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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

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What is Broken II (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.

Author's Note: So, this did end up getting split in two. It just reached a natural stopping point and it made more sense to add a part IV instead of have an unnaturally long part II.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

The next morning, she watched with red-rimmed eyes as the sun emerged over the horizon. As the brightness forced her to look away, she took a moment to thank whichever god had given her the foresight to send Aemond to sleep elsewhere. It had been another horrid night, and to explain it after all that had been said between them would have been far beyond miserable.

He would return soon, she was sure. With new honeyed words and gentle touches. With his beautiful pleading eye and perfect pouting mouth. With the softness of the elusive loving smile he reserved only for her.

Or did he? He had given Alys so many things she thought only they shared. Why wouldn’t he give the whore that smile as well?

The very thought had her stomach lurching again, but she raised herself to sit against the head of the bed and steeled herself against being sick. She took deep, controlled breaths, turned towards the eastern window to feel the fresh air coming off the bay, and set her mind free to wander.

Not entirely free, however. She did not let her thoughts go anywhere near her husband.

Instead, she thought of only nice things. The flowers that would soon bloom in the gardens with the coming of spring. The fresh fruits that would once more grace her table. Weather fine enough that she could ride through the Kingswood on her beloved steed, Litse, once more.

Eventually, the roiling faded, and she looked down to her stomach. “Kōdrȳsi rhinkpa jemo gaomua hae jālosa yno gaoman?” Is that as unpleasant for you as it is for me?

A soft thump near the top of her stomach felt very much like a noncommittal answer.

She laughed a little. “Iā jeme ñuha boteri raqāt daor?” Or do you enjoy making me suffer?

That question received no answer.

Just when she was about to say something more, she heard the door to her chambers creaking open and soft footsteps approaching. Of course, he would come to her so early; he had always slept so little. She clenched the sheets in her fists, preparing to face Aemond once more.

But it was not Aemond who walked through the door.

Instead of a single violet eye, she was met with a warm, brown, tear-filled pair that matched her own, and a helpless cry escaped her lips before desperate sobs overtook her. “Mama!”

Alicent ran to her side, taking her only remaining daughter in her arms and fighting back her tears. One hand rubbed soothing circles on her back while the other gently cupped her chin and lifted it so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. “Oh, my dearest girl…”

She buried her face in her mother’s rich auburn hair, savoring the comforting smell she’d known since infancy. There was no question that Alicent had been told about Aemond’s misdeeds – though whether he told her himself or she heard another way, she could not decide.

“I hate him,” she whispered weakly.

“No, you don’t,” Alicent countered immediately. She pulled away, took her hands, and softened her voice. “You are not capable of hating Aemond, my dear. Nor is he capable of hating you.”

“Then why did he do this to me?”

Alicent sighed, brow furrowing as she pondered her son’s actions. She did not have a good answer, for Aemond had always been the perfect son, save for the death of Lucerys Velaryon, and now, she supposed, this. It was behavior she had anticipated from Aegon, or had in the past. With her eldest son, she knew he acted out of his anger that he could not be the son his father wanted.

But with Aemond…

Aemond loved his wife. He was discontented with many things in his life – his position as the second son, his injury, and his father’s negligence – but never with her. His gaze had never strayed to any other woman, even before their engagement. Once they were betrothed, it was rare to find his gaze anywhere else but on her. He was so happy with her, always. What could have altered his devotion?

“I do not know,” Alicent finally answered. The words did little to soothe her weeping daughter. “Men… they can be wonderful when they truly love you. But even then, they have their weaknesses. Aemond was gone a very long time. Perhaps he was simply lonely?”

She shook her head and ripped her hands from her mother’s. “If he was lonely, he could have come back to me. He was supposed to return to me several times but never did.”

While Aemond was at Harrenhal, she, Aegon, and their grandsire had sent countless ravens asking for his return. Otto and Aegon asked so they could hear the news from the battlefield and try to adjust their plans accordingly. She asked because she missed and needed him. Badly.

He always sent some excuse. The battle was not yet over. Vhagar was too tired to fly. He did not want to leave his stronghold undefended when enemies lurked nearby. She had trusted each excuse like a fool.

“Did you know she’s carrying his child?” she asked, drawing the blankets further up her chest as if she could protect the life inside her from the horrible fact.

Alicent nodded. “I did. He told me.”

She frowned. At least Aemond had the decency to tell their mother himself. “What else did he tell you?”

“He was very upset, my dear.” She tried to suppress the kernel of joy that sparked at her mother’s words. “Not at you, of course, but at himself.”

“As he should be.”

“Yes, he should. But he loves you so much,” Alicent grimaced, setting a hand on her daughter’s belly. “And he loves your family so much. He is inconsolable at the thought that you may never forgive him.”

That kernel of joy went up in flames, and she looked at her mother with unfettered rage. “Why should I forgive him? He has betrayed me and has done nothing to regain my trust beyond his weak, selfish apologies.”

“Yes, but –”

“He lied to me again last night!” she cried. “He said it was only once. He looked me in the eye and lied! And he thought I would be stupid enough to believe him.”

Alicent sighed heavily as she looked away from her daughter. This wasn’t like Aemond – none of it was. Even after hearing his tearful explanation the night before, she was no closer to understanding it. Nor to finding a way to fix it.

“That was wrong of him,” she said at last. “All of it was – is. My dear, I do not know what to say or how to make it better. Your father, for all his faults, never strayed. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are in. But – ”

“But what?” Her daughter glared at her with narrowed eyes, and her hand clenched into a fist by her side. “I cannot begin to imagine forgiving him, nor how I will ever look at him again without feeling this… this rage. Mother, I cannot be a wife to someone who hurt me so deeply, no matter his supposed remorse.”

She looked down at her stomach, then back to her mother. Though her eyes were red and wet, and her lip trembled, she wore a look of absolute determination. “I want to go. I don’t know where, but I don’t want to be here. I can’t bear to be with him.”

“Oh, my darling,” the queen pulled her daughter to her chest once more, not speaking again until she had calmed. “In any other circumstance, I would arrange for you to leave for Oldtown within the day. But it is not so simple.”

The princess stiffened in her mother’s arms.

“There are so few of us left, and we have already spent so much time apart. We cannot let ourselves become estranged.” Alicent bowed her forehead to rest against her daughter’s. “We cannot appear weak, especially not you and Aemond.”

She was frozen, but at that, she gathered enough strength to lift her eyes to look at her mother. “What do you mean, ‘especially’ not us?”

“There are no more heirs, darling, not of our line. But you,” her hand rested gently on her daughter’s cheek. “You are changing that. In mere weeks, your children – yours and Aemond’s – will become the new heirs to the throne.”

“They might not,” she argued weakly, her voice soft and breathless. “They may be daughters.”

Alicent smiled sadly, placing a hand gently at the top of the girl’s stomach. “This one has given you enough trouble that I would wager the Red Keep itself that he’s a boy.”

She put her hand over her mother’s as she tried and failed to smile. The Maester came to the same conclusion many weeks ago. Then, she had been thrilled at the possibility of giving Aemond an heir. Now, she wished desperately for daughters.

“Why do our heirs matter?” She asked. “Aegon will remarry and have his own soon enough.”

The question was met by a heavy, cloying silence.

“Mother?”

Alicent schooled her face into the careful neutrality that had served her so well as queen, though the tears shining in her dark eyes betrayed her heartbreak and grief. “I am afraid Aegon will not marry nor sire any more heirs. The Maesters… they predict he will leave us by the year’s end.”

Her heart stopped, then sank. “But that means Aemond…”

“Will be king soon,” Alicent confirmed. She again brushed her daughter’s hair behind her ears. “And you will be his queen.”

The implication hung over her like a black cloud: a queen could never leave her king.

Aemond knelt in the Royal Sept at the feet of the Father. He had not slept the night before, not after he told his mother what had happened and watched her cry harder than he had ever seen. He’d gone all the way back to his rooms – those he shared with his wife – before remembering the promise he had made.

He could not go back to her. To her arms. To his home.

So, he ended up in the Sept. He didn’t remember walking there, leaving the Holdfast and crossing the upper bailey. He just knew he’d been kneeling there long before the sun crested the horizon. He’d prayed and wept and begged the gods to either reveal to him a path to redemption or strike him down and spare him further torment.

The gods ignored him. He could not blame them for it.

His lamenting was halted by the sound of the carved stone doors opening, followed by a strangle rattling sound Aemond could not identify. He turned and saw his brother and king for the first time in months.

A servant stood behind Aegon to push the wheeled chair in which the kind sat with a blanket over his lap to conceal his crooked, atrophied legs, but was dismissed with a wave of a red, scarred hand. Aegon’s injuries after Rook’s Rest had been so horrific even Aemond struggled to look at him. The scars he now bore were hardly better. The king looked twisted, broken, and weak. It was a miracle little Jaehaera could look at her father without collapsing in terror.

As Aegon wheeled himself down the Sept aisle, Aemond steeled himself against the horrible expression on his brother’s face: empathy, disappointment, and rage.

In their youth, even Aegon had been protective of their youngest sister, to the point that he restrained himself from making too many lewd comments in her presence. And after years of Aemond calling him depraved, perverted, and whorish, he would, of course, delight in the irony that his little brother was just as weak as him.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Aegon drawled. His voice was as damaged as his body, weak and rasping. “But then I saw our mother. I always thought I was the only one that could make her look like that. So sad and weepy and disappointed.”

