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m00nsbaby · 9 months

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Clumsy II.

Marc Spector + Steven Grant x F! Reader. Next part to "Clumsy." (Or Already Over IV)

Tags & warnings. You already know the deal lol + Marc is still a jerk. (Sorry btw) This is the last part of the mini saga. :)

Word count. 2.9k

Summary.

I let you down, I've been clumsy with your heart again, I guess you figured me out, Now here's a taste of my own medicine. Caught at the end of the lifeline, The catch of a lifetime. Oh, we were destined for danger, Familiar strangers.

Everything you had done for the past 2 years had been for Steven, reaching the point of having him as motivation to get out of bed.

Unfortunately, this day was no different. If you had managed to muster the courage to stand up and accept Jake's unusual invitation, it was purely for him.

The part about choosing a nice dress was a personal choice, though.

"So, then…?"

"4 o'clock sounds perfect." His voice was soft on the other end of the line. Not quite like Steven's, but Jake's voice had something… special.

Something that could make your cheeks blush just by hearing it.

"4 o'clock at your apartment then."

"Steven is excited." The mention churned your stomach.

Truth be told, you had been on autopilot for quite a while, even before Jake made his proposal. There were small details that brought you back to reality, even if it was just for a few seconds—seconds in which you physically felt the consequences.

"I'll see you in a bit, Jake." You hung up. You couldn't set his expectations too high. This wasn't going to be a romantic reunion or your way of saying, 'Everything's okay, it was just a misunderstanding.' Instead, it was your way of bringing closure to things with Marc. If it weren't for Jake, he would still cling to the idea that he doesn't need you in his life.

Knowing that at least more than one person was on your side had given you the strength to face it, and to question whether maybe you weren't the one who was wrong in this situation.

"It won't be long, buddy." You told your cat as he nudged his nose towards you. He meowed back. "Take care of the house, okay?"

Marc had been inconsolable for about two weeks now, and the news of Jake's arrival weighed heavier on him than any of the three would have liked.

It was just another way of reminding himself how messed up he was. If getting used to Steven had been an ordeal, this would probably be World War II.

He would scream at himself in the mirror or break anything that could show his reflection, depending on his mood. Meanwhile, Steven felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He stopped being the one who took care of Marc, at least for a few days, and he had time to experience his grief as it should be.

Jake was compassionate towards both of them. He somehow understood what they were going through.

"I don't want her here!" He drank from his whiskey, savoring the burn in his throat.

It was 11 in the morning. His hand moved on its own, throwing the bottle to the ground, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Idiot," he growled.

Steven said nothing, only chuckled to himself at the mere idea that Marc probably looked insane.

He'd let him argue with Jake as much as he wanted.

"It's for your own good." It was the only thing he heard back in his head, and Marc had to put both hands over his face as a way to console himself. He was drunk, with a terrible headache, and a strong urge to give up on life, although lately, that was nothing out of the ordinary. "Give me the body."

He accepted it without protest, and even the strongest of the three groaned at the sudden dizziness and the awful state in which Marc always left the body whenever he had it in his possession.

He showered, cleaned up. Did everything the other two hadn't been doing during these sick days, even answered your call.

And when he was done, his leg trembled up and down as he stared at the clock on his wall, which showed the exact 23 minutes left until your arrival.

And despite being the most prepared of the three, he nearly jumped in fright when you knocked on his door. Exactly three times to let him know it was you, something he learned from your secret techniques with Steven.

When he opened the door, both of you exchanged smiles, which was unusual. Yours was nervous, shouting 'I'm glad to see you but I fear what might happen,' and his, on the other hand, seemed quite excited.

Even more so when you hugged each other as a way of greeting, even if the contact only lasted a few seconds.

"I'm glad you came," he whispered as he closed the door behind you.

"I told you I would."

"Yes, I… yes." He cleared his throat; he could feel the burn as if he was still drinking whiskey. "Come in, let's go to the bedroom."

You filled your lungs with oxygen, enjoying the scent of Steven before nodding slowly.

"Is Marc going to…?"

"Yes." He interrupted instantly, biting his lower lip as if he was hiding something. He directed you to his bedroom, although you already knew the paths within his house perfectly well. "I need you to listen to me and trust me."

You frowned.

"Huh?" You entered his room slowly. And he closed the door behind you.

Your expression became even more confused when you saw him lock the door.

"Sorry, there's no way he won't escape if I don't do this."

"Jake?"

"Sorry," he repeated, stepping back.

Forcing the switch between them was always uncomfortable, especially when he had to put in double the effort to get Marc out, as he clung to hiding. Unfortunately for him, Jake was stronger.

You noticed the change in his expression almost immediately. You would recognize that furrowed brow anywhere, and while it looked slightly puzzled, he didn't take long to place himself.

When his gaze settled on you, Marc could swear his heart stopped.

He had spent so much time dreaming of you that he completely forgot certain details about you that were undoubtedly better in person.

"Marc?" You whispered shyly, almost fearfully. You hadn't seen him since he cruelly broke up with you.

Your heart raced, even after all the damage he had done to you.

"I have to… Uh." The air got stuck in his lungs. After several seconds of staring at you, he averted his gaze, stumbling clumsily over his feet to the door.

He tried to open it but it didn't give way. Jake had done his job well. He gave it another tug and grew even more nervous.

"Marc!" You called for his attention, your brow furrowing. Barely 3 seconds together and you were already losing patience.

This wasn't going well.

"What?!"

"Stop it!" Finally, he looked at you, and in a matter of seconds, it seemed like his eyes had welled up with fear. Did he fear you? You, who had to tilt your chin up to look him in the face because he was noticeably taller than you. "Stop it." You repeated, this time in a low tone.

"I don't want to talk to you, I won't."

Ouch.

"Either that or you'll have to break down the door, and Steven won't…"

"Steven doesn't even talk to me!" The sudden way he raised his voice made you jump slightly, and you pressed your lips together at the news.

Would it be wrong to admit that this was something you were expecting? You remained silent for a few seconds, and you swore you could hear his ragged breathing, as if he had the right to be angry with you.

