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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.

Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.

Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.

One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”

She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.

Claudia opens the door quietly.

It’s not Max who’s in the bed.

She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.

And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.

He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.

She takes one step forward.

Eddie inhales, breath stuttering, and it’s a fragile, heartbreaking sound.

Dustin stirs. “Hmm? Wha’s wrong?” He lifts his head up from Eddie’s shoulder, and his eyes meet Claudia’s, and he’s suddenly wide awake, scrabbling upright. “Mom.”

Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, like he’s desperately searching for words. “I-I’m not—” His breathing catches again, eyes wide; Claudia realises, with a heavy heart, that he’s deeply afraid of her. “It’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”

“Mom,” Dustin says again. Pleading.

And of course, Claudia never once believed the frenzied cries about Satanic rituals. Still, throughout that awful Spring Break, knowing that her son was lying to her, all she could think was that she was once a teenager, too—remembered how easy it could be to get caught up in something scary, something beyond your control.

She looks into Eddie Munson’s eyes, and knows deep in her bones that she has nothing to fear from him.

She beckons Dustin over, hands him the car keys.

“There’s a pillow on your seat, hon,” she says softly, because there’s a sleepy haze returning to his eyes despite his obvious concern for Eddie.

Dustin blinks, so unsure.

She smiles reassuringly. It’s okay. I promise.

“Okay,” Dustin says slowly, and he looks back at Eddie, raising his eyebrows like he wants to convince him of something. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t speak.

He lifts his hand in a weak wave as Dustin leaves. It’s shaking. Claudia sits down by the bed. Puts her hand in his.

Eddie stares at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Claudia shakes her head, too, slowly—prays that he can really hear this. “No, no, please. Listen to me. I’m so sorry.”

It would be an easy thing to say, that the town of Hawkins wronged Eddie Munson. But that would make it sound so impersonal: like it was inevitable, just one of these tragic things that happened, nothing to be done about it. Like earthquakes.

But that wasn’t true. People were behind this, and Claudia knows that they are all the town, every single one of them. And what did it say about them, that the fear and mistrust and cruelty spread like wildfire? That not one adult in the town hall stood up, begged people to stop, to think again?

“Th-thank you,” Eddie says. It sounds so uncertain, almost like a question.

Claudia squeezes his hand. “You were with Dustin, weren’t you?” she asks. “When the earthquake…”

His hand is shaking again.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I-I’m sorry, I—” He swallows. “I didn’t want a-anything to happen to him.”

“Oh, honey.” She reaches out cautiously, and when he doesn’t freeze up, she cups his cheek; her heart breaks at the rough indent of a scar beneath her palm. “You’re not God.”

Eddie reaches up, pressing her hand further against his cheek. He’s crying.

Claudia wipes his tears away as much as she can. She keeps up a steady murmur: “Shh, shh. I know you kept him as safe as you could. I know, I know. Shh.”

When he starts to calm, she thanks him again, but for something lighter.

“Dusty… he was so nervous, starting high school. But his first day, when I picked him up, all he could talk about was getting invited to have lunch with… well, a club.” Claudia smiles. “Oh, he was talking a mile a minute, I could hardly keep up. But I… oh, Eddie, I understand now. That was you.”

Eddie grins back. His cheeks are still wet.

“I didn’t do much,” he says. “You’ve…” For a moment, his eyes fill up again, but they look like happy tears. “You’ve got some kid, Mrs Henderson. He’s—he’s a real gem.”

She laughs. “Oh, I know.”

It’s one of the many things she loves about Dustin: that he’s always been so unashamedly, so joyously himself.

And Eddie had clearly seen that in him, had taken him in and nurtured everything that made him so.

The door abruptly slams open.

Steve’s in the doorway; he must’ve been running, is still gasping for breath as he says, panicked, “Claudia, I can—”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and that’s all.

But it’s clearly enough, because Steve’s shoulders drop in relief, and then he’s shutting the door, coming to Eddie’s bedside like he belongs there, and Eddie’s smiling at him, so tenderly…

And oh, she was young, once. She knows what she’s looking at.

Of course, she doesn’t mention it, can still sense some residual anxiety radiating from them.

Instead she looks around the room, spots a pile of laundry in the corner. It’s been stuffed into a bag; she recognises that as belonging to Steve, but there’s some shirts in there that are definitely Eddie’s, entwined with Steve’s things.

She stands, but before she can even pick up the bag, it seems like Steve’s read her mind, because he’s stepping forward, stopping her with a touch to her forearm.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’m taking care of it, Claudia.”

She pats his cheek, lingers there until he smiles. “I know, sweetheart. But… would you let me? It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie reaches up from the bed, squeezes Steve’s elbow. Steve sighs, briefly leaning into him.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s… thank you.”

“As long as you do one thing for me.”

“Of course,” Steve says immediately. “Anything.”

Claudia brings out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Write me a list? Anything you’d like, I’ll be shopping anyway.” She looks Steve in the eyes, adds firmly but with a smile, “It’s no trouble.”

Steve takes the notepad, twirls the pen hesitantly.

“Anything you’d like,” Claudia repeats. She glances at Eddie, says, “You know, if you want a different shampoo than what they have here, things like that, or—”

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “Whatever’s on sale is—”

“I know, honey,” Claudia says patiently, “but what would you actually like?”

The last extended hospital stay she’d had was fifteen years ago; Dustin had been a preemie, and one of the few things that kept her calm was the familiar: scents, food, people…

Steve chuckles. “I’ve got it.” He writes on the notepad, and Eddie must be able to read it, because he suddenly turns a little pink.

“How did you know that?”

Steve shrugs, smiles. “I notice things.” He writes down just a couple more things, then hands the list back. “Thank you so much, Claudia.”

“Any time, sweetie, I mean it.” She hugs Steve goodbye, then reaches one last time for Eddie’s hand on the bedspread. “It was lovely to meet you, Eddie. Hope you can go home soon.”

“Yeah, me—me too. Thank you, Mrs Hend—” Steve squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie stops. Smiles. “Thank you, Claudia.”

She looks back once to shut the door behind her. Steve’s pulling up a chair, as close as he can get, and as the door closes, she hears him tut softly, gently swiping at the remaining trail of tears on Eddie’s face: “Hey, what—?”

They look like they belong together. Dustin’s boys.

Dustin’s asleep in the car, pillow pressed against the window. Claudia puts the bag of laundry in the trunk before quietly slipping into her seat.

Dustin wakes anyway as they drive out of the parking lot. “Eddie… okay?”

“He is, honey. Steve’s with him.”

“Mm… good.” There’s a pause, and Claudia thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then he says, tentative, “Mom?”

“Yes, Dusty?”

“If I tell you something… d’you promise to keep it private?”

“As long as it’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s not,” Dustin says firmly. “Um. Steve and Eddie, I think… I think they’re…”

Claudia smiles, nods encouragingly. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

Dustin hums in agreement. “They’ve not told me. Did I… do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Claudia feels a lump in her throat. “You’re a good friend.”

Dustin makes an uncertain noise.

“You are, baby. They love you very much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Dustin sighs. “I know.” His eyes are closing.

“Sorry, baby, just before you sleep—are there any candies Steve and Eddie like?”

Dustin nods. “Eddie likes anything sweet. An’ Steve…” He yawns. “Anything w’peanut butter.”

“Great. Thank you, honey.”

Dustin’s already asleep.

Claudia knows that even with what she’s learned today, she still only has half a story, if that. That there’s something more to Dustin’s exhaustion, to just how Eddie ended up in a hospital bed.

Today, she’ll do all she can. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Laundry and shopping, reading the brand of shampoo Steve wrote with a careful eye. She’ll fill her cart up with treats, things that won’t solve anything; they might make staying in that hospital room just a little easier, though. Make it feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

But first, she’ll take her boy home; she’ll park the car as close to the front door as she can get, and when he doesn’t stir, she’ll run a hand through his hair, gently put him to bed.

#one line from my current Dustin fic wouldn’t leave me alone & then this happened ❤️#claudia henderson fic #eddie and dustin #dustin and claudia henderson #henderfam #steve and dustin #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie #eddie and claudia #steve and claudia #claudia henderson #dustin henderson #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie

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matchibee · 1 year

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Enchanted

i wrote this with such speed i thought i was gonna pass out. a long one, my magnum opus as far as writing for Miguel goes. semi-proof-read?

in which Miguel is in love with you but you’re in love with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man. An illusive figure who arrived with the wind, retreating upon the stars. You couldn’t help your infatuation, couldn’t stand the way he had your stomach flipping at the mere mention of his name — jumbotrons displaying his well-built definition, detailing the lengths of his most recent brush with malice.

Clawed hands running along the sides of buildings, thick crimson webs entrapping unsuspecting offenders. Everything from the seemingly mundane to the exceptionally exemplary. Not a detail scurried past you, infatuated to your core, and the moment where you finally encountered him — flesh to spandex — was a moment you’d yet to forget.

A trip to the bank gone wrong. Mismatched militia of men in crude ski masks training their guns upon the various tellers performing dreadfully dull monetary tasks. They instructed —no — demanded cash be deposited within boringly beige burlap sacks. In an effort to conceal yourself once the gunfight began, you ducked behind a trio of seats, body shaking, praying you’d be spared from the influence of evil.

You’d damn near conceded to the universe right then and there, tears streaming across your cheeks. Then, as though the world had opened up, heeding your call:

Spider-Man.

He’d arrived upon seemingly thin air, just as you fantasized, defeating with the men in a flash — the onslaught of action leaving you frozen in place. Seconds, minutes had passed following Spider-Man’s victory, yet you stayed frozen. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

“You alright?”

The voice hadn’t registered, hands still covering your ears, gunfire playing out like a demented film in your mind.

Warmth. A hand pressed against your shoulder, tears ceasing their onslaught, the stray liquid hitting the floor. Eyes slick with moisture, burning from how tightly you’d shut up them looking up to find not a face, but a mask.

“Spider-Man…?”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

It hadn’t even been something you’d considered, surveying yourself in tandem with Spider-Man, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Besides, perhaps, your heartbeat.

“I’m… I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded his head, holding out a hand to you, your own enveloped by his palm alone. “Let’s get you out of here. Where do you live?”

He wanted to take you — escort you — home.

In typical circumstance you would’ve scoffed at the question, removing yourself from the situation, mace coating their face as you made a daring escape.

But here, now, enveloped in everything Spider-Man, you couldn’t help your compliance, couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped at his proximity.

His touch had lingered somewhere along your frame the entire journey back to your apartment — hand, back, shoulder — he moved in an effort to extend safety, yet you couldn’t resist the blush that unfurled against your cheeks when he’d remove himself only to return.

“This is me,” You’d spoken hoarsely, praying Spider-Man believed your nerves stemmed from a place of perpetuating fear. Fiddling with your thumbs, practically unable to look him in the eyes — mask?

He seemed in tune with your movement, hand returning to encase your own, ceasing your fidget. The man hesitated, a deafening silence, “Stay safe, okay?”

That was that. You’d returned to your apartment dazed and discombobulated, calling your boss to explain what had happened — you wouldn’t be able to attend today, perhaps not tomorrow, either. There you stayed within the safety of your apartment, reflecting on the day’s events, and yet only one thing reigned consistent in your mind.

Spider-Man.

You knew him — Spider-Man, even if you hadn’t known it. Miguel despised it, despised the way you spoke of him without even realizing it. Friends from work, the best of friends. But everyday he yearned for the threshold between platonic and romantic to blur, itching to feel his skin against yours.

Miguel’s heart sank when you called out, kicking himself for not realizing how deeply this morning’s debacle might have affected you. At the first sign of mental relief, he’d taken the opportunity to call you, fiddling with the picture of you and his daughter — the day you’d taken her out for her birthday — displayed neatly on his desk for everyone to see.

Everyone except you, of course.

You hadn’t the faintest idea it was there, Miguel coincidentally moving it aside, perhaps blocking it with his bulbous stature whenever you’d enter his office.

But he knew, his daughter knew, every other co-worker that had entered inquiring upon advice knew.

How his daughter adored you, and it only made him all the more enchanted with you.

Yet those feelings he’d extended towards his daughter in the midst of exhausted delirium, admitting — yes — he like-liked you were forced to remain hidden.

Those feelings that bubbled inside his chest whenever you smiled up at him, or brushed his shoulder during your trek to the office, were forced to remain hidden

The sound of the line connecting had Miguel sitting up straighter in his swivel chair, hesitant to respond, cursing you for answering your phone while you weren’t in the best shape.

Why would you just take of yourself? Why wouldn’t you just let him take care of you?

“Miguel,” Your meager voice upon pick-up echoed as though you had been asleep, a drawl to your voice, hopelessly drowsy — confused.

Or perhaps you’d been in tears?

The thought alone left Miguel’s heart clenching for relief.

“Hey,” He picked at loose skin surrounding his nail bed, “I uh… You called out?”

You hummed in response, Miguel doing the same. In truth, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond. He didn’t believe he’d get this far, didn’t realize how the mere tingle of the phone against his ear — displaying your contact photo of the night out where he was seconds away from confessing his feelings — would have his stomach flipping in circles.

“You’re not feeling well? Not… What’s wrong?”

He could hear you shift on the other line, a sniffle.

You were crying.

“Just… Something happened before work and I…” He heard the way your throat clenched, fighting the urge to cry, “I didn’t think I’d be able to go, y’know, do my job — not with that on my mind.” You forced a laugh, Miguel’s chest only clenching tighter.

He loathed himself for not being there sooner, beat himself up for not delivering you from the clutches of those fucked men. If you’d been home, his home that he’d gladly make yours, this wouldn’t have happened.

He didn’t want to ever allow it to happen again.

Miguel knew he should’ve killed those pathetic excuses for men then and there, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not with you present.

Perhaps the evening called for a targeted patrolling session.

“Want me to stop by? I could…” Miguel hesitated, “I could bring something to eat if you don’t feel well enough to cook, maybe…”

“No, Mig.” He could hear your hesitance, your voice quaking, distressed. “I just wanna be alone…”

Your sobs could be heard as the line disconnected, Miguel ridden with overwhelming grief.

He didn’t want to leave you alone, leave you to suffer in the silence of your apartment. Not when he could be there to hold you close, not when his daughter could braid your hair and ramble about classroom activities and playground gossip.

He was simply meant for you, meant to adore you with everything that encompassed his being.

Why wouldn’t you just let him?

Of course, you’d returned to work eventually, life seeming to resume as intended. You hadn’t been away long, something that simultaneously relieved and upset Miguel.

Relief from seeing your personified perfection in the flesh.

Upset because you shouldn’t have to push yourself to heal before you're ready.

You fell back into your daily habits with relative ease. Returning to work, an overwhelming project at your call upon your return, which precedented a late evening — crumpled papers, glasses hanging low on the tip of your nose. You simply couldn't get this right no matter how incessantly you tried, no matter how much effort you put into it. You were out of your zone, mind plagued with images of Spider-Man and everything that encompassed him.

“You’re not going home?” Miguel’s voice was laced with concern, leaning against the doorway to your office — adjacent rooms, right beside each other whenever the other yearned for moral support; confirmation in the midst of their work.

Sometimes you caught that the mere vibration of his melodic tone filled you with a sense of enchantment, legs weak and mind fogged with his essence.

The two of you couldn't afford to travel down that rabbit-hole, not again. Lingering touches, lovesick stares. Your lives were far too hectic, too different to allow yourselves such vulnerability.

You couldn't do that to him, to his daughter.

“Huh?” You snapped out of your academic stupor upon realizing you had, in fact, registered his voice amongst your onslaught of thoughts. “Oh, no. I already ate.”

Miguel laughed at you then. Relishing in your inattentiveness, the way your mind wandered to the simplest trivialities, the way you became entrapped within your work, forfeiting your very existence in favor of a breakthrough. Ripping the paper from your hands, your pout making Miguel see stars. “Miguel, I need that.”

Yet he couldn't help the way he felt wondering if it wasn't thoughts of frustration that plagued your mind, but thoughts of him.