Aemond reminded himself that Aegon was finally the uncontested king and that throttling the life from him was now more than ever considered treason. “I hardly think you are qualified to pass judgment on me,” he growled.

“No,” Aegon smirked as he brought his chair to a stop at Aemond’s side. “But I think I am well qualified to gloat, don’t you?”

Suppressing his sneer, Aemond turned to face his brother. “Are you? How many unsuitable women have you bedded? How many bastards have you sired?” He scoffed, but his threadbare feeling of righteousness immediately gave under the lead weight of his desperation. “Why does my wife abhor me when I make this one mistake when Helaena never cared when you did the same over and over again?”

“Because Helaena never loved me, Aemond.” For the first time in their lives, Aegon was the calmer and more rational of the brothers. “She cared for me as a sister, but she never loved me as her husband. Not like our haedus loves you.”

“I love her, too.” Aemond’s face fell into utter regret and despair. “So much.”

“Yet you still broke her heart.”

Aemond turned back to the statue of the Father, bowing his head. “I did not mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her – I would never intend to hurt her.”

“I know,” Aegon angled his chair and slumped slightly. “But you did. Over and over. I saw it. Not just with your adultery, but every time you did not come home when she asked. Whenever you took Vhagar into battle without warning her – and us. And each day you weren’t here when those babes put her through the seven hells with – ”

Aemond’s heart stopped, and his entire world with it.

“‘Babes?’”

Aegon’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t say that.”

The same blatant liar he’d been for years.

“You did,” Aemond insisted, his rage at himself now turning on his king, his mother, and everyone else who had kept this secret from him – other than his ābrazȳrītsos. He could still never be angry with her. “Why did you say that?”

After a moment of frustrated silence, Aegon finally answered. “Because the Maesters have determined that your wife is carrying twins. Something you would know if you had come home when we asked.”

“I was fighting your war,” Aemond growled, rising to his feet so his brother could no longer look down at him, “to defend your throne. It was not always possible for me to return.”

“You mean it was ‘never’ possible, right?” In that moment, Aegon truly seemed a king – mature and wise for the first time Aemond had ever seen. He almost resembled their father, as he had been on the few occasions they saw him sit the throne. “You never returned. Not for your duties, and not for your wife.”

“I…”

“If you’d come home immediately after you first fucked whoever-she-is, or any other time we summoned you, perhaps things would be better. But you didn’t, and now you must deal with the consequences of your own stupid mistakes. Again.”

Aemond flinched at the harsh words but could not deny their veracity. The death of Lucerys Velaryon had sparked a war that nearly tore House Targaryen and the realm apart. Now this… this could tear his marriage apart.

His family could be broken beyond repair before their child – their children – were ever born.

A scar-mottled hand grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his despair. “I apologize. I did not come here to make you feel worse than I am sure you already do.”

“Why did you come, then?” Aemond stared at the mangled hand that held him still. He could not bear to look in his brother’s eyes.

Aegon sighed. “I am sending you back to Harrenhal.”

“No.” Aemond ripped his arm away.

“Brother, the peace talks…”

“I said no.” He clenched his fists.

Aegon slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the Sept. “I am your king, and I am giving you an order! You do not get to say ‘no.’”

Aemond froze, his rage roiling, desperate to spill over. But Aegon was his king, and other than his ābrazȳrītsos, his duty to the throne and his family was the thing most dear to him. So, he remained still and silent as he listened without protest.

“Cregan Stark and his army are due to arrive at Harrenhal in mere days,” Aegon explained. “I am in no condition to travel so far, and it would insult Stark and the others who were loyal to Rhaenyra to ask them to travel even further. So, as you are still Prince Regent, you will return to the Riverlands and act as my proxy in the negotiations.”

Absorbed by all that had happened since he’d arrived in King’s Landing, Aemond had entirely forgotten that particular duty. He’d known he had to attend before he left, but how could he go now? What would his wife think if he went back to Harrenhal – where Alys remained – so soon?

“You will take our sister with you.”

“I cannot,” the weak, whispered words escaped him without thought, “I cannot do that to her. You cannot do that to her.”

Somehow, the idea of bringing her with him to Harrenhal was worse than returning there himself. What would happen if she saw Alys? Spoke to her? She was already so hurt, and he did not want her to break entirely. He could not stand it. He would not allow it.

“Aegon, please,” he begged, dignity cast aside in favor of protecting his ābrazȳrītsos. “Do not make her go.”

The king straightened in his chair. “I wish I did not have to. She has already endured so much, and I have no desire to cause her more pain. But I have no other option.”

“Why? What could be more important than keeping her safe?”

Aegon’s face was drawn and filled with regret and grief. “Ensuring the realm sees you as a strong king when I am gone.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the Red Keep itself, and Aemond’s heart grew heavier still when he realized what his brother meant.

“You do not have much time left, do you?”

“Likely only a few months, according to the Maesters. But I’ll be gone by year’s end,” Aegon answered, trying and failing to summon a wry smile. “It’s almost not worth it to un-name you Prince Regent, when the crown will soon be yours once more.”

Silence fell once more.

Aemond wanted to argue. Against going to Harrenhal. Against bringing her with him. Against being king. For if he was king…

“She will be bound to me forever,” he said, not realizing he was saying it aloud, “in a way far stronger than just our shared blood or marriage. She will never be able to leave me.”

Aegon gripped the arm of his chair tighter. “Is that what you want?”

“I…” Yes. No. Aemond fumbled for his words, running a hand down his face as his thoughts raced through his mind like a thousand whirling dragons. “I want her to stay with me, but not at the cost of her happiness.”

Aegon considered the answer, the picture of a king passing judgment. At last, he nodded once. “Even if she decides she hates you, she will not leave. Her sense of duty is nearly as strong as yours, and she would never wish to raise the babes without their father.” He gestured to himself, then Aemond. “She knows well what becomes of children with no true father.”

There came a knock on the Sept door before Aemond could say anything more

Aegon sighed. “It is time for you to leave, I’m afraid. The wheelhouse is waiting.”

“What about – ”

Aegon waved a hand. “Mother went to your rooms this morning to explain the situation to her and help her prepare for the journey.”

“Can we not simply fly?” Aemond did not want for her to have to be stuck with him for the entire journey. The gods forbid that they should be made to share a tent or room at a roadside inn. Though doing so would delight him. He’d missed her so much that he would gladly take any moment he could with her, even when she was so angry with him.

Because she would be angry with him, and spending time with him would do nothing but make her miserable. Her happiness was more important than his. Always.

His brother scoffed as he began wheeling down the aisle toward the door. “Not in her condition.”

Of course. Aemond felt a fool for not realizing it himself. He’d flown Vhagar with Alys, but… she was not as far along as his wife, nor as delicate. A carriage it must be.

He should never have flown with Alys. Not for her sake or that of her child, but because flying atop Vhagar was something he did with his ābrazȳrītsos. It was something sacred they shared, and he had willfully desecrated it.

Gods, he had to get Alys out of his head. He could never become the husband his wife deserved when the witch still haunted his every thought.

Aegon stopped at the threshold of the Sept, again reaching out to grab Aemond’s arm. His eyes glinted with violent promise as he locked eyes with his brother. “If you do anything to hurt her again, intentional or not, I will exile you to Essos, and you will never see her again. I will declare you dead and marry her myself to ensure her children inherit the throne.”

“She deserves a better husband than you,” Aemond spat. It would break him never to see her or their children. But he knew he would deserve it.

The king smiled wickedly, still only a shadow of his former self. “She deserves better than the both of us, brother.”

Aemond bit back his retort and inclined his head to his king as he had at the coronation. “I swear on my life, I will never hurt her again.”

Aemond was waiting for her in the courtyard when she finally left the castle, well bundled in a thick, fur-lined cloak. The weather had turned, a final storm of the departing winter. Now, the sky reflected her mood – gray and somber.

At least the explosiveness of her anger had calmed, and she was relatively sure she wouldn’t strangle Aemond along the journey. But to go to Harrenhal with him, to be in the very place where he had betrayed her, to face the woman who carried her husband’s bastard …

She could be brave. She had to be brave. This was her duty, and her duty was sacred.

Aemond had taught her that.

She did not acknowledge him as she kissed her mother and brother farewell, nor as she walked to the steps set at the wheelhouse door.

But then he held out his hand to help her in.

Reluctantly, she took it. The brief touch was marginally more tolerable than the possibility of her stumbling and him having to catch her by the arm or, gods forbid, her waist. That would be far too much of a touch, and she was not sure she was ready for it – if she would ever be ready for it.

He stepped in just behind her, the two of them standing there for a moment, wondering where to sit. In the past, they’d always sat next to each other at the rear of the wheelhouse, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. But now, the thought of doing so again made her nauseous. So, she turned to the seat in the front.

“Wait,” Aemond grabbed her shoulder, then immediately released it when he saw her wince. He cleared his throat, then motioned to the opposite seat with his hand. “Please, sit here. I don’t want you getting sick riding backward.”

She looked from the seat to his wary smile. Surely he didn’t expect her to still sit with him, did he?

“I’ll sit on the other side,” he added after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a nod of her head. But when she began walking to the rear seat, Aemond again stopped her.

“Before you sit, let me…” he trailed off, stepping to the front seat and gathering most of the pillows and cushions that lay atop it into his arms. Then, he deposited them on the other side. He spent several minutes arranging them until they were finally to his liking. “There.”

