chapter 3: Broken Glass here on AO3

The loneliness eats you alive like a parasite. As soon as the door of your apartment shuts behind you, the noise coming from the city disappears into the distance, and you are faced with the silent reality of being utterly alone.

It feels like you are living in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere, not a small apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

There are no picture frames on the dresser in the hallway. The two plants you bought for yourself are slowly dying of thirst. The fridge is empty. You don’t own any decorations—you don’t even have a shelf for all of your books, and more than half of them are medical research material, anyway.

You may be living in this place, but it isn’t yours. After two years, you are no closer to settling down than you were when you first came to New York.

Every day, you ask yourself how long this peace is going to last, and every day ends the same—you’re still safe, but you are deeply unsettled. Your thoughts keep turning against you like demons that you can’t exorcize. Every day, you wonder when you will have to run away again because your past has a way of catching up to you when you least expect it, so you remain on edge. That’s how you live your life.

If you knew how to accept peace, maybe you would have settled down and personalized your apartment by now, but then again, do you even know who you are? Do you remember the girl you once were? Your memories of the past are scrambled.

You can only remember what it was like to live in a bubble, to be forced into a cage like a bird and turned into someone you never thought you would become. You remember running. You haven’t been yourself in years. Even if you wanted to, there is nothing left for you to put up that would feel like it belongs to you without feeling like pretentious bullshit at the same time. So, you don’t even bother.

It’s lonely though, having nothing and no one. Claire is your friend, sure, but you had nothing and no one back then, and you still barely have anyone now. She’s your friend, but that’s all she is.

You can’t admit it out loud, of course. You can’t admit that you feel lonely, and you can’t pick up your phone and call the one friend you do have to take up on her offer because of reasons not even the rational part of your brain wants to understand.

The lamp in the living room casts a dim light over the main area of the apartment and the open kitchen. You place Matt’s business card on the kitchen counter.

Should you call him? A million questions go through your mind, firing rapidly like bullets from an automatic gun. You’re not even sure if you want to call him. You felt comfortable around him, but enough to abandon all your principles? If you call him, he might ask you out, and what do you do then? You don’t date, not anymore, and you definitely won’t let a stranger into the mess that is your life. You can’t do that to a kind soul like him. Matthew is special in a way that you can’t put into words, and that makes the decision so much harder.

You know exactly what’s holding you back. It’s the same invisible string of feelings that is keeping you from personalizing your living space. You don’t know when you might need to run, and then what?

Your lungs contract. Air is a lot harder to come by when you’re all wound up. You hope that a nice glass of white wine will help put some things into perspective. Fooling around with someone can’t hurt, but anything more than that could lead to a catastrophe. You have had enough of those for a lifetime.

You like keeping to yourself. It keeps your heart safe. What happened today, meeting Matthew after you so miserably sought a place to be alone, it was a coincidence—a welcome distraction. And you seemed so like-minded at first glance. He was intriguing and you’re still wondering about his injuries and how he got them, but that’s not the point. None of this is.

The point is that you are not the kind of person he thinks you are. That’s why you can’t call him. And strangely, that hurts a lot more than simple heartbreak, knowing that you have been ruined for all relationships to come because you made one wrong choice and fell down the rabbit hole—unfortunately not into Wonderland.

“Shit!” you curse when a drop of wine lands beside the glass.

You lick your finger, trying to wipe the liquid on the counter with a paper towel. In the process, your hand accidentally brushes against the glass, and the sole touch sends it hurdling to the floor. You try to catch it, but the fragile glass has already hit the tiles of your kitchen floor. It shatters into a million pieces.

The sound reverberates in your ears. Like a shot in the dark, your body is jolted awake into a state of panic. The crash reminds you of hell, and the all-too-familiar flames start touching your skin again, set out to burn you alive. It’s a feeling you know by heart—a feeling you wish you weren’t so painfully aware of.

Glass breaks before your inner eye.

You were trying to make him a drink, you remember. He wanted Whiskey, no ice, and at perfect room temperature—it was always the same. After the first black eye that you had to hide under mountains of concealer, you taught yourself to perfect it. You didn’t want to disappoint him. You didn’t want to get into trouble.

You spent more money than you could afford on the one brand of Whiskey he always told you to get, even if that meant traveling to a store miles away from home. He always wanted that Whiskey, and who were you to deny him?

You didn’t pay attention for one second, and the glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Your heart stopped. The last drops of the brown liquid spilled everywhere, including your clothes. The glass was his favorite. Expensive, too. It broke because you weren’t looking. You were so stupid.

Fear froze the blood in your veins. Your heart stopped beating. You couldn’t breathe. You reached for a cloth with shaky hands, trying to pick up the pieces in time, but the sound of the glass breaking—that godforsaken loud sound that reminded you of obnoxious screaming—was instantly followed by an even louder echo of angry footsteps.

Over time, you became painfully aware of those footsteps. You knew how they sounded on wooden floorboards, carpet, and the stairs in the hallway of the apartment building. You still remember how they sounded when he was wearing those squeaky sneakers on the linoleum floors of the hospital.

It’s a sound that always sends shivers down your spine; everyone has those sneakers, but his footsteps were much heavier, much more demanding even when he wasn’t demanding anything.

And back then, you knew what would follow as soon as you heard them.

“What is this?” his voice reached your ears.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t even dare to look up. If you had met his eyes, you would have seen your fate in them, and the empty black hole that was his soul. “I’m sorry, I– I lost my grip and–and I dropped it,” you said. You thought that would fix it. How foolish of you, to have faith in someone who never had faith in you. “I’m so sorry,” you couldn’t stop repeating it.

You thought this time, he would listen to your apology. He would let you fix what you broke. You would have done anything for his approval, for his praise, and for him not to be mad at you. You didn’t want to fight. The evening had started so well. He even kissed you when he came home because you finished dinner in time. He smiled because you managed to clean even the last crevices of his apartment after your shift. He promised he would reward you.

You fucked up. You knew you fucked up, but you prayed to God that his good mood would keep you safe this time. That he would give you a pass because you have been so incredibly good. You’ve been the best girlfriend he could have asked for, so obedient, never questioning, and always on his side—you were wrong. So, so wrong.

