Someone PLEASE!! I am begging for a Billy Russo request. Someone please bless me with a request for his crazy ass. Please I need to write for him again!
Kyle McManus x F!Reader | Mentions of Tex & Platonic!F!Reader // Word Count: 6.7k
Summary: Four months of being off work and at home has you feeling all sorts of twisted up, after catching a couple clips of an HRT mission along the border, you can't help but read between the lines of what that really means, who that really means. Without being able to sleep, the nerves keeping you up, you wait for a phone call or for the front door to open. When it finally does, you're confronted with the realities that face both you and the half broken man coming through the front door.
Warnings/Tags: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Reader is pregnant. Spoilers for S2E1 of Lioness. Angst. Grief. Canon character death. Canon-level violence. Hurt/Comfort. Injuries. Tension. Being sidelined off work.
A/N: I've had this in my WIP folder for awhile now and decided to dive back in after watching what's out of the new season of Lioness! I love Kyle's character soooo much, and I deeeef took some liberties here with the traits we see on screen. But I think he'd be different if he had a signigicant other, okay!! I actually have a whole background story for these two that I hope to one day fully flesh out. It's a meet-cute situationnnnn so hopefully one day! I slightly mention it in this fic :)
The door creaked open and the sound of light footsteps entering the house finally let your heart rate slow. If it was the middle of the day, you likely wouldn’t have been able to hear anything but there was a certain lull of white noise that filled the air after 11PM in your quiet neighborhood. You could hear the attempt to shut the front door softly, the faint thump of a bag and shoes being discarded. Your eyes didn’t need to be wiped from sleep, they had been wide open and glued to the TV mounted over the fireplace in your living room, that being the only other mumble of sound filling your home. The light was faint on your face, everything else being turned off in the house to give the illusion that everyone inside had gone to bed and with the living room being tucked around the corner, it still gave that false perception even as someone walked through the front door.
You didn’t bother to announce your presence and neither did the person coming in, your attention was glued to the TV, the nightly news reviewing top stories and breaking reports keeping your focus. There was no reason to be monitoring it so carefully, you could recite and re-enact what was being shown since it had been the same four 12 second clips of what the news was calling a ‘FBI HRT operation’ in Mexico.
It was embedded in your brain now. Every clip. Every movement. Your eyes were trained on one blurry face in particular, you had watched it so much you knew he was going to tap his hand twice against his leg before moving back under one of the tents. You could read through the bullshit the journalist was saying, not that you think they knew any better, and if anything you were probably one of the few handful of people that would see the lie being told, a majority wouldn’t. You knew that the agency was incorrect, the mission was incorrect, the stakes were incorrect, it was all incorrect, just nonsense these teams fed the media to keep the masses calm.
It wasn’t FBI, it wasn’t an HRT, or at least not the true meaning of it, these were grey men, not an official team. And while they framed this as an incredible effort and ultimate win, you saw through that too.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake, it's 2:30 in the morning,” a voice came from behind you on the couch, whispering.
“I can’t sleep when you’re on the news,” you didn’t bother to look at him, eyes still on the TV.
“That’s not me,” Kyle lifted his hand to point at the TV as he walked around the couch.
“No, that’s not you,” you shook your head and grabbed the remote to mute it now, you took a few seconds, your head leaning forward as if you were waiting for something and then as the screen flicked to the next clip you dropped your head in a nod. “But that is,” you exhaled hard and that’s when your eyes moved to look at him.
He had on a black t-shirt, and black pants, they looked clean, and that made sense, they probably let him clean up on the plane ride back to Texas, he probably even had a suit jacket on at some point too to debrief the op. His stance was exactly the same as it was on the TV, except instead of having his right arm resting on a rifle, it was resting against his abdomen, hiding what you knew was an injury. But even with that, it was still a spitting image, his weight leaned on his good side, his right side, the one he preferred when he was in pain, just like the person on the clip.
“Exfil got a little messy,” he let out a breathy chuckle as he moved to sit down next to you, his face scrunching up in slight pain as he did.
“I see that,” you looked at him, the worry finally showing on your face. “What’s the damage?” Your eyes looked him up and down, despite you knowing he was okay, it didn’t stop your brain from trying to find the wounds. It was all just a habit, Kaitlyn never would have sent him home if he was bleeding out, but you were just so used to looking for it.
“Bruised rib, shotty knee…” he looked down at himself as if he was taking inventory of his injuries, he looked over at you, his hand moved from holding his abdomen to along the cushions of the couch behind you, “headache.” At that last injury, he let out a breathy chuckle, like it was the most insignificant of them all.
“Your knee was shotty before the op,” you teased him, even though you kept your voice the same concerned tone.
He let out a laugh, taking his other hand immediately to his rib to hold it like that was the cure for an aching bruise. As he looked back at the TV, he shook his head in a bit of disbelief. “How’d you know it was me?”
Before answering you turned and gave him a look, one that spoke hundreds of words while actually speaking zero.
“Stupid question,” he admitted, lifting both his hands just slightly, not enough to move them from the positions they were in, but enough to realize his mistake in the question.
You would know Kyle just from the sounds of his steps, from a single touch, you would be able to tell if he was in the room with you based on the shift in air. It sounded romantic, and maybe it was, but it was more so your training than anything else. Even with the special ops gear and blurred faces, you could pick him out of a lineup, it might’ve taken a little longer, but you’d know.
“Who was on the op?” You asked him, looking at the clips again getting ready to check your assumptions against what he replied.
There was silence for a few seconds, but you didn’t bother looking at him, you knew he was struggling with this new version of normal between you, not sure how you fit into all of this now. He never had to deal with the whole keeping information thing before, but he knew that’s what everyone else did with family, their spouses, their kids, their parents, but you weren’t just family, you weren’t just a spouse, or someone keeping the bed warm at home.
“I’m gonna guess Joe, Dean, Grady and Randy,” you named the special ops crew members you had all worked with before and had a pretty good read on their body language. It was then that the clip that caused you the most anguish popped up, the one of the lifeless body being pulled from the river, face blurred, just a wide shoulder special operative being dragged by someone who looked very similar to the man sitting next to you on the couch now. “You lost Dean.”
“We lost Dean,” Kyle confirmed. That felt easier for Kyle, agreeing to information versus giving it up.
There was a silence that grew over both of you and you leaned your head against the couch cushion so his hand could cup the back of it. Your right hand reaching out for his shotty knee to lightly caress it.
“Service is tomorrow,” Kyle said, his thumb brushing your face.
“I’ll get your suit ready,” you hummed.
“Nah, just gonna wear the one from debriefing today,” he sighed. “Didn’t wear it for long anyways.”
“That bad?” You knew it was bad, but there were levels of these things, it could’ve been been better, or it could’ve been downright shitty.