He reached out his hand again to help her sit. This time, she did not take it. She was more than capable of sitting down on her own, and she was well aware that Aemond knew that, too. He was merely trying to touch her again, and that, she would not allow.

Once she sat, Aemond began fussing again. “Please stop,” she sighed when he started crossing the wheelhouse to fetch even more pillows. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do need to do this,” he insisted. She could have sworn his eye shone before he turned back to the pillows and blankets. “I want you to be comfortable. You deserve it.”

“A few pillows will not make me forgive you.” For a moment, as Aemond’s shoulders tightened, she almost regretted the words. She had spoken in haste and with cruelty. It was not something she was accustomed to. Somehow, his misdeeds were turning her into a mean and petty woman.

She was just about to apologize when Aemond spoke again, his voice more timid than it had been. “I know that, but I want to do it anyway. I want to show you how much I love you. Please.”

He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. It had been many years since he looked at her like that. When she was a girl, and she fell gravely ill, he stayed by her bedside against the instructions of the Maesters, holding her hand and begging her not to die. She had to look away from him to avoid falling into that memory.

“I am perfectly comfortable,” she said. “So you needn’t do anything more.”

With a sigh, Aemond threw the pillows in his arms carelessly on his seat, except for one – a small round cushion with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered upon it. “Just this one more, please.”

She looked at it suspiciously, some instinct in the back of her mind telling her not to allow it. But his voice was so weak, so desperate. And if it could help her be more comfortable on the long journey, what harm would it do? She nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond beamed and crossed the wheelhouse. With the pillow in hand, he knelt in front of her and brought a hand to hover over her belly. Before he made contact, he looked up to her, a hopeful smile still on his lips.

But that smile was no longer reassuring to her. Instead, it brought on a wave of mistrust and fear. “What are you doing?”

Finally, he laid his hand on her. “I…” His cheeks flushed, and he suddenly could not meet her eye. “This is to cradle your belly while we ride so you are not rattled around so much.”

Her hand flew out and latched onto his wrist, her hold so hard the skin around her hand quickly grew red. She did not want to see him, so she narrowed her eyes until her coming tears blurred her vision. It took several tries for her to speak through her rapid breathing. “Did Alys teach you that, too?”

Aemond looked as if she had just driven a dagger through his heart. “She did, but –”

“I told you never to do that!” She ripped the pillow from his hands and threw it across the wheelhouse with all her strength.

He stayed kneeling, one hand braced on her seat. He had not flinched, only closed his eyes. “Wifey, if it makes you comfortable, if it helps you, then what does it matter how I learned it?”

“Because…” She furiously wiped her tears away, steadfastly looking away from him. “I don’t want you to think about her when you’re touching me.”

“I promise I am not thinking of her,” he insisted. “I could never think of her when I have with me.”

“No, only when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, his hand never leaving her belly. “How long have you known?” Aemond rasped out. “That we are to have two babes?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the words. How had he known? Who had told him? She did not look at him, did not want him to see the blush of shame that came over her. If either of them should be ashamed, it was him. What he did was far worse than keeping a secret, even one as important as this.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she whispered. “But you did not come back when you were meant to – you were supposed to return and give Aegon a report on the war. You didn’t.”

Aemond bowed his head, hiding his cheeks – likely just as flushed as hers. He sniffed, as he often did when upset, and shook his head. “If I had known – ”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she snapped back. “Your… she was already pregnant by then, wasn’t she?”

For a moment, Aemond looked up at her in pleading before dropping his head again. “Yes,” his voice was thin and utterly defeated, “she was.” He reached to adjust the pillow by her side but decided against it. Then, he returned to the seat across from her, looking at her once before bowing his head and pounding on the roof twice.

Reins snapped, and the wheelhouse lurched forward.

The first hours in the wheelhouse passed in silence. Aemond hardly moved, staring at his clasped hands. She thought she felt his eyes on her several times, but whenever she looked at him, he did not look back.

She watched the world pass her by through the windows. She’d never gone north of King’s Landing before, other than a few short flights on Vhagar with Aemond. Then, she was too high to see the little differences, mile by mile. The trees changed and became sparser, as did the shrubs and flowers. The air felt different, as did the ground beneath the wheelhouse, which became softer and less turbulent the farther they went. Even the smell of the air changed. The slight brine she was so used to faded, turning into something green and damp. It was not an unpleasant change.

What was unpleasant was trying to fall asleep within the mountain of pillows and cushions Aemond had made for her. Once, she would have loved the plushness and softness of it. But with the babes in her belly, she had come to prefer more firmness.

She would have moved the pillows herself had she been able to. But between the sheer mass of cushions and her current size, maneuvering enough to do so was impossible. Grand Maester Orwyle had said even two months away from the birth, she was already larger than most mothers just before it. Of course, most mothers only had one babe to carry, not two. So, she was left with only wiggling around as much as she could to try and find a better position.

She didn’t.

With a huff, she looked at Aemond, hoping to silently glare at him and curse him for the stuffed throne he’d made for her. But this time, when she looked at him, he was looking back.

He wore an expression of concern, like he’d been watching her struggle for some time. His eye was wide, and his lips pinched together. She knew that look, and found herself now hating it. It meant he wanted to help, to understand what was wrong.

“I cannot get comfortable,” she explained, not that he deserved an explanation.

A spark of hope entered Aemond’s eye. “Do you…” he licked his lips. “I can hold you, if you’d like.”

“No!” She felt a slight pang of guilt at the hurt painted on his face at her rejection. He did not deserve her guilt, she reminded herself. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Aemond grimaced as if he could sense the lie. He probably could, for how well he knew her. “Are you sure? I can… I can just hold you. It won’t mean anything, I promise.”

Yes, yes, yes, her body seemed to scream. She had always found comfort in his arms, always slept best with him pressed against her. And him holding her would mean he would have to discard many of the ridiculous pillows. If she accepted, she could likely be asleep in moments.

But her heart… her heart would break to be held by him. She wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about if he had held Alys in this same way. If the whore had slept with her head resting on Aemond’s shoulders. If she had kissed his neck as she fell asleep, just as she had loved to do.

She would never be able to stop thinking about Alys. Every time Aemond looked at her, touched her, spoke to her. Alys would be a ghost that would haunt her forever.

A memory of the first time Aemond had taken her to the Dragonpit came to her.

He’d told her she couldn’t come with him, but relented the moment she started crying and dragged her into the carriage with him, Aegon, and Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. Jacaerys was the only one who argued against her accompanying them. He stopped complaining after Aemond shot him a threatening glare and declared that she was braver and more capable than he would ever be. But when they arrived at the Dragonpit, and Sunfyre was led up from the dens, she’d cowered behind Aemond. The sweet little creature - perhaps the size of one of the king’s hounds - she had once watched flit around Aegon wherever he went had somehow quickly turned into a beast larger than anything she’d ever seen, baring sharp teeth the size of her dinner knives. Aegon kneeled in front of her and nudged her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry, haedus. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” She still screamed when Aegon stepped within reach of those fangs. And again, when Aemond pulled her from behind his back so she could not hide from the dragon. “Do not be afraid, haedus. Sunfyre is only a dragon, as are you. The blood of the dragon runs true in your veins,” he said as she buried her face in her chest. Something about the words seemed to make Jace angry, but she didn’t know why. “I can’t help it, lēkia,” she whined. “He’s scaring me.” Aemond huffed slightly, petting her head tenderly. “You are afraid because you know very little about dragons. What we do not know can be terrifying.” He turned her to face Sunfyre, who was now perfectly docile while being saddled by Aegon. She squirmed to escape his grasp. “If you watch and listen to the Dragonkeepers, you will learn. The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked suddenly.

“My love?” Aemond looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. But when she held his stare, he whispered gently, “You don’t want to know. Not really.”

“I do,” she declared.Though his answer may shatter her heart completely, she had to know. His childhood voice echoed in her head. ‘The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.’

She swore she could see him remember the same memory she had. His eye darted around the wheelhouse anxiously. “It is not a good reason.”

“Unless she held you at sword point each time, there is not a reason I would call ‘good.’” She hoped it was something like that, that he hadn’t been given the choice to refuse her. It would make everything better, almost fine. But if it had been something like that, he would have already told her.

Aemond was silent for a long while. Long enough for the sun to reach its peak and begin its descent.

“I’d seen only one battle before I arrived at Harrenhal – Rook’s Rest,” he began. “In that battle, one dragon and rider were killed, and Aegon and Sunfyre were permanently wounded.”

“I know,” she whispered. She’d been there when Aemond had brought Aegon, broken, bloody, and burnt, back to the castle. She’d seen what happened to him. Aemond held her hair back as she was sick in the corridor outside the Grand Maester’s rooms.

Aemond nodded. “I was so afraid, ābrazȳrītsos, of what I would see when I truly went to war. And it was just as terrible as I’d feared. Even worse than what happened to Aegon, sometimes.” He waited to continue until she had unscrunched her eyes as she fought away another wave of nausea. “Every time I was scared, raqiarzītsos... And alone. She offered an escape. A chance to not think about the war, for at least a little while.”

“And to not think about me.”

He blanched, moving to stand, but thought better of it and sat back in his seat. “My love, I never wanted to stop thinking about you. I promise. I thought about you every moment of every day. You are what gave me the strength to ride to battle again and again – knowing that once it was all over, I’d be able to return to you.”