He saw the empty bottle of Whiskey. He picked it up. “That was the last sip of my good Whiskey,” he remarked.

You stopped moving.

“I’ll pick up a new one,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Stores are still open. This is my fault. Let me clean this up and I will–”

“You had one job.”

The sound of his voice turned cold, colder than usual. You exhaled a shaky breath.

“You had one job,” he said. “I go to work, I save lives, and I teach young, useless doctors like you how to do the same. All I asked of you was to cook dinner, clean the apartment and make me a fucking drink.”

With each word, his volume ascended. Your shoulder started vibrating, but you forced yourself to hold your breath. You couldn’t let the fear show. Being afraid, in his eyes, equaled weakness, and he would prove to you time and time again what weakness truly meant to him. He would turn you into a weak mess and laugh about it. You were trying your hardest to avoid any more unnecessary punishment. You had to tread lightly. He was in charge, not you.

And you breaking the glass was so stupid, all you wanted was to surrender. In your twisted mind, he was right. It was just a glass, but he told you how useless you were many times before, and you were slowly starting to believe it.

Without him, you were nothing. No one else could have possibly put up with you.

“What do you do?” He reached out and slammed the empty bottle on the ground.

You barely had time to react before some of the bigger shards hit your cheek, slicing the skin. It took you a second to process, the pain not even kicking in because you expected his hand to come down on you, not an entire glass bottle. The trajectory almost hit your eye. Almost.

“You spill my fucking drink!” this time, he yelled.

A sob escaped your lips. There it was, the smallest sign of fear and pain.

He rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have sobbed, you knew that. “Get up,” he said.

You winced when he grabbed you and yanked you off the floor. The trail of blood ran hot on your cold cheek. It stung. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering against your ribcage and the fresh bruise that still hadn’t healed.

You were scared, and the tighter he grabbed you, forcing your chin upward to look him dead in the eyes, the harder it got to hide what you were truly feeling. In his eyes, you were nothing. And you were so weak, all you could do was to submit.

“Look at me,” he said. His eyes roamed your face.

You couldn’t not look at him. It was impossible. What you saw made you sick to your very stomach. It tied a noose around your neck, threatening to kick you off the high chair. Your feet were dangling dangerously close to the cliff.

“You’re pathetic, you hear me? Useless. You had one job. One. And you couldn’t even do that right.”

You opened your mouth, but instead of letting you speak, his hand tangled in your hair and he pulled, hard. “No!” he bellowed. “You have lost the right to speak to me.”

He said your name. He always said it in a way that made you want to vomit. Your first and last names were tainted because of him. He used them in vain. He used you. He used everything as he saw fit and believed he was entitled to it.

You hated him, but you also loved him.

“You’re going to clean up the mess you made, and then you’re going to go to the store, buy me another bottle of Whiskey, and you’re going to make me another drink. I don’t want to hear a single word out of you,” he said. “Are we clear?”

You nodded. He pulled a little harder.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” you choked out.

When he finally let you go, you fell to the floor, your chest heaving with dry sobs. Perhaps he was too annoyed or maybe leaving you alone, finally, was a display of humanity.

The man you once believed to have loved you turned out to be a monster that would not have wept, not possibly, if you had died. He only wanted to control you, and whenever he felt like he couldn’t, he punished you. You stayed way too long because you believed in someone who was never there in the first place. The real him you believed to know once had never been real. He had been a fraud. He did anything he possibly could to lure you in, and then you were stuck.

But even knowing this, you wanted to please him, and you took what he gave you. You ate it up like a starved cavewoman. You had no one else but him, and that alone is a sad thought that you keep entertaining now.

The sound of broken glass has haunted you since that day. Whenever it happens, either to you or someone else, you find yourself in a state of shock. It’s never the same memory, but always alike. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you can’t breathe.

You touch your left cheek. The scar is barely visible anymore, but whenever you touch it, it feels like a mountain of regret. You can still feel the blood pooling under your fingertips, the liquid as sticky as it was hot.

You stumble over to the sink, circling the broken glass. Cold water; your senses need a sudden slap across the face or you will cower in a corner and surely die. Your heartbeat is racing in your ears, and your fingers shake as you form a bowl with your hands to catch the water from the tap.

Air returns to your lungs. Burying your face in the cold water, you focus on the way it seeps into your hot skin.

Broken glass triggers you. Squeaky footsteps in the hospital hallways trigger you. You zone out so easily. You can’t talk to strangers without suspecting the worst. Every time you pass the hospital administrator’s office, you’re scared you will get fired—that you will lose your job and your entire career.

He took everything from you. He broke you and the optimistic young woman you used to be. You were so bright, so ready to change your life for the better. You worked hard to escape the toxicity of your childhood, and you still managed to run into the arms of an abusive narcissist who saw you as nothing but his property.

It’s sad, and it’s utterly ironic; you told yourself you would never make the same mistake your mom made before she died, and you still did. You were foolish, and you’re still foolish now.

You can’t call Matthew. You can’t trust anyone, not even yourself, and even if he is trustworthy, he doesn’t deserve someone as damaged as you.

The business card lands in the trash can under the sink. You give it one last teary-eyed look before slamming it shut. It’s better this way. The excitement you felt when you first held it in your hands was bound to only be temporary. You knew reality would screw it up, maybe it truly is for the best. Or maybe this is the trauma talking and you’re sabotaging yourself, but even then it’s better this way.

It’s early in the morning, and you leave the broken glass on the sticky kitchen floor. You can’t touch it, not even with gloves. Every time you do, the scar on your cheek stings, and you lose your breath. Every bone, muscle, and nerve is hurting in your body, and every breath tears right through your soul.

You don’t want to live like this anymore.

The warm water of your small shower rains down on your clothes frame. The bottle of wine in your hand is no longer cold and mixed with water, but you don’t care. Your mind is fuzzy, intoxicated, and in agony. It’s a raging wave of anger with no possible point of release. You’re drowning in despair, buried in a grave of your own making. Alcohol knowingly doesn’t mix well with heartache, but it’s the only thing that will make the voices go away. It silences your thoughts just long enough for you to find a sliver of rest in this stormy ocean, something to hold onto so you won’t drown completely.