He laughed before looking over at you, not a genuine one, but the kind that meant, I’m laughing instead of completely losing it over how fucking bad that went. “You’re gonna have to take the car service to the honors.”
That meant downright shitty. He wasn’t going to be able to be at the funeral for long, if at all.
“Tex will drive me,” you waited for the pushback that you knew would come from that.
“The car service is there for you—”
“Tex will drive me.” This time you stated it way more firmly as you cut him off. You hated
the car service, it made you feel locked in, like a fucking suit and you were not a fucking suit. Plus, you weren’t saying you’d drive yourself, you chose your closest friend, someone that Kyle also trusted.
“Alright,” he nodded. “I got my ass rung out twice today already, not trying to hit a third.” “Smart man,” you leaned into his hand which was still behind your head and kissed his
palm.
The silence overtook the room, the screen had the same channel on the screen, filtering through those same 6 clips, but the volume was still muted. Both of you kept your eyes trained on the TV, both thinking different things, but also a lot of the same.
“You know, I spent the last 6 hours sitting here watching this footage over and over again, analyzing every detail of each of you, searching for your tells to make sure the dead body wasn’t you.” It was a rough admission, probably hard for him to hear and definitely hard for you to say, but it needed to be addressed.
“They cover our faces so we’re protected,” he explained it to you like you didn’t know, like it was new for you, but it was so far from new to you, it was almost comical he even had to say those words and the following ones. “So you’re protected,” his eyes turned to you now, pleading with you like your protection meant more than anything to him.
“I know,” you wanted to argue with him or at least get sarcastic with him, but even though you wanted to, you couldn’t. Not when you looked back into his eyes and saw the plea. “But living a life where I’m not protecting you is hard for me.”
He nodded, his left hand moved from caressing your face to now scratching the back of your head, his mind searching for something else to say.
You had only been off the team for 4 months and every op Kyle left on brought a new emotion to add on to the last new one. You missed working, missed being in the chaos, missed working alongside your team, missed working alongside him, and you missed feeling more in control.
“Tracer,” he corrected you from earlier, naming the person you had mis-named in your self proclaimed roll call. “Not Randy.” It lightened the room up a little bit.
“Oh then that’s Cody, no question,” you pointed to the buff man on the screen now. “I should’ve guessed that, he’s the only one who’d drive you guys into a fucking riverbank.”
“Technically we hit the river, not the bank.” Kyle’s head tipped to the side, the teasing correction falling off his tongue.
“You nosedived into the fucking ground,” you tossed your eyes over to him.
That was 2 ‘fuckings’ within 2 minutes, that was all the warning Kyle needed to tread lightly here.
“Yea, it was the only out,” he exhaled and shrugged at the same time, letting more weight of the day escape him. “You know how it goes.”
“Not anymore I don’t,” you adjusted yourself because sitting in the same position for more than 5 minutes had your lower back feeling uncomfortable.
“Don’t say that,” Kyle knew your time off the team was temporary, just for now, never permanent. But it came with change, permanent change, and that was something both of you were heavily avoiding thinking about.
“You got me kicked off the fucking team,” you annoyingly blamed him as you shifted on the couch but Kyle just chuckled and moved to grab you against him. He winced in pain as you leaned back but it didn’t stop him from pulling you in closer.
“I think she did,” his hand moved to wrap around your stomach as he placed you against his chest, both of you leaning back against the arm of the couch, your head just below his.
“And who put her there?” You looked up at him as the flashing TV light changed to commercial.
“I didn’t hear any complaints when it was happening,” he lowered his head to whisper that in your ear, which was quickly followed up with a kiss on your temple.
“You should carry her and I’ll go nosedive into rivers along the border,” you huffed and adjusted slightly when you could hear him groan from your quick pressure against his rib.
“I think you’re just feeling cooped up,” he exhaled quickly, like he was trying to hide the pain from you.
“Well yeah, you’re having all the fun,” you pointed back to the TV where a journalist was now talking about the events that happened in Mexico earlier instead of the clips on repeat.
“Not that much fun,” he whispered in your ear. “Joe punched me afterwards.”
“That sounds like fun,” you murmured under your breath.
“Huh?” Kyle heard you perfectly but was teasingly giving you a second chance to give a different answer.
“I said I’m sure you deserved it,” you let out a chuckle as he lightly moved you around.
“I did, but she also needed to dust the cobwebs off.” He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say, the words left his mouth and he was already regretting it. He shut his eyes, his head falling back to touch the arm of the chair before he opened his mouth to explain better or more likely correct himself.
“No, don’t,” you leaned back into him, not in the mood for teasing or any more explanation. It was true, Joe got a family and got promoted. She was an officer, a leader, she was a part of the action occasionally, but more often than not, she was calling the shots, and while calling the shots did put her in raids or exfils, this was different, this was an active shootout, active chase, as close to a warzone as you’d get along the border, she probably did need to dust the cobwebs off, you were only 4 months of being dormant and felt like you needed to dust your own off.
You never wanted to call the shots. Sure it was more money, it was the natural progression of things, but it was never you. You were a boots on the ground, in the thick of the action kind of person. It’s why you and Kyle got along, and clearly really got along.
In theory, you two shouldn’t have been working together on the same team, conflict of interest shit, but that never mattered to Joe. She hated Kyle and always asked you what the fuck you saw in him, but it didn’t stop her from knowing you two were damn good at what you did, and even better together. The good thing about these classified covert ops missions was there was usually a pretty thin paper trail.
You were on Joe’s QRF, had been for years. They were your family. Kyle joined Joe’s ops occasionally, worked alongside the team but he was a whole different CIA operator. It’s why Joe had no problem looking the other way at your relationship, and truthfully on paper, there was no conflict. You weren’t married. You didn’t have any workplace relationship contract. You were just two people. Kyle knew you like he had known Randy from an operation in Baghdad years ago, except he knew you from working with you on a couple missions. No harm, no foul.
Until you got pregnant. Being pregnant would make things a bit more difficult, but Joe had assured you it was going to get figured out.
When you found out you were pregnant, you were in fucking Mallorca, playing cozy couple with Kyle as you trailed Cruz on her Lioness mission. It was the perfect cover, the best lies usually are 90% truth anyways, and that’s what this was.
Lightly jogging, you moved into place where you should’ve been comfortably waiting for the last 10 minutes, but something turned over in your stomach and you had to make a run for the bathroom. There was no time to grab mouthwash or anything from the duty-free store, if you weren’t at your mark, it’d raise flags that shouldn’t and more honestly couldn’t be flagged.
As you dropped to the seat, you saw Kyle, his eyes were moving around the crowd, he was looking for you.
Instinctually, he brought his gaze back to the target and you could see his eyes soften, the relief.
