HEYYYYYYY if I can may I ask for Aventurine, Sunday and Dan Hang protecting reader when they get badly injured protecting them please ( I’ve been desperate for some angst and comfort recently with them 😭😭 )
“If I Fall, Let It Be for You”
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protectiveness, Sacrifice, Vulnerability, Emotional Conflict, Guilt, Platonic or Romantic Love, Selflessness, Inner Struggles.
The battlefield stretched before you, a blur of smoke and chaos. You had acted on instinct—throwing yourself in front of Dan Heng to block a strike meant for him. The blade tore through your side, pain radiating through your body as you stumbled.
“[Name]!” Dan Heng’s voice, usually so calm and composed, cracked as he caught you in his arms. His eyes widened, a rare display of emotion breaking through his stoic mask.
You gave him a weak smile, your hand clutching the bleeding wound. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
His jaw tightened, and his grip on you was firm yet trembling. “You should never have done that.” There was an edge to his voice, sharp and laden with guilt.
You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, and you felt yourself fading.
“Stay with me,” Dan Heng ordered, his voice softer now but no less desperate. He cradled you closer, his usually steady hands pressing against your wound to stem the bleeding. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.”
He carried you swiftly to a safe spot behind the ruins, shielding you from the chaos. His spear, Cloud-Piercer, stood guard nearby, its sharp tip still dripping with the blood of your enemies. Dan Heng tore a strip of fabric from his coat, fashioning a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.
“Why?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on your pale face. “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for me?”
You managed a weak chuckle despite the pain. “Because I care about you, Dan Heng. Even if you keep pushing people away, I won’t stop protecting you.”
His breath hitched, and for a moment, his usual reserve cracked. “I don’t deserve it. Not after everything I’ve done… everything I’ve failed to prevent.”
“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. “You’re worth it to me.”
Dan Heng’s eyes softened, guilt and sorrow mingling with something deeper—something he had tried so hard to suppress. He didn’t speak, but his actions spoke volumes. He leaned into your touch, his fingers brushing your hair as if trying to commit every detail of you to memory.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, his voice low but resolute. “Not again.”
Dan Heng stayed by your side, his spear within reach, ready to defend you from any further threat. The battle raged on around you, but his focus never wavered. He wasn’t just protecting you now—he was protecting the fragile hope you had given him, the chance for something beyond the weight of his past.
And in his quiet way, Dan Heng vowed to repay the trust you had shown him, no matter the cost.
The echoes of the gunfire still reverberated in the empty corridors, a cruel reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Aventurine stood frozen for a moment, the world around him slowing to a crawl. The usually confident smirk plastered on his face had vanished, replaced by a rare expression of raw, unfiltered fear.
You lay crumpled on the ground, your blood pooling beneath you. You had thrown yourself in front of him, a human shield against the sniper's bullet that had been meant for his chest.
“Why?” Aventurine whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you, his gloved hands hesitating before pressing against your wound. His pristine, gold-adorned sleeves soaked in crimson as he tried to stem the bleeding. "You absolute fool. What were you thinking?"
Your eyes fluttered open, a weak smile playing on your lips despite the pain. "Because I knew you'd never let yourself be hit," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're too important... too smart to take risks like that."
Aventurine let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "And yet here you are, bleeding out because of me," he muttered, his tone laced with guilt and frustration. "You're supposed to stay out of the crossfire, not throw yourself into it like some kind of martyr."
The mask he wore so effortlessly in high-stakes games and political negotiations shattered in that moment. He was no longer the composed strategist, the man who always had a plan. He was just Kakavasha—terrified, helpless, and desperate to keep you alive.
“Stay with me,” he commanded, his voice shaking as he pulled out his communicator and barked orders for immediate medical assistance. “You don’t get to leave like this. Not here, not now.”
Your hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek. "I trust you, Aventurine," you whispered, your voice faltering. "You'll fix this... you always do."
His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I’m a gambler, not a miracle worker," he admitted softly, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "But if there’s one thing I never bet against... it’s you."
The minutes felt like hours as he stayed by your side, murmuring reassurances that neither of you believed. His mind raced, calculating odds and outcomes, but none of his usual strategies could guarantee your survival. For the first time in years, Aventurine felt powerless.
When the medics finally arrived, he refused to leave your side, riding with you to the emergency unit despite their protests. As the doors closed behind them and the sterile lights flickered above, Aventurine made a silent vow.
No matter the cost, he would ensure you lived to see another gamble, another day by his side. Because without you, even victory would feel like defeat.
The clash of blades and the sound of explosions filled the air, but Sunday’s focus was solely on you. The two of you had been ambushed, and though he had held his ground, one stray attacker had slipped through his defenses, aiming for his unprotected flank.
You hadn’t hesitated. You’d stepped in without thinking, intercepting the blow meant for him. Now, you lay slumped against a ruined wall, clutching your side as blood seeped through your fingers.
“Why... why would you do that?” Sunday asked, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you. His eyes, usually so calm and composed, were wide with panic. He pressed his hands over yours, trying to stop the bleeding. The glow of his halo seemed dimmer, as if it mirrored the dread coursing through him.