"Jake won't let you out unless we do this now." You cleared your throat as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He cursed internally at how adorable you looked in that gesture.

"You and I have nothing left to talk about."

His words sent a wave of heat through your whole body.

"What did you say, Marc?"

"That you and I do…"

"You're an idiot," you whispered with a sarcastic laugh, and he finally fell silent. It had been so long since his ego had been hurt that he almost felt good about the slight pain in his chest. "You hurt me. Like no one ever did before."

He fell silent, waiting for you to continue, but he didn't let his guard down. You could see it in his irritated expression.

“You blamed me for… You blamed me for loving Steven. You let me live with the burden of thinking that I had destroyed your life.”

"You did." He whispered. It was visible how tense his body was, and you laughed sarcastically again at his words.

"Don't give me that, Marc Spector." You spat his name out with resentment. It was the first time you allowed yourself to be angry with him after forcing empathy for him for so long. "You got what you wanted. Layla? Your life made out of lies? Pushing Steven away from you?"

His expression finally wavered, even if it was only for a few seconds.

"Layla left me."

The news hit you like a bucket of cold water.

That made everything make more sense. The sudden appearance of Jake, his insistence on you talking to them, coming back. They were using you as a second option now that they had nothing left, trying to get you back as if nothing happened.

After all, you had always been the foolish one at Marc's service, willing to give up everything for him whenever he asked.

This wouldn't be one of those times.

You gathered all the strength you had in your small body to push him with both hands. He barely stepped back, stumbling in surprise at your sudden attempt to attack.

"I hate you!" Your voice broke.

His heart raced as if he had run a marathon, yet he didn't say anything.

"I hate you, Marc!" You sobbed, giving him another push. This time he didn't even move.

He stood still, and his hands trembled.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You were still the only one speaking. You sounded devastated, even more so than the day when you almost begged him for a chance. "Why?"

And, as usual, you got no answer. In fact, you got nothing; Marc wasn't even looking at you.

The truth was, despite having to deal with Steven and Layla telling him these kinds of things, coming from you was… worse. It was like a doubly more horrible shock therapy. The pain in your voice was something he had never heard before, and the truth was, he never wanted to hear it again.

You were choking him without even laying your hands on him. The words wouldn't come out, and his feet were rooted to the ground; he couldn't even look at you.

"You're killing me, Marc." You whispered as if the strength had left you. After receiving nothing from him, you knew it wasn't worth fighting, not with him. "You don't want to be with me." Admitting it aloud left a bitter taste in your mouth. "But you won't let me go. Don't you realize what you're doing?"

It was you, as usual, who crouched down. You sought his gaze, regardless of the mess you were in.

He looked back at you, and you waited.

You waited, and you waited.

When time passed, you knew what his answer was. Marc would never take a risk, or at least he wouldn't do it for you. He was too stubborn, and you doubted that he would ever lower his eternal guard.

The day Steven begged on his knees not to leave hurt, but somehow it was worse to receive silence from Marc. Knowing how little you mattered to him based on his actions.

"I understand," you whispered, wiping your tears with the back of your thumb. "Jake? Can you let me out?"

You reached out to grab the door handle, and he grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

It sounded like a threat.

He, once again, didn't respond; he tugged on your wrist and almost made you let out a shriek as you collided with his chest.

Marc was so quick that you didn't even have a chance to react when his free hand positioned itself on your chin, pressing it between his fingers and holding it firmly.

Yet, you didn't protest; you let him guide you until his lips met yours. There was your answer.

When they finally kissed, tears welled up in your eyes again. In fact, you suddenly felt like you were drowning against his mouth, as if you wanted to groan but refused to break the contact between you two.

"I hate you," you said with difficulty against his mouth, trying to convince yourself of what you had said. He just made a small 'hmm' sound against your lips.

Apparently, neither of you trusted your words.

He let go of your wrist when he made sure you no longer wanted to touch the doorknob, but he continued to hold your chin. Eventually, he also took you by the waist and brought you even closer if that was possible.

His kisses were rough, so forceful that for a moment you doubted this body was the same as that of your ex-partner. Steven had never been like this. You also wondered if this was just a result of pain and desperation, or if his kisses were always like this.

With just two steps, your body was squeezed between his and the wall.

"I love you."

Your stomach turned.

"I love you." His kisses didn't allow you to respond. You wouldn't know this, but his fear wouldn't allow him to hear what you might say about it. "I love you." His fingers tightened their grip on your chin. "I love you." He sounded desperate. In pain.

You responded to each of his kisses, and you noticed that he needed a few more seconds to find calm.

"She left me because she knows I love you." He said quickly when he finally gave you a chance to breathe. His forehead rested against yours, and those big brown eyes were fixed on you. "S-She knows… She realized that…" He stammered. There was nothing more horrible for Marc Spector than expressing his feelings, giving explanations. "S-She…”

You were worth it.

You were worth throwing his pride to the wind.

"You took my heart when you left. You took everything." He admitted in a whisper and didn't receive an answer by his own choice.

He kissed you again as if his life was slipping through his fingers.

You didn't talk for the rest of the afternoon. You received all the kisses he had to give, and he allowed himself to feel your delicate hands on him. Massaging his shoulders at times or stroking his curls as you used to do for Steven.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized that you were doing it for him this time. You were taking care of him.

"Did you miss me?" His voice was so sweet that even with your face flushed from crying, you managed to smile.

Everything was so easy with Steven.

"I already told you I did." You laughed like a little girl who was recovering from a scolding or perhaps a tantrum. You even felt lightheaded, just like in many childhood instances when you had cried until your throat begged for a break.

"How much?" His fingers traced your waist, and you sighed at the familiarity of the sensation.

"With all my heart."

His eyes lit up at your words. Poor Steven had been through so much that he could swear this was a mirage or an illusion from his brain. There was no way you were really there in front of him.

As beautiful as ever.

"I bet I missed you more." You laughed again, specifically because you knew he meant it. You missed that smile so much that you decided to agree with him. You placed a hand on his cheek and nodded.

"I bet you did, love."

Steven could have burst with happiness right then and there.