Moving toward you, he tossed an arm around you and brought you in for a kiss. Before you could deter him or give him a warning, his lips were moving to yours and you quickly dodged it by launching into a hug, wrapping your arms to hang around his neck and perching up on your toes. His lips landed on your neck, a light chuckle that you could feel vibrate against your body and he moved his hands around you.
“Missed you too,” he whispered. “Had me worried for 10 seconds there.”
“Sorry, I think I ate something that didn’t sit right with me, I had to throw up and figured doing it privately would be the option everyone preferred.” You whispered back into his ear.
When he pulled away, his eyes met yours searching for more, or maybe for signs of anything on your face. He wanted to ask more questions, but you were on a strict timeline. He dropped his bag on your suitcase and grabbed the handle, tossing an arm around you as he began to stroll through the airport.
With the arm that was around you, he brought you in closer, mumbling something in your ear that to the rest of the airport, looked flirtatious.
“Are you good to fly? I can pull you out.” As he pulled away he let out a chuckle and smile to keep playing the part.
You shook your head as an answer to his latter question and leaned into his side. “I’ve been looking forward to this trip for so long,” you hummed.
That was it. There was no more discussion about it.
You boarded the plane, talked about, well, you actually did genuinely talk. He was telling you about his sister, some prank she always would do when they were kids, you laughed, tucked your hand in his curls and occasionally would take a deep sigh to navigate whatever nausea rolled over on you.
The flight was rocky for you, but no one else noticed, no one but Kyle. He kept his hand on yours, he got you ginger ale, pretzels, a pillow.
Luckily all you had left was getting to the hotel, and once you were in the car, you could relax. You were counting the steps to the fucking vehicle, still focused on taking photos of the plates and people that Cruz was with. You sent them back to Kaitlyn and Joe, confirmed everything was on track and that you’d ping when you were at the hotel.
You didn’t ping. Kyle did. You were on the floor of the bathroom, sweat pooling down your forehead and neck, the dizziness taking over as you threw up again. How were you even throwing up so much, you hadn’t even eaten that much between last night and now. Fucking breakfast for dinner. The milk must’ve been bad.
There was a knock on the door.
“You alright?”
“Peachy,” you said sarcastically.
The door opened and he was stepping inside with a glass of water and saltines. “I ordered soup too but I don’t think we’re there yet,” he squatted down next to you.
“I locked the door,” your eyes rolled heavily to look at him.
“I’m CIA, I know how to open a locked door, baby.” He pushed the water glass out, leaving the wrapped saltines on the bathroom counter.
“Do Joe and Kaitlyn know?” It was protocol, he should’ve told him, if it was anyone else he would’ve, hell if it was anyone else, he probably would’ve pulled them out.
“If this doesn’t work, we’ll let them know, but let’s give this a chance.” In his hand he had a patch, it was a small circle patch. It was a prescription nausea patch.
“Tex used to say you were always too nice to me,” you leaned so he could place the patch behind your ear. “Said it was weird, that you must’ve liked me.”
“Yeah?” Kyle placed the dot just behind your piercings. “What’d you say?”
“That I didn’t know what the fuck he was taking about, that you were the rudest mother fucker I knew.”
He laughed, his thumb still over the patch pressing the adhesive to your skin.
“I tried not to be obvious.” He said.
“Well, Tex was on the phone with me when you showed up to my hotel room in the middle of the night.”
“I remember,” he smirked.
“Jealous,” you teased.
“At the time, maybe.” He pulled his gaze away from the patch and into your eyes.
Tex had been on the battlefield with you way before the CIA, before the clandestine missions and grey man ops, you two were in war together, and that bonded two people together in a very unique way. Everyone on the QRF was your family, you’d do anything for them, always. But Tex? Tex was more than family. He was a brother, he was someone you could lean on in a way you couldn’t with the others. It worked, everyone had their buddies, Bobby had Two Cups, Tucker had Randy, if things didn’t end rocky here, maybe Cruz would have Joe. But you? You had Tex. And Tex had you. It wasn’t ever romantic, but that didn’t stop Kyle from making assumptions that first mission you two shared, and it now became a tease between you two every now and then.
“I think it’s working,” you closed your eyes and finally didn’t feel like you were going to pass out.
“You think you could make it to the bed?”
With a nod, he lifted you up and before you could take two steps, he had you in his arms.
“Why bother asking if you’re gonna do the job for me?” You teased.
“Had to make sure you weren’t going to throw up on me,” he teased back.
“If this was anyone else, you’d have pulled me off,” you made the remark as he was placing you down in the bed.
“But it’s not anyone else,” he didn’t seem bothered by the comment, he was focused on getting you settled.
“Kyle,” you used his name to get his attention.
“Stop,” his eyes locked onto yours. “Is it different because it’s you? Yes. If we were on an active op, I’d call this in, hell, you’d call this in. We’re the back up plan’s backup, our main task was to make sure Cruz got in, well, she’s in. Job done.”
“I was going to say thank you,” you let your lips twitch in an attempt to hide a smile.
He let out a scoff and then shook his head before leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.
“Rest, I’ll wake you up.”
He didn’t explain when, because it could’ve been any time. For dinner, for back up, for a shift switch, he wasn’t wrong, this was a lower stakes operation and your main task had been done, but anything could have happened.
As you closed your eyes and faded to sleep, you felt your stomach turn again and instead of getting sick, your eyelids shot open. You didn’t move outside of that, your body was completely still as your brain worked over a mile a minute. Thoughts in your head jumped from the date, to calculating back 28 days, to thinking about the last time, fuck. The last time.
—
You peed on a pregnancy test you bought in the hotel gift shop with cash, and actually you had one of the maids buy it for you and she left it in the bottom of the trash bin for you, under the fresh bag. It was in spanish, you gave her very specific instructions and didn’t think to ask for one in English, whatever some things were universal. 3 minutes alone in the bathroom at the hotel. Although, once you looked down at the stick you realized you weren’t really alone.
Embarazada
You weren’t exactly sure what to do. First, your mind went to the immediate: what did the next 48 hours look like? You would be here in this hotel, odds are you wouldn’t have gotten pulled into a combat call, but it wasn’t completely ruled out either. That was an easier gamble when it was just nausea you were hiding, not a pregnancy.
“Shit,” you mumbled as you closed your eyes and leaned on the bathroom sink, the test still in your hand knowing what you had to do right now.
5-6 it said right underneath the Spanish word for pregnant. 5-6 weeks.
“Fucking Hamptons,” you mumbled again this time more frustrated remembering the day or the night or honestly the weekend that likely got you in this situation, although it could have even been when you two were between assignments just the few days prior to that.
“You alright in there?” Kyle’s voice was against the door.
“Yeah, I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you answered fast on your feet, a product of the job and turned to twist the shower on.
“Alright, I’ll stay close to comms,” he was already walking away from the bathroom, you could tell by the fade of his voice when he responded.