“No,” The man tucked the paper neatly into one of the drawers attached to your desk, holding it closed with his calf, “You need to go home.”

“I’m not playing around, this is important.”

“Neither am I.”

You were stubborn, Miguel knew that, despised it. That didn’t deter him from extending a hand, working to convince you. Back and forth you shot excuses upon excuses, explanations piling upon others.

However, in the end, he had a daughter he adored to return home to. If you didn’t want to listen to a friend’s concerns…

Friend.

The word alone left a fowl taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t do anything to deter you from your decision.

His journey home was one he’d taken in complete silence, Nueva York’s hustle and bustle nothing more than insignificant background noise. His daughter was home waiting, one of his neighbors whose child attended the same school gracious enough to walk her home when he was unable to. The two had dinner, watched sparkly cartoons, and retired for an evening’s rest — all while you hunched over your desk, pencils coming and going, frustrations taken out on countless crumpled papers desecrating your office floor.

When you’d finally emerged, dazed and exhausted, a voice called out to you above, rain pouring against the sidewalk, and of course you’d neglected to check the weather — not an umbrella in sight.

Just your luck.

“Late evening?” Spider-Man was crouched on the lamppost above you, soaking wet, looking down with an unreadable expression due to the mask obscuring his face.

Just your luck.

“You don’t have any idea.” You responded, holding your face, fighting the blush that pushed forward. His voice was like honey, smooth as he spoke every word. “Shit.”

“No umbrella?”

You nodded your head with hesitance, embarrassed. Spider-Man hopped down from his height ways above you, standing before you in all his glory. Proximity practically nonexistent, and you wouldn’t have it any other way, soothed by the prospect of his presence alone. “I don’t really have anywhere to keep one with the suit but…” He contemplated what he’d say next very carefully, “Want a ride?”

“You have a spider-car?”

“Well, no.” Spider-Man gestured to his wrists with a silent laugh, web-shooters fashioned there, encasing his wrists beautifully. “But if you close your eyes, it’s kinda the same.”

“Oh.” You were hesitant, unsure if it would be a wise idea. Yet, in the end, you’d opted to accept. It would be much quicker, you convinced yourself, and that was definitely the only reason you’d taken the extended invitation.

No other reason.

Nueva York was beautiful this time of night, windows from above glittering like flecks of gold, quaint as silence began to make its home. The cars speckled the asphalt like stars against the inky darkness of an evening sky. The sight unparalleled by anything that encompassed the human experience.

Of course, you’d been unable to witness everything, eyes shut as you held onto Spider-Man’s neck like your life was dependent on it.

It very well might’ve been, but you knew he wouldn’t allow you to fall.

And if by some off-chance you had, he would surely be there to catch you.

“We really need to stop meeting like this, unfavorable situations.” You joked as he produced you at the window to your apartment, the two of you standing on the fire escape, rain still fluttering around you. By now, you were soaked, looking up at Spider-Man through a hand held high-above your eyes, shielding your gaze from the rain.

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

You hadn’t an idea what he could’ve meant, but that didn’t deter your mind from coming to unreasonable conclusions. Was he flirting? Did he mean his words in a romantic sense? Certainly not. People like Spider-Man didn’t have time for relationships, not trivial ones, anyways. And if he did, you convinced yourself he certainly wouldn’t extended his affections towards someone as seemingly insignificant as yourself.

Spider-Man took hold of your face, your body tensing, a million thoughts running rampant in your mind. “You should get inside,” He finally spoke, “Wouldn’t wanna catch a cold, miss another day of work.”

Just like that, he was gone, off into the evening. The rain had ceased, your body soaked, hopping into your apartment through your window. Your nightly routined had gone as typical, but when it came to rest...

You simply couldn’t sleep that evening, thoughts overrun with thoughts of your arachnid savior.

And somewhere down the way, Miguel was just the same.

“I was wondering if you’d wanna go out tonight? I got uh… Well my neighbor is…”

You weren’t paying attention, head in your hand, picking at your lunch with the other.

No, your mind was entirely absorbed by thoughts of Spider-Man, your meeting him once again all you’d been able to conjure to your mind. For once, work went undone without apprehension, and you allowed it. You were one of the best Geneticists alongside Miguel, they wouldn’t dream of replacing you, not for something as trivial as today’s agenda.

Miguel was still rambling beside you, “But yeah, so if you want, we should definitely—“

“Huh?” Miguel’s heart seemed to deflate. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“No, yeah.” He pushed the tickets back into his pants pocket, clenching them in frustration, “I gathered that.”

“Did you… Were you asking me something?”

“No, no. Nothing important, just a theory I came across while working earlier.”

“Oh,” You mumbled an apology, “You can discuss it, if you want.”

He shook his head, rising from your shared table in the cafeteria, retreating to who-knows-where. Guilt plagued you, chest tightening, Miguel seeming particularly perturbed by your lack of attention.

You decided you would try to make it up to him, take him out somewhere, perhaps the three of you — himself, his daughter, you — could hang out like you’d done previously. Time dwindling as work piled higher. as thoughts of another took you away from where Miguel had once remained, nestled in your heart.

You couldn’t wait for him forever, realizing he hadn’t any feelings for you all those months ago.

Right?

Miguel felt nothing but pain.

An overwhelming clench of his chest as he was forced to watch you fall for someone else.

Granted, it was still him. He could still have you, if he wanted to, under the guise of Spider-Man.

But Miguel didn’t want that. He wanted you all to himself, everything that encompassed you. Fleeting glances, late nights, domesticity. All Miguel yearned for in this world was the prospect of your love, everything to himself.

Miguel wanted to worship you, wanted you to adore him, just as he did you. He didn’t want you to love Spider-Man, didn’t want this persona of himself to be the one you fell for.

And yet you had.

He fucking loathed it.

It pained him to think he was losing you to none other than himself. Pained him to think the only way he’d ever be able to love you was from behind a mask.

So when you approached him, heart on your sleeve, bright smile on your face as you inquired about an evening together, he hadn’t the faintest idea why he’d responded in the fashion he had.

“It’s a beautiful place,” You fawned, walking beside Miguel to your adjacent offices. A habit you’d built together, breakfast in each other’s company, “I heard Spider-Man dined there once. Or, rescued someone who was dining there? I really can’t remember.”

Miguel was thoroughly frustrated, fists balled at his sides. The entire journey you'd found someway to bring Spider-Man into the conversation. He didn't want that. He yearned for his name to fall from your lips as easily as his title. “Is that all you know how to talk about?”

“Excuse me?” You were unsure whether he meant his words with malice.

“I mean,” Miguel scoffed. Why was he doing this? He was losing all sense of reason the further you fell for Spider-Man, the further you strayed from his open arms. “It seems like lately all you want to discuss is Spider-Man! His suit, the way he speaks, the way he holds you.”

Maybe you'd gotten far too caught up in everything, more than you'd realized. In truth, you didn't believe the extent of your fawning had sauntered on insufferable, but perhaps it had been a flaw in your lapse of judgement.

Miguel made it seem as much.

“Does that… Does that bother you, Miguel?”

“Y-“ He paused, taking a deep breath, confused as to what his answer truly was. “Not at all. It’s an observation.”

You nodded in understanding, thumbs twidling in front of you, Miguel ceasing the movement with a squeeze of his hand, absentminded. He didn’t look to you, gaze still trained to the pavement before you.

So familiar, yet.

"Are you jealous?" You'd blurted the question without thinking, without considering what effect your — ill-thought — words would have on the man. His posture grew rigid, pupils dilated, scowl forming upon his angular features.

You didn't believe there to be a day in your life where Miguel scowled, extending an expression of such unadulterated malice. It was your own, you reasoned. His expression, this change seeming to occur before your eyes was nothing more than the consequences of your own actions.

But as his silence festered, continued, you found yourself growing increasingly insecure. After all, what had you anticipated his answer to be? Did you have a hope for how he would respond?

Did you yearn for Miguel to express the innermost working of his mind, the truth?

“We’re just work friends,” He spoke coldly, your heart clenching, burning. "Why on Earth would I have any reason to be jealous of what you do outside office hours?"

Work friends. A distinction between reality and augmentation. Perhaps, this entire time, you’d truly been imagining the magnetism that existed between the both of you — lingering hands, soft smiles, whispered affirmations — nothing more than figment.

A laugh fell from your lips — dry, overrun with regret. There was a point in time you wouldn't have believed him. Then, you would've bumped his shoulder, looking up at him with an expression of unfiltered joy, entirely joyous with your banter. He would be joking, a jester in his own right, and you’d be conscious of it.

Now…

Now you weren’t sure where you stood, and Miguel had made it his mission to make it abundantly clear, drawing that line you’d believed a blur.

Another byproduct of imagination, you supposed.

“Of course,” You conceded in an instant, the energy to refute his words, beg him for clarity long gone in a matter of seconds. “I shouldn’t have… I wasn’t thinking.”

“I can tell.”

Why had Miguel spoke to you like that?

Pain? Jealously? All that stemmed from his own actions?

You hadn’t visited him during your conveniently joint break, Miguel eating a lunch packed by his darling daughter in the dim lighting of his office — your voice echoing from down the hall, engaged in conversation with one of your coworkers, and while he hadn’t made it a habit to extend his Spider-abilities outside of his costume, he simply couldn’t resist.

An invitation for drinks, to spend time outside of work.

Work relationship transitioning from professional to platonic. Just as yours had months prior, perhaps a little too well.

Fuck.

Miguel returned home to his daughter that evening in shambles, doing his best to put on a smile for the young girl, repeating their nightly activities effortlessly — Friday evening, no need to worry about work or school the next morning.

Unless, of course, they called him in for some ridiculous reason, but it seemed unlikely given the trajectory of their progress.

He’d have his world — vida — entirely to himself. Nothing could take that right away from him, not this universe nor the one that followed. If he couldn’t have you, at least his daughter would be there to pick up the pieces of her father’s broken heart. Mending a man shattered without even realizing it.

But, in this life you were always the singular constant he could never take into proper consideration, entropic in nature.

When life threw a curveball, it was always you extending your arm in offense.

Miguel hadn't the faintest idea how to go about what had transpired between the two of you, helpless to your influence, hopeless in facing his feeling. A pile of putty between your fingers.

But as his darling child had him watching a sappy sparkly-princess movie, the two love interests defying the prospects of space and time in their journey towards true love — their love story rewritten in their favor, Miguel couldn't help the tears he shed. Couldn’t help the way his oblivious daughter teased her father, running tiny thumbs across his cheeks to wipe away his tears.

Couldn’t help the way his thoughts drifted to you.

Missed call following missed call. Miguel had been attempting to contact you since early evening yesterday, continuing into this morning. By now, Saturday, the sun had begun its descent from the sky, disappearing along the horizon.

You'd yet to return his call, didn't know if you ever intended on doing so.

Surely he'd be seen bright and early Monday morning, punctuality his vice and simultaneous virtue. But whether or not he'd have a bagged bagel in hand, extended for your pleasure, was unclear.

Either way, you wouldn't blame him, you supposed.

Another call, his contact on display — an image of him you'd taken at the perfect opportunity, a breakthrough stemming from his work — and you couldn't help but clench your eyes in refusal.

It took a lot of convincing, far too much convincing for you to produce yourself from your bedsheets, having been invited out for a round of drinks by your co-workers. Initially, you'd refused, but their incessant attempt at convincing you had finally broke through.

So there you stood in the mirror, dressed to the nines in the best outfits you could've produced from your closet.

It wasn't particularly enchanting by any means, something you'd thrown together in the spur of the moment, simultaneously texting your coworker to inform them you'd be attending while dressing yourself, their excitement shimmering through text bubbles.

It had been a beautiful evening, the location a tavern-like establishment embellished with plants that rained down from the ceiling as though extending themselves to you, whispering your name and enveloping you in their embrace.

Jokes were exchanged, far too many beverages tossed about, but you maintained a decent level of sobriety despite everything. But even as you enjoyed your time, you couldn't help the thought that plagued your mind. Singular, the possibility of anything else replacing the thought inconceivable.

Miguel would adore it here.

He's a simple man, always was and always would be. He indulged in what was required, everything else simply a bonus stemming from his diligent educational prowess. An intelligent man, and he knew that in his entirety, never doubting himself.

Yet you made him feel so dumb, lost. Not a single textbook, equation or lecture could bring him any further into the depths of your mind than he'd began.

Did he like it that way?

Perhaps.

You bid your goodbyes as the evening hours fell into morning, the hustle and bustle of the city still at ease. But that didn't mean crime wasn't lurking at every corner, keen on corrupting the innocent, extending insecurities and fear upon the most unsuspecting of victims.

And that's exactly what occurred.

Hands enveloped you, not the welcomed kind like Spider-Man's or Miguel's, but ones that were laced with genuine discontent. Someone was making an attempt at your head. But for what?

"You seem well-off," The raspy voice was laced in alcohol, the corner of your eyes revealing a man with a stature that was nearly rat-like in nature. "Have anyone at home? A husband? Wife?"

You didn't know how to respond, didn't know if you should. The feeling of a chilled blade changed your confusion, morphing it into compliance.

You shook your head, nobody was waiting for you at home. Not that you wouldn’t like to change that, it simply wasn’t in the cards, divined by the universe.

"Good, good." His head peered around the corner, not a soul in sight, and suddenly you realized how dangerous it was to be here entirely on your lonesome. "You're gonna take me to your house, I'm gonna take whatever I want, and when I'm done you're not gonna tell a soul — not unless you intend on keeping this pretty little neck intact."

He slid the blade along your throat, your body physically rejecting it, bile seeping up your esophagus.

Suppose if you just complied, perhaps stalled for time, maybe he...

You couldn't rely on Spider-Man.

After all, he was a person too, someone with his own life and own aspirations. It was entirely possible he was well beyond asleep at this time, curled up in his bedsheets, unaware of the silent altercation occurring in some insignificant alley. While he was the city’s protector, that didn’t mean he had the divine ability to zero-in on the ins and outs of crime’s occurrences.

Spider-Man can’t save everyone.

You were entirely alone.

The man's grip was unrelenting as he led you down the sidewalk, head buzzing from the evening that'd just concluded, simultaneously palpitating at the prospect of your demise. He dug his unkempt nails into your biceps, forearms, anywhere you could sink himself into — a groan ripping from your clothed mouth with every unwelcome extension of discomfort — hadn't a single soul been out? This was such an active city at all times of day, only a few moments of leeway at any given time.

Suppose you were grossly unlucky.

The stroll hadn't taken much time, finding yourself a few feet away from your apartment building, the man's grip tightening, drawing blood every time you approached somewhere remotely populated. "Not a sound, not if you wanna make it to see the sunrise."

How tempted you were to call fate out on its bullshit, wanting to scream, bite down on his hand and sprint away. But there was so much unfinished business, so much you'd yet to live through. If you simply cooperated, did as you were told, perhaps you'd find the fruits of your suffering weren't as sour as they seemed.

Just as you'd conceded, leading him towards the fire escape that would produce you outside your window — convincing yourself there was nothing left except compliance, a weight was lifted from your shoulders.

Some shuffles, groans and noises of struggle. But when all was said and done, Spider-Man stepped into the light of a flickering streetlight. He appeared distressed, frantic as he approached you with hesitant movements. His hands hovered your shoulders, looking you over, wordless in his late-night examination.

And then you cried.

You cried because you were alone. Cried because you’d nearly died, and what would you have had to show for it? You’ve been so enthralled by a man bathed in red and blue hues that you’d neglected the happenings of life you’d worked so tirelessly to achieve — your career, friendships, relationships — all because you were scared, all because you couldn’t get some fantasy off your mind.

You’d been rescued by the very man you prayed would come to your aid, looking to the heavens as you begged the universe to send him to you.

But that wasn’t who your mind wandered to when you thought of Spider-Man, was it?

No. When you rationalized your death, convinced yourself Spider-Man wouldn’t be there for your rescue, you weren’t truly thinking of the midnight crusader.

Your mind had wandered to Miguel.

“Let’s get you home,” Spider-Man spoke as though his throat were clenched, merely holding out a hand, unable to take you into his embrace. “You shouldn’t be out at this time, not alone.”