"I have to go home, Steven." You spoke again, your thumb gently pressed against his cheek, right where his smile ended.

The news hit him hard. So much that you almost wanted to laugh.

He was terrified that you wouldn't come back, that you would consider this just a momentary mistake and nothing more.

"B-But I…"

"Sekhmet is alone." You corrected him with a slight smile, trying to give him the confidence he seemed to urgently need.

He nodded silently, looking like a sad puppy.

"Do you want to come with me?" Ah, there it was. His eyes were on you again as if he couldn't believe your offer.

No wonder you had never doubted Steven's love. The guy looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever seen, even after everything that had happened, not to mention the 300 times he had apologized to you for something he hadn't done.

"Can I, love?"

"You can spend the night there."

Silence. Seconds of silence before he nodded so quickly that his curls fell onto his face, making you laugh.

A genuine laughter that lit up your entire face, much like the one he had caused on your last date when he lifted you up in his arms and Sekhmet entered their lives.

Steven felt his heart skip a beat and his cheeks turn rosy.

"Let's go!" He gave you a little nudge, and you laughed again. "Jake can drive."

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edmundspevensea · 11 months

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𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

in which y/n is done with pregnancy, but jack comes to the rescue.

warnings; pregnancy, excessive vomiting, hospitals, make out session

Seven months ago, you were over the moon about having a baby. Jack and you had been trying for a bit before getting pregnant, and both of you had been ecstatic when you flipped the test over at 7:00 in the morning. You took three more just to be sure, and when those all came back positive, you and Jack both screamed so loudly that Luke had run into the bathroom with a baseball bat, ready to strike in case an intruder was present.

But that was seven months ago. Now eight months along, everything was killing you. Your feet hurt, your back hurt, and you had more heartburn than you had ever had over the span of your entire life, but that wasn’t the worst of it. In your first trimester, you had been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, also known as excessive morning sickness. While most usually get over morning sickness before the beginning of their second trimester, you were well into your third trimester and were still vomiting almost nonstop. You were extremely ready for the pregnancy to be over.

It was definitely scary. Earlier in the pregnancy, you had vomited so much that you had become extremely dehydrated. So dehydrated that you had passed out on the floor of the bathroom while Jack and Luke were at morning practice. When the two boys came home that day, they were greeted by an eerily quiet house. While Jack checked your guys’ bedroom for any trace of you, Luke found you face down on the cold tile of the bathroom. The next thing you knew, you woke up in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm, Jack’s hand holding yours, his worried eyes scanning over your frame. He never wanted to leave you alone after that accident, but you eventually managed to convince him that you’d be okay so that he wouldn’t take too much time away from his job.

In this moment, however, as you were lying on the couch with a bucket in your hand and the Devils game on the TV, you wish you hadn’t been able to do that. The boys had a home game against the Stars, and were down early on. They managed to tie the game up with goals from Nico and Graves, but that didn’t do you any favors. Currently, the boys were in the second overtime of the game and you were absolutely miserable. It was 11:00 PM and all you wanted was Jack. Your prayers were answered not a minute later when Marino scored, ending the game with a final score of 4-3.

Not even ten minutes later, you received a text from your boyfriend: see you soon baby. i love you.

You smiled slightly as you gripped the bucket closer and turned off the TV. All you wanted was the pregnancy to end and to be able to meet your sweet baby. But you knew he or she wasn’t coming for another month or so, and that made you want to cry. As much as you tried to hold it in, you simply couldn’t. Tears fell out of your eyes as all you could manage to focus on was the discomfort you were feeling. You were so done.

You were so worked up that you didn’t even hear the door open. When you finally noticed the figure dumping his shoes off at the front door, you sat up as quickly as you could and attempted to wipe your tears. The figure, whom you realized was Luke, gave you a look of sympathy before coming over to you and giving you a brotherly kiss on the top of your head, “Jacky’s just putting some of his gear away. I’ll go get him for you,” he whispered, cleaning up the empty water bottles you had finished shortly beforehand.

“Thank you, Lukey,” you sniffled. He nodded softly and went out to the garage to grab his older brother. You waited as patiently as you could for your boyfriend, who came inside with his younger brother on his trail. Luke went upstairs to his room as Jack slowly made his way towards you, his eyes gentle and his arms outstretched for you.

“Oh baby,” he cooed, gently pulling you into his strong arms as he sat down on the couch. You placed your head onto his shoulder as the tears began streaming down your face again, “tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m so done,” you cried, tearfully looking into your boyfriend’s eyes, “I can’t do it anymore, Jacky. The morning sickness is killing me, and I can’t deal with the heartburn any longer! And my feet hurt and my back hurts… and I can’t take it anymore! I just want our baby to be here!”

Jack looked at you sadly and placed a sweet, gentle kiss on the top of your head. He grabbed your chin softly and forced you to look him in the eyes, “I know baby, and I’m so sorry you have to feel this way. I want to meet our baby more than anything, but you’re doing an amazing job, sweetheart. I need you to know that, alright? Our baby is not going to have a more amazing mother than you. We just need to wait a little while longer.”

“But what if I’m not a good mother, Jack? What if I’m a terrible mother? I want to give our baby the best life possible but I’m terrified that I’m going to end up like my mother, and I—” you were cut off by an extremely passionate kiss on the lips. As cliche as it sounds, it seemed as if all your worries fluttered away at that moment. After a few seconds Jack pulled away, but you pulled him right back in. After worrying yourself sick for the past few hours, this was the one thing that was reassuring you.

After a pretty heavy, long-lasting make out session, Jack pulled away. Smirking, he whispered, “Feel better, sweetheart?”

You laughed quietly, “Much better.”

“Good,” Jack smiled, “Now, I’ve been thinking about names, and I think I have the perfect one if we have a little boy.”

This peaked your attention. You and Jack didn’t know what you were having yet, as you both agreed that you wanted to find out the sex of your baby at the birth, “Oh yeah? I want to hear it.”

He smiled again, this time even wider than last, “Ellis James. I figured that Ellis is close enough to Ellen and James is my dad’s first name, and I think it flows pretty well together. What do you think?”

