#nedxreader

The facts are these: Ned, the tall, somewhat socially anxious Pie Maker, had a heart that currently felt like a piece of dough that had been kneaded for far too long. It was tough, tired, and a little bit hollow.

Charlotte "Chuck" Charles, his childhood sweetheart and the girl he had brought back from the dead, was still there. She was in the kitchen, she was at the counter, and she was helping with cases. But she wasn't his anymore. They had decided, with a lot of tears and very few words, that she needed to see the world. She needed to breathe air that didn't smell like flour and secrets. She was leaving in a week to travel the globe with her father.

And then there was Y/N.

Y/N was the waitress. She was the one who wore the bright colors and kept the coffee hot. She was the one who had loved Ned through the Chuck years, through the lonely years, and through every single "no" he had never actually said aloud.

The Pie Hole was filled with a tension that was thicker than the rhubarb filling. Ned was rolling dough with a focused intensity, trying not to look at Chuck, who was organizing the spice rack.

"I’m really going to miss the cinnamon," Chuck said, trying to be lighthearted. "I don’t think they have cinnamon like this in Singapore."

Ned nodded, his eyes fixed on the table. "They have spices. Better ones, probably."

Y/N stood at the end of the counter, a tray tucked under her arm. She watched them, the boy who was heartbroken and the girl who was breaking his heart. It felt like watching a play she had seen a thousand times, and she was just the person who pulled the curtains.

Her heart didn't just ache, it felt heavy. It felt like a stone she had been carrying in her pocket for years. She was tired. She was so very tired of hoping that one day Ned would look at her the way he looked at a perfectly baked crust, or even better, the way he looked at Chuck.

"I’m going to go start the car," Emerson Cod announced, bursting in and saving them all from the silence. "The dead guy is waiting, and he isn’t getting any fresher. Let’s go, Pie Maker. Chuck, bring your notebook. Pocket-sized waitress, bring your... whatever it is you do."

"I bring the common sense," Y/N muttered, grabbing her sweater.

The facts are these: Silas Vane was a man who built things out of metal. He also died by metal. He had been found pinned under a massive iron beam in his abandoned foundry. The police called it a freak accident. The widow, who had a very large life insurance policy to collect, wanted proof of foul play.

The foundry was a cavernous, terrifying place. It was filled with rusting machinery, dangling chains, and the smell of old grease and cold soot.

"Be careful," Ned said, his voice echoing. He looked at Chuck. "It’s slippery.

Y/N walked three steps behind them. She saw the way Ned’s hand twitched, wanting to reach for Chuck’s. She saw the way Chuck smiled sadly back at him. It was a beautiful, tragic dance, and Y/N was the wallflower.

‘I don’t want to do this anymore’, Y/N thought. ‘I don’t want to be the backup. I don’t want to be the one who waits.’

They reached the body. Ned leaned over, his magic finger ready. He touched the cold skin of Silas Vane. The man gasped, his iron-gray eyes snapping open.

"Who’s there?" Silas croaked.

"You have sixty seconds," Emerson said, checking his watch. "Who dropped the beam on you?"

"It wasn't a who," Silas wheezed. "It was the chain. It’s... it’s all rigged. The whole place. Don't touch the—"

*CLANG.*

The sound was like a thunderclap. High above them, a rusted chain snapped. A massive iron hook, the size of a tractor, began to swing wildly across the ceiling. It was coming straight for the platform where they stood.

"Ned, look out!" Chuck screamed, diving to the left.

Ned was frozen. He looked up, his eyes wide. The hook was massive, a blur of rust and death, swinging like a pendulum. He wouldn't be able to jump in time.

Y/N was closer. She didn't scream. She didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, her small frame colliding with Ned’s chest. She threw every ounce of her weight into him, shoving him off the platform and into a pile of soft burlap sacks below.

But the platform was narrow. And the hook was fast.

As Ned tumbled to safety, the edge of the iron hook caught Y/N. It didn't hit her full-on, if it had, she would have been gone instantly, but it slammed into her side with the force of a car, throwing her off the platform in the opposite direction, deep into the shadows of the machinery.