Your heartbeat aligns with the rhythmic pattering of the water. It serenades you. The fog engulfs your brain, weakening your already strained muscles. The cocktail in your veins is poisonous. You should know better than to do this to yourself. You’re a doctor, after all. You are well aware that liquor is not medicine, but it’s the closest you can get. You don’t care as much about your own well-being as you should.

Getting drunk all by yourself under the hot shower stream fits right into your miserable state.

The sun rises and falls over the next couple of hours. Your alarm goes as night befalls Hell’s Kitchen, but you don’t hear it. Only after it has gotten dark and your phone has started ringing with calls from the hospital does your mind registers that something isn’t quite right.

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your head is pounding. The wine bottle lies empty on the nightstand next to you, together with a bottle of tequila that you decided to open. Glasses are strewn around with empty takeout containers that are more than a few days old. At first, you’re disoriented, reaching beside you for your phone, which is still in the living room next door.

You forgot to close the blinds, but you were so out of it that you didn’t notice the hours pass by. The analog clock on the bedside table tells you that it’s a few hours before eleven. At night.

Your shift was supposed to start at ten.

The information takes a moment to connect and process, but as soon as it does, you snap out of whatever hungover state you are in and force yourself out of bed. You stumble over empty bottles and dirty laundry on your way to your phone.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you curse. You almost step into the pile of broken glass in the kitchen. “Fuck me! Shit!”

You are screwed, you know that. You’re not even sure if all the alcohol has left your system. You might as well lose your job tonight.

With one hand, you dial the hospital administrator’s number, who called you over thirty times over the past hour, while you try to find something to wear with your other hand.

The line finally clicks after what feels like an eternity. “You better have a damn good reason why you aren’t here, Olivia, or I swear to God–”

You cut her off. “I’m so sorry, Shelly,” you say. Your voice is slightly shaky, but you keep it together. “I didn’t hear my alarm a-and I slept in. This has never happened before. I’m usually a very light sleeper. I… I’m already halfway out the door, I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You slept in?!” Shelly answers, her voice resembling a screech. “What— Liv, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just… I slept in, that’s all. I’m so, so sorry. I know I screwed up.”

“Unbelievable. First Claire calls out with a mystery illness that apparently still hasn’t gone away, and then my best trauma surgeon sleeps in.” You can hear her shake her head over the noise of the hospital in the background. She sighs. “You’re lucky that this is your first tardy,” she says. “I’ll let it slide just this once. Just… hurry, okay?”

A weight falls off your shoulders. You let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just make sure you get here before midnight. And you will have to work the time that you’ve missed, even if that puts you at risk of having to pull a double shift. This is not up for debate. I feel like I’m working at a children’s daycare.”

You’re not sure if that was meant for you or if she simply forgot to hang up.

You grab your bag and your keys in one swift motion. “I’m leaving now. See ya!”

The bus you usually take to work at this time of night is long gone. There is one more that could take you to your destination, but you arrive at the bus stop just a millisecond too late. It takes off right in front of you, refusing to turn back even when you start sprinting after it, flailing your arms around wildly.

It’s late, it’s dark, and you’re all alone. The walk to the hospital is over half an hour long, and you promised Shelly you would make it in time before midnight. The next cab is miles away; you’ve checked the app twice, and anything beyond that would be too expensive.

Hell’s Kitchen is dangerous at this time of night, but you don’t have much of a choice. If you don’t try, there is a high chance Shelly will fire you. If she fires you, you would have to find another country to start over in—you burned bridges in all possible States, and anything closer to where you came from would be too dangerous for you.

Darkness doesn’t scare you; broken glass and loud footsteps scare you, but the dark of the night has always been somewhat of a soothing companion to you. What scares you is what could be lurking in that very darkness, and the thought makes you walk a little faster.

Your head is still pounding. Every step you take delivers a punch to your temples. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. The streetlights are suddenly too bright for your sensitive eyes, but you push through. You have to.

“So stupid,” you mutter under your breath. “Universe, if you can hear me, just kill me now.”

Passing a particularly dark part of town with the mace on your keychain clutched tightly in your hand, a loud scream pierces the air. Your feet glue themselves to the ground.

Some things you can only understand if you have experienced the paralyzing feeling of dread that would cause a human being to scream bloody murder.

You would be lying if you said that the scream you heard coming from that alley wasn’t in any way familiar to you. Perhaps that’s why you choose to abandon all rational thought and run toward danger rather than away from it. Adrenaline is a funny thing, and when it interacts with trauma and anger that has been building for years, there is no knowing what the human body might be capable of doing.

With the mace in your hand, you walk toward the alley. The closer you get, the louder the desperate pleas grow. The helplessness in the woman’s voice paints a clear picture of what is happening.

“Hey!” your voice resembles a shout in the poorly lit alley. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” you ask. Your voice becomes a foreign language.

The man, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie, is towering over a terrified woman. The bottom of her dress is slightly ripped, and it keeps riding up as she struggles against his grip.

From the corner of your eye, you can see the shiny handle of a knife sticking out of his boot; there is no telling when or if he will pull it. And when you look into his empty eyes, you realize you overestimated yourself.

“Get lost!” the man tells you. He must be around your age, judging from his features.

You shake your head. “I have no intention of letting you live out your disgusting rape fantasies on a real-life human being,” you retort. “Let her go, or I will call the cops.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for the knife. Instinctively, you extend your keychain and spray the pepper directly into his eyes. You empty the entire bottle on him, the adrenaline in your veins locking your thumb to the fragile button.

The woman slides out of her attacker’s grasp when he topples over in agony. He cries out. The spray is quickly causing the skin around his eyes to redden and swell. For a moment, he’s completely incapacitated.

You can tell that he didn’t calculate for this to happen. He also doesn’t seem to know the woman he decided to attack personally. He just saw a woman walking alone at night and thought he could take what he wanted like the animal he is.

Your eyes flick toward the woman. Sweat is starting to pool from your pores, mixing with the adrenaline.

She adjusts her dress, her sobs turning into heavy panting. You know that look on her face all too well. She has scratches on her thighs and arms. It’s hard to tell just how badly he already hurt her before you came along, at least in this lighting and from where you’re standing.

You reach out to support her. “Are you alright?” you ask her.