You smiled, wrapping yourself around his left arm. Although you hadn’t come up with many names yet, you both agreed that you wanted your baby to be named after close friends and family, and Jack captured it perfectly, “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Speaking of, I have a name I love if we have a girl,” you whispered, peering into his beautiful eyes.

Jack raised his eyebrows at you, his face full of curiosity, “What is it?”

“Lucia Quinn,” you spoke up, looking at Jack for his reaction. When you saw his grin grow, you knew you could continue, “Obviously she’ll have Quinn’s name as her middle name, and Lucia is a female version of Luke, so we’ve got both of your brothers covered.”

“I love it.”

“Yeah?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah.”

Boy, you couldn’t wait to have this baby. But, as opposed to the reasons you were thinking about earlier in the day, these new reasons were pretty good ones. That’s all you wanted. And as you focused on the look in Jack’s eyes, you knew that’s all he wanted too.

#jack hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #nhl hockey #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nj devils

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asoftepiloguemylove · 1 year

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i would kill to be the cold tracing your body and shaking your bones

Steven Espada Dawson Elegy for the Four Chambers of My Brother's Heart / Anne Carson Decreation; Lines / George Seferis (tr. Edmund Keeley) from Stratis Thalassinos Among the Agapanth, Collected Poems / Elaine Kahn Romance or the End / @/the-empath-and-the-intuitive (on tumblr) / Virginia Woolf from a letter to Violet Dickinson written January 1909 / @/sweatermuppet (on tumblr) / Ocean Vuong On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous / unknown

i. Steven Espada Dawson Elegy for the Four Chambers of My Brother's Heart

[ "We're under the same moon and I'm sick / with that knowing." ]

ii. Anne Carson Decreation; Lines

[ Screenshot of a tumblr post by @/xshayarsha with an excerpt from a poem. "How long will it feel like burning, said the child trying to be kind." ]

iii. George Seferis (tr. Edmund Keeley) Startis Thalassinos Among the Agapanth

[ "The first thing God made is love / then comes blood / and the thirst for blood" ]

iv. Elaine Kahn Romance or the End

[ "I have heard it said that love turns people soft but i have never been more brutal." ]

v. @/the-empath-and-the-intuitive (on tumblr)

[ Grainy, washed out image of two statues with smashed in faces. They are turned to face each other. "After love, no one is what they were before." ]

vi. Virginia Woolf from a letter to Violet Dickinson written January 1909

[ Excerpt from a letter written by Virginia Woolf to Violet Dickinson. "I appreciate your concern. None of this is your fault. It's me. It's me and my head. / In winter, I collapse." ]

vii. @/sweatermuppet (on tumblr)

[ Grainy, black and white image of a wolf and male deer pressing their noses together. Words are sporadically placed around the image and are surrounded by a white border. "'cause / ive / always / been / scared / of / loving / someone / just / a / little / bit / more / than / im / loved" ]

viii. Ocean Vuong On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

[ Screenshot of a tumblr post by @/memoryslandscape with an excerpt from a poem. "I miss you more than I remember you." ]

ix. unknown

[ Screenshot of a forum post by a user named "robin" posted on August 11, 2022. "it gets better, i think. maybe just for a day. maybe just for a song. but there's something there to hold on to." ]

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zer05trange · 2 months

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Roaring Sea

IV. Good Things

⋆｡°✩ (childe x fem!reader)✩°｡⋆

⋆｡°✩ wc: 3.5k

⋆｡°✩warnings: angst, graphic violence, slight gore (blood), mentions of sickness and getting sick

⋆｡°✩: series masterlist

“Ivan, you can go ahead and clock out for today,” You say, with your arms deep within the oven, “I do need you all day tomorrow, though. You’ll probably need to close, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes ma’am,” You hear him from behind you. He should be satisfied with that, he was rightfully busy with school over the past few months, so he hasn’t got many hours in recently.

The boy proceeds to leave the store after getting half of the tips, and when he opens the door, a gust of cold wind blows in. You immediately start shivering. Even with the many years you’ve lived in Snezhnaya, her cold touch always froze you half to death.

As the sun started to set, it began to be more dangerous to be outside for any longer than necessary. Your mind begins to wonder about Tartaglia, and how he’s fairing in the biting weather. It had been around 13 hours since he left you earlier that morning, so he must have felt the frostiness of the winter at some point in the day.

You need to stop thinking about him, though difficult, because the mere thought of him makes you anxious. And at this point, you can’t tell whether the anxiousness is from worriment or excitement. So instead, you try to focus your brain on closing your bakery for the day and serving your last customers.

By the time that the least customer left your bakery, and all of your. closing tasks were finished, it was close to 11:00pm. You sigh as you turn off the lights and head upstairs, locking the door behind you.

You quickly change into some comfortable house-clothes before walking over to the kitchen to heat up the leftover soup that Tartaglia brought the night before. You heat the bowl on the stove and steeping a pot of tea, flipping through pages of a novel while you wait. Eventually, you take your filled bowl and mug over to your sofa, where you begin to eat your meal.

You stare at the wall opposite you, looking at the vast amounts of pictures and paintings that mounted it. If anyone saw you, they'd be able to tell that something was bothering you. That may have been because of Tartaglia’s absence, or the whole Tartaglia situation itself. You can't tell.

You continue to eat and stare, trying to keep your peace amongst your sea of thoughts. And you do achieve some sort of peace for a few minutes.

That is, until you hear loud noises coming from outside the window of your back room.

It makes you jump, at first. There’s yelling, and clashing of metal, and even screams. You quickly, yet quietly, make your way to the source of the sound. The back window faces the other side of Snezhnaya.

There isn’t a nice city street to gaze upon, but rather the isolating and barren landscape of the Snezhanayan mountains. You get close to the window, and even with minimal lighting outside, you can see that there are two groups of people having some sort of… battle.

One group is being cornered against a large, snow-covered rock, while the other, which is much larger in size, approaches them. You realize that the more powerful group is unmistakably a Fatui squad.