Ned landed hard in the sacks. He scrambled up, gasping. "Chuck! Emerson! Is everyone okay?"

"I'm fine!" Chuck shouted, climbing up from the floor.

"I'm fine, but my suit is ruined!" Emerson grumbled.

Ned looked around, his heart beginning to thud painfully. "Where’s Y/N?"

Silence.

"Y/N?" Ned called out, his voice rising in pitch. "Y/N, where are you?"

Deep in the shadows, tucked behind a massive, rusted boiler, Y/N was curled on the cold concrete. Her side felt like it was on fire, and then, slowly, it began to feel like nothing at all. She could feel the wetness of blood soaking through her favorite yellow cardigan.

She heard Ned calling her name. She opened her mouth to answer, but then she stopped.

‘Why?’ she thought.

If she answered, he would find her. He would be worried. He would be kind to her for a few days, maybe a week. He would bring her soup and tell her she was brave. And then, he would go back to looking at Chuck. He would go back to being the Pie Maker who lived in a dream of a girl who was leaving.

She was so tired of the "almosts." She was tired of the crumbs of affection.

‘Maybe this is okay,’ she thought, her vision blurring. ‘If I just stay quiet... I can just go to sleep. It won't hurt anymore. No more pining. No more heartbreak. Just... quiet.’

She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the cold iron. She felt strangely peaceful. She had saved him. That was her last act. It was the most "Y/N Y/L/N" thing she could have ever done, dying for a man who was looking for someone else.

"She’s not answering," Ned said, his voice trembling. "Emerson, she pushed me. I felt her. She saved me."

"Check the floor," Emerson said, his face turning serious.

Ned began to run. He ignored the swinging hook, he ignored the dust, and he ignored Chuck calling after him. He realized, with a sudden, horrifying clarity, that he hadn't seen Y/N since the hook swung.

He moved toward the back of the foundry. He saw something glinting on the floor. A button. A small, yellow button from her uniform.

"Y/N!" he screamed.

He turned the corner behind the boiler and stopped.

She looked so small. She was tucked away like a discarded toy. The light from the high windows hit her face, making her look pale and ethereal.

"No," Ned whispered. "No, no, no."

He dropped to his knees beside her. He was terrified to touch her, but he saw her chest moving, slow, shallow movements. She was alive.

"Y/N, look at me," he pleaded, gently lifting her head. "Why didn't you shout? I was right there! I was right here!"

Y/N’s eyes flickered open. They were unfocused, but when they finally landed on Ned, a small, sad smile touched her lips.

"Hi, Ned," she whispered. Her voice was barely a breath.

"We have to get you out of here," Ned said, tears streaming down his face. "Why did you do that? You saved me."

"I always... save you," she breathed. "It’s my job. Even when it's not... my job."

She coughed, and a drop of blood escaped her lips. Ned wiped it away with his thumb, his heart breaking into a million pieces.

"Ned?" she whispered.

"I'm here. I'm right here."

"I'm tired," she said. "I’m so tired of being the one who loves you more. So I think... I think I’ll just stop now."

"Don't stop," Ned begged. "Don't you dare stop."

"I love you," she said, her voice suddenly clear, filled with all the years of devotion she had kept tucked inside her apron. "I’ve loved you since the first pie. I just wanted you to know... one last time. Before I go."

Her eyes drifted shut. Her hand, which had been resting on his arm, fell limp.

"Y/N? Y/N!"

Ned pulled her close, burying his face in her neck. He felt the faint, thready pulse. She was still there, but she was slipping away.

And in that moment, the world shifted.

He thought about Chuck. He looked at Chuck, who was standing a few feet away, her hand over her mouth. He felt... affection for her. He felt a deep, old love. But it was a love of the past. It was a love that was already saying goodbye.

Then he looked at the woman in his arms.

He thought about every morning at The Pie Hole. He thought about the way Y/N knew exactly how much flour he used by the sound of the scoop. He thought about the way she defended him to Emerson. He thought about the way she had jumped in front of a literal ton of iron without a second thought.

She hadn't just saved his life today. She had been saving his life every single day for years. She was the one who stayed. She was the one who didn't want to see the world, she just wanted to see him.