She looks down at her shaky hands, then back at you. She reminds you of a deer in headlights. With a gentle tug, you pull her further out of the alley. The man who attacked her is still blinded, clutching his skull and scratching at his eyes, making the effects of the pepper spray worse. In your mind, he can’t hurt you anymore, but you still need to get her away from him—as far as possible, too.

“A few cuts and bruises,” you observe, trying not to touch her as you assess her injuries. “Listen, I’m going to call the cops and we’re gonna get you to a hospital, alright?” You search her eyes until she finally looks back at you. “This is nothing I can’t stitch up in a few minutes,” you say, “and then I’ll get you someone who can help you process what happened. Just know that he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I’m a witness, and I will make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You should know better than to make promises, especially in the heat of the moment. This is not something you can confidently promise because things might not turn out in your favor.

The woman pulls her arms away suddenly. “No! No cops, no hospitals,” she pleads.

“I know you’re scared, believe me, I do, but–”

“No!” She shakes her head again, her voice becoming more determined as the seconds tick by.

You wish the world wasn’t as cruel as it is. You can’t force her. If it were easy, you probably would have turned to law enforcement too, but it’s not easy. What hurts the most is that you understand why she is so adamant about not calling the police and not going to a hospital, even with so many variables still unknown; you understand too well what it is like.

Shame and fear are powerful emotions—when all else fails, they take over.

“I’m sorry,” the woman’s voice quivers. She looks between you and her attacker once more. “Thank you, really, but I can’t—I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait!” You try to stop her, but she slips through your fingers before you can convince her otherwise.

She disappears down the street. Calling the police seems almost futile now. You look down at your phone. You’re still a witness to a crime. You should speak up about what you saw. You should try to get justice, even if it will be your word against his.

Your finger hovers above the call button, but a dark voice from the alley stops you in your tracks. “You bitch!” the man shouts. His voice carries, making you shiver. Now that you’re alone with him, you realize how helpless the situation really is.

You can’t move. You can’t run. You can’t hide. Your eyes widen. Even half-blind, he has managed to pull the dirty knife from his boot, and he is charging right at you. As if you are the substitute for the woman you just saved. You should have run with her. This was a bad idea.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You press down on your keychain, but it’s empty now. You’re weaponless with a lot of fake confidence that is slowly swindling, and somehow, you still can’t move.

You’re frozen in place. Your own recklessness will get you killed. No one will miss you. Your corpse will be buried in a strange cemetery in a strange city that has only been your home for two years, and no one will ever know who you truly were because you told Claire to take your secrets to the grave with her. You will die alone with the familiar feeling of fear and despair spreading through your veins like wildfire.

Something inside of you cracks, and it melts your frozen muscles. You snap out of your haze when he is only a few inches away from you. In an instant, you have started backing out of the alley almost entirely. You’re running, and you’re running fast.

You believe that karma comes back around, but sometimes, it takes the wrong direction. You lose your footing suddenly, stumbling over your own shoes, and your ass hits the pavement with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your wrists bend at a painful angle as you catch yourself, and you look up into the red eyes of what you expect to be your certain demise.

The impact from the knife never comes. You know what it feels like to be impaled by a sharp object. You know what pain feels like—but it never comes.

You open your eyes when your ears pick up on the sound of bone breaking—the sight you’re met with startles you, and for a second, you wonder if you’re still alive. You touch your wrist to check for a pulse; it’s still there. You’re not dead, and you’re not hallucinating, either. This is real.

You’ve seen the news reporting on a man in a black mask scouring the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night. For weeks now, gang bangers, suspected rapists, and drug dealers have been piling up in the emergency room with several fractures, some of them severe enough to require extensive surgery, but none of them were ever hurt enough to die from their injuries.

A Russian was dropped from a building a while back. He fell into a coma and then died suddenly a few nights ago, but that was the only patient who got beat up by the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who lost all quality of life.

You don’t like to judge, but there is something about him that makes you feel safe rather than afraid. He only beats up those who are in the business of committing injustice and pose a danger to innocent lives. He’s there when the law fails. And so far, he has never killed anyone. The injuries on the patients you treated were quite severe and suggested that whoever did it has a great collection of anger issues, but he has enough self-control not to kill.

He’s not a threat to people like you. He is, however, a threat to the kind of man who tried to rape an innocent woman and then threatened you with a knife.

Your attacker drops to the ground with a pained grunt. The man in the mask is towering over him, his chest heaving. You admire his physique for a moment too long. Your eyes trail from his toned chest in that tight black shirt to his backside in those tight-fitting black pants.

He seems oddly familiar yet, at the same time, he is a total stranger. A stranger in a mask. A stranger who throws fists like a professional boxer. A stranger who could crush your head within seconds. And still, there is something about him that reminds you of someone else, someone you just recently met, but you can’t put your finger on it. It wouldn’t even make sense if you tried.

You’re still sitting on the cold asphalt, staring up at the man who saved you. He turns his head toward you, slowly. His plump lips glisten in the moonlight.

“You hurt?” he asks.

Your throat is all dried up. One glance down at your palms tells you that you only scraped the skin, but you’re not injured. So, you shake your head. Maybe there is a little fear mixed into your stunned eyes, but only because this is a very strange situation to find yourself in, and you have been in a lot of very strange situations in the past.

He tilts his head ever so slightly. His nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding.”

You don’t even want to know how he knows that.

“Just a scratch,” you finally manage to speak up, although your voice sounds embarrassingly small.

You wipe your palms on your pants and slowly rise to your feet. Every bone in your body hurts. Standing across from him, you realize how much taller he is in person.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“I know.”

He stops. You can’t see his eyes, but the lower part of his face reveals the confusion that has taken him over.

“I’ve dealt with men worse than you,” you state. “I’m not scared.”

He chuckles darkly. “You’re welcome.”

People usually don’t talk back at him, it seems. At least those he saves usually don’t.

“I could’ve defended myself. In fact, I already did.” You lift your keychain. “I don’t know if playing the hero is your thing, but I’m not a victim.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t trying to play hero,” he clarifies, a humorless smirk resting on his lips, “I was saving your life ‘cause you were trying to play the hero. Next time, I suggest you don’t bring mace to a knife fight.”

“And I suggest you don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you retort.

You were grateful for no longer than a second. Now, you’re just annoyed.