You called Joe. Immediately. And you made her bring Kaitlyn into a room and you told them both.
They made sure you didn’t get called in for combat. Noting that if they did need you to move in, you’d sit out and they’d bring Kyle in alone. But luckily that didn’t happen and you got to tell him on a private jet back to the states, not in the middle of a moving operation where it’d throw everyone off their game.
You nodded your head to the back of the plane where the bathroom was. Two Cups was eating on the couch, Kaitlyn was glued to the computer, as was Tex. Randy was on his phone, Joe was staring out the window while Bobby tried to catch a few minutes of sleep.
Two Cups started to laugh when Kyle followed you to the back of the plane. “Mile High club in front of the boss.”
“Don’t they call you Two Cups because you try and fuck everything?” Kyle retorted back to him and gave him the finger.
Kaitlyn didn’t even bother looking up from the computer, likely because she knew what was about to happen, and the Mile High Club wasn’t it.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked the minute the door latched. “You feeling sick again?” He also knew you weren’t trying to join the Mile High Club.
“I’m pregnant.” The words didn’t hesitate to fall off your tongue, and neither did your hand as you lifted the pregnancy test to show him.
He stared at it for a good minute.
“It means pregnant,” you thought maybe he was trying to wrap his mind around the spanish word.
“I work along the border, babe, I know what the word means,” he looked up and searched your face, likely going to tailor his response based on yours but you weren’t showing any of your cards, not yet.
“I need you to give me something, baby,” that was two pet names in 30 seconds. Soft. He was being soft. That was normally saved for the moments at his place or yours, sometimes the car, and rarely but on lucky days in the midst of an op as a quick soft glance in your direction. You two were more than just fuck buddies, this was serious, it had been serious. And now it just got a lot more serious.
“I’m moving into your place,” your words were firm, like you had a plan already figured out.
“Sure,” he didn’t argue, still navigating carefully through this.
“We can’t get married,” you added onto the list. “They’ll never put us on the same operations if we’re married, they’ll put in extra work to make sure we never see each other on the field.”
“They already don’t put us on the same missions” he raised his brows. It was true but funny considering you both were just coming off a joint task together.
“Kaitlyn and Joe do, but if we’re married there's a paper trail.” You explained. “The CIA hates a paper trail.”
“We could get married in Vegas and never submit the paperwork,” he shrugged, a joke, he was joking.
You stared at him and when he didn’t smile you realized he wasn’t joking.
“You want to get married?” You questioned him, shock littered in your voice.
“Is that such a crazy thing to hear?” He smiled at you, his eyes boring into yours, not looking for reassurance just confident in how he felt about you.
“Yes, yes it is.” You let out a breathy laugh.
“Well good, we both out did each other then,” he placed the test on the sink. “5-6 weeks…” he trailed off for a minute as he thought through the internal calendar of memories in his brain. “Hamptons,” he nodded obviously. “Or was it at my place between my informant call and your lioness mark meetup?”
“The fact that there’s that many potentials,” you rested your fingers on the bridge of your nose.
“There’s actually more than that,” Kyle teased. “Could’ve been New York City, could’ve been that time in the hangar…” that memory made him trail off and reminisce.
“My luck it was probably the hangar, with fucking Two Cups drunk in the other room humping the fucking couch,” you shook your head.
“I’m all about the romantic wooing,” he joked and shook his head. “I think it was the Hamptons, we were a little reckless,” he remembered how swept up in the moment that day happened, it’s how it always worked out when you were in hotels together, it was always impulsive and with the layer of not wanting to be caught pressured on you both, a lot of thought and precaution went discarded in the sake of romance and feeling good.
“Speaking of romance, I’m not getting married in Vegas,” you rolled your eyes.
“We could get married right here,” he stepped forward and placed a hand around your waist.
“In an airplane bathroom?” You raised your brows again, because Vegas was definitely more romantic than an airplane bathroom.
“20,000 feet above sea level, in the middle of the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean,” he fluffed it up a bit. Alright, maybe this was more romantic. Just the two of you. Well, three of you.
“You’re insane,” you leaned into him, tucking his long blonde hair behind his ear with your hand as you cupped his face.
“You’re pregnant,” he flared his nostrils and smirked.
“I’m terrified,” you admitted to him.
“I’m terrified,” he laughed, agreeing with you.
You laughed with him and pressed your lips to his, it was a long kiss. One with so much emotion in it. It was full of excitement and nerves and chaos but still so grounding.
Pulling away you rested your head on his forehead and closed your eyes.
“I now pronounce us, husband and wife,” Kyle whispered and you felt your heart skip.
It was exactly how it should’ve been: secret and not legally binding, but completely and utterly right.
“Kiss your bride,” you whispered back and he went in for another kiss, this one more romantic than the previous.
You looked down at the ring you wore on your right hand and only for the past 4 months while you were home. The plan was to stay on the team and have Joe mentor you, show you the ins and outs, the leadership calls, the hot seat dos and don’ts, stay in the background, no combat missions, no field work. But then you started having complications and anything that caused stress was prescribed by the doctor to avoid. That was never fully possible though, not when Kyle was still going on ops and you were stuck watching the news waiting for him to be home.
“We’re both taking time when she gets here and after that I’m going to go back and you’re going to take more leave to be with her. We balance it.” You were going through the plan you two came up with outloud, for what was probably the 100th time. The plan you didn’t love because you weren't sure if it was what you wanted or what you felt like you should want. Kyle didn’t love it because it meant you two never working on an op together again, and not just because one of you needed to be home with the baby while the other was on mission but because one of you needed to be home in case the other was killed on a mission.
“Whatever you want we’ll do,” Kyle always said those words, and he actually meant them.
“It’s so hard wanting two things that completely conflict with each other,” you brought your hands up to your face and rubbed your eyes.
“You shouldn’t be stressing so much,” his hand was rubbing up and down your belly now.
Ignoring him, you changed the topic towards his injuries. “How bad is the bruising?”
“Decent. Nothing I can’t handle,” he lifted his shirt to show you and you sat up to get a better look.
“From the impact?” Your hand lightly grazed against his bruised abdomen.
“Yea, two of them.” He dropped his shirt and pulled you back down against him, pain be damned. “We hit the fucking mark vehicle too. Flanked it.”
“Will you miss it?” The question held weight. You wanted this. You wanted a family, a daughter, but you also wanted your job. Maybe in a few years when there were nannies and schools it would be more possible. You missed it while also not not missing it at all.
“Never as much as I miss you,” he whispered into your ear, a soft kiss pressing to your temple after the words left his lips.
“It’s a shame the agency doesn’t write after action reports, you’d dazzle them with lines like that,” you grabbed his arms tighter around you.
“It’s not a line, it’s the truth,” he rested his head over yours.