She glared at him. “So, you thought about me while you were fucking her?”

“Gods, no!” This time, he did rise, crossing the wheelhouse to fall at her feet. “I… I didn’t think about anything when I was with her. Not about you, or the war, or even her. It was the only way I could empty my mind of all the things that tormented me.”

“… I tormented you?” The idea that she could have done anything to make him want to forget her brought tears to her eyes.

“No. Never.” He tried to reach for her to cup her cheek, but she shrank away from him. “Don’t ever think that you could. What tormented me was that I was so far from you – that I could not be there for you. And the babes.”

He could have been, she knew. He should have been. “You had many opportunities to return. Why didn’t you?” Her voice caught in the back of her throat as a sob tried to escape. “Were you too ashamed of what you’d done?”

“I was and am ashamed,” he declared, and she believed him, “but that is not why I remained at Harrenhal. I knew that if I saw you again, I would never return to the battlefield. It was hard enough to leave you the first time. I could not endure it again.”

There was silence.

She leaned back towards him and allowed him to finally lay his hand across her cheek – an unconscious attempt to soften the blow of her next question. “Is it true that you spared her only because you lusted for her? That you took her to your bed in your first week at that awful place?”

Aemond sobbed, one horrible, wretched sob. His hand dropped, and he lowered his head into her lap, clutching at her dress like a child. The urge to comfort him tingled in her veins, to pet his hair and murmur soft words to him, to gently remove his eyepatch and assure him that all was well.

She did not move an inch.

At last, Aemond lifted his head. The bottom of his eyepatch was just askew enough to allow the tears from his ruined eye to escape. “I spared her because she claimed to be a witch – a seer. The claim was backed by several residents of the keep who had no reason to lie. She offered to lend me her aid in the war, to share her visions with me so I could be prepared when I led my men to battle. I agreed. I wanted to avoid the kind of slaughter I saw at Rook’s Rest. To prevent anyone from going through what happened to our brother. Then…

“I did lie with her in the first week,” he turned away as though he couldn’t say the words while facing her. “On the sixth day. We were to advance on Darry the next morning, to… it doesn’t matter why, just that it was the first time I would lead men to victory of their deaths. I asked Alys to share her vision of what would occur, and she did. She saw how fearful I was and told me that to win the battle, I must go into it without fear. I tried to calm myself, but I couldn’t.”

He swallowed thickly, still avoiding her gaze, and dropped his hand. “Then she offered her… further aid. I will not wound you by detailing what we did. But I will assure you that I did resist.” He licked his lips. “At least at first.”

A small comfort, she supposed.

“When I was with her, all my worries faded to nothing. I thought it was perhaps a spell she put on me, but it was not. My body just needed to find that satisfaction and release. I was hoping it was a spell. For that would mean I did not truly betray you.”

He faced her again. She did not know whether it comforted or saddened her to look into his wet, despairing eye. “But I did. And I continued to do so every time my fear threatened to overwhelm me. Which was, regrettably, often.

“I was weak,” he said with a mirthless laugh, “I was so weak. I should have been braver – better. I should have been the husband you deserve. I will spend every day of my life regretting it and trying to right what I have done wrong. I swear it.” He nodded as if to affirm the oath, yet it brought her no assurance. “I am so sorry, my love.”

He said nothing else.

She still had so many questions, wanted to know so much more. Her fears had barely been quelled. But it was something. And at the very least, the emotions Aemond’s story subjected her to had exhausted her. Enough that she knew she could close her eyes and be asleep within a heartbeat.

“Thank you. For telling me,” she whispered as she moved back in her seat, away from him. “I would like to rest now.”

Aemond bowed his head and retreated to his seat without asking again if he could hold her.

Her traitorous heart almost wished he had.

It was raining when she woke. The weather had apparently followed them north. She leaned closer to the window, wanting the wet air to cool her, but stopped when she noticed the wheelhouse wasn’t moving.

“Ser Marston and one of the porters are arranging rooms,” Aemond said softly. She did not reply, nor look at him. A glance out the window informed her that they were in some village she didn’t know, outside a relatively large building whose worn sign, cut in the shape of a stone wall, read simply ‘Inn.’

That question answered, she still didn’t look at Aemond. She knew he’d likely been watching her since they’d arrived… wherever they were. Perhaps longer. Judging by the dusk settling over the horizon, she’d been sleeping quite a while. And yet she hadn’t woken. She wondered if she should start sleeping during the day instead of at night.

“Mother said…” Aemond halted, likely waiting for her to look at him. She didn’t. “We will be sharing a room.”

She whipped her head around to face him, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion. “No.”

Aemond sighed. “Raqiarzītsos, if the innkeeper notices we are apart, he may talk about it. Rumors will start.”

“Can’t we just pay him to remain silent? That’s what Mother did to prevent rumors from spreading about Aegon.”

“And yet rumors spread nevertheless,” his voice was soft and firm, like a parent explaining something to their child. The thought sickened her.

She wanted to say that those rumors spread because their mother could not pay off every woman Aegon had his way with – there had been too many to even know who they all were. But it had been their mother herself who told her that this would happen, that she would have to somehow stomach being in the same room as Aemond at night. That the consequences of not doing so would be worse than those that would come from him being there.

“You will not sleep in the bed,” she ordered, finally facing her husband, “you will sleep on whatever chair or couch is in the room or the floor if there is none.”

Aemond sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Very well.”

Curious, she’d expected more of a fight. For him to insist that a servant could see the half-empty bed and raise questions. For him to try and ply her into letting him into the bed with promises of holding her and keeping her warm. For him to try something. But he didn’t.

“Good.”

It was not a very nice room.

The paint was chipping off the walls, and the floorboards creaked. The bed linens were faded, the fur blankets patchy. The small table on one side leaned to one side, and an unshaped piece of wood held the couch by the fire level.

At least there was a couch, Aemond supposed. And as it was near the fire, he would not have to sleep in the cold to avoid depriving his wife of blankets.

She crossed the room to the bed, sitting on its edge and looking out the window again. After he’d agreed that he would not try and convince her to let him join her in the bed, she’d spent the rest of their time waiting in the carriage looking out one window, then crossing to the other side of the wheelhouse just before they were called to their room.

Even now, he could see her eyes flitting from one building to another, following the villagers as they milled about and fixating on the livestock that wandered the streets – cows, donkeys, sheep, even a small group of piglets.

He thought it was a distraction at first. But when she continued to watch the inconsequential town for far longer than he ever would, even in a new town, he realized it was something more. When she quirked her head slightly to the right and the ghost of a smile flitted over her lips, he knew what it was.

This was the first village she’d ever been in.

She was born in King’s Landing, and other than their trip to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral… she’d never left the city.

Something in Aemond’s heart cracked. He should have done something, taken her on adventures. He should have brought her on Vhagar and flown her wherever her heart desired.

But he hadn’t. He’d left her in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep. In a cage.

But now… her first trip away from the capital was one she didn’t want to be on. It wasn’t a happy occasion. And their destination was likely the place of her worst nightmares.

He should never have let Aegon order him to bring her to Harrenhal.

Aemond opened his mouth to apologize to her again but said nothing. She had already been forced to be stuck in a wheelhouse with him for most of the day. The kindest thing he could do would be to let her alone for as long as he could.

So, he went towards the door, turning back over his shoulder to look at her for a moment. She was still watching the village. It made him smile a bit. “I’m going to get supper. I’ll be back in a short while.”

She did not say anything back. She only lifted a hand to rest on the window.

She’d hardly noticed that Aemond had left. When he told her where he was going, she had just seen a small group of children playing in the muddy road. One of the little girls had spotted her watching from the window and shouted something to her friends. Soon, all the children were staring at her. She lifted a hand to the window to wave at them.

Then, she heard the door closing, and when she turned to look, Aemond was gone.

When she looked back to the children, they had already run off. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. “Nyke urnēbagon jemī tymāt umban daor.” I cannot wait to watch you play.

Before Aemond left for Harrenhal, he had taken her back to the nursery where they’d been raised. The furniture had been covered, as neither Jaehaera nor Rhaenyra’s son Aegon were inclined toward play. Not after what they went through. So, both had moved to their own rooms when they returned to the keep.

But the nursery would not be empty for long.

Aemond had pulled away the sheet covering the toy chest and knelt before it, examining each toy as though it were a priceless jewel. He told stories about them, recalling how they had played with them, and made guesses about which ones their child would prefer and what their choices would foretell about them.

He rediscovered the two wooden dragons they had once painted and named for themselves – Kēlītsos and Balerion. There were too many tales of those little dragons to retell them all, so he told only the one where they imagined the dragons had come alive and had flown them to the ruins of Old Valyria. Aemond would slay whatever beasts had wounded Balerion and killed their great-aunt, Aerea. Then, they would reclaim their ancestral homeland.

He’d kissed her belly then, calling the babe inside the “heir of Old Valyria.”

Now, they were the heir – heirs – to something else entirely.

To a broken family.

To a throne soaked in the blood of their kin.

To the sins of their father.

For a moment, she wished they could simply be like those children, playing without a care.

But they never would be.

They would still be children. They would still play and laugh. They would be mischievous and sneak sweets from the kitchens or stay awake long past the time they were sent to bed. They would still cry for their parents when they scraped a knee or had a nightmare.