“You needed protecting,” you gasped, a weak smile crossing your lips. “That’s what friends do, right?”
“Foolish,” Sunday whispered, his tone a mixture of frustration and anguish. "I am the one who should be protecting you." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gloved hands trembling. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”
Your hand reached for his, squeezing weakly. "You’re worth it."
Sunday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his dignified mask crumbled. "No one is worth losing you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not even me.”
The world around the two of you seemed to fade away as Sunday focused solely on keeping you conscious. He whispered soft reassurances, his usually formal tone replaced with a raw, desperate plea. “Stay with me,” he urged. “I’ll fix this. I swear it.”
Using his limited healing abilities, Sunday poured his energy into stabilizing you. The effort left him visibly drained, his face pale and his breaths labored, but he refused to stop. "I’ve seen too much suffering," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I won’t allow it to claim you."
As reinforcements arrived and medical aid was administered, Sunday stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. When you were finally safe, he let out a shaky breath, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.
"You risked yourself for me," he said quietly, his eyes softening. “But know this: I will never allow you to come to harm again. You are too precious to lose.”
In that moment, you saw a side of Sunday he rarely revealed—a man burdened by the weight of his ideals, yet willing to fight against them for the sake of someone he cherished.
Nando was always a quiet student, often caught up in thoughts deeper than most his age would entertain. He had finished college with a degree in architecture—with high honors, no less—but even as his name echoed through the grand hall during graduation, something inside him felt hollow.
He was surrounded by claps, cheers, and proud parents. His own father, Finn, a successful real estate mogul, beamed with pride as he clapped from the front row. But Nando? He just nodded politely, offering a reserved smile. His heart wasn’t celebrating.
Everyone told him he had it all—brains, a degree, a bright future, even financial stability. But deep down, Nando struggled. He didn’t feel confident or complete. Socially awkward, unsure of himself, and often critical of his appearance, Nando felt like a shadow of the man he wished he could be.
After the ceremony, as students gathered for pictures, a familiar name was called for Highest Honor in Architecture: Bryan Alford.
Tall, charismatic, sharp-jawed, with an effortless smile and calm presence, Bryan walked across the stage to thunderous applause. Nando had seen him around campus. Everyone knew Bryan. People liked him, respected him. He was everything Nando wasn’t—but wished he could be.
Later that afternoon, as the chairs cleared and students began leaving, Bryan approached Nando.
"Hey... Nando, right?"
Nando looked up, startled. "Y-yeah."
Bryan smiled. "You gave a great thesis presentation last month. I remember it. The way you integrated natural elements into urban design—it stuck with me."
Nando blinked. Compliments weren’t common for him. "Thanks... I thought nobody noticed."
Bryan chuckled. "I notice things. You got something special. You just don’t see it yet."
That one sentence hit Nando harder than any award he received. The two sat and talked. What started as a friendly chat became an exchange of ideas, stories, even laughter.
By the end of the day, Bryan had agreed to join Nando and his dad for a small celebratory dinner at their home.
The Mysterious Gift
Earlier that day, Finn (Nando's Dad) had stopped by a boutique perfume store hoping to get something thoughtful for his son. He knew Nando didn’t need much—but maybe a scent, a symbolic gesture, would give him the confidence he lacked.
But the store was nearly empty. No premium bottles left—except one, tucked away under glass:
"Magna Persona: For those ready to become who they’re meant to be."
It shimmered faintly when held to the light. The shopkeeper said it was a “rare blend that reveals one’s truest potential.”
Skeptical but intrigued, Finn bought it and wrapped it in a black velvet box.
At dinner, Finn handed it to Nando with a warm smile. “For the man you’re becoming the best of all. I'm proud of you!”
Nando hesitated but accepted the gift, opening it to find the sleek bottle. Its scent was unlike anything he had smelled before—earthy, warm, nostalgic, and strangely familiar.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said softly.
Transformation Through Connection
That night, Bryan stayed for a sleepover. The two boys (together with Finn) shared laughs in the guest lounge, reflecting on the past, their dreams, and life ahead. Bryan spoke openly about his struggles too, surprising Nando. He wasn’t perfect. But he was genuine.
As the night settled, the boys changed into pajamas. Nando, still moved by his father’s gesture, sprayed a bit of the perfume on his neck, wrists, and even his clothes.
He didn’t know the scent had begun to hum faintly in the air.
The three fell asleep peacefully—Finn in the corner recliner, Bryan and Nando on the guest bed.
Then it happened.
As Nando dreamed—of being better, being brave, of having his father’s wisdom and Bryan’s presence—his body seemed to glow faintly under the moonlight.
Unconsciously, he rolled toward Bryan. A subtle shimmer wrapped around them. Their energies aligned for just a moment, Nando feeling Bryan’s calm, confidence, and charisma filling the parts of him that always felt empty.
Moments later, he rolled again toward his father, and the soft light responded once more. The warmth of Finn’s grounded wisdom and strength met the spark of Bryan’s youthful brilliance inside Nando’s sleeping heart.