“Kyle McManus, the man who puts the mission above all is saying I am more important than a mission?” You teased him, but there was some truth in the tease.
“Me 5 years ago wouldn’t believe it but yes. No question.” He kissed your head again.
“So you’d stay with her while I nosedived into Mexican riverbanks?” You turned your head to look up at him, almost like he was crazy for even suggesting this.
“I would,” he didn’t hesitate to answer, just a nod and agreement.
“And you’d be happy about it?” You were pressing him, and he normally hated being pressed but in this situation, these decisions, they needed to be weighed, pressed, thought about, and thought about again and then that cycle repeated over and over again.
“No, I’d be terrified,” he chuckled, a smirk playing on his face at the admission.
You smiled at the remembrance of when you told him you were pregnant.
“You’re pregnant,” he flared his nostrils and smirked.
“I’m terrified,” you admitted to him.
“I’m terrified,” he laughed, agreeing with you.
“Terrified of hating it?” You played mindlessly with his fingers.
“Terrified of telling our daughter about you instead of her getting to live it,” the room got dense. The weight of those words sat with you because that’s what made you not miss this job at all. It was a constant push and pull. One that wasn’t going to be solved right now and you didn’t want to think more on it.
“Would you be happy about it, staying home with her?” Kyle asked you now, picking up on your hesitation around wanting to dive into the elephant in the room.
“No, I’d be terrified too,” you admitted to him.
“Of more nights like this?” Kyle nodded to the TV.
“Yea,” you agreed, that would be hard, but that was the same weighted conversation as you not coming home if Kyle stayed home so you admitted something else. “But also of loving every second of it.”
“I don’t know if we should be terrified of that,” his hands moved up and down your stomach.
And that’s where everything came full circle.
“We’d have to worry about her like we worry about each other. You work on the border, head coverings, blurred faces on the news, fake names, signal jammers, if I pull back from work, I lose my skillset, something happens, we’re at a disadvantage until you and a team can come after us, if they allow a team to come after us, it might be better to leave us as collateral,” the words were not easy to say out loud.
“I’d come after you no matter how much red tape was up, you know that,” Kyle’s voice was hard now.
“I know that red tape would never stop you,” you let the corners of your mouth slightly raise knowingly, “but you just proved my point, we’re putting ourselves in a position of target regardless of our decision.”
“You aren’t going to lose your skillset,” he argued again. Still not debunking your theory, just proving it still and he realized that. “Joe has a family. Kaitlyn, too.” He was scrambling, you didn’t mean to break his brain on this, just open it to the full picture.
There wasn’t going to be any response or decision that would solve this. It was already too late. You were both CIA operatives, there was no taking that back.
“Where you headed next?” This wasn’t changing the topic, but it pushed the focus on something more present. Although, by the way Kyle’s body reacted, you knew his answer shifted the focus back.
“Iraq, to pick up a Lioness.”
You did everything in your power not to let the weight of that response show on your face, body or response.
“They’re shipping you out during the service.” You shook your head, sometimes the way these things shook out was so fucking twisted.
“Could be before,” he corrected, “s’part of the job, you know that,” you could hear his voice getting heavy.
“Come on, bring me to bed, soldier, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and we can sit on the porch like an old married couple before you head out,,” you were standing now, extending your hand out to him.
He looked up at you, his eyes were heavy and tired, and you hated that you just made them worse with your concerns and thoughts. But in an instant, his lips curved and he grabbed your hand with a smirk, going back to that teasing jerk you loved.
“Pancakes and waffles?” He reached for your hand as he stood up and then twirled you around so you were tucked against his front.
“With sausage and bacon, if you help me up the stairs right now,” you chuckled.
“That’s easy,” he wrapped his hands around your waist as he balanced you up the stairs, his hand trailing down just slightly, earning him a look from you. “Doing that gets me everything I want,” he smirked devilishly at you like he hadn’t been in an active battle just hours prior.
“You’re shameless,” you shook your head as you took the last step.
“Nah, just in love,” he corrected you and planted a kiss to your mouth before guiding you to the bedroom and shutting the door and the world out for a few hours before everything you loved about your life became everything that needed to be solved.
💖 All Writing Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (let me know if you’d like to be added! This is for any new fandoms or fandoms I’ve only written a couple fics for)
Dividers by @realitycanbewhateveridesire <3
An: this is my first Tony fic so it’s short 🤯 I know crazy!! I’ve been wanting to write for him for sooo long but i finally did it 🙃!! I am open to requests for most marvel characters (except Deadpool and Peter quill. I hate both of them- well the actors)
Wc: 648
Tony was never quite the same after he returned from being kidnapped, then when the sky opened up and aliens came flooding through the skies of New York City. He slept less, tinkered more. He's fighting for a new cause.
"Morning friday" you call out, entering the renowned stark mansion. "Good morning, miss. Should I alert mister stark of your arrival?"
You shook your head "no, thank you Friday I know where to find him" you sighed.
Your heels clicked against the floor as you made your way down to his laboratory. Your eyes found him through the glass door, nodding along to an ac/dc song as sparks flew from his work desk for reasons you couldn't quite see yet.
The door slid open automatically, a system that only worked for you and Tony. You stepped in, approaching him carefully "what are you working on today?" You peeked over his shoulder.
He spun around on his stool, looking up at you though his safety goggles that you were surprised he was wearing. You straightened up, looking him in the eyes.
He smiled, placing his hands on your hips, "you made it, good. I got something I need to show you" He stands up, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips "follow me"
He leads you to the back of the room, where his suits are all lined up and on one of the displays is something, covered by a grey topper. "New suit design?" You question, looking at him curiously.
Tony looks towards you, "there is no easy way to say this so I'm just gonna say it." You raise your eyebrows in confusion, but he keeps talking " I've known you a long time. We've been business partners since we continued the work of my father decades ago, and now you're my… you're mine. And I need to know that you're safe-"
"Tony wha-" "I'm not done. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you. Not if I could help it. I love you, and I need you here. So I did something-"
"Tony" your tone half way between a warning and worry. He slipped a bracelet onto your wrist, it matched his own, the one he made for his suit. His hazel eyes met yours, deep and promising.
'Trust me'
Tony turned towards the display "show time!" He clapped his hands, making you flinch in shock, still soaking in his words. You let out a small laugh as one of Tony's right hand men (robot) tried and struggled to pull the tarp off.
You bit your lips to hold back laughter as tony irritably moved the machine out of the way and took its place. He swatted at the claw still pinching at the tarp "nope. You're done I'm turning you into scraps." He says to the robot before returning his gaze to you.
A small smile pills at the corner of his lips when he sees your amusement "amused honey?"
You pinched your fingers together "little bit, yeah" he smirks.