"I’ve been so blind," Ned sobbed, rocking her back and forth. "I’ve been such a fool."

He realized that he didn't just need Y/N. He loved her. Not as a backup, not as a friend, but as the person who made his soul feel safe. She was the home he had been looking for while he was staring at the stars.

"Emerson! Call an ambulance!" Ned roared. "Now!"

The facts are these: Y/N did not die. She was too stubborn, and the doctors were too good, and Ned refused to leave her side for even a second.

Three days later, Y/N opened her eyes in a quiet hospital room. The sun was shining through the window, and the room smelled like... pie?

She turned her head. Ned was sitting in a chair by the bed. He looked terrible. His hair was a mess, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he was holding a small, individual-sized pear pie.

"You're awake," he said, his voice cracking.

"I think so," Y/N whispered. She looked around. "Am I... am I still the backup?"

Ned moved to the edge of the bed. He took her hand, carefully, so carefully, and pressed it to his cheek.

"You were never the backup," he said firmly. "I was just too stupid to realize that you were the whole point. Chuck is leaving, Y/N. And I’m staying. But I only want to stay if you’re there with me."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the hospital blankets. "Ned? Are you sure? Is this the 'I almost died' guilt talking?"

Ned shook his head. He leaned forward and kissed her palm. "It’s the 'I can't imagine a single pie without you' truth talking. I love you, Y/N. I love your red pears, and your yellow sweaters, and the way you save me when I don't deserve it. Please... stay with me?"

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. She saw the truth in his eyes. The pining was gone. The confusion was gone. There was only Ned.

"Okay," she whispered, a tear of pure happiness sliding down her cheek. "I think I can do that."

The Pie Hole would still be there. The dead would still need questions answered. But for the Pie Maker and his waitress, the facts had finally changed for the better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The facts are these: Ned, the tall, shy proprietor of The Pie Hole, could bring the dead back to life with a single touch. However, he could not, for the life of him, figure out how to be happy when the girl he had loved since he was a boy was currently thousands of miles away, looking at the Eiffel Tower or perhaps a very large goat in the Alps.

Charlotte "Chuck" Charles had left. She had gone to see the world with her father, leaving Ned with a broken heart, a very lonely bed, and a pie shop that felt much too quiet.

Then there was Y/N.

Y/N was the waitress at The Pie Hole. She was small, she was spunky, and she was, though Ned was too clouded by his own gloom to see it, the very heartbeat of the building. She had spent years pining for him. She had kept his secrets, she had hidden his dead-again bodies, and she had loved him with a devotion that was both beautiful and, quite frankly, a little bit exhausting.

For some weeks, Ned had been a ghost in his own kitchen. He moved like a man made of damp cardboard. The crusts were a little too thick, the fillings a little too sour, and the "Open" sign was often flipped an hour late.

"Ned," Y/N said softly, leaning over the counter. She was wearing her yellow uniform, her hair perfectly done, her eyes full of that familiar, aching hope. "You’ve been staring at that Granny Smith for ten minutes. I don’t think it’s going to tell you its secrets."

Ned sighed, a long, shaky sound. "It’s just... Chuck liked the green ones. She said they had personality."

Y/N felt a familiar pang in her chest, like a tiny needle poking a balloon. It didn't pop, but it leaked a little more air. "I like the red ones," she whispered, though Ned didn't seem to hear. "Red is the color of hearts. And stop signs. And... blood, I guess. But mostly hearts!"

She forced a bright, chirpy smile. "I made you some chamomile tea. With two sugars. Just the way you like it when the world feels too big."

Ned looked up, blinking. For a second, he actually saw her. He saw the way she was holding the mug so carefully, the way she had remembered his exact sugar preference even though he hadn't asked. "Thank you, Y/N. You’re... you’re very good to me."

"I try," she said, her voice cracking just a tiny bit.

Before he could say anything else, the bells on the door jingled with a violent, angry energy. Emerson Cod marched in, clutching a knitting bag and looking like he wanted to punch the sun.

"Pie Maker! Pocket-Sized Waitress! Stop moping. We have a dead man, a missing diamond, and a paycheck with a lot of zeros at the end of it."