But they would also be heirs. They would be taught by the finest scholars in the world how to bear the weight of their responsibilities. They would be trained by mighty warriors on how to defend themselves from the enemies they would have since birth. They would always know that their life was never wholly theirs.

Now, they would also always know that their father had betrayed their mother. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, somehow, they would learn of Aemond’s mistress – the mother of their bastard half-sibling.

Part of her hated that child, the small thing that was not even fully formed and yet was the manifestation of all her pain.

Part of her, perhaps a larger part, pitied it.

After all, it was a bastard. The world had never been kind to bastards. After the role bastards had played in the war, she could not imagine it would grow any kinder.

What would the life of the bastard be like? Would it play the same games as her children? Would it have the same favorite toys, or foods, or colors?

While its trueborn siblings were learning to rule the realm and ride dragons, what would it do? Perhaps it would be a servant, like its mother, or become a laborer of some kind.

Would it know who its father was? Would it know the blood of the dragon ran through its veins? Would it ache for a bond with a dragon, as Aemond had? Would it spend its life feeling incomplete, yet never know why?

As she caught sight of the tears shining on her cheeks in her reflection off the window, she decided she did not hate the child. It was not at fault for the sins of its mother, or its father.

She said a brief prayer for it – for its health and happiness. Then one for her own children.

When Aemond came back through the door, carrying a tray laden with steaming food, she wiped her tears away and looked only once more out the window.

The children had gone home.

“Are you hungry, ābrazȳrītsos?” Aemond asked.

No, she wasn’t. But she knew she must eat regardless, for the sake of the babes. So, she crossed the room and sat at the small table.

She did not speak as Aemond served her the meal – fresh, steaming bread, warm stew, and a pot of tea. He did not try and get her to speak. He simply ate his food, watching her carefully.

He faded into the background as her thoughts continued to wander to that poor little child growing in Alys’ womb.

Would it have silver hair? Purple eyes? Or would it inherit its mother’s coloring, whatever it was?

She did not know what Alys looked like. She knew so little about the woman who had shared in Aemond’s sin.

Was she beautiful? Was she intelligent? Was she kind?

It was hard to imagine that she would be kind. That any woman who would lie with a married man would be kind. After all, she was called a witch. Was there such a thing as a kind witch?

Was there even such a thing as a witch?

Aemond said that he spared Alys because she could foretell the future. That the reason he’d first brought her into his bed was because she told him he needed to be calm for the battle ahead if he wished to prevail.

Prevail he did.

Were the visions real, then? Had Aemond only returned from that first battle, the second, the last, because of what Alys had told him?

If Alys were to thank for Aemond surviving the war, should she not be grateful for it? But how could she be grateful for something that had so thoroughly broken her heart?

How was she supposed to feel? How was she supposed to know what to feel? What to do?

“I want to meet her,” she said suddenly. Even her whisper sounded like an echoing shout after so long a silence.

Aemond stared at her. Fear and regret and anger in his gaze. His mouth hung open, and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Alys,” she clarified. “I want to meet her.”

“My love, please. You don’t.” His voice quavered like a rose in a thunderstorm. “I don’t want you to, it won’t – ”

“I have questions for her. I will ask them.” Tears fell down Aemond’s cheeks, but he did not argue. It almost made her smile. “You may be there if you wish. But I will meet her.”

Aemond nodded. “If that is what you truly want.”

She felt no fear or hesitation. “It is.”

After she finished her meal, her exhaustion finally settled upon her. It had only been a day since Aemond returned to the Red Keep. Only a day since both the war and her world ended.

She just wanted to sleep. In that moment, it was all she wanted.

She had Aemond turn away as she undressed and donned her nightgown. He obeyed, staring into the fire and never once looking back until she was beneath the rough-spun blankets on the bed and gave him permission.

He only removed his leather doublet and his boots before settling onto the couch by the fire, its high back blocking them from each other’s view.

The fire crackled.

“Good night, ābrazȳrītsos,” Aemond said. “Sleep well. I love you.”

She did not reply.

She so badly wanted to sleep. But it seemed both her body and the babes in her belly wanted otherwise. No matter how she lay, she could not find comfort. No matter what she thought of, her mind would not calm.

At least she took comfort in that her restlessness was likely preventing Aemond from finding sleep as well.

When she heard his voice again, she stiffened, preparing herself to argue with him again. But Aemond did not speak.

He sang.

“Bantis ropatas Night has fallen

Yn zūgagon daor But do not fear

Sȳndror ilos daor There is no darkness

Kesrio syt drakarys vamiot ilzai. For dragonfire is near.”

It was a lullaby. One he had discovered in an Old Valyrian children’s book he found in the back of the Red Keep’s library. He had sung it to her when she was still in her crib so he could practice their ancestral language.

He stopped singing for some time when his voice settled, adjusting to the new, lower pitch. But when he began again, it was even more beautiful than before. Quiet and soft, but still beautiful.

“Yn ozelēnagon daor And shiver not

Vasīr vēzos hembistas Though the sun has gone

Drakarys kesīr ilzai Dragonfire is here

Aōhi dijaves rāelagon. To keep you warm.”

When was the last time he sang to her? Obviously not in the past six months, but when?

“Aōhi bartos mazilībās Lay down your head

Se aōhī laehossa lēdes And close your eyes

Drakarys avy mīsilza Dragonfire will protect you

Yn sepār kesan. And so too will I.”

Ah, her eyes welled with tears when she finally remembered. It had been the first night after they learned they were to have a babe, and Aemond had bedded her more passionately than he had since their wedding night and more gently than he had ever been.

He sang when they were spent, and she curled into him to sleep. Aemond brushed his fingers in light patterns over her belly and sang. But was that for her or the babe?

The last time he had sung for her and only her… she could not recall. It had been some ordinary day when she did not know she should hold onto that memory and keep it close. She did not know it was a memory she would need when Aemond went to war.

“Dōnī ēdrurī emilās, ñuha raqno Dream sweetly, my love

Bantio rȳ ēdrūs Sleep all through the night

Nyke aōma unna I will be with you

Vapār ōños arlī amāzīlza. Until again there is light.”

She wanted to be angry at him, accuse him of only singing now so he could worm his way back into her heart. But she knew that accusation would be false. After the way he fussed over her today, she knew he was truly worried for her health – and the health of the babes.

Besides, his voice and the familiarity of the song were now truly lulling her to sleep.

She was grateful for it.

“Skorī ñāqes kesīr ilos When morning is here

Se īlvon geron vamiot ilza And our journey is nigh

Īlon henkirī īlvī zaldrīzī kipili We will both mount our dragons

Sepār, sōvīlā.” Then, we will fly.”

Her last thought before her eyes slid closed was that she hoped he had not sung the lullaby – their lullaby – to Alys or her child.

Aemond woke to the sound of something crashing. He was immediately awake, throwing off his blanket and bolting to his feet. But he saw no one.

What he did see was an empty bed.

In an instant, his panic had risen to a peak it had reached only once before – the day he’d found out that his half-sister and her husband had taken King’s Landing, and in the aftermath, Aegon was missing and his ābrazȳrītsos was now in the hands of his enemies.

A horrible retching soon alerted him to his wife’s presence on the floor of the room, halfway between the bed and the washbasin against the far wall. But it did not quell his panic.

She was panting between harsh bouts of sickness, her arms trembling as they struggled to hold her up. Aemond moved immediately, kneeling beside her and sweeping her hair away from her face. His words of comfort and concern died instantly when he felt her lean against him.

She was so thin.

Her nightgown was soaked through with sweat, allowing him a clear and horrible view of every knob on her spine and curve of her ribs. The further she pressed into him, the more he could feel the sharp planes of her shoulder blades and the sickening lightness of her form. She was like some of the near-corpses he’d seen in the war – hardly more than skin stretched taut over mere bones.

He had not seen it before. She’d been bundled in robes and gowns and furs. And when she changed into her nightgown earlier this evening, she had not allowed him to look at her until she was buried beneath the blankets.

She knew.

She knew how frail she was. He knew and had not wanted him to know…

Had not wanted him to worry. Not while he was at war.

“Ābrazȳrītsos…”

She sobbed once before she was sick again. He said nothing else until he was relatively certain whatever illness had possessed her passed, and tried not to be too grateful that she didn’t push him away.

“Little darling, please,” he pulled her closer so he could rest against his chest. She did not resist. “What happened?”

She shook her head, reaching to wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown. Aemond stopped her, set her hand back on her lap, and used his own sleeve instead. She sighed as if the gesture somehow upset her, then slumped slightly. “Nothing happened. Nothing new, at least. This happens nearly every night.”

Every night. No wonder she was so thin.

“Still?” Aemond finally managed to ask in a rasping voice. She had been so sick in those early days – it was what had prompted them to take her to the Maesters, where they discovered she was with child. But it had gotten better in the days before he left for Harrenhal. She had said it was getting better.

She nodded, her eyes shut tight as she turned away from him. Was it from exhaustion or shame? “It…” she swallowed, and Aemond realized how dry her throat must be. He would fetch her something to drink as soon as she could stand. “It never stopped.”

“Oh ābrazȳrītsos…” his voice broke as the realization of how badly she had been suffering sank in. And all the while, he’d been sharing his bed with another woman.

If the Father truly cared for justice, he would have struck Aemond dead the moment he touched that witch.

Aemond held her close, panting with the effort it took to hold back his tears of shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She was silent for a long while. Then, “I’m tired, Aemond.”