Suddenly he yanks the tarp off and underneath is a suit, matching his in color but clearly built for you. Your jaw drops at the sight of it "Tony…" you whisper, moving closer to it.
"If you're gonna fight I won't stop you, but I will make damn sure you're safe."
You your hand presses against your own chest trying to calm the beating muscle "Tony- I don't- Thank you."
Tony pulls you into his embrace, hazel eyes assessing you in the way they always do "don't have to thank me. I'm just protecting the one thing in this world that matters."
His lips meet yours again, this time he doesn't pull away quickly, he allows you to lean into it, to accept it and feel him.
"If we're gonna fight we'll do it together. And we'll win." He promises
Can you do something with Kyle and lioness!reader who have been seeing each other for a while and Joe finds out and is somewhat surprised and disgusted but happy?
Pairing: Kyle McManus x Lioness!Reader
An: ayeee my first fic in this account :) putting that fine ass man Kyle on the map because I love him and his wit. Anywho ENJOYY. Also I don’t expect for this to do much because lioness is a small fandom. However, if you have any requests for characters of lioness I’m happy to write them. Just be as detailed as possible please 🙏🏼.
WC: 510
“Kyle you motherfucker” you hissed at him, snatching your tactical vest the moment the room cleared of the rest of your team. He looked at you with practiced ease and amusement.
“Are you fucking kidding me? What are you trying to expose us?”
Kylie tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips, “what? No of course not. You’re the one who grabbed my vest, I’m just returning this to its rightful owner” he shrugged.
You couldn’t help but punch him in his gut, he did nothing more than wince, which irritated you further. “Asshole. You know if Joe finds out I won’t hear the end of it”
“If joe find out what?” speak of the devil and he shall appear. Well in this case she.
Your jaw ticked eyes connecting with Kyle who no longer looked amused. If it weren’t for the already blistering heat in the warehouse you’d be sweating bullets.
You turned to Joe, whose eyebrows were raised expectantly, assessing both you and Kylie. You let out an irritated sigh, both at the fact that it wasn’t Kyle who got you caught and the fact that you were caught.
“Tell me this is not what the fuck I think it is.” Joe muttered, you shifted on your feet “Kyle and I-“
“Were seeing each other- and fucking”
You whipped around to face him “I swear to god I’m going to skin you alive you red headed asshole”
Joe scoffed, making you turn back to her, trying to ignore Kyle who stepped closer to your backside. She punched the bridge of her nose with closed eyes. “You two- this does not get in the way of work. Got it?”
“All due respect boss we’ve been doing this for months, we know how it goes.” You spoke.
Joe opened her eyes, looking between the two of you with an understanding nod “okay…” you knew what was coming.
“Fucking Kyle though?” Her the woman was no longer in boss mode, this was pure Joe. You laugh “believe it or not boss, he’s not as horrible as you think.”
“Yeah, I’m a delight” Kyle spoke from behind you. Joe gives you a look as if to say ‘is he really’ you laugh again. “It works” you assure her.
Because in your line of work options are limited. Joe got lucky, her husband and daughters remain less aware of what she does. You didn’t know how she did it, all of your past experiences crashed in burned before they started. With Kyle everything worked. There was an understanding, doesn’t help that seeing him in his tactical gear is hot as hell.
Joe smiled “well, I’m happy for you even though I’m almost positive you could do better” the joke eased any tension left. Joe gave one more nod before excusing herself. You watched her go as Kyle’s hand came around your waist and pulled you flush into him.
“That went well” he muttered into your ear. “It did” you agree.
☆ summary: isaac will stop at nothing to save his sister’s life, even if the cure lies within the object of his affections.
☆ warnings: isaac-typical manipulation, betrayal, mentions of blood/blood donation/needles, isaac being bipolar, vague outcast abilities for reader, major character death/soft murder(?), no use of y/n.
“You definitely owe me a nice date in town after we’re done, Night.”
The lighthearted tease echos through the tower as she climbs up onto the sterile table, watching Isaac methodically prepare his array of equipment. His reply comes in the form of a distracted hum, his mind seemingly preoccupied.
Not out of character, but certainly off-putting given the circumstances of their meeting.
“You do know how to do this, right?” She questions into the lingering quiet, still half-joking. “Because I’m gonna be pissed if you make me pass out.”
Something in his body language shifts, as if he’s finally reminded himself to be pleasant.
“Of course I know how to do this,” he soothes with all the confident ease she was used to, finally glancing up from the cart of tools to meet her gaze. He even offers a calm, reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It’ll be quick and simple. Nothing to worry about.”
Lies.
But the words seem to do the trick in relaxing the slight tension that had burrowed into her muscles.
“Good,” she sighs, settling back onto the cold surface and letting her arm stretch out to her side. “You know I’m happy to do this for Francoise, but just…be gentle, please. I don’t want to get all lightheaded.”
The surprisingly vulnerable request gives him pause for only a moment before he continues to prepare the procedure.
“Don’t you trust me?” he murmurs in faux-offense, carefully sliding an elastic band up her arm and tightening it just so. “I’ll be as gentle as I always am. I’ll take care of you, you know that.”
His reassurance comes out softer than he intends it to. He knows the entire ordeal is cruel, that her willing trust and his mask of tenderness is only salt in the inevitable wound.
But it needed to be done.
The reality of his plan sits unnaturally heavy while he sterilizes her arm and prepares the needle, her eyes following his every move.
“Gentle,” she reminds him pointedly. He was prone to overzealousness when he was in his element.
“Small poke,” he assures as he holds the needle up, waiting for her acknowledgment before proceeding. “Just look at me.”
There’s a slight wince and a sharp intake of breath as he holds her arm steady and slides the point beneath her skin. But he’s practiced, efficient, finding her vein with almost no resistance.
“There,” he says calmly, almost stoically, watching as the process begins. “Clench your fist. It’ll help it flow easier.”
She stares in morbid fascination as her blood slowly moves through the clear tube and into the awaiting bag he’d prepared. Her fist balls upon his instruction, the dull sting feeling odd.
“Just gotta wait, then, huh? Let me think of where I’m making you take me,” she teases with a grin, slumping back against the table in her best effort to relax as she rattles off a list of ridiculous date locations.
He watches in eerie silence as she goes on with her light-hearted attempts at banter. It felt wrong, leading her into such a false sense of security and comfort, listening to her talk as if there was going to be a later. But what choice did he have?
She would have never agreed if she knew his true intentions.
She hadn’t been a part of the plan, at first. In fact, she hadn’t even been on his radar as someone worth pursuing for his personal goals.
To Isaac, she was just another nameless face in a sea of outcast students, abilities all blurring together in a mass of mediocrity. She was nothing extraordinary by his judgement; friendly, liked well enough by their classmates, performed average in classes shared together.
Naturally, as with nearly everyone he considered beneath him, he had ignored her very existence.