A New Morning
The sun peeked through the window. Birds chirped. Nando slowly woke up, groggy but… different.
He sat up. His chest felt broader. His posture straighter. He walked to the mirror and froze.
He looked… like himself, but subtly changed. His features had matured overnight—his eyes held both his father’s steadiness and Bryan’s spark. His skin glowed, his voice deeper, stronger. He still looked like Nando—but Nando, refined.
“Was it a dream…?” he whispered, but deep inside, he knew something magical had happened.
Embracing His True Self
From that day on, Nando lived more freely. He still had moments of doubt—but he remembered the dream, the warmth, the transformation.
He applied for architecture internships with boldness. He volunteered at design workshops, helping younger students. People began to notice his quiet confidence and deep wisdom—a presence that felt older than his years, but entirely his own.
He wasn’t pretending to be Bryan or Finn as his father.
He had become Fernando.
Final Reflection
One dawn, months later, Nando visited the same boutique store. The shopkeeper stood behind the counter as if expecting him.
“I thought I’d see you again,” the man said with a knowing smile.
“Can I ask you something?” Nando said. “That perfume… what was it, really?”
The shopkeeper just nodded toward the shelf—where a single bottle of Magna Persona still rested.
“It’s not magic,” he said softly. “It only works when someone’s ready to grow.”
Nando smiled. He no longer needed answers.
He already had everything he was searching for—within himself.
That Night—In the Dream
Fernardo lay down after his first day exploring his new self: his new confidence, balance, and ease in the world. He had the mind of an architect, the empathy of a leader, and the grounded wisdom of someone who’d lived through many layers of life.
As he drifted into sleep, the dream came naturally.
He found himself standing in a quiet garden. The stars were bright above, and a gentle wind swayed the tall grass around him. In the distance, two figures appeared—walking toward him from opposite directions.
It was Bryan and Finn.
They looked just as they had the night before, smiling softly.
Fernardo’s heart swelled with recognition, and he stepped toward them.
Bryan was the first to speak. “You look good, Nando. Or... should I say Fernardo?”
“I… I don’t know how it happened,” Fernardo said. “I didn’t plan for this. I just wanted to be… better.”
Finn nodded. “You didn’t take from us. You honored us.”
Bryan stepped closer. “We weren’t lost, Nando. We’re still here. With you. We felt your heart—what you truly wanted. To be someone whole. Someone strong. You didn’t want to erase us… you wanted to carry us forward.”
“But do you regret it?” Fernardo asked. “You both had lives—dreams.”
Finn smiled. “I lived much of mine already. But I see now that this was part of my legacy—to live on through you. In a way that matters. In a way that heals.”
Bryan placed a hand on Fernardo’s shoulder. “And I wasn’t finished, but… maybe you are the better version of what I could’ve been. You’ll do more than I ever could—we will. That’s enough for me.”
Fernardo felt emotion tighten in his chest.
“I’ll carry you with me,” he said, voice thick with feeling. “Not as ghosts, not as shadows. As pieces of me. Guiding me.”
They both smiled.
“You already are,” said Finn.
Then the dream began to fade. The garden shimmered away like dew in sunlight, and Fernardo awoke once again to the real world—still whole, still strong, and no longer alone.
After That Night into Morning
Fernardo would go on to do extraordinary things—designing buildings that brought communities together, mentoring young people, living with a sense of purpose.
And every once in a while, when life got quiet… he would feel a hand on his shoulder in his dreams. Or hear a faint laugh from Bryan. Or a quiet “I’m proud of you” from Finn.
My little Gloink Queen. I wonder how her babies are developing. Honestly? I'm a little afraid, not of her but myself. I was raised, like many of us, in a society that freaks out when it comes to spiders. I've seen the video where someone smacked a wolf spider with a broom and babies went everywhere. And when I saw it years ago? My fear was the unexpected babies. But now? How horrifying an experience for an innocent spider and her babies.
I've been doing a lot of reflecting on myself, the way the world was taught to me, and wondering why. The more I learn about spiders, the more I learn how reasonable, good, and harmless they are, the more difficult it is for me to understand the things I was taught. And why so many of us were taught that. I don't have a good answer.
But. I suppose I can be glad that I can see beyond what I was taught. And I'm so scared when her babies hatch, what if I'm still that same person who is scared? Of a cluster of spiders all on their mom?
I can't choose my body's reaction. I can't choose the impulse that happens. But I can choose my actions. I'm choosing love. So long as there are babies in that egg ball? I'm going to protect momma and love her. And I already love those babies, I hope they thrive. Maybe? If I choose love, then I can chance l change my nature, and see them for the beauty they are. It's what I want to do and be. I wonder if anyone who follows me has ever faced the same struggle?
So long as her babies are healthy and well, I plan to share their lives growing until most are set free. And maybe anyone ride who wants to get over that fear and choose love can too.
Moments: 7/x
Matt (inadvertently) comes face to face with Wilson Fisk
↪ "I don't believe you went to see this woman for insight into how to kill a man.
I think… maybe you went looking for a reason not to."