And all you could think of was Miguel, how he wouldn’t have hesitated to envelop you then and there, previous quarrel be damned.

Miguel who always seemed acutely in-tune with your emotions, who would bend the heavens and the earth to ensure your happiness. Your lives previous had been hopefully, expectant. Friends and families wondering when things would become official, when your ever-obvious feelings would be unveiled to one another — relief falling upon all those who stood by helplessly, watching with indignant compliance.

But that never happened.

“I don’t… Please don’t take me home.” You were practically begging, holding onto yourself with an unrelenting grip, imagining another in its place. You couldn’t go home, not after everything you’d experienced, not with the thoughts that plagued your mind. You feared if you were to return home, the man would be there awaiting your arrival, even as his body lay numb in the alleyway opposite yourself.

Spider-Man didn’t hesitate, hadn’t argued. “Where can I take you?”

Then you pondered, truly pondered his inquiry. Where could he take you? Certainly your co-workers would have long-since fallen asleep following their intoxicated stupors. Not that it would be particularly professional of you to appear at the doorstep of newly-formed acquaintances. Family? You had none, all having fled Nueva York in the midst of the crime that plagued the city, the dangers that lurked prior to Spider-Man’s self-anointed inauguration — protector of the city, defender of the innocent.

“Miguel.” His name fell from your lips like second-nature, muscle memory. You hadn’t even been aware you’d spoken such until the deed was done, Spider-Man’s clothed eyes widening beside you.

The Spider was hesitant. “Do you trust him?” And you found it endearing how he was concerned with your decision-making skills.

Anyone would be, considering you’d been able to convince yourself a midnight stroll was wise.

“With my entire life,” And if it weren’t for your shivering frame still overtaken with the memory of near-death, you would’ve smiled, warmth seeping into your chest. Because in your heart, unconsciously, you knew your words were as factual as the nucleic acids that made up your genetic code.

“I’ll take you to him.” He spoke it like a final decision, the defining factor.

And so he had. This journey was entirely different than ones taken previously. Your head didn’t hammer with the prospect of sharing secrets, didn’t yearn to discover who lurked behind the mask. Your mind entirely belonged to Miguel, that darling man, and how he might react to your presence.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

You’d arrived at the man’s windowsill, Spider-Man insisting it was a better alternative, easy-access to ensure safety. You crept through the window, turning to thank your savior, only to find Spider-Man long gone — nothing to indicate he’d ever been there, an anomaly in his own right.

Furniture stirred somewhere in the other room as you crouch to enter Miguel’s home, a curse under someone’s breath — someone you couldn’t see. “Miguel…?” There was no response, your hands moving to shut the window, transitioning to wrap around your center.

No, you shouldn’t be here.

Miguel had a daughter, he had priorities apart from you. You couldn’t just barge into his home because you had a fucked evening, tears in your eyes and bruises littering your body. He didn’t deserve this, not after the fight you’d had just hours prior to this moment.

Miguel didn’t see you like that, he’d never seen you like that, never could — and even if he was the person your mind wandered to, glued to, in your most vulnerable moments, that didn’t mean he felt the same of you.

You were just friends from work, right?

You turned on your heels, retreating quickly to his window from whence you came, wondering why it was unlocked in the first place if Miguel and his daughter were sound asleep. Surely he wasn’t that careless, not the Miguel you knew.

Then you wondered if it was safe for you to be out right now.

Granted, it seemed it wasn’t safe anywhere, but tonight in particular seemed foreboding, a call to which you didn’t know the answer.

The call of your name from behind you, Miguel standing in his pajamas, chest heaving as though he’d just ran a marathon. He was frazzled, hair unkempt, eyes filled with something — exhaustion, perhaps — but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

He called your name again upon your silence, unsure whether he was hallucinating in the midst of exhaustion, and you swear you saw stars.

“Miguel… Miguel I’m…”

He approached you slowly, your frame illuminated by the moonlight, appearing ethereal. You were everything he’d ever dreamed of, what his heart yearned for. Here you were, standing in his apartment, and he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe out of everyone you’d gone to him for consolation, whispering his name into his suit-clad arms. “You’re hurt…” He spoke in a whisper — as though he hadn’t noticed prior, and while he hadn’t been oblivious to your injuries, he'd only come to realize the extent in this very moment.

“Who did this, Amor? What happened”

“I dont…” You were choking on your words, looking away from him. But upon his approach to close the burning distance between you, he tilted you to face him ever-so delicately. “I don’t know, but Spider-Man...”

Miguel was frantic in his speaking, “Was he there?”

You could only respond through a sob, better than nothing. “Of course he was, Miguel.” Another hitch of your breath, "He brought me here... To you."

He thanked Spider-Man, thanked himself. If he hadn’t shouldered the burden, taken this god-forsaken job, he would’ve been unable to save you.

Who knows what would’ve happened then.

"Didn't know the Spider-Man knew where I lived." A joke to himself, knowing you hadn't the faintest idea it was a joke to begin with. How he adored the expression that fanned across your puffed eyes, looking up to him as though he'd hung the moon and the stars before you. Enchanted by his presence.

"I'm the one that—"

He shushed you quietly, enveloping you in his warm embrace, the smell of his cologne wafting around you, grounding you.

It'd been forever since you'd been in such close proximity to Miguel, felt as though you hadn't experienced his warmth in centuries. There was a point in time where moments like this, extended vulnerabilty, were entirely common. Of course, they were quiet moments exclusively between the two of you, instances where you were certain nobody would be there to witness them — reserved only for the both of you, your own memories, untainted by the outside world.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to dwell on the past, and yet you couldn't help yourself, insecurity taking shape.

“I should go, I…” You turned to his door, foregoing any attempts at clambering out the window, Miguel’s firm grip faltering from around your shoulders, sliding around your wrist as he simultaneously pulled you into his chest, fighting tears as he listened to sobs muffled by his cotton white tee.

“Don’t go,” He was crying now, one hand playing with the ends of your hair while the other rubbed circles against your back. “Don’t leave, not tonight.”

“I can’t, your daughter—“

“Will understand that the person I love is in distress. She’s a smart kid, reminds me of you.”

“Miguel?”

He loved how his name fell from your lips. Through giggles, through spouts of frustration, even through tears. “Mi Vida?”

“Did you just say… Did you say you…”

Miguel laughed at your hesitance, palm caressing your cheek, “Take your time, I’m listening.”

“Did you just say you love me?”

“Did I?” Miguel chuckled, a kiss feathering the top of your head, “I can’t seem to remember.”

#across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderverse x reader #miguel o’hara

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animeyanderelover · 10 months

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how would sebastian, ash, karl, yui, kaneki, obito react with a s/o goddess?I'll wait as long as it takes for this reaction 🥰

Stay tuned because I'll announce when I'm going to open my requests again either today or tomorrow.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusion, clinginess, manipulation, worshipping, mentions of suicide

Goddess s/o

Obito Uchiha

🔥Obito isn't someone who is religious, if there is a presence like god after all, why did they let Rin die, someone who was innocent and good? He doesn't believe in a higher being that will listen to your wishes if you pray and believe so the very first emotion he might just feel when discovering a real goddess is anger and pain. So much pain. Feelings he has stuffed down for years break out of him as he lashes out on you, wrath and sadness tearing his heart apart. Why didn't you do anything back then? You're clearly shocked by his reaction although instead of anger towards him your heart goes out for him as you pity him, sense in how much pain he is despite all the crimes he has committed. You end up comforting him and to his own surprise he lets you, your very presence warm and soothing as he can't bring himself to push you away. He blames your godly powers for this as he allows you to stroke him gently and whisper sweet words to him, every gesture causing his heart to speed up.

🔥 You end up staying with Obito, be it out of guilt or because you secretly seek out his company too since he has already seen you. In either case, you only make Obito worse as your intention to help him backfires, only in your eyes though. Because in Obito's opinion you definitely help him as your touches and your voice are mending his broken heart and slow down all the racing thoughts inside of his head. You can't possibly be responsible for all the horrible things that happen on earth, you're too kind and pure for that is what he genuinely starts believing after a while, his obsession cleansing out all previously bad images he had of you. He worships you, fitting since you're a literal goddess, might even build you a shrine when he finds out that it's a big honor for any god or goddess to have a shrine build for them, especially since it would be your first shrine since you're still quite unknown among humans. Being the first one to build you a shrine would be a big honor.

🔥 There's something so utterly intimate as he's the first follower you've had in years as you're often ignored in favor of other well-known divine beings who have established themselves among humans. In Obito's opinion there's nothing wrong with that though. He has you all for himself and you don't need anyone besides him, your most loyal and possessive worshipper. Humans would just turn their back on you as soon as something bad happens, he would never do that. The situation grows visibly worse with time because he flips out as soon as he can't find you near the shrine and has a meltdown. You've become a need for him, he can't properly function without your embrace and your calming aura anymore. He needs to be with you. There is even a change of plans now that you have entered his life as he strives to create a world perfect for you, where you don't have to hide and be forgotten in favor of gods who do absolutely nothing for humans. A world for you and him as he will never let you leave his side.

Sebastian Michaelis

🐈‍⬛ Perhaps it's the first time Ciel catches his butler being the closest thing to being alarmed when he senses you long before he sees you, such a powerful and strong presence that manages to even catch him off-guard. He immediately knows what you are as it feels like his very own essence is being pricked, a testament to your own powers. Angels are seen as pure, gods on the other hand don't have to be innocent as he has witnessed them just seeing themselves above every other creature whilst humans foolishly pray for them, naive about the fact that only few actually care. What he is is no secret to you either as you meet his eyes curiously, not faced nor afraid of the demon there. There is a strange and foreign feeling sweeling up like a bubble inside of his chest when piercing red eyes drill themselves into your own shining ones and his composure sways when he gets a whiff of your scent and his pupils turn to slits and his orbs turn magenta.

🐈‍⬛ Sightings of gods among humans and other creatures is fairly rare as they prefer to stay with their own kind, viewing the earth as not worthy. So there is only little information which makes the reveal of your magnificent scent and the discovery of his mate shocking for the demon whilst you only rise your eyebrow intrigued. He doesn't show it on the outside as he goes on as usual with his day as a butler yet on the inside his thoughts and feelings resemble a storm more than anything. Sebastian has never expected to find a mate in a literal goddess and the very idea of a being from heaven and a being from hell indulging in a romantic relationship would make anyone shudder with the sheer wrongness of it. Luckily for Sebastian though, demons are known for their bad reputation of enjoying the sin and the thought only tickles excitement out of him. It's the very wrongness that makes it all the more interesting and thrilling after all. Let's see what you're made of.

🐈‍⬛ Sebastian entertains you, delighted to find out that you actually plan to stay in London for a while and he quickly figures out your motive. You're incredibly bored with your life in heaven. Luckily for you, the demon butler knows how to entertain and keep you on your toes as he ensures that you won't grow bored of him. The very fact that he is a being known as your kind's nemesis makes it all the sinfully sweeter for you and Sebastian is fully aware of that. It flatters him, your fascination with him as you've never seen a demon before in your life and you silently have to admit that he's far more interesting and enjoyable than most of your kind who have just sort of settled down comfortably in their reputation and power and have all become boring. Sebastian likes to tease you about your clear liking you eventually take to him and how your kind would surely abandon you if they would ever find out. Don't delude yourself into thinking that he cares though, he knows fully well that if he taints you, you'll have no place in heaven anymore and no choice but to stay with him.

Ash Landers

▫️ Angels are in general known to be the common company and loyal messengers of gods yet Ash hasn't seen a god for a long time now since he's been banished from heaven due to his fanatic ideas. Despite this betrayal he has no ill will against you when you two meet by sheer accident. He instantly senses what you are and so do you and even if you quickly turn around and try to lose him, Ash is hot on your trails, entranced with you. He catches you eventually in a lonely street where no one is and instantly goes down on his knees, violet eyes brimming with unshed tears and hands clasped together in front of him, staring up at you with unbridled reverence. A goddess right in front of his eyes! What honor! What beauty you possess, shining so brightly among all the pest that surrounds you. Tell him though, what brings you to earth, a place so unfitting for someone as divine as you. He can't let you go on without any protection. Let him escort you.

▫️ He quickly arranges a place for you to stay with the help of the Queen as he uses her to give you an accommodation, unworthy for you yet the best he can provide you with. Whilst you don't mind, the angel apologizes profusely, ashamed to disgrace you with such a simple and plain house. You didn't expect to find a fallen angel on your way down to earth as you've left heaven for the time to simply enjoy time for yourself, free to roam as you're one of the more powerful among your kind. Most would kick someone like Ash away as he no longer belongs to the divine realm yet you find him very fascinating and stay with him for that reason, in a way he's very adorable. Something about the way he worships you, builds you eagerly a shrine only to break down and lament about the fact that it doesn't do you justice flatters you. Ash is quick to obsess over you, how couldn't he when you're a literal goddess, someone he's meant to serve and protect.

▫️ You can be very reassured that this angel will only worship and serve you though as Ash is dedicated and beyond loyal, something you appreciate a lot. He clearly is a very fanatic individual but that's what makes him all the more interesting in your eyes. You allow him to go on with his goals although you don't actively support and help him, not that he would let you. His goal, to purify London, becomes suddenly his sick present of love and adoration for you, to show you his loyalty. Humans don't know how to worship you, casually walking next to you on the streets instead of going down on all fours and being grateful for breathing the same air as you do. You like to reward him with bits of affection from your side, feel a growing fondness for this twisted yet beautiful angel who belongs solely to you. This angel is your dedicated servant who would gladly venture to hell if you'd ask him to do so, who would rip out his own heart and serve it on a silver plate for you if you'd ask it of him. This angel will burn down the entire world for you.

Yui Komori

💎 Yui is rather religious and believes in a god so she'd be pretty overwhelmed when she is actually standing face to face with a real goddess. So much so that she is at a loss for words and doesn't know what to do which leaves her just gawking at you for a few moments, her eyes shimmering with amazement and awe. Yui is only human as she has learnt that there exist other creatures like vampires and demons in this world so she has already started feeling more tiny. Next to an actual goddess she feels insignificant though, although she does not fear you like she fears vampires who want to suck her blood. In fact she starts praying actively to you from that day on in hopes that you listen to her prayers and that she might be able to see you again. Knowing that you exists gives her hope and courage and that is what keeps her motivated and helps her to get over her past and the painful memories she has made. There's a fear of being abandoned by you though.

💎 This fear of being abandoned grows if she doesn't see you for a longer period of time, although she tries to soothe herself by repeatedly telling herself that you probably have other things to attend to. You're a goddess after all, you must be busy with a lot of different things. The loneliness and despair only grows with each day though yet she continues her prayers, even if she feels like bursting out in tears. You're her only ray of light, she doesn't have anyone besides you. So when you show yourself to her again, she's very emotional about it and can't hold back her tears. She would die to have you spend more time with her yet she never speaks up as she's terrified that she might anger you, feels insecure next to someone as great as you are. Her longing is very obvious for your sharp eyes though, if her anxious glances to see if you're still there and the way she follows you like a puppy aren't enough of an indicator, your own powers would let you definitely know.

💎 You'll have to initiate anything as Yui is far too insecure and dazzled to ever speak up about her hidden wishes, too ashamed that she secretly wants the love of a goddess. There's a strong feeling of safety and protection that she associates with you as you're constantly surrounded by a warmth, proof that you're not from this world. Yui could get lost in this warmth which lulls her gently into a sense of comfort, a feeling of home which she longs for every moment. She is quick to grow very clingy around you, although there is still a lingering feeling of insecurity that is covering her like a drape as she still can't shake off the feeling of not being worthy of you. Yui just feels like she could never repay what you give to her everyday. How could she when she's a mere human whilst you're a goddess? She feels like she has to prove herself and it's that fear of not being able to return your love and kindness that sometimes causes her to push herself too far as she sacrifices her own health at times. Luckily you're there to stop her in time.