“I know.”

A long pause. It took him longer than it should have to realize she was looking at him and longer still to recognize the plea in her eyes. She wanted his help. Or perhaps more accurately, needed his help.

So help her he did, eagerly. He sat her at one of the chairs by the table while he removed her soiled nightgown and dressed her in another. He brought the washbasin to her so he could help her wash her face, then brought her a pitcher of fresh water so she could rinse her mouth. He braided her hair once more and carried her back to bed,

Once he’d pulled the blankets back over her, he reached out to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he softly stroked her cheek. “Is there anything else I can get you, my love?”

She opened her eyes just slightly. “I’m cold.”

He turned on his heel to fetch his blanket from the couch. There was still warmth radiating from the hearth. He could move to the rug.

But when he’d settled that blanket on her as well, she opened her eyes wider and gazed up at him. “Aemond…”

If there was ever proof that the gods could be merciful, that was it.

Still, he had to be certain he wasn’t mistaken. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Thank all the gods in the world, she nodded.

His veins buzzing with ecstatic joy, he walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside her. As he wrapped his arms around her, it almost didn’t matter that he could feel her frailness, that he knew she had only asked this because she truly was cold, or that his touch was tainted by his sins.

Aemond was sharing a bed with his wife. He was holding her. Her, and their children.

When her breathing finally settled, and she drifted off to sleep, Aemond closed his eyes, tucked his face into her hair, and prayed he dreamt of a world where he had slain Alys the moment he first saw her.

553 notes · View notes

girlgenius1111 · 5 months

Text

you don't have to pretend with me

ona x reader -sickfic ish

from a request- the req was for r with chronic pain but i've never experienced that and i didn't want to write it incorrectly, so i changed it to something i have some history with :)

You hadn't had a real period in years, having been on birth control since you were a teenager. It really limited the effects of your horrible symptoms. It was simple- a shot in your ass every three months was something you could handle. However, you'd completely forgotten to get it this time. Normally you planned your next visit at the end of your appointments, but the secretary had been out, so you were supposed to call to schedule the next appointment. It had completely slipped your mind, and by the time your realized your mistake, it was too late, and they told you that you had to wait 3 months from when you were supposed to get it, in order to not mess up the cycle.

It didn't really make much sense to you, but you didn't have a choice. All you could hope was that it wouldn't be as bad as you remembered it. The first month wasn't bad, barely more than what you usually dealt with on the shot. The second month was worse, but still, manageable, especially considering it came during an off week. You were quickly approaching the third month, and you knew it wouldn't be as easy this time.

2 days before you were supposed to get it, you found yourself in a heinous mood. You'd been short with everyone, all day, even Ona. Ona, your girlfriend, who had literally no idea what was going on. It felt ridiculous to you, to complain about what was going on when every other woman dealt with it to. You'd never heard Ona complain about her period, and you didn't want her to think you were weak.

More than that, you weren't sure she'd believe you. In your last relationship, anytime you were sick or in pain, your girlfriend didn't believe you, or told you that you were being dramatic. You didn't really realize how this affected your relationship with Ona, but as you hadn't told her this, she didn't know you'd been hiding almost any sign of weakness from her.

So, you just mumbled something about having an off day when she asked why you were so grumpy. She pretty much left you alone the rest of the day, giving you the space she assumed you wanted. The only time she spoke to you was to come into the living room where you were curled up on the couch, and wish you a goodnight, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

-----

You woke up in the middle of the night to the sensation that someone was standing on your abdomen. It had been so long since you'd actually had cramps, you were almost alarmed, until you realized what was going on. You didn't want to get any blood on the bed, nor did you want to wake Ona up for something so trivial, so you quietly padded into the bathroom, changed your pajama shorts, and then headed out into the kitchen in search of some painkillers.

Every step was agony, and you were walking hunched over, as what you could only describe as lightning strikes of pain rippled through from your belly button down to your core whenever you tried to straighten up. You didn't make it to the cabinet you kept the medicine in, instead collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table. As soon as you sat, the zaps of pain were replaced by a continuous ache across your stomach, and around to your back.

You couldn't help the groan you let out, as you twisted uncomfortably in your seat to try to relieve the pain. It didn't work. You knew what would work, but you were absolutely sure you couldn't stand up again and make it to the medicine cabinet. Instead, you put your head in your hands, feeling tears slowly leak out of your eyes. That only made you more frustrated, which in turn made you cry harder, until you were trying to stifle sobs with your hands at the kitchen table, in the dark, at 1am.

-----

Meanwhile, Ona woke to an empty bed. She remembered you climbing in with her after she'd already gone to sleep, waking up just enough to roll into you and smush herself as close as she could. This time, though, your side of the bed was empty and cold, and Ona was disgruntled. Sleepy Ona was a grumpy Ona, something you knew very well, and she squinted her eyes open, looking over at the bathroom door, seeing if you'd just gotten up briefly. The light was off in there, though, and your side of the bed wasn't warm, indicating that you'd been up for at least a couple minutes. Sighing heavily, Ona sat up, intending to wait for you, arms crossed, to return to bed. When she saw no lights were on in the rest of the house, though, she decided to get up and find you.

The only thing she could think was that you'd gone to sleep on the couch, which didn't make any sense. You'd been grumpy yesterday, sure, but you'd gone to bed with her, and allowed her to snuggle up to you, which you wouldn't have done if you were angry. Walking down the hall, heading for the living room, she heard an odd noise in the kitchen.

She changed directions, turning right instead of left, and discovered you, slouched over at the table, crying softly into your hands. Ona was immediately distraught at the idea of you getting up in the middle of the night and leaving your bed to cry by yourself, no matter what the reason, and not waking her.

"Cariño, qué pasó?" she asked, voice raspy with sleep. At her words, your head snapped up, looking at Ona with pain etched clearly across your face. "Amor," she says sympathetically, moving forward to stand by your side.

"Oni, go back to bed," you try, attempting to sound firmer than you felt.

"Not until you tell me what is wrong." Ona replies, actually succeeding in being firm. She brushes a loose strand of hair off your face, then combs her fingers through you hair. You melt at her touch despite yourself, before you hunch over again, another wave of pain shooting through your abdomen; you'd straightened up to much. You whimper quietly, and Ona's hand pulls off of you, worried she'd done something to hurt you. That gets you talking, never wanting Ona to think she's the cause of your pain.

"It's just cramps, Ona, I'm fine," you insist, even as your face scrunches uncomfortably, and you grit your teeth through another jolt. Though confused, seeing as though she'd never known you to have bad cramps, Ona wraps her arms around you without another thought, lifting you easily to carry you back to bed. She may be short, but she prides herself on being strong enough to carry you easily, despite your many objections. "Oni," you whine, yet still, you clutch onto her tightly, resting your head on her shoulder.

"Shh, let's get you back to bed."

Once Ona gently places you back on your side of the bed, she stands back, looking at you with a determined expression. It's almost funny really, the girl standing in front of you, wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts, wavy hair wild around her head, trying to look stern. Ona couldn't look stern, she wasn't capable. She could only ever look adorable, at least to you.

"What will help you feel better?" She asks.

You bite your lip for a moment, before the pain wins out over your independence. "Paracetamol, please," you murmur.

She nods once. "Anything else?"

You're sure there's something you're forgetting, but it's been so long since you've had cramps like this, and it hurts too bad for you to think straight. "I don't know," you whisper finally, tears spilling over again.

"Okay amor, relax, I will take care of you," the brunette says gently, leaving you with a peck on your forehead. She's only gone for a few minutes, but when she returns, you've curled yourself into a little ball on the edge of the bed, as far from her side as you could get, obviously trying not to bother her. Ridiculous, considering she wasn't going back to sleep until after you did.

She gives you the medicine, handing you a new cold water which you accept gratefully. Then, before you can tell Ona to get back in bed, she leaves the room again. She returns fast this time, holding something in her hands you don't recognize.

The defender doesn't explain, either, even though she notices the questioning look on your face. Instead, she climbs onto the bed behind you, and nudges you out of your ball to lay in between her legs, head resting back on her chest. Still silent, she rolls your shirt up, massaging the skin of your abdomen lightly. Her warm hands feel so good, you let out a sound of relief. Smiling to herself, Ona places the heating pad she brought with her across your abdomen, clicking it on. You soften completely against her, letting out a long sigh.

"Thanks, Oni," you mumble, and she kisses the top of your head in response. She isn't done with you though, patting your arm lightly when your eyes flutter close.

"Do you normally have cramps this bad?" she asks, because the thought of you hiding this from her, like you'd been doing tonight, once a month for the entirety of the time you've been dating, makes her nauseous.

"No," you tell her sleepily, briefly explaining the situation you'd found yourself in. Ona is quiet for a few moments.

"Why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you wake me up tonight?" she wonders, not able to fully hide the hurt in her voice. You're fully awake now, almost reading her mind as you realize what she's worried about; that you don't trust her.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," you say quickly. "And I didn't want to bother you with it, with something that every woman deals with," you justify.

"Amor, you hurting will always be a big deal to me." Ona insists. "You should have woken me up. Do you... do you not trust me? Did I do something to make you thing I would not take your pain seriously?" the brunette asks, and you wince at the question. This was your problem, not Ona's. Could she not see that?

"No, Oni, of course I trust you. It's... it's not about you." You pause. "I didn't want you to think I was being dramatic or weak."