There are a few agents, cicin mages, as well as a legionnaire and a vanguard. They’re massive, as well, but they’re forming a protective u-shape around someone. It must be their leader, you think, as the group seemingly follows each meticulous move from the center. You squint your eyes to get a better look at the group causing so much noise, but the darkness outside hinders your ability to get a clear look.

The vanguard lunges for the main leader of the smaller group, which you think is a band of treasure hoarders, and grabs at him. He turns the hoarder around by the back of the neck, where he’s now facing the Fatui group, about four inches off the ground as well. The Fatui leader gets closer to him, barking something unintelligible at the man before bringing his hand up to the neck of the hoarder.

The Fatuu swipes their hand across the man’s neck causing it to slit open. As the leader does so, you could swear that you saw a flash of purple-like lightning. The man’s throat opens and blood gets everywhere. Everywhere. You put your hand over your mouth to cover a gasp as the vanguard drops the man to the ground, whose body is convulsing on its way to death.

This is the first time you’ve seen someone die. Sure, you’ve beat some people up for commissions, even a treasure hoarder or two, but killed someone? Never, and you can’t see yourself doing so. It makes you feel nauseated to see how the man’s life was ripped away so fast.

But you can't look away. You keep watching as the Fatui are signaled by their leader to ambush the rest of the hoarder group. You witness how they butcher each and every one of the smaller, weaker group. You see the hoarders being bashed by the vanguard’s hammer, slashed to pieces by the agent’s blades, and how cicins and frost are released by the mage and legionnaire. You want to look away, but your eyes remain glued to the scene.

Their leader gets in on the action and is somehow more violent and bloodthirsty than the rest, despite being less muscular than the others. You can tell from here that the leader is a man, as well.

He begins to slash and stab using some sort of water-like sword, and you know that means he’s not just some Fatui soldier. He has a vision and a delusion, he must be a harbinger.

The blood of the hoarders soaks into the snow, a deep pool of crimson surrounding the entire scene. The Fatui group starts celebrating in victory as the last hoarder goes silent, and they turn around to head the opposite way. Since they now face your general direction, you attempt to hide yourself while still watching the group. They get closer and closer to the streetlights of the strip you live on, and you stay to see what exactly was going on. Their leader gets into a visible light first, and your eyes blow wide.

The leader has a disgusting grimace on his face, with eyes blown wide and a face of pure malice donning on him. His irises are so small you can barely see them, but rather, a sea of white paints over his eyes. He has a grin akin to the cheshire cat, each corner pulled to a supernatural looking upturn. It’s a face of nightmares, one so scary that it distracts you from the fact that the face belongs to

Tartaglia.

You freeze in place.

No, absolutely no way. It cannot actually be him. There’s no way that the sweet, fun-loving Tartaglia you knew is the same man you were looking at at the moment. It couldn't be possible that the left cheek which is covered in a helpless man’s blood, was the same one that you softly brushed flour off of. The face that you woke up to this morning, the face you kissed this morning, was the same face that donned such a horrifying expression. The eyes that looked at your face with so much adoration, were unrecognizable as they were clouded over in a bloodthirsty haze.

You can’t believe it.

Out the fear of being caught, or pure weakness, you fall to the floor and out of the window's view. You can feel your dinner coming up from your stomach, but you physically cannot move. You’re shaking, you feel so numb that you can’t feel the multiple tears streaming out from your waterline and down your face.

He didn’t just lie to you about his job, but he actively kept it from you. A harbinger one of the most dangerous and well-known individuals in all of Tevyat, has now been frequenting your bakery almost every day.

There’s no way people don’t know, right? More socially knowledgeable Snezhnayans visit your shop every day and must see you happily chatting to a Fatui Harbinger.

It begins to make sense to you, even in a state of shock. His body being covered in scars, the fact that he never took you outside of the bakery, or how he always left in the early hours of the morning.

How many people has he killed? How many dark deeds has he done, and then come into your home to hold and kiss you as if nothing happened?

And his face was so, so horrifying. Distorted to the point where it was almost unrecognizable to the person he’s spent almost every night with. His lightless eyes blown so wide, and even being in the darkness for so long, his pupils were almost invisible.

His smile, not that you could call it that, was so wide and full of pure bloodlust. And there was blood all over his face, the parts that you kissed, held, and brushed over with your thumb almost daily. It was in his mouth, as if he had internal injuries, and matted itself in his hair. The hair you love to brush through, grab at, and ruffle.

Your sobs are silent. At some point, you get yourself to your bathroom, where you sit beside the toilet in case you get sick after what you’ve seen. Through your choked sobs and curled up body, you feel exhaustion setting in. And eventually, with your back against the bathtub, you fall asleep against the cold tile.

the next day

Today was a good day for Ajax. He got through with training his Fatui underlings before lunchtime, and quickly finished off his day with mandatory, though grueling, paperwork. He was working efficiently, but it was very quick-paced, even for him. He knows exactly why he was so quick in his actions today, too. He can’t deny it any longer, he’s fallen for a woman who runs a bakery.

He never thought he’d see the day. He thought his heart was too cold. He wouldn’t even say he had a heart, not after falling down and witnessing the horrors of the abyss. He cared for his family so deeply that the abyss couldn’t even take it away from him, but one other person in his heart? He couldn’t imagine a world where he could let another person into it.

But now he’s living that reality.

He's never felt the feeling of it outside of his immediate family, but he has to be sure about it. The feeling that warmed his frozen heart, is love. It has to be.

And it scares the 11th.

It scares him how much he worries for you once he leaves your presence. It scares him how for the longest time, you acted as if you denied any idea of a future with him. It scares him when he thinks of you moving on from him, and finding someone else. But that recurring thought is more than fright, it brings on anger and anxiety.

As he walks down the city, he thinks of the idea, and immediately brushes it off before his electro delusion sets off. Again.

He needs to tell you about his job, and soon.

It’s not like he intentionally meant to keep it from you from the start, it was Teucer who introduced you to Ajax through his stories, and Ajax had to keep that up around his brother. You just got caught in a protective lie.

And his name, you need to know it. He’ll give it a few more dates, Ajax thinks. He needs you in his future, without the lies and without the cover-ups.