Karlheinz

🍷 Now this is certainly intriguing for the king of vampires, the one hailed as the strongest man on this earth. The race of gods and goddesses is one not commonly known to mingle in the world of humans, much less in his world so discovering one of your kind in the city where he lives under the disguise of a famous politician and philantrophist is a surprise, but a much welcoming one. Your scent alone already tells him that you're nothing ordinary yet you have hidden your true identity well but that much can be said about him too. You instantly sense that he is no normal human either yet you can't pinpoint just what exactly he is. Both of you only know that you are no mortals. You're slightly terrified since your deepest gut feeling tells you that Karlheinz is not someone you should spend time with yet the Sakamaki thinks differently, fascinated with you. You're definitely not a species he has met before in his life which is pretty impressive considering just how long he has lived already.

🍷 Karlheinz is still being a tad bit careful around you, mainly because he doesn't wish to frighten you but also because as long as he isn't sure just what exactly you are, he thinks he shouldn't be too relaxed even if he is the strongest of his kind and possesses the most powerful magic. You can use strong magic too but you aren't entirely sure if you can match the mysterious man in front of you, the one who often coaxes you into spending time with him and who seems to want to get to know you better. You'd like to reject him but a weird curiosity keeps you from leaving as you're flattered by the undeniably charming man. It's only a question of time until both of you find out the truth about each other and to say that Karlheinz is enthralled when he figures out that he has a real goddess right in front of him is a bit of an understatement, even if he masterfully conceals all his emotions. Your kind is so rare nowadays since they very rarely enjoy leaving their own kind. You're a bit different than most of your kind.

🍷 You probably figure out what Karlheinz is around the same time as he does and you aren't as thrilled as the king is. Vampires and demons have always been sort of enemies of your kind since your kind was seen as ruler and savior of humans and their kind always as the chaotic and sadistic evil. Your gut feeling insists strongly to not meet the man again and so you trust your instinct and hide yourself, hoping that the man will not search for you. Your hopes are futile though as the vampire king very quickly realizes that you must have figured him out and fled the scene but dearest, this won't be as easy as you might think. Whether you intended to or not, you've caught the interest as much as his heart during the time you two have spent together, tip-toeing around each other. Keeping a wonderful goddess by his side sounds wonderful and he doesn't care what he has to do to get his hands on you. Just wait, he'll show you that you only need one man to truly please and worship you instead of the cult of useless followers you may have at the moment.

Ken Kaneki

🔲 Kaneki has already given up on everything and everyone after Jason has brutally torn his body and mind alike apart, he has no reason to believe in some divine people. You're a goddess that just happens to currently reside in Tokyo when you meet Kaneki and sense how broken he is and your first instinct is helping him and his wounded soul, something you often do. You decide to keep your identity a secret though as you're sure he would only resent you if he would find out what you are because you weren't there for him when he would have needed it the most. Instead you disguise yourself as a normal human who just happens to hang out with him a lot and give him something he secretly longs for but doesn't think he will get now. Genuine kindness and understanding, someone who listens to him without any bias. Kaneki, initially hesitant about you who so suddenly entered his life, quickly grows addicted to you, your voice, your scent, everything. You're like glue that keeps the last pieces of his sanity together.

🔲 You only wanted to help but instead it seems like you've worsened the situation as you soon realize that Kaneki has gained a very unhealthy obsession. He's clinging to you desperately all the time and panics as soon as you leave him, begging you to stay with him. You decide to distance yourself for a while from him and just disappear like this over night and no matter how much Kaneki might search for you, he's unable to find you. You on the other hand always know where he is which is why you rush to him as soon as you witness how he starts attacking other ghouls as he believes that they might have killed you and eaten you. You won't let him kill someone who is innocent of the crime he blames them and that's the first time you appear in your true form in order to stop him in his kaguja form as he has lost all sense of reasoning and rational thinking. With your powers it's easy to stop him and he only looks at you in shock and reverence before you touch his forehead and he loses his consciousness.

🔲 When he wakes up in his apartment, he's all alone as you aren't with him but he still remembers very clearly what he has seen. You, surrounded by a white shimmer of light who easily overpowered and calmed him even whilst his kaguja was activated, something he still struggles to controll. It's clear that you are no human to him but you definitely aren't a ghoul either. Kaneki has been a big bookworm before his date with Rize though so he recalls the tales of gods and goddesses and when he considers it, it makes much sense. At least to him as you have always been something divine in his eyes. On that day, he truly tumbles down the rabbit hole of obsession as he finally knows what you really are. The thought of you never wanting to see him again because you might view him as evil terrifies him to no end and he prays feverishly every day and every night for you, even builds you a shrine. If you never show yourself though, Kaneki will attempt suicide because a life without you is no life at all. It's at that point that you return, unable to let him do what he attempts to do in order to see you again.

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neteyamsoare · 1 year

Text

Nawri.

༉‧₊˚. Featuring. Tsu'tey x Fem! Omatikaya! Warrior! Reader.

༉‧₊˚. Anonymous Request. SO I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING UR WRITING FOR SOME TIME AND I'M OBSESSED WITH UR TSU'TEY STUFF 💗💗💗💗 So I have a lil scenario where Tsu'tey and you and few young hunters are sitting around a fire and singing songs and it's all so magical and shit. Then you hit the chorus and your voice just rings out above the rest and Tsu'tey can't help but be like 'oh wow' and he's full on blushing AWWWWWW 😭😭😭😭 And he compliments you and it's all fluff and wholesome and shit 😭😭😭 — 🌺

༉‧₊˚. Summary. Tsu’tey notices your beautiful voice and can’t help but fall more in love with you.

༉‧₊˚. General Tags. Fluff.

༉‧₊˚. Content Warnings. Ninat has some competition and shyness.

༉‧₊˚. Word Count. 584.

༉‧₊˚. Index. Nawri — [Talented], and Oel ngati kameie — [I see you (greeting)].

༉‧₊˚. Notes. When I saw this come in my inbox, I was excited to hear that you enjoyed my Tsu’tey works, I also was excited because I saw you claimed an emoji!! This request was so cute and couldn’t help but to start on it, hope you like it. | Also I got the hunting song from the avatar fandom page.

༉‧₊˚. Extra. Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured. 🤍

༉‧₊˚. Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

“Terìran ayoe ayngane. Zera'u. Rerol ayoe ayngane,” you and the young warriors sang around the fire. There was a big hunting trip tomorrow and the song was very important to be sung before or during a hunt, as it represented the strength of both the hunter and the hunted, praying for the worthiness of a hunter, and speaking to the spirits of the forest.

You sang low so people wouldn’t hear your voice as you were not used to people noticing you since you stayed in the back of the group during training, always keeping your head down to not cause any attention to yourself.

Tsu’tey did notice you though, how could he not, your beauty was breathtaking, you are one of his best warriors, and you were strong and quick. He sat across from you watching your every move but because you had your eyes closed you didn’t notice.

He wished he was next to you to hear your voice, he knew it would sound so sweet that he would want to hear it for the rest of his life. “Ha ftxey, Awpot set ftxey ayngal a l(u) ayngakip,” he sung along, looking down at the fire.

It’s like Eywa, herself, was listening in on his wish, begging to play matchmaker on the two as the song reached its chorus.

“Awpot a Na'viru yomtìyìng. Awpot a Na'viru yomtìyìng.” Your voice rose louder and soft over the other hunters causing Tsu'tey's ears to flick up, tail swishing side to side in excitement, his eyes widened as he stared at you not even singing anymore just admiring your lovely voice.

‘Oh wow, just when I think she couldn’t get any better, she surprises me.’ he thought to himself as a small blush appears on his face.

When the song ends, you finally opened your eyes making eye contact with him which makes Tsu’tey look away as he cleared his throat, “Alright, let’s wrap it up,” he stands and looks to where you were standing but you were already making your way towards your home. He quickly says his goodbyes as he goes to catch up with you.

“[Name]!” you come to a stop and turn around to see Tsu’tey running towards you. When he’s finally in front of you, you look up at him and send a small smile at him. “Oel ngati kameie,” you spoke, raising your hand to your forehead before motioning outwards, “Oel ngati kameie,” he spoke as he looks down at you repeating the same motion.

“Is something wrong?” you ask softly avoiding his gaze but Tsu’tey quickly shook his head, “Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to tell you that you have a beautiful voice,” a small smile spreads across his face as a blush appears on your face. ‘He heard me?’ you thought to yourself.

“You’re so nawri and I was kinda hoping if you’d love to go out with me sometime?” he asks as he brings his finger and thumb to your chin gripping it softly as he turns your gaze to meet his and he sees the blush you have been trying to hide and smirks a bit.

“Sure, I’d love to,” you smile up at him. “Let me walk you home,” he says as you take notice of the blush he wore on his face and giggle a bit, nodding your head slightly as you go to his side and the two of you talked all the way home, smiles never leaving either of your faces.

🔖 @livelaughloak, @jakesully-sbabygirl, @kenzi-woycehoski, @fanboyluvr, @onlytays, @amart-e, @vxncxntt, @blep24, @blackheart-stuff, @almondmilk8, @love-chx, @uniltsatirey, @23victoria, @saeayanaa, @aash3, @canaomfa, @neteyamsbaby, @0littlelucy0, @itszmedawn, @strawberryclouds22, @doulcha, @lixiesbrowniess, @liluvtojineteyam, @tinkerbelle05, @olivikiya, @neteyamyawne, @ratchetprime211, @murderbirbdany, @cloudyl9.

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oumaheroes · 11 months

Text

Do Not Go Gentle

Cymru

Albion

Alba

Warnings for death

--------------------

Ériu

Ériu first dies when he is too old.

They’re all there now, his new brothers along with himself and Alba. Young Cymru, short, stout, and gentle. Albion younger still, all bones and teeth and impatience. Mama is gone. Lost somewhere a few years ago, when they woke up one morning to find her missing, nothing there but her favourite cloak laid over them all still warm with the smell of her. Cymru too, lain awake teary eyed and refusing to speak of it.

He is ten, he thinks, physically. Two hundred, maybe more. Ériu’s body is taller, shadow longer and fuller. He feels more capable, at any rate, and notices how their people change in their manner towards him, parental to deferential, opinions asked for more and more. His people, his brothers’, theirs- the lines between them grow sharper every year.

Ériu is careful.

Does not go out alone in bad weather. Prays to the Gods before crossing the sea, never goes in when it is rough. Walks along paths well-trodden unless in a group, plans meticulous watches with Alba when they travel alone together at night, listening keenly to the hungry sounds of the forest whilst the other sleeps. He thinks before he does, debates and considers the risks before every action. Where is the danger? What could happen? How can I stop it?

Alba knows what he runs from. He says Ériu is too cautious. Says that death will come for him eventually and putting it off will only make it worse. Says that Mama spoilt him with her fretting and that he is rotting inside for the privilege. Despite himself, Ériu knows that he is right. It is worse, waiting with it. The expectation and fear of the inevitable fermenting inside him, growing and swelling and making him throw away food he cannot afford to waste because he is unable to convince himself that the colour is right.

But Ériu does not want to die. He hears Alba cry out sometimes at night, knows that he muffles the dark memories of one particular rainy day into his pack and pulls Albion closer when he veers towards deep water. And Ériu recoils from it.

Death is a funny thing.

It comes to the careful anyway.

--------------------

It is already hot. Sun high in the sky and the morning is clear and cloudless.

Albion lazes fat in the shade of a bush, aimlessly pulling blackcurrants off the branches that lie close overhead to drop into his waiting mouth. Alba glares across the meadow towards the distant hills, feet a tap tap tapping an anxious tattoo on the banks of hedgerows.

Cymru is not there.

‘He knows we need to go.’ Alba says, ‘Where the fuck is he?’

‘He’ll be fine.’ Ériu says. ‘He’ll be back in a minute.’

Ériu is mending his fishing nets, the weave unthreading in the middle to let desperate, lucky fish slip through. They were going to the coast, to the stretch of land that met their shared sea for them to travel back across. He does not want to go. The land they are in at the moment feels more like home to him, this side of the water, and he is more than happy to indulge Cymru’s unintentional delays.

Alba seems to know it. He turns to glare at him, his bags already packed and slung over one arm. ‘When did you notice him go?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘He’s not here though, is he.’

‘He’s only gone for a walk. You know he likes being up high; I bet he’s gone up to the top there to see the view and sit a while. He’s been gone since sunrise so he’ll be back soon.’

‘No, he won’t.’

Both of them stop to stare at Albion, still happily on his back in the shade.

Albion must feel their eyes because he sits up, looking defensive as if expecting to be proven wrong. He grabs for some more currants higher up, tunic riding up as he stretches, juice staining his hands, and points out the suddenly obvious, ‘He took his bag with him, didn’t he.’

Cymru did.

Alba swears and kicks at the dirt, looking towards to the sky anxiously as if it were about to break. ‘We won’t get to the village in time if we don’t go now.’

‘We can set off tomorrow.’ Albion points out but Alba’s not listening. They’ve all been this side of the sea for a while and Ériu guesses that Alba is feeling anxious for home, wanting to feel more himself as he does there than here. The coast is a week’s walk away and the weather can change from bright to brutal in a blink. Alba will not take them if the skies change.

‘I’ll get him,’ Ériu says. He folds his net away and stands, sharing a knowing look with Alba who turns away, hiding his expression. ‘I’ll be back before night.’

‘Can I come?’

‘No. You’re too slow.’ Alba clamps a hand around Albion’s arm and Ériu leaves before things get heated.

It is a nice walk. Ériu can see why Cymru chose it. Animal trails wind up the slowly rising hill, a narrow line through bushes and grasses flanked tall either side until Ériu stumbles out into the clear again, unaware of how high he is until he sees the grasslands roll away from under him in a gentle bulge of earth, green and dappled with trees. He would stop here, if it were him. He’d settle down with some food, right as the terrain changed, and watch the world go by from his midway point between two realms, not quite above, not quite below.

But Cymru likes to see the whole world beneath his feet and so Ériu pushes on, feeling the burn in his muscles and the sweat on his skin as the incline gets steeper and the paths gets rockier- single, large boulders cresting from the soil until they all blend together in bursts.

Ériu finds him as the sun begins to descend. Cymru is right at the top as he’d expected, on the edge of an overhang and content on his stomach. He has his whole upper half, arms, chest, and head, dangling over the edge, a stick in hand to poke at some stones below. The soon to be darkening sky and the fact that he cannot see his brother’s head makes Ériu’s gut flash with fear. He imagines Cymru falling, sees him vanish over the edge before Ériu can stop him, his hands clutching at nothing but air before he too then falls. Down down, neck snapping, bones breaking, darkness waiting for them at the hard, lonely bottom.

Two strides and he wrenches Cymru sharply back by the collar, ignoring his yelp of pain to drag him away from the edge. Ériu staggers with the weight of him, rocks rolling underfoot, and they both splay back into the scraggly grass. Something sharp nicks him in the shin- an edge of a rock, disturbed and jagged- but Ériu is too panicked to care.

‘What on earth are you doing!’ he shouts, scrabbling to his feet- Cymru is okay, he’s there-, ‘You know we were supposed to be leaving today.’

‘I’m sorry!’ Cyrmu rolls up to his knees, face dusty and shocked, ‘I thought that I’d only be quick-‘

‘Don’t be a dammed liar; you’ve got your bag with you.’

Cymru averts his eyes, his reasons stuck tight between his lips and Ériu is too relieved he’s away from the edge to take the time to pry them free.

Ériu clips him around the ear, throws Cymru’s bag into his chest, and, without a word, stalks away to lead them down again.

He thinks of it again as they go. Hears the crunching sound of Cymru’s shoes on the loose stones and dry twigs as snapping bone against flesh. Imagines the tumbling fury of it in his mind’s eye, the all-encompassing agony of that impact. He grabs Cymru’s hand to tug him along faster and doesn’t let go until they’re deep into the bushes again, edge of the hill hidden from view and its deadly incline gentler.

He checks them over as they stop to rest near the base where the lands smooths almost flat. Cymru has some scratches to his hands from breaking his fall and Ériu himself has a cut across his shin, no bigger than an inch in length. But nothing more. A worthy price to pay, he thinks, compared to what could have been.