The facts are these: Sir Alistair Pendergast was a man who loved two things: clocks and being incredibly rich. He had died three days ago when a massive grandfather clock had seemingly tipped over and crushed him. The police called it an accident. His daughter, who wanted her inheritance now, called it a murder.

Ned, Y/N, and Emerson arrived at Pendergast Manor. It was a dark, spindly house that looked like it was made of shadows and spite.

Ned was still in a fog. As they walked through the dusty halls, he kept looking at his phone, hoping for a text from Chuck that wasn't coming. He tripped over a rug, and Y/N was there in an instant, grabbing his arm to steady him.

"Careful, Ned," she murmured. "I’ve got you."

"Thanks," he mumbled, his mind miles away.

They found the body in the parlor. Sir Alistair was laid out on a table, looking very flat and very dead. Ned reached out, his finger trembling. One touch, and the old man gasped for air, his eyes snapping open.

"Who are you? Where’s my diamond?" the dead man wheezed.

"You have sixty seconds," Emerson barked, checking his watch. "Who pushed the clock?"

"It wasn't a person!" Alistair coughed. "It was the... the mechanism! The walls! They’re moving!"

Suddenly, a loud clack echoed through the room. The floor shuddered.

"Ned!" Y/N screamed.

The manor wasn't just a house; it was a giant, ticking machine. And they had just stepped into the gears. A massive stone wall began to slide shut, threatening to seal them into the parlor forever.

"Run!" Emerson yelled, diving through the narrowing gap.

Ned froze. His depression had made his reflexes slow. He watched the heavy stone slab moving toward him, his brain struggling to process the danger. He was thinking about how Chuck would have made a joke about being "walled in."

"Ned! Move!"

Y/N didn't think. She never thought when it came to Ned. She simply acted. She lunged forward, putting her small frame between Ned and the sliding wall. She shoved him with all her might.

Ned tumbled out into the hallway, landing hard on the carpet. He spun around just in time to see the horror unfold.

Y/N hadn't made it all the way out. The stone wall slammed shut, but her leg and side were caught in the crushing pressure of the mechanism before the emergency release, triggered by the obstruction, snapped the wall back open.

The sound was sickening. A dull thud, followed by a sharp, choked-off cry.

Y/N collapsed to the floor like a broken doll.

"Y/N!" Ned scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way it hadn't done in weeks. This wasn't the slow, dull ache of a breakup. This was sharp, cold terror.

He reached her and slid to his knees. She was pale,so pale she almost looked like one of the people he usually brought back. Her yellow uniform was torn, and blood was beginning to soak through the fabric of her side. Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no," Ned stammered. He reached out to touch her, then pulled his hand back in a panic. "I can't, if I touch you and you... and you’re..."

"I'm not dead, Ned," Y/N whispered, her eyes fluttering. She tried to give him a small, brave smile, but it twisted into a grimace of pain. "Just... really, really hurt. My own fault. Always stepping where I don't belong."

"You saved me," Ned said, his voice realization-heavy. "Why would you do that? You could have been killed."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes glassy with tears. "Because it’s you, Ned. It’s always been you."

Emerson ran over, his face uncharacteristically soft with concern. "We gotta move. Now. The whole house is shaking apart."

Ned didn't wait for Emerson to help. He scooped Y/N into his arms. She was so light. He realized, with a sudden jolt of guilt, how little he actually knew about her weight, her warmth, or her life outside of the pies she served for him. He had taken her presence for granted, like the air in his lungs, only noticing it when it started to run out.

The hospital smelled of bleach and sadness. Ned sat in a plastic chair that felt too small for his long legs. His hands were stained with Y/N's blood. He stared at them, trembling.

He thought about Chuck. He tried to summon the feeling of missing her, the "hopeless love" he had been nursing for weeks. But it felt thin. It felt like a memory of a movie he had seen once.

Then he thought about Y/N.

He thought about her bringing him tea. He thought about her singing to the birds on the balcony. He thought about the way she had looked at him every morning for years, with a look of such pure, unwavering loyalty that it should have been impossible to miss.