It’s only 5:00PM, and he’s sure that he can get you to close the bakery early to go on your planned date with him. He’s wearing a more put-together and warm outfit than his usual uniform and even found himself double-checking his look in the mirror to look good for you. In his eyes, you’re so gorgeous, too beautiful for his tainted eyes to look upon. So, to try and get even get close to your level of beauty, he took some extra time in getting ready.

He tightens his scarf around the bottom of his face. Man, the weather today is intense. Ajax begins to wonder whether going outside with you is the smartest idea. But it has to be, if it's what you want.

He’s always known that he wants to add to his family, regardless of whether he could ever love again or not. But now, he has someone he loves, and someone that he could see fitting in perfectly to his future. So he has to try, Ajax has to win the battle over your affections.

And if that means he has to be out in the cold, or anywhere else other than the comfort of your little apartment, he would stand out in the weather for thousands of hours. If it meant he could be with you.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he missed the bakery by a few steps. He quickly retraces them to the front door of the shop, and looks into the bakery from its large glass panes. You aren’t in there, or in sight at least, instead there’s a boy behind the counter.

Oh hell no.

He confidently enters the bakery and makes a bee-line to the front counter.

“Welcome, is there anything I can help you with today?” He hears the man speak.

“Where’s Y/N?” Ajax asks with a friendly tone. But the glint in his eyes is nothing but friendly, instead, he’s staring down the man with dangerous eyes.

“Ms. Y/N is sick at the moment. If you need me to take a word for you, I’ll gladly tell her when she’s bett–”

“No,” Ajax barks at the boy before making his way behind the counter and to the door leading up to your home. He sees who he hopes is just your employee getting ready to defend your privacy, but Ajax just side-eyes him and scoffs before opening the unlocked door, and locking it from behind him.

He makes his way up the steps, as he begins to worry over your health. Sick? In the months he’s known you, you’ve never felt under the weather. Specifically, on the one day he was going to take you out and ask you to be something official with him. That can’t be intentional–right? Not after yesterday morning.

He reaches the front door to your home, and hesitates to turn the knob. What if you’re too sick to see him, or you don’t want to see him? He finds how disgustingly dependent he is when it comes to you.

He turns the knob, finding that it is locked. So he tries to knock, three separate times. On the third, he hears your voice. Oh thank the archons, you’re decent enough to speak. Though your voice is hoarse.

“Ivan? Is that you?” You respond from the other side of the door. Who the fuck is Ivan?

He hears you unlock the door, and open it. He notices you before you notice it’s him, and you do look like you’ve been sick. Your hair is unkempt, and your eyes have darker circles around them, and they’re puffy. You’ve been crying.

He’ll slaughter the person that made you this upset.

But before he can say anything, you lock eyes with him, and sharply inhale through your teeth.

A gasp? Why are you

“How did you get up here?” You hiss at him. Your face is full of fear, as well. Ajax thinks of the thousands of reasons you could possibly be so alert, each possibility making him more anxious.

“Your door was unlocked! We were going out today... right?” He says with a nervous chuckle, trying to qualm whatever mood you were in.

“You can’t be in here,” You respond shakily, taking a step backward from him each second.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Ajax says, “Can we talk?”

He closes the door behind him, against your wishes. His face is now as worried as yours is, yet you’re trembling in his presence. Your face is no longer looking at his, now it faces the floor.

“You want to talk now?” Your face still looking at the floor, “Yet you didn’t want to tell me that you’re in the Fatui? That you are a harbinger?”

Oh.

“Y/N, I–”

“You what? Were you ever going to tell me?" You bark quietly.

He stays silent, so you continue.

"When were you going to tell me that when you weren’t with me, you were mercilessly slaughtering helpless people?” Your words are filled with venom, like you were condemning him with your statements.

“Y/N, who told you about this?” He responds, his voice getting shaky itself.

“Why? So you can go kill them too?” Your voice begins to raise before you take a deep breath, “I saw you! and you looked so- so…”

“Y/N–”

“Stop it! Stop saying my name,” You yell at him, “If you wanted to keep this from me, you should maybe be quieter when you go and kill someone right outside of my home.”

“I never meant to keep it from you,” He says, in a voice much quieter than your own.

“Last time I checked, a toy maker was a little different from being a harbinger, Childe.”

The use of his Fatui alias shocked him. Have you just been mulling and researching over this all day? It’s unlike you, almost too unlike you. He never said that name, did he? Where did you get this information?

“A Toy-maker is what I use to keep what I do from my young brother,” He snaps, then realizing the tone he just took with you. He takes a deep breath and a pause before continuing, “I am so sorry. I really am, and I was going to tell you. But I can’t tell just anyone what I do.”

He knows the second it left his mouth, he knew he fucked up.

“Just anyone,” You repeat with a small, pained smile, “you need to leave, now.”

“No– Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that,” He responds, taking a step closer to you. You back away in fear, while simultaneously summoning a sword out of pure elemental energy. You bring your sword in front of you, as a means to protect you.

He stands back, out of respect and shock. You drew your weapon on him... something he never thought you'd do outside of a playful spar. His eyes widen at your gesture, as he puts his hands at his side.

“I am scared,” You almost whisper. He can feel his stomach drop when you mutter it, too. The one person, in all of Tevyat that shouldn’t be scared of him, just declared it right in his presence, "What am I supposed to do, Tartaglia? I mean, I don't even know your name!"

“You have no reason to be scared, you are one of the most protected citizens in this nation. Even when I’m not there, you’re still protected,” He tries to comfort you. But that didn’t work, because your eyes were blown wide at his confession.

“What do you mean by that? Do you have people stalking me?” You yell at him, “Tartaglia I am scared of you. I was scared by what I witnessed. And I am scared of the face I saw on you last night," You spit out nervously. His heart cracks slightly, an unnerving and unfamiliar feeling.

"You enjoy it, don’t you? You enjoy stripping the lives away of others, I could tell. Honestly, Tartaglia, I would be okay with the whole Fatui thing, I would. But your face, and your smile, after killing someone? I don’t think I can–” You cut yourself off, “Please, just leave. I don’t want people watching me, so stop that too. You don’t need to come back either.”