But there had been a seismic shift when he came to understand what her ability might mean for him.
He’d observed her for weeks after the first inkling of suspicion, eyes sharp and body just out of sight as he listened in on conversations and watched interactions she believed to be private. He quickly learned that she wielded a rare connection to the balance of life, an ability of healing and regeneration from ailments.
One that she seemed to keep concealed from those outside her own small circle.
His mind had raced with all of the possible applications to his struggle with healing his sister of her Hyde. Had the answer been right under his nose the entire time? Could some part of this girl fix what had been broken for so long?
All he knew for certain was that her outcast ability could very well hold the key to saving Francoise, and he intended to exploit that. No matter the cost.
And so, he did what he knew how to do best. He strategized, plotted, and developed a plan.
The twisted charade began with simple flattery. Compliments in class, fleeting smiles in the halls, the gift of his attention.
She was smart enough to be wary of his new interest at first, his abandon of his typical reclusiveness setting her somewhat on edge. Isaac Night wasn’t known to be outwardly friendly by any means.
But he was persistent, determined to gain the trust that would be essential in getting the opportunity to properly test his hypothesis.
He kept up the subterfuge with proposed study dates, offers to help her with his overly thorough notes, late night library meetings.
He had even convinced her to start sitting with him at lunch, pretending to nod in interest and hold onto her every word as she gossiped about their hormonal, drama-obsessed classmates.
Perhaps he was laying it on thick, but he played the part well, and she was far too important a pawn to lose. One that would help him in his all-consuming, unrelenting mission to save his sister.
He’d begun his subtle tests once her defenses were lowered and she considered him a genuine friend. They were small, innocent requests for her to aid in his scientific experimentation, labeled as helpful contributions to his lab that seemed to fascinate her.
There were questions, simple tests where he would uncover the limits of her power, and even a small blood sample from a finger prick she’d somehow agreed to. He’d studied her chemistry obsessively, filled notebooks with his observations.
Slowly but surely, he came to the crushing realization that her power couldn’t directly save Francoise from her condition.
The Hyde gene didn’t count as a physically ailment that could be mended, nor was it some disease or illness. It was a beast all of its own, too ingrained in his sister’s DNA to be fixed so simply.
It frustrated Isaac to no end, knowing that even a rare, powerful, healing outcast ability couldn’t save Francoise from herself.
His anger and despair led him to nearly give up on the scheme altogether. What was the point of continuing with the tediousness of a fake companionship if she couldn’t actually help? But one final, last-ditch test had rapidly restored his faith in her use to him.
Her blood.
His study revealed that the single crimson droplet he’d acquired held properties that went far beyond the physical manifestations of her healing. The discovery and its possibilities excited him to no end.
His manic energy and focus renewed, he’d quickly theorized a way to manipulate the very essence of the life-giving fluid, a method to infuse the mutated platelets into Francoise’s bloodstream and permanently alter her damaged chemical makeup.
A cure.
But he would need more blood than ethically possible if he was going to test and perfect the complex transfusion. It would have to be obtained quickly, sterilely, with no risk of outside factors tainting the precious liquid. He never once stopped to consider the horror of how easily he came to the conclusion he did.
He would have to kill her cleanly.
He was mindful to keep the plan concealed from Francoise as he obsessed over the delicate details. She was easily attached to anyone who flashed a friendly smile, and the girl who’d been his unknowing lab rat had been kinder to his sister than most. They’d even become something like real friends over time.
She’d be devastated if she knew what he planned to do for the sake of saving her.
So, Isaac kept to himself as he devised the easiest way to drain his classmate of her blood.
But fondness had crept into their carefully manufactured relationship before he could stop it. Suddenly, fake pleasantries felt all too real. Smiling at her playful jabs was no longer a premeditated move, but instinct.
Her presence calmed his erratic mind, soothed the subtle ache of isolation he’d grown accustomed to ignoring.
In their closeness, her ability began to fascinate him beyond the complex science of it all. She was endlessly giving, always quick to help with something as small as a paper cut if it meant relieving him of pain. Her natural inclination to show compassion, to care for someone like him with her rare power, struck something buried deep beneath his ego.
Little by little, he found himself seeking out her presence with no ulterior motive. No goals beyond existing within her space and enjoying her company.
He knew for certain he was in too deep when he kissed her for the first time.
It had been utterly foolish, ridiculous, juvenile of him. Especially given the fact that she was meant to be a pawn. But even with a heart made of gears and metal, Isaac couldn’t resist the most basic human want of connection. And deep down, some part of him reveled in the way she so easily reciprocated his interest.
Every subsequent moment of affection they’d shared after that first time only served to weaken his will to see things through.
Tender brushes of hands in the halls, subtle, knowing glances across a room, and late night meetings in the tower that quickly devolved into heaving breaths and sweat-slick skin drove his mind mad with conflicting emotions. He was slipping deeper and deeper into the blissful distraction of their intimacy.
But Francoise only seemed to be getting worse as time wore on, and he knew that harnessing the power of her blood was the greatest chance of saving his beloved sister from a condition that was sure to one day kill her.
It was an opportunity he couldn’t risk passing up; not after years of intense dedication to the cause. His personal feelings couldn’t get in the way of a solution just within reach.
So, he’d steeled himself and talked her into it subtly.
He made every effort imaginable to get her to agree without fear or suspicion. To make things easier, make the plan something noble rather than tragic, or even sadistic.
“You would be her saving grace, my love. Can’t you see it? You would free her of this horrible curse. All you have to do is trust me to draw a little blood for a cure.”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue each time he uttered some variation of them. He didn’t have the decency to tell her the full truth of what needed to be done. How could he? He was essentially coaxing her into her own murder.
For the first time in perhaps all his life, he felt an ache of remorse for what he intended to do.
But she had naively agreed to his lie, happy to try and save her friend where her powers had failed. A devastating, unintentional seal of her fate.
Now, almost a full pint in, he carefully switches to a new blood bag as he keeps her talking, a distraction from how much she’d already lost.
“I’m getting a little dizzy…how far along is it?” Comes her concerned mumble after a while, straining to glance over at the bag before the low, subtle force of his power keeps her head in place.
“You’ll only make yourself queasy by looking at it...just relax. You’re doing perfectly.”
Her slight wooziness clouds her judgement and obscures the cold reality of what he was doing. Rendering her body still with his telekinesis was an alarming overstep of power, especially in the midst of such a vulnerable procedure, but the red flag goes undetected for the time being.
“This warrants dinner and dessert,” she grumbles, eyelids a little heavier now as she gazes up at him.
“Don’t think you can make me forget that you owe me. I’ll make us go somewhere stupid like that normie coffee shop just for those pastries you always say are too sweet.”