The alley is still. The atmosphere is heavy with the aftermath of the danger you only narrowly escaped—thanks to him, and you hate admitting that even to yourself. He seems unfazed, almost amused, by your attempts at asserting your independence, and the arrogance radiating off him is hitting the wrong nerve.

“This guy was gonna kill you because you decided to do the right thing,” he says, adjusting his leather gloves. “I decided to save your life. We both made decisions tonight, and it doesn’t matter whether we are happy with them or not. What matters is that no one got hurt.”

“Tell that to the woman he traumatized for life.”

He sighs at your words. “You still did the right thing.”

“I know,” you say.

“Are you always this feisty?”

“Only to masked vigilantes who think I’m some damsel in distress that needs saving and that everything can be solved with their pretty little fists.”

“Well, my pretty little fists are the reason you didn’t end up stabbed, so,” he answers, and his lips curl into a smug smirk. He shrugs, his black shirt riding up only slightly, revealing a sliver of marble skin. You can’t help but let your eyes wander.

“I don’t need a thank you,” he says, “but you need to be more careful next time. Don’t go into dark alleys alone, especially at night. It’s not safe.”

You want to give a snarky remark, but the sound of church bells in the background signal to you that it’s midnight, and you are supposed to be at work. Checking your phone would be a death sentence. Sirens can be heard in the background, but they are not headed for you.

Maybe Shelly won’t fire you if you’re honest with her about what conspired tonight—if you bare you allow her a glimpse into your soul—but you will suffer the consequences of your own stupidity gravely in the days to come, that much you do know.

You exhale an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have time for this,” you mutter.

“Got somewhere to be?” the masked man asks you.

“As a matter of fact, I do. But that’s none of your business.”

You wonder if he’s frowning under that thin cloth that is hiding his real identity. He still seems so familiar to you. How can he fight if he’s keeping his eyes covered? It’s not the first question you have asked yourself about him, but it surely is the most prominent one because no explanation for it makes sense to you; at least not one you can think of. You want to ask, but you also don’t want to keep encouraging him. You shouldn’t care.

You look back down at the man he knocked out. He’s still unconscious, and he’s bleeding profusely. The angry woman in you wants to let him rot here and let the masked man have his fun, but the doctor in you can’t just leave him there.

“What about him?” you hear yourself asking, but your mind is far away.

He tilts his head toward where you’re pointing, not actively looking. How could he? His eyes are covered. His eyes… You can’t make sense of this, and it is affecting your judgment. It’s making you frustrated.

“He can’t touch you anymore,” his dark voice suddenly sounds so soft.

A sliver of humanity shines through his facade. Your angry demeanor cracks. “You beat him up pretty good. He could have lasting brain damage,” you remark.

He pauses, tilting his head further toward the man on the ground. “No,” he says, pouting a little. “He’s still breathing.”

“He could still have brain damage.”

“He has a few broken bones, cuts, bruises, but he’s alive.”

“Those things are totally unrelated. You’re not a doctor, you wouldn’t understand. I’ve already treated more bad guys in the past month than I could possibly count on my fingers, and all of them seemed to fear the same man. Now, not many things can scare a gangbanger to death. Not many people can deliver blows so deliberately without actually fatally wounding anyone. I know it was you,” you say. “Everyone knows it was you, and they’re afraid of you. I’m not, but I am a doctor, and I took an oath to do no harm. I vowed to help those in need, including those I believe may not be worthy of my help. This has nothing to do with judgment. I know you don’t kill; I see it with my own eyes every damn night, but the Russian you beat up a couple days ago?”

That catches his attention. His head whips back around to you, his upper lip twitching slightly as if he is tasting the air. His attention is entirely on you. The question, “What?” gets lost as nothing but a breathless whisper in the cold night air.

“He was in a coma,” you continue, “and then he died. It’s probably unrelated to what you did, but there was only a small chance he would have ever woken up again anyway. Just because someone is still breathing doesn’t mean their brain is alive. What makes us human, who we are, that is all anchored in our brains. We can’t survive without it. You may not have killed him, but that guy barely had any brain activity left, and that is not something you can consider life.”

You didn’t expect him to sneer. You must have hit a nerve with your words, but it must have hurt him deeply.

“My point is, I am not letting you do the same to this guy. I’m calling an ambulance and the police, and I will let them figure this out.”

“He’ll walk,” he says, and his voice is dark again. It sends shivers down your spine.

You look at him, your confidence not wavering this time. “Then so be it, but I am not letting him die,” you say.

“How is having a rapist walk the streets of this city not doing harm?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“He will do this again, and maybe next time there will be no one to step in and he will hurt another woman.”

“So what, you want to kill him instead of surrendering him to the authorities?”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I’m trying to make this city a better place!”

His voice bounces off the walls building a cage around the alley. “And I’m just trying to save a human life, even if it’s a shitty one!” you shoot back. “It’s not our choice who gets to play God, okay? Death would be too kind for a man like him, and leaving him here won’t solve anything either. Like it or not, but I’m not breaking my oath.”

You made a promise when you became a doctor, and you are not going to risk letting someone die on your watch. That could get you into a lot of trouble.

You approach your attacker’s limp body. When you kneel next to him, a gush of wind blows through your hair. You assess his skull, his abdomen, and his limbs. So far, all you can see are superficial wounds, and the same fractures you have seen pass through the emergency room more than once in the past couple of weeks. He did a number on him, but his pulse feels normal and he is breathing.

You lift your head, but when you do, you find the spot before you empty. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has disappeared into the darkness, leaving you to fend for yourself. You should have seen this coming.

The ambulance takes a while to arrive after you’ve dialed 911. You try your best to keep the man stabilized, but he remains unresponsive. When help finally arrives, the emergency responders are followed by police, and you don’t hesitate to give your statement. You leave the masked vigilante that saved your life out of it—you may not have seen eye to eye just now, but you don’t want to rat him out either. You owe him as much.

Just as you’re picking your purse off the dirty ground to follow the EMTs to the hospital in the ambulance, giving you the perfect excuse to give to Shelly on why you are even later than you already were, a glimpse of silver in the shadows catches your attention.

“You did the right thing,” the Devil speaks only loud enough for you to hear, hiding in the darkness protecting the fire escape of the nearest building.

You swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you finally tell him.