He can’t find the words to explain himself any longer. He wants to scream that he loves you, and he never meant to keep anything from you.

But in a rare defeat, he begins to take steps backward toward the door. The entire time he gets closer to the door, he’s looking at you. He can see how a few tears escaped your eyes, and how the sword you’re holding is shaking along with your body at this point.

“Alright Y/N,” He mutters quietly, before turning the knob and softly closing the door behind him.

He could feel it physically, the heart he thought was no longer there, was breaking. He should’ve seen it coming, he had a few fleeting months of happiness, but all good things must come to an end for him.

⋆｡°✩a/n: this fic is actually anti—situationship propaganda >:). Thank you for reading, next chapter will be out soon!

⋆｡°✩tag list: @inlovewithlondonn @zamorazz @ay4tou @kur0melon @boomie-123 @esthelily @i-simp-for-giyuu @itsflowerdomethings @whatamidoing89 @luvrkise

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angelliicc · 7 months

Text

dumb shit id get akumatized for

1. not understanding homework (the hw would be a totally different thing from what we were taught)

2. getting below a C on a test (especially if it was one i studied for)

3. my bank account balance (i literally have $0.67 cents in my account as we speak)

4. starbucks being out of peach juice (i get starbucks in the mornings of the day i have exams, i would be super pissed)

5. target being out of the latest twice comeback (this happened during formula of love era, it was like a man hunt searching for them)

6. my phone dying right before im about to charge it

7. me getting sick and missing work (ive been sick for two days and i have a D in religion, the easiest class ever)

8. friends canceling on plans

9. sharetea opening at 11 am when i want boba at 9 am

10. geometry

#miraculous #ladybug #chat noir #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous lb #adrien #ladynoir #marinette #miraculous season 5

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sixhours · 2 months

Text

Chapter 3 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence

Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

May 2024 Jackson, Wyoming

“Help!”

You’ve been in Jackson for three weeks. It’s late, not quite 3 a.m., and you’re dozing in your office when you hear a voice from the lobby. A man bursts through the swinging doors into the back of the clinic holding a young girl in his arms, frantically looking around.

The night nurse, Shiela, is coming down the hall to see to the commotion, but you wave her away.

“I’ve got it. Right here,” you tell the man, gesturing to the nearest exam room.

“She passed out,” he says, desperation threaded through a gravelly Texas baritone as he lays the girl down in a hospital bed. “She’s been sick.”

“You the father?” you ask, checking the pulse point at the girl’s wrist where her heartbeat flutters. Her skin is feverish, eyes ringed with dark circles, lips cracked. You’d put her at 12 or 13, but she’s small, thin.

“I’m, uh–yeah,” the man says. “She started, uh, throwin’ up–”

“Any allergies?”

He shakes his head. “I dunno–”

“When did this start?”

“Three, four days ago, maybe. It was just a cough and a fever, she stayed home from school–”

“Has she been able to keep liquids down?”

“Not since last night.”

“She’s probably dehydrated,” you start to pull up the girl’s sleeve. “I’m going to place an IV so we can get some fluids–”

You stop short. The bite scar on the girl’s forearm is ugly and swollen, a telltale cordyceps rash snaking its way to the crook of her elbow.

Oh, no.

Your head snaps up to meet the man’s eyes, and it takes him a moment to register what you’ve seen. You’re reaching for the cordyceps monitor in the cabinet, the little device that will confirm the presence of infection, when he levels a handgun at your face.

“Don’t.”

You let out a soft huff, hands slowly moving up.

“She’s infected,” you say. “And you can’t have a gun in here. How did you–”

“She’s not.”

“The bite–”

“It’s a burn scar,” he growls, reaching over to tug at the sleeve of the girl’s shirt, covering the evidence. “She’s not infected. Use the other arm.”

“Joel?” the girl stirs, and the gun falters, his gaze immediately on his daughter. You reach for the detector again.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls, his attention snapping back to you.

“Joel,” the girl’s voice is more insistent now as she tries to sit up. “Joel, you asshole–”

His eyes dart between you and the girl. “Use. The other. Arm,” he bites out.

You swallow hard, weighing your options. You think you could overpower him; he looks strong, but there’s a coldness in his eyes that tells you he’s not fully there . And you don’t want to be stuck in this tiny exam room when the girl inevitably turns…

“Fine,” you snap. “Fine. I’ll use the other arm.”

He nods once, not lowering the gun.

You back away, keeping your eyes trained on him as you make a show of pulling supplies from the cabinets, taking your time, trying to figure out how to proceed in a way that won’t get you shot or bitten. You pull up the girl’s other sleeve with shaking fingers and the man–Joel–seems to relax a fraction.

“What’s your name, kid?” you ask.

She looks at Joel as though asking for permission, then down at her arm as you insert the IV, watching with fascination as the needle penetrates the skin.

“S’Ellie,” she says, coughing roughly.

“Hi, Ellie,” you say, forcing a smile through gritted teeth. “I’m going to get this saline drip set up, I’m going to take your temperature, then I’m going to take a sample of your blood. And hopefully, your dad here won’t shoot me.”

The girl shakes her head. “S’like this with everyone.”

Joel’s jaw twitches and he shoots a glare at the girl, exasperation and worry in the deep-set lines of his forehead.

“How old are you, Ellie?”

“Fifteen.”

“Any recent injuries? Blood loss? Open up,” you say, inserting the end of a mercury thermometer. “Hold that under your tongue.”

The girl shakes her head, mumbling around the glass stick in her mouth. “M’ just tired.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “You can lay back, close your eyes. I’m almost done.”

Joel’s eyes are trained on you, watching your every move as you continue examining the girl, checking her lymph nodes, her breathing, asking her to swallow, pricking her finger to get a blood sample. You avoid her right arm, on high alert for any sudden movements, the twitching that signals the onset of infection, but Ellie remains still and listless. Joel is still holding the gun, but at least it’s no longer pointed at your head.

“You said this started last night?”

He gives a single tense nod.

“She’s in school, right?”

“Yeah…so?”

“Well, provided you’re telling the truth, and that scar isn’t what it looks like,” you say, biting out the words through gritted teeth, “I think she has the flu.”