--------------------

The next morning, the split skin around his shin is hot.

‘What’s wrong?’

The next, it is even hotter.

‘Hey.’

The third day, worse. When he changes the shoddily done wrapping Ériu smells that it has festered. The panic sets in. He hears his brothers down the stream from him, two talking, one laughing, and cold fingers grip inside his chest and squeeze him tight enough to close his throat.

He tracks the growth of the darkening, reddening skin by each freckle and mole it passes, willing it desperately to stop. With each new conquest it makes, the feelings of dread grow stronger and colder, and the more he pushes his reality away.

Cool hand in his own. Cymru stares up at him, worried. ‘You’re limping.’

It usually goes away. Why isn’t it going away.

‘Hurt my ankle.’ Ériu says and flicks Cymru’s nose to stop him frowning. ‘It’ll be fine by night time.’

‘You were limping yesterday.’ Cymru apparently won’t be distracted, ‘But it’s worse now.’

Ériu shrugs and forces himself to stand straighter. It is hot. Cloudless skies and a burning sun. What he wouldn’t do for a rest by a cool lake.

It was only small. It can’t be too bad; it was only small. Small things heal.

Ériu grips the strap of his bag and carries on.

Cymru keeps more silences than just his own. He slows his pace to match Ériu’s and takes Albion’s bag from him to make him look excusably more laden. When Alba calls to hurry them as the sun goes down, it is Cymru he focuses on.

--------------------

‘Show me.’

Alba by firelight, hair the colour of polished bronze. He could only be distracted for so long.

Cymru and Albion sleep nearby. Ériu eyes them, then Alba, and slowly, carefully, rolls up his trouser leg to share his nightmare.

It is bad. Something has got into him, under his skin and down further and through the bone. Alba comes over to see better and they both analyse the now weeping, stinking sore with cool, blank faces. The leg is starting to swell.

‘How long?’

‘Four days. It keeps going.’

Alba nods and licks his lips. Goes to touch Ériu’s poor leg, then doesn’t. ‘We need to go to the people. Maybe the rot can be stopped.’

Ériu hesitates, then nods. Allows hope in and forces himself to forget briefly all of the memories he has been replaying of the final hours of writhing men and sobbing children, their skin sore and angry just like his after something tore at it. ‘There’s a settlement near the river. It’s not too much of a detour.’

Alba’s eyes are soft. It makes Ériu’s stomach tighten with cold again, ‘Can you get there?’

‘Yes.’ Ériu says firmly.

Alba nods, ‘Alright.’

He helps Ériu wrap it for the night, newly washed linen that one of them could have used as a shirt. Instead, it is used to hold Ériu together, and he and Alba lay quietly side by side, watching the stars through the trees and listening to the snap of the fire.

It helps, if only for a night.

When their people greet them, Ériu can hardly walk.

Thoughts do not stick with him long. He steadily worsens, the final steps are a blur, and he is tipped from Alba’s arms into a strangers’, hot cheeks pressed to shoulders as he’s carried up the mound at a run.

Then a house.

A fire.

Some blankets, then none. Cool air on his skin, a small hand in his own. The fur of heavy pelts, the cool lightness of linen- something soft under him. Wetness on his forehead. Voices around him, talking and talking and talking but no sense in any of it that he can catch.

Something presses on his leg and clarity bursts in shrieking, the agonising pain flooding up and through him to escape high and shrill, a sound unlike anything he has ever made before. He sees his leg through tears, the skin bubbling and curling away from the angry red centre, and he kicks out to be free of all of it.

Someone is crying.

Darkness swims on the edges but Ériu refuses to go.

--------------------

‘I can make it quick.’ Alba is above him. His expression is serious.

They are alone. This Ériu knows by the air, the lightness of few people in a large space, and that he can hear nothing but absences and his own laboured breathing.

He wants Mama.

Alba shifts beside him. He glances about, turning to look over his shoulder before leaning close to whisper, ‘If you want me to, I can do it. I can make it go faster.’

Ériu weakly shakes his head and whimpers, temples pulsing.

‘Shhh.’ Alba’s hand cups his cheek and he strokes Ériu’s hot skin with his thumb, ‘It will be okay.’

‘No…’

‘It will be better than this. This is the worst part.’ Alba looks from one eye to the other, a horrible, knowing look in his eye. He looks older, haunted, ‘I promise.’

Ériu shakes his head again. His leg burns, it is hard to focus, but he knows exactly what his brother is offering. Death has got to Alba already, and it has eaten away at the gift of innocence that childhood once granted him to be replaced with something bitter and hard. It was a look that Mama once sometimes had, gazing off across fields to something that only she could see and remember. It is a look Ériu is fated to share.

He does not want it. Not yet. He does not wish to know how much death stings, does not wish to return changed. He has seen too much life for this moment to be easy, Alba had been right with his warnings. Worse than the fear of the unknown was the fear of the known that was doomed to come.

Life kicks inside his chest, a silly mortal desire he hasn’t yet tested.

‘It is happening, whether you like it or not.’ Alba brushes the tears from under Ériu’s eyes, ‘There is only one thing left.’

What if he does not return? What if someone else returns inside of him, someone new?

‘Let me make it easier.’

Ériu’s eyes drift to the smoke hole in the thatched ceiling above. Smoke curls past herbs strung to dry in the rafters, yarrow and rosemary and nettles, and Ériu watches as it unfurls towards the heavens.

--------------------

Alba lied.

There are no words to describe the agony that follows.

--------------------

Ériu wakes slowly.

Someone is humming, fingers playing in his hair.

Ériu opens his eyes to find Albion sitting cross-legged next to him on the floor. He stops humming when he sees that Ériu is awake but continues to brush his fingers through his hair, seemingly unbothered by the gritty feel of it.

‘Finally. You took ages.’ Albion glances at him, then away. His eyes are red, ‘Thought you might be dead for real.’

‘You’d be lucky.’ Ériu’s throat is dry and dusty but his voice is still there.

Albion grins and gets up to get him water, carefully and quietly stepping around Cymru still asleep next to him. Alba is there too, arm around Cymru as if to keep him in place.

The house is communal. People are everywhere but they’re a polite distance away, giving Ériu’s family their space whilst still being within help’s easy reach. Ériu lifts a stiff arm out of his blankets to touch the hard, dry earth beneath the floor’s rushes, and knows exactly where and who he is.

--------------------

When North arrives, Ériu is conflicted.

Life is different now. Softer in as many ways as it is harder and death wears different disguises than the ones Ériu grew up with.

His youngest brother has clean drinking water, good food. A varied diet that is richer than anything Ériu would once have ever been able to imagine- fruits and vegetables and meats that still sometimes feel new to him. North’s bed is warm, and guaranteed each night. The medical men and women around him are highly trained, their science always advancing, and his clothes are well made and tailored for the weather. He has several homes, and is always welcome in all of them.

North has four grown men around him, thousands of years’ experience to each of them, who want for him a life they hadn’t been lucky enough to have themselves. North will not die from silly mistakes.

But North does need to die.

Ériu balances fate with reasoning. Lets North drive alone at night, even though he cannot legally do so. Turns the other way when North takes up smoking in parks with newly made human friends. Ignores any signs of reckless behaviour that could easily be curbed or prevented.

Only Cymru disagrees. For reasons Ériu doesn’t understand, Cymru frets like Mama once did, watching North carefully as if making up for a secret past failing.

It is a fruitless effort. North needs to know what it is to feel the edges of mortality, as all of them know. And Ériu knows that waiting will only ever make it worse.

#aph ireland #hws ireland #aph scotland #hws scotland #aph england #hws england #hws wales #aph wales #hws british isles #aph brit bros #aph #hws #hetalia #historical hetalia #aph uk bros #heroes writes

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angeltreasure · 2 months

Note

I recognize that I may never find a husband, be blessed with a family, get to fulfil my hearts desire of being a mother, a wife, and a helpful hand to the church. I tell God every day that I understand that in the end, I only have him, and I try to feel his love throughout my days, count my blessings and find joy in solitude. Jesus is my only friend, and I try to talk to him like he’s beside me but I’m left feeling alone and useless. I’m pursuing a career while working full time. Every day I’m studying all night after work. I am deeply unhappy with the direction I’m headed in and I do not want to be a woman with a career, it goes against my heart. I don’t believe women should even work in the field that I’m going into but I can’t stop now, I became an adult so quickly and suddenly I’m running out of time and money to spend on school. I just wish God had planned something different for me- But how can I even say that? I don’t know if it’s selfish to ask for a prayer for some kind of consolation when I am truly so blessed and lucky to be so privileged. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I just want to forget my ego and be able to dedicate all my energy to honouring God and inspiring others to do the same.

I’ll pray for you.

Today is the perfect day to ask for prayers like this, to say ‘Jesus, I need Your help’. Our human heart desires natural things as you have said, know that there is nothing wrong with those desires. Sometimes our peers our own age or others around us make it seem so simple (especially if we follow blogs we love on social media which depict the exact dream life we want), so easy, that we wonder, ‘why am I not a mother yet? Why am I down this path? Doesn’t God care for me or even hear me? What am I doing wrong, what is wrong with me?’ There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. God isn’t just tolerating you because you are working hard and searching for things. He loves you, even when your sins nailed Him to the cross. There is nothing that will stop God from loving you, even if you were the worst sinner. God has a plan for you. It may not be tonight, or tomorrow, or next week, maybe not for years, but we have to be like Jesus and say God not my will but Your will be done. In the mean time, recognize in the present moment you already are a spiritual mother when you care for your family, friends, coworkers, people you pray for, the homeless, the abandoned. You are a wife because you are a child of God, the bride is the Church, you are fearfully and wonderfully made, knit by God when you were in your mother’s womb. You can be a helping hand to your church and surrounding churches when you are present at Mass, when you give your time and volunteer, when you make sacrifices to help other church members and clergy to lead them to God. You can do the smallest of smallest jobs, right down to cleaning the altar cloths and fixing the pews after Mass, and all that helping you can offer up for souls in Purgatory. All that studying and working too, offer it up for Purgatory and, God willing, your future spouse modeled after the best of all: St. Joseph. The Divine Mercy Chaplet is the perfect prayer for you to try and remember this sentence: “Jesus, I trust in You”. Pray that sentence as many times as you need it. Even when you don’t understand what will happen tomorrow, Jesus I trust in You. When your heart is full of loneliness, open the door to Jesus who always knocks at the door to your heart, Jesus I trust in you. When you feel unworthy, banish that thought away saying Jesus, I trust in you. You are not selfish to ask for prayer. You are a child of God and our prayers move mountains. Don’t be so afraid that you cast your eyes on the storm and raging waves. Step out of the boat and keep your eyes on Jesus.

#prayer request #asks

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taniavttv · 2 years

Text

How would the male Hashira react to their s/o recovering from an injury? Pt 2

Characters: Giyu, Gyomei, and Muichiro x Reader

Request by @sulli1361

A/N: Here is Part 2 I hope you loved it and also everyone else too. I enjoyed writing this I will try to post on Weekends since my fall break is over and school starting but Request are Open Thx 💖🌸

🌊He went to the butterfly mansion after your crow told him you were recovering from a recent mission and went to see if you were okay

🌊He was impatient and wanted to know if you were Okay and of course he was trying to calm himself down

🌊Once Shinobu allowed his to visit you, He went immediately to your side and kissed your face

🌊He refused to leave your side and stayed there until you woke up

🌊He strokes your hair and touches it even will brush it as well

🌊Once you wake up He is happy and hugs you he will cry and you hug him back and kiss his lips

🌊He doesn’t let you get out bed because he’ll get anything you need

🌊Loves when you touch his chest and he loves to touch your hair and kisses your forehead

🌊He gets your favorite food as well as flowers to you feel better

🌊He Talks with you and tells you he love you always

🌊He lays down with you so can cuddle with him

Blue: Giyu

Purple: Y/N (you)

“Hey love are you ready to sleep Shinobu said we could leave tomorrow early” Giyu said as he helped you get on the bed. “Yes I am” You said as he helped you lay down. Giyu smiled and kissed your forehead “Can you lay with me and cuddle” Y/N said and she looked at Giyu beautiful blue eyes. “Are you sure love you are recovering and…..” He was about to continue until “Giyu please I missed you so much and I want to cuddle with you that will make feel better” You said and moved so he could lay. “Oh alright then” He said and blushed. He laid down and pulled you close to his chest. “Y/N I love you” Giyu said and kissed your forehead. “Aww I love you too Giyu” Y/N said and nuzzled her head into his chest. Giyu touched and soothe Y/N hair so he could help her sleep. “Y/N” “Yes Giyu” “Can I kiss you” He said and looked at you. “Giyu you can always kiss me you don’t need to ask me” Y/N said as Giyu smiled “Alright my love let me kiss you” and kissed Y/N lips passionately.

🗿He runs to butterfly mansion after he heard you were recovering

🗿He cries and prays for you to recover

🗿He tries his best to stay calm and let Shinobu do her work

🗿Once she is done He goes to your side and holds your hands and gives you a kiss on your forehead

🗿He is so sweet he cleans your face and touches your hair even brushes it

🗿He prays for you to wake up and feel better

🗿Once you wake up he cries and hugs you close to him. You hug him back and kiss his lips

🗿He goes to get you gifts like a bonquet of flowers or your favorite food

🗿Once Shinobu confirmed you were able to head home He talks with her on ways he can help you recover

🗿He listen to every word Shinobu said and He Carrie’s you home

🗿He plays his flute so you can hear it and enjoy the beauty song

🗿Once you arrive he will cuddle you and hold you close to him

Green: Gyomei

Purple: Y/N (you)

Y/N sat and listened to how Gyomei was playing his flute. It was so lovely and beautiful. “I love how you play your flute Gyomei” Y/N said. “I’m glad you loved it my dear” Gyomei said and kissed your cheek.“Thank you for taking care of me Gyomei” Y/N said and then she felt Gyomei tears. “What’s wrong Gyomei” You asked. “Oh nothing my dear I just love you so much and I will protect you no matter what” He said and you wiped his tears. “Oh honey don’t cry I’m here with you and I also love you too” Y/N said and kissed his tears away. “I’m grateful to have you in my life Y/N” Gyomei said and grabbed your hands and kissed them. “And I’m grateful to have you as well Gyomei” Y/N said and kissed his cheeks and then his lips passionately. “Lay down and let’s cuddle” Y/N said as Gyomei smiled and cuddled her. He pulled her close to his chest and touched her hair to help her sleep. “I love you Y/N” he said “I love you too Gyomei” Y/N said as she nuzzled her head into his chest

(This is my first time writing for Muichiro I hope you all love it. Also reader is the same age as him since he’s a child)

🔹He rushes to the butterfly estate after someone told him you were there

🔹He is crying and hopes you are Okay since your special to him

🔹Shinobu tries calms him down so he can visit you soon

🔹Once Shinobu is done and allows him to see you. He runs to your side and holds your hand

🔹He kisses your hand as he holds it and even your face

🔹He touches your hair and caress it so you can be comfortable

🔹He will hold your hand mainly and kiss your cheeks so you can wake up soon

🔹When you wake up he’s cries and is happy he hugs you tight as you hug him back and wipe his tears away

🔹He will get anything you need so you don’t have to do much

🔹He loves to hold you close to him and soothe your hair it’s so adorable how you both sleep

🔹Loves to play with your hair and when you do the same to her

🔹He will get you your favorite food and is sweet to feed you

Blue: Muichiro

Purple: Y/N (you)

Y/N room door open and it was Muichiro who had came back from getting food. “Hi Mui how are you doing?” Y/N asked him. “I’m doing good how are feeling love” Muichiro asked you as he smiled. “Oh I’m feeling a little better just a little headache” Y/N said as Muichiro set the food down and went to get your medicine. “Here take this” He said and gave you the medicine. “Thank you Mui” Y/N said and kissed his cheeks. “I brought your favorite food so let’s eat” He said and got the food ready. He got your chopsticks ready but “Let me feed you love” Muichiro said. “Oh Okay Mui” Y/N said as Muichiro fed her. “Did you enjoy the food love?” He asks. “I loved it Mui Thanks” you said and he wiped any small piece of food from your lips. “Did Shinobu tell you anything of when you’ll be good to head home” He asked “Well she says I’ll have to stay and do rehabilitation training to get my strength better” Y/N said “I’ll help you love so we can train together” Muichiro said and kissed Y/N cheek. “Aww Thanks Mui” Y/N said and kissed his cheek and then his lips. “Oh I love you Y/N” he said and blushed. “I love you too Mui” Y/N said. “Do you mind if I cuddle you close” he asks you. “Oh Mui sure we can cuddle” Y/N said as Muichiro smiled and held her close to him. “I love you Y/N” Muichiro said as he touched her hair and kissed her forehead. “I love you too Muichiro” Y/N said and nuzzled close to him as they went to sleep

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galvanizedfriend · 2 months

Note

Hi Yokan 👋

I have questions

First question - how’re you doing? Hope life hasn’t been too stressful for you!