She had been his shield. Not just today against a stone wall, but every day. She shielded him from loneliness. She shielded him from the grumpy customers. She kept his secret, the biggest, most dangerous secret in the world, and she asked for nothing in return.

"I’m an idiot," Ned whispered to the empty hallway.

"Yes, you are," Emerson said, appearing from around the corner with two cups of terrible coffee. He handed one to Ned. "She’s out of surgery. Broken ribs, shattered leg, lost some blood. But the girl is like a weed. You can’t kill her that easily."

Ned let out a breath he felt he’d been holding since the manor. "She saved me, Emerson. She didn't even hesitate."

Emerson sat down, sighing. "Pie Maker, that girl has been jumping in front of metaphorical buses for you since the day she walked into that shop. You were just too busy looking at the girl in the bubble to notice the one holding the umbrella over your head."

The words hit Ned like a physical blow. It was true. He had been so obsessed with the "impossible" love of Chuck, a girl he couldn't even touch, that he had ignored the "possible" love of the woman who was always right there.

Ned was allowed into her room an hour later. The machines were beeping softly. Y/N looked tiny in the large hospital bed, her leg in a heavy cast and a bandage wrapped around her middle.

He sat in the chair beside her bed. He didn't touch her, not yet, fearful of his gift, though she was very much alive. He just watched her breathe.

He started to talk. He didn't know if she could hear him, but he needed to say the words.

"Y/N? It's Ned. I... I brought you a slice of pear pie. I made it myself. I made the crust thin, the way you said it should be. I used the red pears. Because you like red."

He swallowed hard.

"I’ve been thinking about the shop. It’s so quiet without you. When Chuck left, I thought the world ended. I thought the light went out. But I was wrong. The light was still there. It was just... it was cleaning the tables. It was filing the taxes. It was making sure I ate lunch."

He reached out, his hand hovering over hers. His gift was a curse, yes, but in this moment, it was a reminder of how precious every second of life was.

"I’ve been so stupid. I was looking for a dream, and I ignored the person who was making my life a reality. You’ve loved me for so long, and I just... I let you. I let you give and give, and I never gave back. I’m so sorry."

Y/N’s fingers twitched. Her eyes slowly opened, squinting against the harsh hospital lights. She saw Ned. She saw the tears in his eyes.

"Ned?" she rasped. "Is the... is the manor okay?"

Ned laughed, a wet, shaky sound. "The manor is a pile of gears, Y/N. Who cares about the manor? Are you okay?"

She tried to shrug, then winced. "I’ve had better Tuesdays. But hey, I got a day off work, right?"

"You're never working another day in your life if you don't want to," Ned said fiercely. He took a breath, his heart racing. "Or... you can come back. But not as my waitress. As... as something else."

Y/N went very still. "Something else? Like a consultant? Do I get a hat?"

"No," Ned said, finally letting his hand rest gently on top of hers. Since she was alive, his touch did nothing but offer comfort. "Like the person I take to dinner. Like the person I buy flowers for. Like the person I love. Because I do, Y/N. I love you. It took a wall falling on you for me to see it, and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but I see it now. I see you."

Y/N stared at him. For a moment, the only sound was the beep of the heart monitor, which was suddenly getting much, much faster.

"Ned," she whispered. "Is this the morphine? Because if this is the drugs talking, I’m going to be very upset when they wear off."

Ned leaned down, his face inches from hers. He smelled like flour and cinnamon and honesty. "It’s not the drugs. It’s me. It’s us. If you’ll have me."

Y/N reached up with her good arm, her hand trembling as she touched his cheek. A tear escaped and ran into her hair. "I’ve been waiting for 'us' since the dawn of time, Ned. Or at least since 2007."

Ned smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes for the first time in weeks. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a soft, lingering promise.

Chuck was gone to see the world. But as Ned looked at Y/N, he realized that his whole world was right here, in a hospital bed, wearing a yellow uniform and a lopsided grin.

The facts are these: Ned was a pie maker. Y/N was his heart. And for the first time in a long time, everything was going to be sweet.

_________________________________________________

Lowk so in love w Ned the Pie Maker at the moment………