He chuckles. “For telling you that or saving your life?”

“Both,” and you even offer him a small smile with your gratitude. That is all you’re capable of giving him, for now.

“Take care,” he says.

The glimpse of silver disappears, causing the metal of the fire escape to shake under his weight, and he is long gone before you even whisper, “You too.”

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#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #reader insert #doctor!reader #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox #do no harm

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st4rgzer · 6 months

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↳ WELCOME TO NEW YORK (1980 TV) MATT STURNIOLO

genre: fluff, with a touch of angst

cw!: cursing, fem pronouns

summary: in which the reader is, half ready, to move to new york after booking her first major gig

a/n: this is the first track and i hope ill release one every weekend, maybe more, thank you for reading!

after 7 years, no, all my life working my ass off, going to every audition I can get my hands on, reading too many scripts a day, I finally got an audition.

And the best thing, it wasn’t because of the triplets! me being friends with them, and dating one, had made it incredibly difficult to make my own image, be my own person, even though I love them, I want people to know me for me, not know me as “matt’s girlfriend” or, “that girl that hangs out with the triplets”.

The only problem about getting a major gig, it’s in New York, and it’s going to be a pretty long time rolling, so I’d have to move there, at least for a year. That means leaving thee triplets at home. Leaving Matt home, and its not like NY is next to LA or Boston, 5 hours on plane. And it´s already difficult when they have leave for LA.

“babe, c’mon, just, come, spend the night here and in the morning we can drive you to the airport” Matt wined, pulling me towards him on the sofa, he had been trying to convince me not to leave early all day, and that they were closer to the airport so they could be the ones to take me there.

“well…maybe…” I sighed, the airport anxiety making me doubt wether or not to stay tonight, well, they are closer to the airport than me…fine, I sleep better with him anyways.

“yes! see i always win” he says lifting his arms up in victory, earning a laugh from me, he may be very persistent but it was sweet to see how he celebrated when he finally won.

He tugged me towards him and I laid my head on his chest, closing my eyes in a moment of peace before I had to worry about the move.

I nearly fell asleep when his hands started caressing my hair and detangling all the knots, slowly putting me in a trance, then I came to the realization that my bags were still in my house, and sighed, taking his hand away from my hair gently and sitting up.

“I just remembered my suitcase is still in my house, we have to go get it before anything” I kneaded my forehead and breathed deep, then I felt Matt’s hand on my back.

“relax ok, I can take us there in a minute, don’t worry about anything, the important things are already being shipped to your flat and the flight leaves at 10 am, enough time to sleep in a bit or have breakfast.” he said stroking my shoulder reassuringly, I grabbed his hand and placed it on mine, sighing as I backed myself against his chest once again, grateful I had an organized boyfriend opposed to the mess I was with this kind of stuff.

We pulled up to my driveway, I fiddled with the keys before finally opening the door. I went up to my room to get my big suitcase, them I realized a staircase and a big suitcase wasn’t a good match for me, I yelled Matt’s name but I saw him already going up the stairs, probably cause he knows me too well.

“thank you” I said with a sly smile. Grabbing the other end of the suitcase to at least help a bit, though he took all the weight.

We got into the car, the sun was setting and the weather was perfect for reminiscing and being nostalgic.

I laid my head against the damp car window , I started to think if this gig was going to be my big break. Even though I’ve wanted to be an actress since I was a young child, I never liked change, I despised it even.

This was going to be a big change, I had the last month to think about it and get used to the idea, but still, the thought of me and Matt breaking up because of long distance…

I felt a hand be placed on my knee, snapping me out of my thoughts, my mouth curved up into a slight smile, I placed his hand in mine, he rubbed small circles on my knuckles, and pulled it closer to him, placing a soft kiss to them.

“I’m so happy for you, do you know that?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me with genuine joy. I tilted me head slightly and pursed my lips together.

“Do you think we’ll- survive the long distance…?” I looked down, guilt lingering in my voice, It was my fault I was moving to NY, I took the job, if the relationship went down the drain…I wouldn’t help to think it was my doing.

“What? That’s stupid, of course we will, Its not like you’re moving to a whole other country, phones exist, planes do as well” He insisted, tilting my head up to meet my line of view.

“trust me, okay? I’m a professional at the whole moving stuff…” He saw I was still unsure.

“baby I wouldn’t care if you moved to a whole other continent, I’d still book the flight every weekend to come see you” He said, gently moving a strand of hair out of my face, he wanted me to look at him, and I did. I half-smiled at him, feeling a bit more sure about the move thanks to his pep talk.

I realized I didn’t recognize where we were heading to, turning confused to Matt as he kept his eyes on the rode.

“Matt, where are we going? As far as I know, your house isn’t in a forest” I shook my head when he didn’t respond, scoffing as I laid back into the carseat.

As we parked in a rocky spot, he got out and went ‘round the car to open my door, what a gentlemen.

“What? are you gonna murder me out here or…?” I laughed as I got out of the vehicle, closing the door behind me. I was shut up as he placed a hand on my cheek, pulling me closer, and planting a sweet kiss onto my lips.

“oh?” I grinned, resting my hands over his shoulders, he grabbed one gently and led me in front of the car.

“ok, so, you know how I decorated my room all foresty?” He finally spoke, turning so he could make eye contact with me, I nodded.

“well, that’s cause the woods, mountains, they help calm me down, ease my anxiety and worries about things. After our first argument I came here, to clear my head. I come here a lot, and…I thought maybe it would help you a little? at least give you some peace of mind for while…”

He said, sweet words spewing from his mouth, I could’ve melted then and there. God, he was thoughtful. I smiled at him so widely, pecking his lips gently, I then peppered his cheeks and forehead with some more, he was right, this WAS giving me peace of mind. There was a slight fog surrounding the trees, and a soft breeze.

“thank you, Matt, this means a lot, like, really” I sighed as he opened his arms and held me, I closed my eyes at the smell of his cologne and the soft fabric of his plaid flannel.

“anything for you, lovely. I just wanted to give you a good afternoon to end with before the exhausting week that awaits you” He said kissing the top of my head and resting his chin there.

Hours passed. We were crossed legged, sat on the ground, watching the sky get darker and darker, contemplating as the stars slowly appeared.