Joel blinks. “The flu?”

“It’s early in the season, but it's going around. And the kids are especially good at spreading it.”

Joel’s shoulders sag; he finally lowers the gun to his side.

“This isn’t something to mess with,” you continue, moving to the sink, snapping off your gloves in irritation. “It’s not like before when we had vaccines. People die from the flu. Especially the most vulnerable, and she’s underweight, possibly anemic. I’d like to keep her overnight–”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No, she stays with me.”

“You can stay, too,” you say slowly, watching the panic in his face. He’s gone somewhere else in his mind, shadows moving behind his eyes. “But I want to get her hydrated and make sure this doesn’t progress to a secondary infection like pneumonia.”

He looks to Ellie, then to you, then back to Ellie. You watch his Adam’s apple bob under the scruff of his beard.

“Alright,” he says finally. “Fine. She can stay.”

You nod, turning to leave. “I’m going to run this to the lab, then I’ll have a nurse come in with–”

His hand is on your arm, gripping it, wheeling you around. “You’re not going to tell anyone…about the scar,” he says through gritted teeth. “Got that?”

You exhale sharply, narrowly resisting the urge to haul off and punch him. “Let go of me.”

“Say it,” he says.

“I’m not…going to tell…anyone,” you repeat, enunciating as though to a small child. Then, as a petulant afterthought: “But put the gun away, for god’s sake. You’ll scare my staff.”

He considers you, his grip loosening, receding. He tucks the gun into the back of his jeans.

“Alright. Go.”

~*~

“I’ve got a live one in exam room two. Think it’s the flu again. I just need last names–Joel and Ellie?”

“That’s the Millers,” Shiela says.

“Right, right. She’s staying the night, I want to keep an eye on her.” You swallow, turning away, hoping she doesn’t see the tremor in your hands. “Look, Shel, why don’t you go home? It’s not busy, I can take the rest of the night shift.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I have the walkie if I run into trouble. Go home,” you say, smiling in a way you hope is convincing enough. It must be, because she shrugs and packs up her bag.

When Shiela is gone, you lock the clinic’s front and rear entrances so no one else can get in. Then you retreat to your office, intent on finding the girl’s medical records, but there’s no Ellie Miller in the filing cabinet. On a hunch, you sift through the rest of the folders by first name and find the only Ellie in town–an Ellie Williams.

After a considered pause, you pull Joel Miller’s file, too.

You take them to your desk and spread them in front of you, all the while listening for sounds from down the hall.

Ellie Williams. 14 female. DOB: ??/??/2009. Intake: 12/16/2023.

Joel Miller. 56 male. DOB: 9/26/1967. Intake: 12/16/2023.

They came in the same day, so you’ve got the right kid. The forms are signed by Maria Miller, who you know is on the Jackson council.

A sister, maybe?

But there’s no other data, no medical history. Nothing helpful.

You toss the folders on your desk and head to the supply closet to grab blankets, Tylenol, and a paper cup of water. You hesitate over the surgical supplies, then tuck a scalpel in your pocket. It’s no match for a gun, but if the girl turns while you’re tending to her, you might stand a chance at making it out alive if you have a weapon.

Joel is pacing when you return. He looks at you nervously as you place the blankets at the foot of the bed, and the Tylenol on the counter.

“I sent the night nurse home,” you say quietly. “No one will be in until six.”

This seems to relax him a bit, enough that he finally takes a seat, deflating into the chair next to Ellie’s bed. His hands are shaking.

Ellie wakes up enough to swallow the Tylenol with a sip of water, then rolls over and curls on her side with a soft groan and a raspy cough. Joel is so intent on watching his daughter that he barely acknowledges you when you slip out of the room.

You sit stiff and upright on the cot in your office, fingering the scalpel in your pocket and waiting for the inevitable sound of infection from across the hall.

It doesn’t come.

~*~

They’re sleeping when you peek in on them over the next few hours. Joel’s lanky body is twisted awkwardly in the chair, jacket over his shoulders, his head resting on the bed at her side. Her right hand curls loosely in his hair.

By morning, the girl’s fever has broken, her breathing deep and even. Joel remains asleep at her side, snoring lightly.

You pause in the doorway, wondering if you should try to check the girl’s arm for signs of progression, but decide against it; Joel’s eyes flutter open as you reach to take her pulse. Your hand stops in mid-air, hovering over her wrist, half expecting him to reach for his gun, but he only blinks and raises his head, swiping a broad palm across his scruffy face.

“Just checking in,” you murmur. Ellie’s heartbeat is strong under your fingers, her lungs sound clearer. “She looks better.”

He takes this in, nods.

“I think you can go home when she wakes up,” you say, keeping your voice low. “We’ll give her another dose of Tylenol to keep the fever down, and you both need to isolate for at least a week…that means you, her, and anyone else in your household.”

“S’just us,” he says flatly.

“Okay. The staff will let the cafeteria know you’ll need meals delivered for a bit. If you start to feel sick–”

“I’m fine.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Fine. But if you do feel sick and you have to go out, wear one of these,” you say, pulling two white face masks from your pocket.

“K,” he says, eyes drifting back to Ellie’s sleeping form. When he speaks, his voice is frayed. “So she’s gonna be alright? No pneumonia?”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “Her lungs sound clear, but if the cough gets worse, bring her back in right away. And feed her. She’s borderline anemic. She needs to eat.”

He scowls, muttering at the floor. “She eats plenty.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “It’s not uncommon for kids her age to struggle with disordered–”

“She’s fine,” he cuts you off. “I’ll make sure she eats. Anything else?”

His eyes bore into yours like a challenge, a threat.

“If she gets sick, and I mean… sick ,” you say in a low voice, emphasizing the word until it’s clear you’re not talking about the flu. “I will make sure every single council member knows who brought it in. Understand?”

He considers you for a moment, then nods slowly. “I heard you.”

“Good,” you say, clipped. “One of the nurses can check you out when you’re ready. Maybe don’t hold them at gunpoint.”

#the last of us hbo #the last of us #fanfic #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #joel miller x you

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