"Why would I think that? Why would I not believe you when you say you are hurting?"

All she gets is a shrug in response, and she feels you shutting down again. Unwilling to let that happen, she presses you further.

"No, amor, tell me. Did someone make you feel that way? Like you could not be honest about how you were feeling?"

You don't respond for so long that Ona thinks you've fallen asleep, or just aren't going to answer.

"My ex. She used to tell me I was being dramatic when I was sick. She was right though, I was," you rush to justify.

Ona's arms tighten around you slightly, and it reassures you. When she responds, you recognize an angry tone in her voice, but also a protective one.

"That is not what a good girlfriend does. I will never do that. You are allowed to be in pain, and be sick. You are not being dramatic for feeling things. It does not make me think any less of you, and it certainly does not make me think that you are weak." Ona declares.

"Are you sure? I'd understand if you thought I was exaggerating." you say quietly. At this, Ona tilts your chin up and to the side, so she can look into your eyes.

"I found you crying at the kitchen table, you were in so much pain. That is not dramatic, not to me. I am sure." Ona promises, and she feels you relax against her, if only slightly.

"I love you," you say quietly, voice cracking on the last word.

"Te amo mucho, cariño. Mucho mucho." Ona pairs her words with several gentle kisses pressed into the side of your head.

"Ona?"

"Sí?"

"Can I go to sleep or will this light on fire if I don't turn it off," you ask seriously, referring to the heating pad laying across your abdomen. You've never used one before, and you aren't sure what the safety requirements are. Apparently, this is a dumb question, because Ona bursts out laughing, disturbing the quiet murmur of voices you both had been keeping to.

"Sí amor, you can go to sleep. I'll put you out if you light on fire, te prometo," she tells you, still laughing. You roll your eyes slightly before allowing them to flutter shut, even though you know Ona can't see the gesture.

"Wake me up if it starts to hurt again?" she asks, seriousness returning.

"Te prometo," you say, echoing her words for just a second ago. A grin tugs at Ona's lips at your spanish use.

"Bueno. Goodnight my pretty girl," Ona whispers into your hair, her use of an english term of endearment making you blush.

With that, both of you allow yourselves to drift off. You're sure, now, that Ona will not care if you wake her up. Ona is sure that you will wake her up. Or, that she'll wake up if you do, seeing as though you're sprawled on top of her. She doesn't expect perfection, or for you to start coming to her with all your problems right away. She finds that she doesn't mind having to demonstrate her love to you, though. If there's anything she loves to do, it's remind you, everyday, that she loves you unconditionally.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #ona batlle x reader

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tsunami-of-tears · 1 month

Text

Healing Hands

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 2 (Comfort)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: When Azriel and Cassian require healing, they can always rely on their friend, Y/N, to help them out.

Pairing Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.6K

Warnings: injury/illness; slight angst; mostly fluff.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Reader

When you first saw Azriel, cloaked in shadows, you thought death had finally come for you.

Instead, he offered you a new chance at life.

You couldn't help but develop a little crush. Gods, he was so handsome. Attractive and kind - you were done for.

And then there was Cassian. He was so easy to get along with, the two of you were fast friends, especially with the amount of injuries the male received.

You wondered if he was doing it on purpose, as a way to spend more time with you. You shake your head, trying to rid the thought from your mind. ‘Don’t be silly, why would he do that when his job requires him to be in peak physical condition?’

You managed to stay professional, for the most part. Cassian made it very hard with all of his flirting. You quickly realised it helped to take his mind off the pain while you were healing him. So, taking a holistic approach, you joined in on his games to help him through it.

Azriel, on the other hand, was always on his best behaviour. You got to see a side of him that’s usually kept hidden behind his shadows. A soft side. The two of you would talk and talk while you patched him up. You’d chat about everything, new books, music, that new bakery by the Sidra that made the most divine cakes…

Getting on with Cassian and Azriel was easy. What wasn’t easy was battling your growing feelings for both of them.

————

You’re working on restocking your salves and tonics, humming a song from your village as you grind magical herbs together. You’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. “Come in,” you say cheerily, stepping away from the work to greet your visitor.

The door opens and Cassian enters your small clinic with a bright pink nose and red, puffy eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m dying,” he sniffles.

You move closer and press your hand against Cassian’s forehead, letting your powers diagnose him.

“I’ve seen you with far worse ailments than allergies, Cassian.”

“You try not being able to breathe and see how you like it,” he responds.

“Take a seat, I was just finishing up a tonic that will help.” You gesture towards the stool on the other side of your workstation and you go back to mixing the tonic. Cassian watches you working in unusual silence. The only sounds in the room are the grinding of your mortar and pestle and the occasional sneeze.

“Remind me to stock up on this if we ever visit Spring,” you smile, handing Cassian the glass vial. He downs the amber liquid in one big gulp. Within minutes his symptoms start to wane. Cassian stands and lifts you into a big hug, spinning you around.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver, Y/N.” Cassian beams, planting a loud kiss on the top of your head as he sets you on your feet.

You laugh in response to his affection. “It’s nothing,” you say.

You both turn at the sound of a male cough. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Azriel drawls.

“Just saving Cassian’s life. Again,” you wink.

“Thanks again Y//N.” Cassian kisses you on the cheek on his way out of the clinic, leaving you alone with the shadow singer.

You scan Azriel’s face. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look on his face.

“What can I help you with, Az?” you ask.

“Just some scrapes, I’ve become such a baby since you’ve been around,” he smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“It’s always my pleasure to help.” You turn to look through your jars of salves, grabbing one with numbing properties.

You turn towards Azriel, motioning for him to take a seat. You grab his hand, your powers doing a quick scan - you can sense he has some minor scraps on his knuckles, but he’s also got something wrong in his chest - your powers can't quite determine what it is.

You do your best to keep the concern from your face as you start to work the salve into his knuckles. Azriel shuts his eyes as you massage his hands.

“Az,” you say softly, approaching the topic hesitantly, “is there anything else I should know about?”

He opens his eyes, looking into yours, “like what? I’m fine,” he says.

“You haven't had any pain elsewhere?” You push.

“No, why would I?”

“Well, I don't want to alarm you but my magic has never been wrong before. It’s detected something other than these scrapes…” You point towards his chest, right over his heart, “There’s something wrong here.”

Azriel exhales through his nose, “Oh, that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.’”

You frown at the male, sighing. Illyrians were a stubborn breed, you decided. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Azriel nods and leaves your clinic, leaving you wondering what worries plague him and what you can do to help.

————

Azriel continues to mope around for a few days, the dark circles never leaving his face. Not even Mor can get him to smile.

With your worries only increasing, you turn to Rhys and Feyre for some answers.

You explain what you felt to Rhys, that you knew something was wrong but you couldn’t tell what.

Rhys props his chin on his hand pensively, “Azriel has always had his demons, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Just keep monitoring him and try to get him to talk. I know he feels fondly for you, it may just take him time to open up.”

You nod, taking in the High Lord’s words.

Feyre gives you a reassuring shoulder squeeze, “He’ll be alright. He’s got you.”

You give her a meek smile and exit the office, on your way to try and cheer up your friend.

————

“Az!” you call out in the House of Wind, “Where are you?”

He appears down the hall, a flurry of shadows swirling around him and towards you. “Yes, Y/N?”

“Can you please give me a lift to the city? I’ve got a few things to pick up, and I’m craving something from that bakery.”

Azriel nods, “Sure, are you ready to go now?”

“Sure am, lead the way.”

He scoops you up into his arms like he did the day he rescued you and launches into the sky. The wind rushes past your face and you scream out in joy, loving the exhilarating feeling of soaring through the air. You wrap your arms tighters around Azriel’s neck as he starts to descend.

You land and he places you down gently. ‘Thank you, kind sir,” you say, curtsying. Azriel rolls his eyes but can’t fight the smile creeping onto his face.

You grab his hand and break into a skip down the street, triumphant over your small win - getting a grin out of the spymaster.

Azriel follows after you, listening intently as you chatter away animatedly.

As you exit a shop selling different apothecary ingredients you spy a busker on the street playing the fiddle.

“Oh Az, will you dance with me?”

Azriel pauses, observing the crowd before taking your extended hand in his. The two of you dance clumsily in the street, letting the music flow through your body.

As the musician hits the crescendo, Azriel lifts you into the air and spins with you while you laugh loudly and unabashed. When he places you on your feet you notice a small crowd has gathered, they break into applause for both you and the fiddler as the song ends.

You take Azriel’s hand and make him bow with you. He smiles and shakes his head but humours you. You tip the busker generously and give him a small wave as you continue down the street, still holding onto Azriel’s hand.

As you approach your favourite bakery - Azriel’s mood has lightened. You can still feel the pain but it has lessened significantly.

————

With your treats in hand, you make your way to the Sidra and lean against the wrought iron banister edging the river.

Azriel said he’d get whatever you did - so you opted for two huge brownies with a generous dusting of icing sugar on top.

“These look so good,” you gush, grinning madly at Azriel.

The slice of cake is so thick that your nose brushes it as you take a bite. You cover your mouth as you chew and swallow.

“That is amazing,” you moan, turning to Azriel. “How is yours?”

Azriel takes one look at you - with sugar on your nose and chocolate in your teeth and bursts into a deep laugh.

“It’s brilliant, but how have you already made such a mess?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, “Is there something on my face?”

“Here let me.” He reaches up and brushes your nose softly, wiping away the sugar. “It’s still all in your teeth though.”