My head was rested on his shoulder, his arm intertwined with mine, and his head laid back on the front of the car. It was simple and sweet, but better than anything I could’ve asked for.

It was silent, the comfort of our company being enough substitute for meaningless conversation. He sighed, contempt, we both knew the night was coming to an end, as I still wanted to get in at least 9 hours of sleep.

“do you think we should go now? its getting a bit late” he said stroking the palm of my hand.

“mhm, it is” I hummed, I gave him one more kiss before getting up and grabbing the makeshift blanket beneath us.

We drove to the car humming songs on the radio, his hands always resting either on my knee, my thigh, or my hand.

As the car pulled into the garage, Nick and Chris’s voices were heard, I think they were screaming something along the lines of “fucking finally”

We both looked at each other and sighed, holding in a laugh as he turned the doorknob, we were greeted with an angry blonde haired boy and a hyperactive Chris.

“where the fuck were you guys?! we wanted to do a going away movie party for tonight!” Nick yelled, he breathed and tried to calm himself, me and Matt were delighted watching the scene unfold.

“I took y/n somewhere.” he smirked slyly at him. Nick scoffed, he wasn’t too mad, after all, they were going to see me just next week.

After some more banter and such, Matt and I headed up to his room. He had his hand intertwined with mine and wasn’t dropping it anytime soon.

“m’lady” he said with a country accent, that always earned a chuckle out of me, opening the door for me, following behind. I sighed, letting myself fall onto the soft sheets of his bed.

He laid down next to me, as routine, I placed my head on his chest, he wrapped his arm languidly around my waist, pulling me close.

“im tired” I yawned and felt the vibrations from his chest as he laughed.

“of course you are, we’ve had a busy day, huh? He said kissing my hair softly, rubbing small shapes on the exposed skin of my waist.

I nodded, closing my eyes, sighing, I grew more tired every heartbeat of his I felt from his chest, the lullaby of his heart clearing my mind.

He felt I drifted off, he kissed the top of my head once again and whispered goodnight.

“I love you.”

“i love you too” I mumbled.

I recounted the previous moments in our day, everything from the starbucks he bought me when picking me up, to watching the sun set in his favorite place, with his favorite person.

Im scared of new beginnings, but New York can’t be so bad, right?

…

‘welcome to New York’ The big sign I was met with read, people were hustling and seemed like they had somewhere to go, I could here sirens blaring and people yelling “taxi!” I smiled. Everyone here wants something more. I guess I maybe could get used to this.

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @iha8you @lovelysturniolo @gabbylovesreading @hedgehogperalta @iloveneilperry @stvrni0lo @sturniolol @stvrniolo @sturniololoverr @oneirophobic (nicole idk if you wanna be added or not, tell me if you want me to take you off😭) @gaytoadwithapopsicle (same for you)

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#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfiction #fic prompt #1989 tv #1989 era #welcome to new york

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goldenempyrean · 1 year

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sick!nat x reader where they broke up a week ago and r hasn’t heard of nat since. however that changes when a feverish Natasha calls reader asking to be taken care of. reader still loves her so she goes to Nat’s house to find that Natasha is miserable and totally out of it. when Nat recovers will she remember that SHE was the one who asked for help? (little angst)

The Memories Of Love

〚 Notes - Wow. I stayed up WAY too late writing this. Know it stays "little angst" but I might've gotten a little too deep into it. Theres more swearing and stuff then my usual fics so just be weary of that! I am desperate for feedback on this fic though so give me your honest thoughts :D 〛

〚 Summary - You'd broken up. You were content to never to speak to her again and maybe you would have, but one call changes everything 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1840 〛

〚 Part Two! 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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The last thing you expected to wake up too was a call. Especially considering it was almost 2am and especially considering who it was coming from. You rolled over, grabbed your phone leading you to give an irritated groan as you muted the call, setting your phone back down.

You groaned to yourself, annoyed that you had been pulled from your peaceful slumber, you tried to settle back down, not wanting to be disturbed any further but not even a minute later, the recognisable chime of your ringtone rung out again as your phone began to vibrate rapidly.

“For fucks sake.” You muttered grumpily as you sat up and picked up your phone, rolling your eyes at the name displayed over the screen.

“What do you want Natasha?” You grumbled, not hiding the annoyance in your tone.

On the other end of the phone, you heard Natasha mumble something incoherent. You frowned. Her voice was wrong, it had a distinct hoarseness and a noticeable rasp. Not to mention the small sniffles. Was that- Was she crying?

“Considering you’ve just woken me up, I don’t want to deal with your bullshit right now so you can either tell me what you want or fuck off.” You growled down the phone, not wanting to deal with her any longer.

The phone was silent for what felt like hours, your finger was hovering over the red button to end the call when a small voice whispered something, “I need you.”

“What are you on about?” You sighed, rubbing your temples as you tried to make sense of what she had just said, “If you’re drunk or something, I swear to God, Im genuinely going to just block you. I can't deal with your shit right now.”

The phone went silent again, you almost felt bad for snapping at her. It's just, this was the first time in an over a week that you’d spoken to each other after it happened. You weren't even completely sure how it happened anyway. You guess it had started the night she failed to show up for your date – the date that you were going on to make up for her missing the previous one... and the one before that. You’d tried to remain casual when you told her how it made you feel but no. That one comment turned into a long, tiring argument. One which ended with you walking out, throwing your keys to the floor claiming you couldn’t do this anymore. A year gone. A year of time, love and dedication you’d put into that relationship and suddenly, in the span of afew moments it was gone. Wasted.

The sound of deep coughing snapped you back to reality as you cringed at the sound, “Please Y/N,” The way she croaked your name pulled at your heartstrings, she sounded like she was almost begging, “please come over, I really need you.”

“What’s wrong?” You asked, softening your tone as you realised that something really might be wrong, “Are you okay?”

There it was. That feeling of worry you hadn’t felt in awhile, the worry you felt whenever something bad happened, the worry which you felt when you truly cared for someone. The worry you felt when you truly... You stopped yourself, not wanting to think about it any further.

“Please, just come over.” That was the last thing you heard before there was a small ‘thud’ on the other end of the line.

“Natasha, just tell me what’s wrong.” You repeated but got no answer, “Natasha? Oh for-.” You cut yourself off from your curse and gave an exaggerated sigh as you shook your head, only this time there was no real anger behind it.