Second question - have you been reading anything that has really resonated with you in the last couple of weeks/months.

Third (and most weird) question - if you could choose a superpower what would you choose? (Dumb question I know😂)

Fourth question - most proud moment in your writing career.

And final question - how’s writing going with the Wolf? Hope you’ve not struggled too much in starting it!

hope your doing okay! ❤️

Hi, friend! How's it going?

Can I just say, it's so lovely to get all these questions! ✨ I love this so much, thank you! 💝

First: I'm ok! Work is always stressful these days, I don't think it's going to give me a break until at least September. 😂 But it's not the worst right now. Tomorrow is my birthday and I just the best piece of chocolate cake humanity has to offer, so I'm cool right now. 😇 Just wish tomorrow wasn't Monday. 🥲

Second: I have read 7 books this year so far, but nothing that's stood out as being great, sadly. :( Still haven't had a 5 stars. I finished a thriller called None of This is True by Lisa Jewell which was pretty good, if you're into thrillers. 4 stars, maybe.

In terms of fanfiction, I've have been reading random pieces of non-Kc fic, as per usual 😂 But I have also read The Little Wolf by @morningstargirl666, which is absolutely fantastic, if you haven't read it yet. It's a retelling of the show's canon about the Original family and how they were turned into vampires, with special focus on Klaus' werewolf heritage, and it's so, so, so good! And so much better than canon! It actually gives depth to the siblings' relationships, and it has so many little nods to what we know of them in the future. Beautifully woven! I have also read Till I Tasted You by @kirythestitchwitch, which is a canon divergent AU where a spell goes wrong and Caroline ends up finding out Klaus is her soulmate. It's hot, it has absolutely nom-nom-able dialogues and A+++ interactions between KC, it features Damon getting his ass kicked! I don't know, it's just the whole package. 🤌

Third: This would be a very weird question if I hadn't spent an irrational amount of time thinking about that. 😂 I guess it really depends on what kind of universe you mean, because it varies. But I would very much like to have telekinesis like Prue in Charmed.

Fourth: That's a tough one. I'm an extremely critical person of my own writing, so it's hard for me to feel proud of stuff I've done tbh. 😂 But I think I was pretty proud when I finished The Wolf 2. It's not my personal favorite thing I've ever written, but I think it's probably my best written story. I really like the final part of that story, the way I managed to tie it back to TVD, I think it was very full circle and made the story a lot more unique. I also had a lot of fun writing the Mikaelsons and Caroline back in Mystic Falls after the time they spent in Nola. 😂 So maybe that.

Final: It's... going. 🥲 I took a pause after writing two chapters back to back, tried to work on some other stuff, and then I circled back to it. I've actually just started the next chapter, have a couple of scenes. I don't think this first chapter will be a long one, but I think it will take a lot of editing tbh. 😂 I haven't been at most inspired right now, so not sure how much of what I've written will stand the test of a re-read. I had plans to get a chapter out before the end of the month, but I'm not sure I'll manage it. 🥲 We'll see how this week goes. Pray for me.

Thanks for the questions, friend! I hope you have a wonderful week! ✨

#yokan answers #marginally-accurate #nice people being nice

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munchcorner · 1 year

Text

// mpreg

“Touya,” Keigo says while gently shaking Touya awake. Touya groans and throws his arm around Keigo’s waist. He pulls him close and kisses his shoulder, asking, “What is it?”

Touya slowly opens his eyes and sees Keigo staring at him with puppy eyes. That’s when he knew Keigo’s craving something.

“What do you want to eat?” Touya asks as he combs Keigo’s hair.

Keigo’s eyes brighten, and he smiles, “Do you remember the place we went to at Ibaraki Prefecture?”

Touya nods. He crosses his fingers under the blanket, hoping Keigo won’t ask for anything difficult to find.

Keigo ran a finger up and down Touya’s arm, “Well, I want a Kuri Manju from that place, the one the old lady made.”

Touya curses in his brain. It’s still early, and chestnuts grow in Autumn. He racks his brain, thinking of how to negotiate with Keigo.

“Keigo, it’s still two sixteen. The old lady’s probably sleeping. Can’t I get it for you later, or do you want anything else?” Touya asks, praying Keigo will say something else.

Keigo pouts and turns away. Touya hears him sniffle, making him sigh.

“Keigo,” Touya attempts to hug Keigo, but Keigo moves away.

“Don’t,” Keigo says, “leave me alone for now.”

Touya sighs a second time. He ignores Keigo’s words and wraps his arms around Keigo’s waist. He places a kiss on Keigo’s shoulder and whispers, “I’ll buy it for you tomorrow.”

Keigo pouts, “I want it now,” he demands.

“Keigo, stop being unreasonable,” Touya says. “I promise I’ll get it for you tomorrow.”

“Sleep outside,” Keigo says. He knows Touya has a point. He’s being unreasonable. But it still hurts hearing it from Touya.

“What?” Touya can’t hide the surprise from his voice. Keigo usually pouts or frowns, but he’ll say it’s okay.

“I said, get out. I don’t want to be near you right now,” Keigo says, then scoots away.

Touya stays for a minute. He contemplated if Keigo meant what he said or not. He stares at Keigo’s back, waiting for him to say he’s kidding. But minutes pass, and Keigo doesn’t turn around.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning,” Touya says. He kisses Keigo’s head before leaving.

Keigo listens to Touya close the door. He huffs and hugs Touya’s pillow before falling asleep. He wakes up the next day and sees that Touya’s side is still empty. He leaves the room and searches for Touya, ready to apologize. But he can’t find him anywhere.

He checks the fridge to see if Touya left him any notes, but there aren’t any. He enters the study, hoping Touya’s reading inside, but he isn't there.

Keigo returns to their room to call Fuyumi.

“Hello, Keigo! How are you?” Fuyumi joyfully asks after answering the call.

“I’m doing fine.” Keigo answers, “Can I ask? Is Touya over there?”

Keigo taps his foot on the floor, praying that Touya’s with them, “

“No, he never visited. Is there something wrong?” Fuyumi asks. Keigo feels his tears fall in frustration.

“Oh, okay. I was only asking. Nothing’s wrong. That’s all I wanted to ask. Thank you,” Keigo says and hangs up. He sits on the couch and cries, holding his stomach, “Ah, where can your father be?”

Keigo dials Touya’s number, but he isn’t picking up. Keigo goes out. He paces around the living room while waiting for Touya to answer.

“Fuck!” Keigo cusses when he hears Touya’s ringtone. He walks to the kitchen and sees Touya’s phone ringing on the counter. He ends the call and grips his hair in frustration, “why did he have to forget his phone now?!”

“Breathe, Keigo.” He whispers when he feels a contraction. He sits on the chair and stares at his phone.

Keigo wipes his tears and blows his snot on his shirt as he thinks of what to do next. He looks at the clock, it’s already past noon, and Touya usually arrives home at three when he’s out.

Keigo collects himself and decides to wait until four. He opens the fridge to look for something to cook and sees a semi-prepared breakfast with a note.

“I’m leaving you,” Keigo breaks down after reading the note. He runs to get his phone and calls Rumi.

“Rumi!” He cries after Rumi answers the call.

“What’s wrong?!” Rumi asks, panicked by Keigo’s crying scream.

“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t think he’d leave me after what I said!” Keigo continues to cry. He feels his breath become heavier with each passing second. It felt like something is pressing against his chest.

“I need to look for him. I can’t sit here without doing anything. I can’t let him go just like that,” Keigo frantically says. He stands from the chair to look for Touya.

“Woah! No, you’re staying there. I’ll look for Touya.” Rumi says. Keigo can hear rustling from the other side of the line as Rumi speaks. “Kaina will stay with you, okay?”

Keigo shakes his head, “no, I need to look for Touya. I need to tell him I’m sorry.”

“No, Keigo. Listen to me. You’re pregnant. Stress isn’t good for you, nor the baby. So, stay at home. I’ll look for Touya and bring him home for you. Then you can apologize to him, okay?” Rumi says as calmly as she can to avoid adding causing more stress.

“But…”

“No, buts, Keigo. That’s final. Kaina’s on her way, so I need you to stay there. She’ll flip if she doesn’t see home.”

Keigo nods, “Thanks, Rumi.”

“It’s nothing. I’m hanging up. I’ll update you later,” Keigo walks to the sofa and collapses there. He rubs his stomach and cries as he waits for Kaina to arrive.

The doorbell rings, and Keigo quickly stands up. He opens the door and sees Kaina holding a tub of ice cream, a basket of fruits, chocolates, and a cake.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kaina says and walks inside. She places the food on the coffee table and hugs Keigo, “Rumi will drag Touya’s ass here. I promise.”

Keigo cries harder into Kaina’s shoulder. Kaina can feel Keigo’s tears soaking her shirt, and the feeling of murdering Touya grows stronger as she listens to Keigo’s pained cries. She consoles Keigo by rubbing his back and telling him it’s okay.

“Let’s eat,” Kaina says after Keigo calms. She hands him a handkerchief and helps him blow his nose before guiding him to the sofa.

Kaina prepares the utensils they need and opens the television. She hands Keigo a piece of cake and distracts him with his favorite show.

Hours pass, and Rumi visits them. She hugs Keigo and tells him she asked for help from Endeavor’s agency.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Rumi says after chatting with them.

“I’m feeling a little sleepy,” Keigo says. He can feel his lids slowly giving up on him, but he forces them open. He can’t fall asleep until Touya arrives him.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you when Touya’s here,” Rumi carries Keigo to the bedroom and leaves him on the bed.

“I’ll help him clean up,” Kaina says, “bring me a basin and a towel,”

Rumi nods and walks out to go to the kitchen.

Touya opens the door and furrows his brows when he sees Rumi with a basin and a towel.

“What are you doing here? Is Keigo sick?” Touya asks. He immediately walks toward their bedroom and sees Keigo lying in bed, shirtless, while Kaina’s wiping him.

“Touya!” Keigo quickly stands up and runs to Touya. He wraps his arms around Touya and pulls him close, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said last night. Please don’t leave me. I won’t kick you out. I’ll even stop asking you to go out and get my cravings. I can change. I promise.” Keigo pleads in one breath.

Touya can hear the hoarseness of Keigo’s voice. He looks at Kaina and Rumi, asking why Keigo is acting the way he is, but all he gets is a glare.

“What are you talking about?” Touya asks. He gently rubs Keigo’s back and kisses his shoulder to calm him down.

Keigo wipes his tears and breaks the hug, “You said you’re leaving me.”

“I never said that,” Touya says, his brows furrowed.

“It’s on the note!” Keigo shows him the note he saw in the kitchen.

“Shit,” Touya curses, “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice the other words got smudged.”

Keigo looks at the letter and notices the smudge for the first time. He feels his tears fall again, but this time, because of relief.

“I didn’t notice,” Keigo says and chuckles, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

Touya hugs Keigo and then kisses his head, “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited for you to wake up before leaving. I thought it would be a great surprise if I went out and got your craving before you woke up. If I knew this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have left without telling you.”

“It’s okay.” Keigo cheerfully says, “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

Touya smiles and kisses Keigo’s lips, “do you want to rest? You can eat the Kuri Manju after waking up,” he says and tucks Keigo’s bangs behind his ears.

“That sounds good,” Keigo says and walks to the bed. He lies down and sighs as if a heavy weight was lifted off his chest.

“Thank you for coming over,” Keigo thanked Rumi and Kaina.

“It’s nothing. Now, go to sleep,” Kaina says while Touya tucks Keigo.

The three of them silently waited until Keigo drifted off to sleep before going to the kitchen to discuss what happened.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Touya apologizes.

“Well, we’d do anything for Keigo,” Rumi says, “but don’t do that again, or I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, we’ll kill you if that happens. If you plan on doing something like that again, tell us. We can help you so Keigo doesn’t panic.” Kaina adds.

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Touya says.

He offers them some Kuri Manju as a snack while they talk. He bids them goodbye and cleans the house before walking into their room. He gets on the bed and hugs Keigo from behind.

“God, I can’t believe you’d think I’d leave you. You’re my life,” Touya whispers. He stares at Keigo’s sleeping face and says, “I can never leave you. You and our children are my life.”

#dabihawks #dabi x hawks #hawks x dabi #toukei #touya x keigo #keigo x touya #bnha hotwings #not beta read

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dalgursbate · 28 days

Text

to forgive is human and failure is divine (1/?)

Summary: A divinity school dropout walks into the shittiest dive bar in the Lower City. The bartender asks, “What are you having?” The dropout responds, “An existential crisis.” *** Magical realism/Modern Faerûn AU where Shadowheart and Lae’zel run from their problems by causing new ones. Also, by punching each other. A lot.

Rating: M WC: ~4,500 Pairing: F/F, Shadowheart/Lae'zel

Shadowheart needs to find a job.

She can tell, because the emails from her student loan servicer have a lot more capital letters and exclamation points in them these days. She could probably apply for forbearance, but the thought of even opening those messages fills her with a deep-seated dread. Part of her is sort of hoping that if she just ignores them long enough, they’ll go away. Or, hey, maybe one day she’ll finally wake up, and it will turn out that this whole nightmare where she threw her entire life into the toilet was just that—a nightmare.

It's not that Shadowheart regrets dropping out of her program. Not really. It’s just that she had planned her whole life around her service to Lady Shar. Once upon a time, her greatest ambition had been to receive a Master of Divinity from Nightbringer University. The program is known across Faerûn for its prestige and exclusivity, the kind of degree that could take her anywhere in the Sharran church, and Shadowheart had somehow gotten in. At the time, it felt like a dream come true. She wanted nothing more than to devote herself to worship, to repay the church for everything it had given her.

Ha. So much for that.

Though she may no longer serve a deity, Shadowheart nevertheless finds herself praying that today is the day where she wakes up and this horror show ends.

Unfortunately, however, when she opens her eyes her mattress remains on the floor of a shitty studio apartment. The carpet continues to smells like cat piss despite the fact that she doesn’t have a cat. And, according to the clock on her phone, Shadowheart yet again slept in until 4:37 p.m., effectively wasting another day.

It seems she’s still stuck with the reality where everything is wrong.

Oh well, she thinks, and dismisses the three new frantic notifications from her email.

Shadowheart goes through the motions of being a person even though she doesn’t really feel like one right now. She brushes her teeth, showers, forces herself to eat a piece of toast. She braids her hair and puts on a pair of jeans—black, so it’s harder to tell they need a wash. She drinks a glass of water.

Her apartment has a steadily growing pile of Important Things™ on the kitchen table that she’s supposed to attend to; exit paperwork from her program at Nightbringer, research on potential job prospects, and the list goes on and on and on. Even just looking at it is kind of overwhelming. Still, Shadowheart forces herself to sit down, pick the paperwork out from the stack of documents, and look it over in a vain hope that she might actually be able to get work done today.

She starts scanning over the forms she needs to fill out, but it only takes a couple of minutes before she grows too restless to focus. Every time she sees the Nightbringer insignia, she can feel a nervous itch developing under her skin. It becomes impossible to sit still. Before long, her anxious foot tapping turns into anxious leg bouncing, which quickly grows so aggressive that her knee knocks into the bottom of the flimsy secondhand table and threatens to upend it. She only barely manages to grab hold of her laptop and the stack of papers before they're sent flying.