He isn’t sure how she’s still so upbeat as they near the end of pint two. It should’ve been devastating to hear her talk about such normal, simple things like dates and overrated pastries. But he had silenced any gnawing thoughts of regret.
There would be no turning back if he wanted to heal Francoise.
By pint three, she’s shivering slightly, her heartrate struggling to keep up with the blood loss. “Isaac…I really don’t feel good,” she murmurs shakily, sounding anxious now. “Are you sure you aren’t almost done? Or maybe we could take a break? It feels like we’ve been at this a while.”
He presses a cold hand over her chest, feeling her heart weakly fluttering under his palm. The touch doubles as another subtle move to lock her body in place and keep her from seeing how much he’d taken.
“Just a little more, darling. Your symptoms are perfectly normal for the procedure,” he gently reassures, hand sliding up to cup her cheek.
“We’ll be done soon.”
The soothing touch seems to calm her, if only a little. She trusted him implicitly now, and if he said this was fine, then she would have to accept that. He knew what he was talking about.
His thumb tenderly swipes across her cheek, watching her breaths speed up slightly to compensate for her dropping blood pressure. Her confusion only persists, the lack of oxygen in her bloodstream leaving her thoughts muddled. But her oblivious haze doesn’t last forever.
She can’t even panic properly when the puzzle pieces finally begin to click together in her dazed mind.
This was taking far longer than any normal blood donation.
The constant, subtle pressure of Isaac’s telekinesis was pinning her down, even as her body twitched and desperately fought for breath.
He was holding her hostage here. Stealing her blood and calmly thwarting any attempt of escape.
There’s a shift in her gaze, bleary obedience slowly morphing into horrified understanding. A soft, choked whimper escapes her throat, though it’s barely audible over her clipped gasps.
She can’t even speak to beg for mercy. Each attempt at communication come out as a weak gurgle, her struggle for oxygen ruining any chance to curse his name or desperately question the motive for his gut-punch of a betrayal.
She’d foolishly believed in Isaac Night’s humanity.
He shushes her frantic noises softly, thumb brushing her bottom lip before he places a finger over her mouth. Silencing her. “Shhh, it’s alright…don’t struggle. I promise, things will be okay. Just trust me.” The sickeningly sweet tone does nothing to ease her panic.
He only releases his invisible grip when he knows for certain that she’s too weak to physically protest.
After quietly adjusting the fourth bag of blood collection, now sure she’s past the point of no return, he gently begins to explain the process her body was undergoing.
Blood loss. Death.
“Your pulse is going to slow now to compensate for critical organ failure,” he murmurs against her cheek as he leans down, lips shifting to her forehead where he presses a surprisingly tender kiss. Salty tears escape her eyes with every sluggish blink, rolling down her temples in slow rivulets.
“No more hyperventilating or panic. You’ll soon slip into a state of shock, and all of that fear will fade.”
Verbalizing the natural process was his own strange attempt at comfort, as if hearing such morbid information would somehow soothe her weakening mind. But the shock would make it all relatively painless as she faded from consciousness, an intentional method to make her sacrifice gentler.
Less cruel.
He’s reverently silent as he watches the life seep from her body. It’s slow, almost poetic, watching her slip away, her expression of heartbreak and betrayal softening into something more subdued.
Perhaps it was all some twisted, tragic metaphor for what it meant to love and be loved by Isaac. Everything was a means to an end for the burdened genius. Even the softest form of connection he’d ever known was worth discarding if it offered something more.
Nothing would ever slow his unchecked ambition. Not even love.
Just as he’d said, her panic eventually ebbs completely, her gasps for breath slowing to something much calmer. Her pulse is nothing but a low thrum, her eyelids drooping as she clings to the last shred of awareness to gaze at him pleadingly.
Her power is no use to her now that her strength had been drained from her veins, leaving her vulnerable and incapable of saving herself from inevitable doom. It’s a devastating loss as she struggles to hold onto the last of her life.
“Don’t look so upset,” he coos, smoothing her hair back from her damp forehead and wiping the drying tear tracks. “You’re giving your life to cure the incurable. You’re a miracle of science.”
He thinks to the open grave that lie waiting at the skull tree, a carefully selected bouquet of her favorite flowers already resting beside the dug out earth. When it was all over, he would ensure her burial was a beautiful thing, worthy of what she meant to him. Worthy of what he was taking for the sake of Francoise’s salvation.
With one last blink of devastating resignation, her eyes slowly slip shut as he steals a final, parting kiss from her cold lips.
“You’ve done your part, my love. And for that, I’m eternally indebted to you,” he murmurs lowly against her skin, cold gaze flitting over her dying body. Then, there’s a devastating silence. Stillness.
The task was finished.
With one final check to her pulse, he stands to his full height again, frighteningly emotionless as his mind races with preparations for developing the cure that would change everything. A feat that he would achieve in bitter solitude.
“Rest now.”
꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷
a/n: well shit! i don’t know what got into me for this one, sorry 💔 i recently rewatched the last episode of season 2 and it made me think about how quickly and easily isaac betrays one of his closest bonds (outside of francoise) to try and save her, and how awful it would be if he made that same choice with someone he might’ve even loved.
i was trying so hard to get into this freak’s mind istg. he drives me crazy. why are you murdering your girlfriend?? be normal. i’ve been staring at this for faaar too long, so i apologize for any errors i may have missed in my brief proofread.
this was definitely a much different vibe than what i usually write, so please please let me know your thoughts! thank you for reading!!🫶
I feel like luke castellan is I the type of guy to swear up and down he doesn't like anyone but sometimes he gets caught when his glances turn into stares, or when a handshake goes on for too long, or when you ask him a question he'd stare at you, not hearing what you said just in shock you're even talking to him. It gets so bad he even dreams about you.
Please charlie looks so tall like in the all black omg I CANT. Dior looking elegant and beautiful and she still snuck in the famous 🤘🏼. And finally our newly announced (it’s been like a month) cast addition daniel let’s give him a round of applause ladies and gents 👏👏👏. ANYWAY back to Charlie he looks so just UGH please I need him to reject me alr
Closest friends: the boys obvi but I think he’d be besties with Enzo and Draco
Face claim: Matteo sinet
Past: he has the usual torture past but he shoves it down. His father is an asshole who was never home and when he was all he would do was talk about how disappointed he was in Matt and how he would be so proud to have matt’s cousin as a son instead. He’d been called weak all his life by his mother who hated that she ever have birth to him. (Or something like that) he has the usual tortured past but he shoves it down and prefers to hide it because though he doesn’t care what people thinks he wants to be liked.
Now this is all hypothetical and can be changed around however but I’m high off of the lack of sleep and this sounds like an amazing idea and I can come up with more detail when I get some sleep. So again this is ALL HYPOTHETICAL and please think before you comment something offensive if you do not agreed