You told yourself you didn’t care, and that Natasha can deal with it herself. Shes a big girl and she can handle it. You didn’t care. That’s what you told yourself.

Yet you still found yourself driving over to her apartment not even ten minutes later. The roads were barely illuminated by the dim streetlights, and you found yourself often gazing up and out at the overhead stars. God, what were you doing?

You asked yourself that same question as you approached the door to her apartment. Your hand hesitated wearily in the air, curling up into a fist. You paused. Did you really want to do this? You could turn around now, go home, get back into bed. She’d never know. Yeah, that’s what you should do and yet seconds later the sound of knocking echoed through the hallways.

Silence. You were met with a strange silence. No sounds of movement inside, no one came to the door, no sounds of anything actually. You knocked again, a little louder this time and tapped your foot impatiently, still there was nothing.

“Are you kidding me?” You muttered to yourself, pissed that you’d wasted your time on her again.

As you give the door your third and final third knock, your thumb goes down to reach for the handle out of instinct. You were so used to opening this door for her. It seems the habit was lingering. Much to your surprise, the door clicked off its hinges, swinging slightly ajar.

“Oh shit.” You hissed to yourself, wondering if you’d knocked on the door too hard. You wanted to leave. Just to forget about everything and go home but something inside told you to go in. Afterall, you couldn’t just leave the door open and leave, right? You had to go in. Atleast that’s what you told yourself as you took a step inside.

As you entered, it hit you immediately. Something was wrong. The air felt wrong, and the atmosphere was tense. There was no way you’d ever guess what you’d see next though. As you slowly padded into the living room you saw her.

Natasha was curled up on her sofa with a thin blanket half-draped over her as she shivered in her sleep. The lines around her eyes and lips were deeper then you remembered, her skin is paler too - unnaturally so. She looks so worn out, exhausted even. Inspecting closer, it was then you noticed the sheen to her skin, small beads of sweat lining her forehead and the pink-tinged clutches of afever clung to her cheeks. Oh.

“Poor thing.” You found the words leaving your mouth before you could stop yourself. Forgetting your previous annoyance, you turned back towards the entrance to her apartment, making sure to close the door properly, locking it behind you before resting your hands on your hips as you began to survey the room.

Kneeling down beside the sofa, you lightly shook her shoulder, attempting to stir her from her sleep as small jabs of worry began to slowly seep into your thoughts. It's been so long since you've seen her like this, she almost looks as vulnerable, a look you’d only seen once before. It's enough to trigger your innate need to protect, no matter how much you hurt inside.

“Sweet-“ You stopped yourself, feeling yourself blush with embarrassment as the petname slipped from your tongue, “Natasha?”

Your fingers lightly brush her forehead, feeling its hot and clammy surface. Her nose twitches slightly in her sleep. With a bit of hesitation, you try again. "Natasha..."

Nothing.

You shake her shoulder again. "Hey... wake up". It comes out quieter than you intend it, and the worry in your voice is impossible to hide.

Her breathing is steady but shallow, and she looks so exhausted and ill. No response came from the sleeping woman, and it became obvious that she really was out cold.

Looking around again, you realised the place was abit of a mess and your eyes caught sight of the almost-empty bottle of NyQuil which had fallen onto the floor next to the sofa she lay on, besides which was her phone, your contact details still displayed on the screen.

“Jeez Nat, how much of this stuff did you take?” You sighed to yourself as you picked up both the bottle of medicine and her phone, setting them both ontop of her coffee table before slowly beginning to tidy the area, picking up the small mound of tissues which littered her floor and putting them in the trash.

You have no clue how long she's been sick, and the state of the apartment makes you think it's been a while. It was going to be a long night. Over the next half an hour, you made a start on properly cleaning up her apartment. You didn’t know why you were doing it. You could’ve just left but again, something made you stay. There was something inside of you that longed to hold her, to comfort her.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore. So instead you tiptoed around, not wanting to make a sound, as you tidied up the living room, before heading towards the kitchen. The trash was full and the counter-tops littered with multiple takeout containers to which you found yourself shaking your head. It took another 30 minutes of shuffling around before you were done.

Satisfied with your work, you made yourself a cup of coffee and allowed yourself a moment of calm as you sat down to drink it. Even then you tried reminding yourself that you didn’t care yet you still found yourself feeling responsible, longing to look after her. In that moment your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest as one thought finally clicked in your head, a deep blush clouded your cheeks as the slow realisation hit you finally.

You still loved her.

Goddammit Natasha.

Finishing up your drink you found yourself fighting with your thoughts as you tried to push your newfound realisation to the back of your mind. A place where it couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be heard. You washed the cup and put it back neatly into her cupboard. You should’ve just left then, but there was still one thing left to do, a task which you knew was coming but still dreaded all the same.

Coming back over to Natasha’s side, you gave a final attempt at waking her, to which you had no luck. So, with a heavy exhale, you slipped your arms beneath her, hoisting the woman up into your arms before steadily carrying her over towards her room. You were mindful of her head, making sure to support her carefully. The sight of asleep of her in your arms almost overwhelmed you, the scent of her hair reminded you so much of why you fell in love with her in the first place.

You move with such delicacy - handling her as though she's going to break. Atleast it wasn’t far to her room. You leant down and carefully laid her down onto the mattress, tucking in the sheet as you pulled it over her. She looked beautiful, she was a sick mess and yet she remained beautiful. Resisting the urge to kiss her, your hands went to her forehead again, wiping away beads of sweat with the back of your hand while an unexpected wave of emotion floods your stomach. You swallow and wipe your eyes.

“God, Im going soft.” You whispered to yourself as you turned to leave, you didn’t plan to come back. Maybe you’d see if you could move up north. Start again with a blank slate. Maybe...

You shook your head again and turned back to take a final look at her. Natasha. Your Natasha. You couldn’t help but regret everything that had happened. The fight. Leaving. Everything. Whatevever, it was pointless now. You reached for the door handle, slowly pulling it shut.

And it was almost fully closed too but something stopped you. A small, frail voice came from inside, a voice which had the power to stop you in your tracks, a sole word which held enough weight to change your future entirely, “Y/N?”

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