Shadowheart decides to take that as an omen against continuing to pull her own teeth.

Besides, she’ll be productive tomorrow, she promises herself. Because if she is being very honest, she does not think she can stand to be in this godforsaken apartment for a single minute longer. It’s too dirty and dingy and claustrophobic. She desperately craves a change of scenery, ideally to a locale that is less depressingly beige. However, being relatively new to this part of Baldur’s Gate, Shadowheart hasn’t exactly curated a long list of local haunts to patronize. But she’s pretty certain that if she just picks a direction and walks long enough, she’ll find somewhere loud and crowded that will help take her mind off of things.

She spares another glance around her dismal living quarters, before her eyes settle on the haphazard mess of papers once more. Yeah, a distraction sounds pretty good right about now.

So she gets dressed in something skimpy, smudges black around her eyes, and puts on the leather jacket that her ex left and that Shadowheart never bothered returning. She wishes desperately that she still had her divine magic and could cast a spell to clean her clothes, but she figures that a little bit of perfume will more or less do the job. Her whole wallet doesn’t fit in her back pocket, so she takes out her ID and credit card and shoves them loose into her jeans with her phone.

Off she goes, then, in search of something interesting.

The best she can find within a fifteen minute walk ends up being a little dive bar called The Grove.

It isn’t exactly what she’s looking for. Really, what she wants is to dance until she forgets, to maybe let someone take her home so she can spend a night outside of the awful nest she has built herself. But there’s something about it that intrigues her, something about it that catches her eye and pulls her in. It’s just one door in a line among many other stores and restaurants, tucked between a magic shop and what appears to be a laundromat. Truthfully, it doesn't really seem all that exceptional. It looks a little run down, and the storefront is covered in a thickety mess of ivy, twining around the entryway until the words on the sign are barely legible. Somewhat at odds with its naturopathesque exterior, though, is the violent punk music filtering onto the street from inside.

It piques Shadowheart's curiosity.

When she peers into the tiny window in the door, she can see that the interior looks rustic, cozy; there’s a massive hearth along the back wall, surrounded by couches that look rather comfy, if a little bit threadbare. And, despite how unassuming it is, The Grove is surprisingly populated. Inside are a lot of crunchy-looking humans, elves, and dwarves in natural fibers and open-toed sandals, which Shadowheart supposes she should’ve expected given the faint aura of druidic magic about the place. More interesting to her are the number of people dressed in trendier clothing, most of whom appear to be tieflings. There are a hodgepodge mix of patrons lingering all over the establishment, in fact—playing cards, chatting amiably, and headbanging along to the aggressive music.

She figures it warrants further investigation.

Shadowheart decides to enter, and she takes a seat at the end of the bar. She notices that, from inside the establishment, the music is just loud enough to vibe to without disturbing conversation, which is something she would appreciate more if she liked talking to people. The woman behind the bar is one of the aforementioned tieflings, and although Shadowheart can't detect any druidic magic on her, there is still something wild and animalistic about her. She's good to look at, too; tall and muscular, with cherry-red skin and the kind of side shave Shadowheart has always wanted to try but never had the daring too. One of her horns is conspicuously broken in half. Ut makes Shadowheart speculate about the various scrapes and mixups that could have resulted in such an injury, though she's too polite to ever ask. The woman's voice carries from across the bar, over the music, loud and brash in a way that matches the outfit she's wearing: a denim vest covered in colorful pins, with sayings on them like “Nobody knows I’m a lesbian” and “COMMIE DYKE.”

Eventually, the bartender takes notice of Shadowheart's arrival and bounds over to greet her like an excited golden retriever.

“What’ll it be, chief?” Her voice is chipper and bouncy in a way that manages to be inviting instead of irritating. Maybe it’s because there’s a genuine warmth to the way she smiles at Shadowheart, or maybe it’s because she looks like she is trying and failing not to dance enthusiastically to the music.

Normally, Shadowheart is more of a red wine type of a girl. Tonight, however: “Vodka soda, double.”

“We have pretty good cocktails, you know,” the bartender tells her with a wry grin.

“They cost more than a vodka soda?”

“Yep.”

“Vodka soda, double.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n.” The bartender salutes her in faux deference, and Shadowheart finds herself smiling a little, too. “Name’s Karlach, by the way, if you need me. Sometimes I get a little distracted back here.”

“Shadowheart.” Karlach quirks a brow at that, but blessedly says nothing. A minute later, she slides a vodka soda to Shadowheart and then goes back to making drinks for the other patrons.

There’s fast, angry guitar pounding in her ears, and the drink is strong when Shadowheart sips it.

Her chest loosens, a little.

A few vodka sodas later and there is a pleasant haze around Shadowheart’s vision. The lights have halos, now, bright and glowy and almost holy. The edges of her world feel as though they have softened somewhat. The only people still sitting at the bar are her and a couple at the opposite end, a halfling and a drow who are too invested in each other to need any attention from the bartender. As such, Shadowheart has apparently been assigned the duty of entertaining Karlach.

And, wow, Karlach is nosy.

“You new to Baldur’s Gate?” Karlach asks, leaning over the bar and resting her chin on her palm. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

Shadowheart shakes her head. “I grew up in the Upper City. Went to school there, too.” She takes a long sip of her drink.

Karlach lets out a low whistle, expressing an emotion that Shadowheart is too intoxicated to interpret. “So what went wrong for you to end up here?”

“Who says I ended up here? Maybe I’m just visiting,” Shadowheart says with a single eyebrow raised. At least, she thinks she has a single eyebrow raised. Her face is a little tingly.

“Shady—I’m gonna call you Shady, by the way. Shady, you’re drinking the cheap drinks at a dive near the docks. By yourself. Doesn’t exactly suggest that things are going well right now.”

Shadowheart stares at her for a long moment, intent on stonewalling her. Soon, though, the earnestness in Karlach’s expression breaks her resolve. She sighs. “Got kicked out of school. Or left, I guess.”

“What happened?”

“That’s none of your business,” Shadowheart responds, tone acerbic, and then winces a little in regret; she likes Karlach. Karlach is nice. Shadowheart shouldn’t be mean to Karlach, even if Karlach is terrible at minding boundaries.

Karlach just shrugs it off good-naturedly, still grinning, and Shadowheart is relieved to not have ruined this, too. “Fair play, but you look like you need a confessional, bad. And who better to swoop in and lend an ear than the gorgeous-but-attentive bartender?”

Shadowheart barks a laugh at that, unexpectedly. “Confessional, right,” she says sarcastically. For a brief second, she worries at her bottom lip with her teeth as she contemplates actually telling Karlach the truth. Eventually, she thinks, fuck it. What does she really have to lose here? “That was a better joke than you probably even realize.”

“Oh?”

She nods. “I was a cleric, in divinity school to work within my church.” Shadowheart takes a deep breath and forces herself to say the next part: “I–I left the church, and they kicked me out of the school.”

“So maybe confessional’s the last thing you need, then, eh Shady?” Karlach’s voice is light, but she seems to be listening to Shadowheart pretty intently. “What made you leave?”

Unintentionally, Shadowheart’s eyes drop to the pins on Karlach’s shirt. Then, quietly, she answers: “It was the Sharran church.”

“Oh,” Karlach says softly, voice full of empathy and immediate understanding. It makes Shadowheart’s skin tingle uncomfortably, and she starts squirming in her seat. Karlach's kind stare is making her feel too exposed, now. She wishes that she hadn’t taken her jacket off; gooseflesh is beginning to dot her arms where she rubs them absentmindedly. Then, Karlach asks, “You like bourbon?”

Shadowheart blinks at her. “Yeah, why?”

“There’s a cocktail we got here you gotta try,” Karlach says. “It’s called the Oak Father’s Blessing, technically, but we all just call it the Oaky Smoky.” She turns, and begins mixing ingredients. “I think you’d really like it.”

“I–what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” Karlach grins back at her, before turning back to make the drink.

Shadowheart is struck with the revolting sense that Karlach pities her.

Oh, Gods, she really hates that. This is why she doesn’t tell people this stuff, she remembers. This is why it is better for her to just deal with it by herself.

She wishes she weren’t tipsy, wishes she could think more clearly. As Karlach has her back turned, mixing the drink, Shadowheart tries to categorize the maelstrom of complicated emotions warring for attention inside of her. Her brain feels numb, hazy. There is a hot, sparkling rush churning unpleasantly in her belly, something like shame or anger or panic. But she thinks there is also, maybe, a tiny part of her that feels lighter for having told Karlach even a part of what happened. Like she’s let go of a breath she’d been holding for a long, long time.

It's as Shadowheart is busy introspecting that someone comes and sits two seats down from her at the bar. Unlike Shadowheart, this person seems oblivious to the complex array of emotions and contradictions swimming in Shadowheart's liquor-addled mind, a fact of which Shadowheart is eternally jealous. Also unlike Shadowheart, the person appears to be a githyanki, which is a strange enough occurrence to pull her out of her reverie for a moment and look over.

The woman must notice her surprise, because she greets Shadowheart with a menacing glare and a pronounced scowl before quickly looking over to Karlach.

“Be with you in a moment!” Karlach chirps at the newcomer cheerily, clearly oblivious to the woman's blatant and unwarranted hostility.

Despite her surliness, Shadowheart finds it strangely difficult to look away from her. Both because it is uncommon to find githyanki in Baldur's Gate, and because the woman is oddly...captivating. Emboldened by alcohol, Shadowheart attempts to discreetly eye the woman up from down the bar. She notices a few things immediately. First, the woman has absurdly large, babydoll-like eyes. Though, she notes, they are not particularly innocent looking. Rather, the adjectives that leap to Shadowheart's mind are “catlike” and “feral.” Something dangerous lurks there, she thinks to herself nonsensically. Dangerous or maybe just unhinged. Further cementing the image of a cat in Shadowheart's mind are the leopard spots that adorn the other woman's olive green skin. And, as Shadowheart tries to covertly drag her gaze down the woman's body, she sees how wiry and thin the woman's frame is. Almost delicate looking, she would think, if not for the fact that she suspects that the woman throws a killer right hook.

The other woman either does not notice Shadowheart's covert observation, or she simply elects to ignore it. Either way, it is quickly interrupted by Karlach's return, accompanied by a drink in either hand.

“Right, here ya are, Shady,” she says, passing one of them to Shadowheart and retaining the other for herself. When Shadowheart grabs hers, Karlach raises her glass toward Shadowheart’s for a toast. “Cheers, to abandoning the church! To choosing yourself, and to choosing better things!”

Somehow, despite herself, Shadowheart finds herself grinning at Karlach’s optimism. Silently, she clinks her tumbler against Karlach’s before taking a hesitant sip. The cocktail is warm and, as its nickname suggested, smoky. She can see why Karlach suggested it; it settles in Shadowheart’s belly like a pleased cat, curling around her comfortingly even in the face of all of her unease.

For a brief moment, Shadowheart almost feels okay again.

“Tchk. As if being a heretic is a thing to celebrate.”

Well, it was nice while it lasted. But then, Shadowheart supposes, she never did get to keep nice things.

Still, the sheer audacity of the outburst takes her by surprise and ignites a righteous ire in her. She whips her head to the right to look at the strange woman, eyes shooting daggers at her even as the world stutters slightly from the booze. Words like acid jump to her tongue unbidden. “You’d do well to keep your thoughts to yourself, stranger.”

“And you’d do well to develop a higher tolerance, istik. Or do your kind simply not know how to enunciate?”

Oh for the love of—outraged, Shadowheart jumps out of her seat. Truthfully, she isn't really thinking about what her plan is once she’s standing, whether she's going to pick a fight or if she is going to storm off. She just knows she needs to move, needs to get up, needs to do something. She feels propelled as if by motor, like she has been shocked out of a stasis she didn't even realize she was in. Even as her ire turns to pure, unadulterated fury, there's something pleasant about the sensation; she hasn't been so motivated since...Well, since.

Karlach, damn her, sees where this is going and immediately steps in.

“Hey, hey, hey. Not in my bar, nuh-uh. Take it outside or act like adults,” she says exasperatedly, gesticulating wildly with a bar rag. Then, she stops. “Actually, you know what?” She points at the gith. “You leave. You can come back when you’ve learned some manners.”

“Tchk,” the rude woman says again, before she acquiesces and exits the bar.

Logically, that should be the end of it. If Shadowheart were smart, she'd let the matter drop there, content with the moral victory of the asshole getting dressed down and kicked out of the bar.

The thing is, though, that Shadowheart does not want to let the matter drop. What she wants is to follow the woman out of the bar and give her a pointed, colorful piece of Shadowheart's mind. Unfortunately, that is an idea that comes with at least a couple of problems. The first problem being that she hasn’t paid Karlach for her drinks yet, and the second problem being that a plan like that is likely to end in violence.

You know, the kind of violence where she fights another woman in an alley over a few stray comments.

Yes, Shadowheart thinks. That would be bad.

And it would be bad, of course. But. Somehow, the thought of punching a stranger—that stranger, specifically—in the face fills Shadowheart with a new emotion. An enticing emotion, and one that is difficult to entirely pin down. The best she can think to describe it is that it makes her feel like her blood has been replaced with something thinner and more fluid. That it makes her feel awake for the first time in too long. Or maybe just that it makes her feel, period.

She chooses not to examine that any further.

Instead, Shadowheart looks to Karlach, digging her credit card out from her jeans and hurriedly sliding it across the counter. “Can you settle me up please? I’ll be back.”

“Oh, Shady, no,” Karlach says, and she looks so disappointed. Shadowheart decides that she can’t really deal with that, not right now, so she just turns and follows the stranger out the door without another word.

The air when she steps outside is frigid; much colder than it was in the bar, and the goosebumps on her arms return with a wicked vengeance. She almost can't feel it, though; not with the way her blood is searing hot and vital in her veins. She searches the street frantically for the other woman, and it's only a brief second before she catches a glimpse of her turning into the alley next to the bar. Fighting the chorus of gogogo that is singing loudly in her mind, Shadowheart forces herself to pause and consider whether she really wants to do this.

The decision is disturbingly easy. Easier than any other she's made in the past several months.

“Hey!” Shadowheart shouts after the woman, rounding the corner into the alley to see her propped up against the wall. Even though it feels like it's only been a moment, the stranger is already smoking a cigarette. Infuriatingly, she looks like she was waiting for Shadowheart. “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

The woman smiles nastily. “I’m Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir.” Shadowheart doesn't know where that is, so she assumes it must be in Alprisma. The woman drops her cigarette to the ground and stamps it out. “The real question is who you are, faithless.”

Oh, that bitch.

“You know nothing of my faith,” Shadowheart hisses back, fists balling at her sides. She walks forward into the woman's, Lae'zel's, space until they’re almost nose-to-nose. Absentmindedly, she notes that Lae’zel’s breath smells of a noxious mix of whiskey and tobacco, and she wonders how intoxicated the other woman is. She seems more sober than Shadowheart, at least, but she supposes that's not much of a feat.

“I know you betrayed it,” Lae’zel snarls back, poking a finger into Shadowheart’s chest. “I heard what that teeth-ling said,” and Shadowheart doesn’t even have time to process the mispronunciation before Lae’zel continues, “I know you chose to forsake your church, chose to be named h'sharlak. You're a disgrace.”

Shadowheart doesn't know what that word means, but she doesn't like the ugly way it curls around Lae'zel's tongue. She finds her eyes drawn to the movement of it, repulsion or rage or something else pooling in her gut at the sight. She doesn't know what, exactly. All she knows is that she doesn't want to talk anymore, doesn't want to think, so she punches Lae’zel in the face as hard as she can.

Lae’zel reels slightly, but to her credit she otherwise bears the hit well. She clearly anticipates it, rolling with it easily and recovering quickly enough to respond with one of her own to Shadowheart’s gut.

It turns out Shadowheart was right: Lae’zel can throw a punch. The sensation of it knocks the wind from her lungs in an instant, sending her stumbling back a step. Something about the way the pain blooms in her stomach is grounding, almost. Like Shadowheart is finally tethered to the earth beneath her again. More than that, she can feel the way the blow lights up her nervous system, her body flooded with chemical impulses that almost feel foreign after so long spent absent.

Shadowheart smiles. There's a split second of stillness where neither of them moves.

Then, Lae’zel turns her head, spits a frothy pink mix of saliva and blood onto the stone pavement beneath them. “Is that all you’ve got, istik?”

Involuntarily, as though compelled, Shadowheart feels a growl rip from her throat and she lunges at Lae’zel. Her fingers dig into the other woman's shoulders as she shoves her into the wall of the magic shop next door as hard as she can, hard enough that she can hear the crack of Lae'zel's skull against the brick. She can hear the bright sound of Lae'zel laughing, manic and fierce, as Shadowheart pins her there.

“You do not know who I am,” Shadowheart warns her, and isn't the thought of that exciting? That they don't know each other, not at all, and here they are. “You do not know what I’ve got.”

“Then show me, faithless,” Lae’zel spits out, and the sound of it is like music, like poetry, somehow. It's nasty and cruel in a way that burrows deep inside Shadowheart’s bones. Shadowheart hopes it makes a home there. “Or I will show you.”

And Lae’zel stomps down hard on Shadowheart’s foot, forcing her to wince and pull back enough that Lae'zel is able to flip their positions. The two of them are both breathing heavily, now. Shadowheart can feel Lae'zel's nails leaving marks in her bare skin.

Suddenly, Shadowheart wonders what passerby would think of the position they're in. Whether they would assume their passion was romantic rather than violent. The thought forces a shudder of disgust down her spine. Then, Lae'zel slams her backwards into the wall once, twice, three times. Shadowheart can feel the strength of her in each ruthless thrust, and the edges of her vision quickly become blurry—this time, from pain and adrenaline rather than alcohol.

She struggles vainly in Lae’zel’s grasp, but it immediately becomes apparent that the other woman is too powerful (or, perhaps, that Shadowheart is too drunk), and she knows she isn’t going to be able to budge her. It seems like she’ll have to fight dirty, then. Lae’zel’s stance is wider than Shadowheart’s, wide enough to provide an opening, so Shadowheart ratchets her knee up as quickly and brutally as she can into Lae’zel’s groin. Lae’zel grunts, clearly hurt, but her hold on Shadowheart lessens not at all.

In the instant where Shadowheart makes contact, though, she can feel the pulsing heat radiating off of Lae’zel’s crotch. She thinks Lae'zel must burn at a much higher temperature than she does. Or maybe, Shadowheart thinks absurdly, Lae’zel’s blood has simply all rushed to greet her. Whatever the cause, it makes Shadowheart keenly aware of all the places where their bodies touch. Every point of contact feels sharp and alive, her poor, abused flesh made so tender from Lae'zel's beating. The rough brick of the magic shop scrapes against the bare skin of Shadowheart's shoulders. Lae'zel's grasp on her arms is bruisingly savage. Shadowheart can almost feel the electric anticipation of touch in the space between them. Belatedly, she realizes her nipples are hard.

The fourth time Lae’zel rams her mercilessly against the brick, Shadowheart lets out a little gasp against her will.

It makes Lae’zel stop and stare at her. Shadowheart struggles to meet her gaze, less out of shame and more because of the way the world spins around her. She tries anyway. The other woman's eyes are bright and intent like a neon sign. She looks hungry. No, Shadowheart realizes. She looks starving.

“If I ever see you here again,” Lae’zel says, taking a step back and releasing her hold on Shadowheart, “I will have to remind you of your place once more.”

Shadowheart can't stop herself from asking, "And where's that?"

"Beneath me," Lae'zel sneers, and Shadowheart swallows. Because it’s a threat, of course. But she can read between the lines well enough to see the invitation there, too.

Without another word, Lae’zel walks away, leaving Shadowheart bloody and panting in the alleyway.

It’s not until later that night, after Shadowheart gets home and furiously rubs herself off with a hand inside her jeans, that she realizes she never retrieved her credit card and leather jacket from The Grove.

Well then, she thinks, a grin slowly growing on her face. I guess I’ll just have to go back.

#bg3 shadowheart #bg3 lae'zel #shadowzel #my fic #tfihafid #reposting bc i did a significant rewrite

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blizzardfluffykpop · 1 year

Text

No Matter What

Summary: After trying to have kids for years, and coming up short, you decide to visit a clinic to see what was wrong.

Oneshot

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Married au

TW: Infertility Issues

Word Count: 2,670

Requested: would it be possible to request a dino x reader where the reader finds out from the doctor that they can't have kids (reader has a uterus) and has to tell dino?

Husband! Chan (Dino) X Afab! Reader

A/n: Also, you do not have to be married to have kids with someone, I just like the thought of husband Chan– And if you are having fertility issues, just know you’re not the only one, and that I promise someone would love you whether or not you can have kids or even have a slim chance of having them. They’ll love you for you.

------

You wake up with your guts turning into knots after an afternoon nap with Chan and get out of bed. With hope, you shut the bathroom door, and your upset stomach disappears as you pull out a new test. “This is it. I’m sure of it.” You whisper to yourself as you hold out the stick and wait for the three minutes to be over. You pray and pray, hoping this time is different. The timer goes off, and you turn it over to see the minus sign. If you weren’t trying to get pregnant, you would be ecstatic. But now that you’re trying for a baby, and it's still coming out negative, it's making you feel hopeless. With a sigh, you throw the stick into the trash, wipe your tears of frustration, and get cleaned up. You swear you felt morning sickness, but your nerves were getting the best of you again.

You hear Chan outside the bathroom door, “Babe, I’ll be back in twenty. I’m going to get our pizza!” You call out, “Okay, be careful! I love you!” He calls back, “I love you too!” You refuse to cry as you look back over at the trashcan. You wash your hands, hear the front door open and close, and whisper, “I guess it’s finally time to call.” You find your phone after drying off your hands. You dial the number to the clinic and walk out of the bathroom, thinking of all the possibilities. Maybe something was counteracting your combined efforts.

The receptionist asks you about your reason for calling, and she tells you about Doctor Yasmine, who specializes in fertility. You ask for the next available appointment, all while pacing. And she tells you that tomorrow at noon is the earliest she has, and you take it. You hang up with a heavy heart, deciding that going alone is your best option. Especially on such short notice, no matter how much he was by your side. There were some things you had to face alone, and this is one of them. Even if you want him beside you to hold your hand through it, you right yourself before heading up to your shared bedroom. With two cokes in hand as Chan comes back with a pizza.

You put on a brave face and act like nothing’s wrong, although your stomach keeps twisting into knots over your thoughts. You try not to let on as you eat pizza side by side, but Chan knows something’s on your mind as you eat your favorite food mindlessly. He doesn’t push you to tell him, knowing you'll let him know when you’re ready. He kisses your forehead as you watch an action movie together. You push back your negative thoughts and take in the moment. You were spending a day in bed with the love of your life, maybe if nothing else, as long as you were with him, it was okay. After dinner, you lean your head against his shoulder and watch as the main character defeats the villain. You both cheer and put the trash beside the bed and watch a few more movies before curling up together and falling asleep.

------

You go to the doctor to see if there is something you can do. Maybe you weren't having sex properly? You concluded on the drive over that it couldn't be the case. You sighed, got out of your car, and made the trek over to the clinic. “Hello there! Did you have an appointment? If not, we have a thirty-minute wait right now.” You put on a brave face and go, “I have an appointment with Doctor Yasmine.” She smiles, “Ah, okay, have you been here before?” You shake your head no, and she hands you some papers to file. You finish filling them out as your name gets called to go in. You hand the paperwork over to the receptionist, who thanks you. And follow the nurse into the room who weighs and measures you. You follow him into the room and tell him the medications you take. After checking the rest of your vitals, he tells you that Doctor Yasmine will be in the room in a few minutes. You nodded and thanked him before waiting for her.

She comes in with a big smile, “Hello, I’m Doctor Yasmine. It's nice to meet you, (Y/n)." You smile and tell her it's nice to meet her too, and she continues, "Today, I’ll conduct a few procedures to see if we can narrow down the issues.” You nod as she walks through the steps to make you feel more comfortable, and you ease yourself into it. Maybe it’s going to work out, and you won’t have to worry. You convince yourself before she finishes up with the tests and asks for you to sit back up. She bows her head and tells you that she’ll be back with the test results in ten minutes.

Once she leaves, all you can think is, ‘I wish I had Chan with me,’ as you start fidgeting with your wedding ring. You spin it round and round while you wait for Yasmine to come back. Maybe you weren’t doing it right. And you just had to change something. What if there were specific days you had to have sex? No sex on the day of rest? Maybe that was it. Yeah, that had to be it. As you hold back your tears, already concluding it wasn’t possible for you.

Doctor Yasmine returns and asks, “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” You sigh, “I could take all the good news I could get right now.” She nods, “You don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases.” You crack a smile before she sighs, “This next thing I’m going to tell you is hard to take in.” You gulp, and she hands you a box of tissues.

You take them wordlessly, and she says, “You’re infertile.” You pull a tissue out as she looks you in the eyes, and you ask, “Does that mean I can’t-?" Before you can finish your sentence, she nods, and you burst into tears. It was Chan’s and your dream to have kids together. And it’s just been smashed to pieces. She pats your shoulder, “I’m sorry, no one wants to hear that when they want to have kids.” You nod and cry harder, no longer able to keep your composure.

“Will you be okay to drive? I can have Yuna call your emergency contact.” In sniffles, you go, “I don’t want him to know yet. I’ll be fine to drive. I think I'll need a few minutes to absorb this.” She nods, although you can’t see it through your tissues and tears. “Okay, please know you’re not the only one. And if you need professional help, I can recommend an amazing therapist who deals with infertility issues.” You nod, and she goes, “I’m going to leave you here now. Take as long as you need. I know this is hard news to take in. I wish you well, and I promise your significant other will accept you just the way you are.” She steps out of the room, and you wail. You want to curl up in a ball, fall asleep, and wake up to find this was all a bad dream. It couldn’t be your reality, you think to yourself, but you know it's the truth.

You let a few more tears out before carefully getting off the cot. When the thought hits you, how are you going to tell Chan? What would he think? He’s always supported your decisions and held your hand through the most difficult of them. But what about decisions that your body has already made for you? Was this going to be any different? You lose your motivation to leave as you slump into a chair, having no more tears to cry. ‘Fuck’ you mutter that’s the only word that comes to mind as you think of all the dreams Chan and you will never get to fulfill. You look at your ring before remembering the promise you both made to each other that night. “From this day forward; in joy and in sorrow; in sickness or in health; to love and cherish as long as we both shall live.” If that vow meant nothing, nor did any other promise. You know deep down he would accept you, but it was a matter of telling him the truth.

You get home after pulling over a few times and letting your emotions out. You pull off your coat and stumble out of your shoes. Go to the kitchen and grab a can of beer, thinking that would ease some of your worries. It’s Chan’s favorite. You pop it open, take a sip and go upstairs. You wanted Chan's comforting presence, even if you didn't know how to tell him why you needed comfort. You slip on his hoodie, take in his scent and go back downstairs. You wrap a blanket around you and turn on the tv, hoping the weather could bore you to tears. You gulp down some of his beer, and you smile to yourself, he sure couldn't pick a beer but at least it tasted good. You down the rest and don’t feel the slightest buzz, but you couldn't care less.

You eventually fall asleep to the forecast playing in the background. You wake to see Chan sitting underneath your blanket-clad legs and playing on his phone. He smiles at you, “You’re awake!” You gasp, finally your safety was home, “I’m so glad you're here!” You reach up and hug him. He immediately wraps his arms around you. When you pull away, he asks, “You only watch the weather when you’re sad. What's wrong, baby?” You look up at the ceiling, “I thought I’d have more time to figure out how to tell you.” He tilts his head at you in confusion, “It’s okay if another test was negative.” You shake your head, “Yes and no.” You fight the tears that wish to come out just for one to betray you. Chan immediately swipes it away with his thumb, “Baby, it’s okay. You can tell me.” You gulp as a few more tears come out, and Chan reaches out and holds your hand hidden in the blankets. He wipes your tears and pulls you closer to him. And you whisper, “I went to the clinic.” He nods for you to go on, “They uh,...” “They um.” Sensing you’re about to break into tears, he pulls you from your blankets and into his chest, still holding your hand, “Yeah?”

You gather the little courage you have left, “I’m infertile.” And you cry into his chest as you apologize profusely, and he lets out an ‘oh,’ which makes you cry harder. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers into your hair, and you continue to mutter apologies, maybe more to yourself than to Chan. He kisses the top of your head as you continue to cry it out, and he lets a few tears out himself. You both weren't able to have kids physically together. It only cracked his heart a bit, but as long as you were together, it didn’t matter.

Yeah, he had to let go of the dream of watching you carrying your shared creation. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t have a family: you could adopt or have a family of pets. And he was happy with the notion of either or even a combination. Because if it was with you, it was perfect because he loved you whether or not you could carry children. Hell, he had started dating you with the notion you guys may never have intercourse. And he was okay with that too. Because, for you, he’d be willing to do anything. Especially after having married you, he knew whatever happened. He was ready to face it as long as it was beside you.

When your tears turn into hiccups, he pulls you gently away from his chest and looks you in the eyes. “Do you remember the night I proposed to you?” You think back and go, “Yeah.” He smiles, “I told you that whatever happened from that moment on, I would be by your side. That, I loved you more than the number of stars in the sky.” You sniffle and struggle to keep eye contact. “And then the night we married, I agreed to love you ‘in joy or sorrow; in sickness or in health, to love and cherish as long as we shall live.’ in our vows?” You nod and look down at your intertwined hands, “I promised that no matter what, I would love you, and you being infertile is not an exception.” While you had no tears left to cry, it didn’t stop you from sniffling, “Really?” You rub your eyes and finally look at him and see the tears in his eyes too.

You immediately reach your free hand to wipe the ones that slip away, “Would you doubt me when I say I love you no matter what?” You gulp, “I would never. I love you no matter what too.” He gives you a small smile and tells you, “This is just a change in direction, not a dead-end. We may never have kids physically, but it doesn't mean we can't have a family. What matters to me is that I have you. That's all I ever wanted and needed.”

You thought wrong when you felt you had no tears left, but when you cried again, it wasn’t out of sorrow. It was out of joy. That you had someone who would always love you, and he holds you again as you both take a moment to process it all. You pull away, “I wish you were there with me.” He nods, “I wish I had been there too. I’m sorry you felt you had to go alone.” You sigh, “It's okay. I knew it was on short notice and that you were busy today, so I didn’t want you to cancel for me.” He shakes his head, “You are more important to me than my job.” You nod, “I know. It's one of the reasons I knew I had to do it alone. Because your job is important, it brings others joy–” He rolls his eyes, “I love your endless support of my career, but your well-being matters more to me, baby.” You reach out and grab his other hand, “I know, but we're together now, and that’s what counts.” He smiles and squeezes your hand, “Next time, we will go together, promise?” You nod affirmatively, and you stay like that for a while.

“I see you have my hoodie on and had one of my beers.” He teases, and you blush, “Yeah.” He grins, “I thought you hated the taste of it.” You laugh, “When you badly need comfort from the love of your life, you’re willing to go to the extremes.” He laughs, and you say, “And your beer is not awful,... just sometimes.” He shakes his head, “I think you just say that to say it.” You smirk, “I do.” He rolls his eyes and kisses your forehead, “I love you.” You smile, “I love you too.” He pulls you the rest of the way out of your blankets, “Let’s go to bed. We can worry later. Let’s rest for now. Whatever tomorrow brings, we'll deal with it together.” You nod as he lets go of one of your hands and leads you up the stairs.

Some things are unforeseen and unpreventable, but it doesn't mean you can't overcome them, especially with Chan by your side. Any trouble or worry is insignificant compared to your love. Because no matter what, you had each other, and that was all that mattered. Things change, but your hearts stay resilient, and you couldn’t be happier to have someone like him.

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