“I’m saving that for later,” you say with a wink and the two of you burst out laughing again.

Standing so close to Azriel, you can’t help but admire his gorgeous face. And his eyes - there are less shadows in them.

“Thank you for today,” Azriel says quietly, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “You’re good at that.”

“Good at what?”

“Knowing what I need.” He smiles, “Come on,” he beckons with his head, “Let's get back home before you make more of a mess of yourself.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe

#poly+acotarweek2024 #poly+acotarweek2024 d2 #poly!acotar #cazriel x reader #acotar #acosf #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar oneshot #acomaf

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iveriee · 7 months

Note

Oh, what about like kidnapping fluff? Like yan!Tom has kidnapped reader and been holding then hostage for awhile and they've finally begun developing feelings/Stockholm syndrome for him and so reader and Tom cuddle and get to know each other a little bit or something?

★;ANSWER: Of course. I apologise for the late response.

★;CATEGORY: A yandere x Reader

★;PAIRING: Yan! Tom Riddle x Gn!Reader

★;SUMMARY: In which...you, perhaps, submit to his otherworldly tendencies. (May be read as a Sequel to 'Acceptance')

★;PS: This fic contains severe mentions of Stockholm syndrome,obsessive and possesive behaviour, and a slight implication of sexual content. In absolutely NO way do i support or encourage such abusive behavior, this is only for entertainment purposes. I sincerely hope nobody would be offended by this. If I have made any inaccuracies or grammatical incorrections, please let me know as I strive to improve my writing no matter the cause or topic. I have attempted to do the most accurate research on Stockholm Syndrome and it's symptoms, causes, etc as i could. If I have made anything inaccurate, i heavily apologise for it. As I have mentioned before, English is NOT my first language. This may be quite rushed as I have a Hindi Examination to prepare for. I attempted to add a pinch of comedy, however, I must warn you that my humour is equivalent to the Sahara Desert.

To say what had occured resulted in astonishment would be an utter and complete understatement. Of course that was to nobody's shock, what words could comprehend or convey being locked up in the 'Chamber of Secrets' and, as gruesome as it sounds, having empathy for your very own captor? Perhaps, it wasn't empathy. Perhaps, it could have been just a mere..feeling towards him. After all, Everyone did idolize Tom Riddle. However, could you even have justified your own opinion? You were not aware when such reactions had begun to take place, yet your cheeks began to boil crimson when he was around. Yet you began to tolerate his cloying affection. Yet you began to believe,that, perhaps, it was not so awful as you had painted in your mind like a permanent stamp. Of course, every permanent stamp has a counter spell. Perhaps he was the counter spell in your case.

And Henceforth, out of a quite intrusive thought, you embraced him. As untrue as it sounded, Riddle was startled (if you'd observe potently, that is). In a matter of mere seconds, he reciprocated your embrace, perhaps, tighter. His embrace, however, differed with yours, seemingly, due to his hands clutching you being acquisitive in a manner, unwilling to let go or share.(perhaps, a way to show you were completely and utterly his, and indeed you were). His breath smeared your earlobe, causing embarrassment to plunge your face. "I am flattered to know that you have arrived to your senses, my dearest [Name]." He stated, smirking provocatively as he plunged your frame you closer to his, in quite an ..intimate..manner.

"No. It's not that, Riddle." You murmured hastily, your breath quite unsteady as you, quite literally, could not approach his gaze anymore. Perhaps you never would. "I'd much rather prefer to cuddle than...be intimate as you mentioned.." You proposed, your frame quivering. What in Merlin did he assume of your embrace? You did not know and did not ought to know as your gaze destined at the floor.(an equivalent fraction to answering incorrectly in class) "I do not feel comfortable with the idea of intimacy yet."

Though you could not gaze at that perfect face of his, you could, at the very least, make out a sort of.. discouragement. Was he, perhaps, disheartened by your proposal? Your heart concluded. His hands tilted your gaze upwards. "Indeed, I will cuddle you. However, please let know, is the floor, perhaps, a more pleasant view than I am?" He questioned (most likely, sarcastically). Was he envious of the floor? The FLOOR? Perhaps you should not embraced him in the first cause.......And to be frank, he was far more pleasant to gaze at than the floor. Of course, you'd never say that as you knew it would only fuel his desire of devouring you. You sought a plan to derive the conversation far from such a topic.

"Let us not argue...could we perhaps just cuddle in peace?" You pleaded, gazing at him. To examine Tom Riddle frowning was, truly a rarity of the sort. Of course, he could not have refused you when you had utterly and completely submitted. He could have done anything to possess you and now that he had you asking for affection, he simply could not have responded 'No' in any cause whatsoever. His slender fingers stirred to your waist, tugging you inwards.. lovingly? Perhaps your stomach had accomdated into an abundance of butterflies or perhaps, you were in love. With him. And your suspicion only flared into explosion.. when his hands bolted through your hair...when he murmured cloying words onto your ears and when he merged his lips to your forehead.

Perhaps, you'd forgive him. Not without interrogation, however. And your submission did initiate a charismatic side of him, Henceforth why not continue doing so?

#harry potter #hp fandom #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #yandere #yandere tom riddle #writing #yandere tom riddle x reader #soft yandere #fluff #tom riddle fluff

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drferox · 9 months

Text

My MS Diagnosis

So I’m approaching the 2 year mark since my Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis and I thought I’d better document how I got here, because being the patient is a weird experience, especially for a condition that had kind of vague symptoms that needed a fair amount of work up.

My symptoms actually started in early 2020, when I was in the third trimester of pregnancy. The main symptom was mistaken for carpal tunnel syndrome - numbness in my fingers that would progress to increasingly violent pins & needles sensations, that would progress to burning if I tried to push through it. Only this sensation would extend all the way up to my shoulders at times. I stopped performing surgery, because not only was I unsatisfied with my lack of sensation to know what I was doing with my tissue handling, but the pain would get worse quickly in constrictive surgical gloves in the presence of patient warming. So I stopped performing surgery in late pregnancy and was told it would get better a few months after giving birth.

It did not.

So six months after giving birth, finding myself able to use my hands for short periods but still unable to perform surgery to my standard, I went back to complain to the doctor. I also couldn’t play video games properly, my arms would often be numb when I woke up, all the way up to my shoulder, and they were super temperature sensitive. Even hot water from washing dishes would set them off.

They sent me down a carpal tunnel work up - ultrasounds and talking to a neurologist. The short version is they did tell me I had mild carpal tunnel… on one side only.

Which did not make any damn sense considering I had symptoms on both sides all the way up to my shoulder.

The worst neurologist in the world could not explain to me why a mild problem on one wrist was affecting sensation all the way up to the opposite shoulder, and just said ‘it happens sometimes’. Now, I like to think I have a solid understanding of the basics of how a body works, and was really unsatisfied with this answer. They recommended I talk to a surgeon, since I’d already been doing a bunch of physiotherapy, but I decided not to. Surgery could have put my hand in a cast for up to 6 weeks, I had a 6 month old baby to care for at home and a partner who was useless at best, and abusive at worst. I could not afford the time in a cast.

So I went to try something else, visiting an osteopath to see what they could do about my ‘mild’ carpal tunnel, and while I’m there, these headaches I’ve been getting.

She spent a good long while stretching out different muscle groups, and found that certain neck muscle stretches changed the sensations I was getting in my fingertips. So whatever was causing the hand problem was coming from somewhere in the neck, and she recommended I get a CT scan.

Went back to my doctor to get a referral for a CT scan, and explained what was going on. He thought about it for a minute, didn’t voice his concerns, and upgraded it to a neck MRI.

That MRI found a demyelinating lesion in my neck. So went back for a full Central Nervous System scan and found a couple more borderline ones.

That sent me back to a (different) neurologist, had a proper neurological exam that found a few random patches of altered skin sensation in addition to the arm weirdness I had going on. So I was probably a MS case, but not particularly severe as MS goes.

To confirm it I needed a lumbar puncture to look for oligoclonal bands in by CSF. The lumbar puncture was a moderately unpleasant experience which then mandated that I remain lying down for 24 hours so that my spinal fluid didn’t spring a leak. With a baby and a distinctly unhelpful partner, I barely made it to that 24 hours.

And then… I sprung a CSF leak. Which is a jolly weird experience I can tell you.

When your CSF leaks from a lumbar puncture you will feel perfectly fine… when you are lying flat on your back, because your spine flops over the hole and plugs the leak. If you’re upright at all the spine flops away from the hole and it slowly leaks out, and you get more of this weird frontal headache that gets worse the longer you’re upright, standing there talking to the ER admissions nurse. And the info I had explained that it can progress to seizures and similar the worse it gets, but I only got as far as pain and fuzzy vision. I seriously could only be upright for ten minutes without pain, and had to lie down to resolve it.

That required some medicine-that-looks-like-magic to fix, called a blood patch. Doctors took some of my blood, fresh out of the vein, and inserted it into my spine approximately where the leak should be, so that the clot would cover the leaky patch. Self blood magic. It worked brilliantly, about an hour later.

The CSF tap ordeal confirmed the presence of the oligoclonal bands, and then I got stunted into the public health system, in a department specifically geared towards managing Multiple Sclerosis patients. They debated for a little while, at a multidisciplinary meeting, whether I was really MS or a Clinically Isolated Syndrome (which is like Multiple Sclerosis but without the ‘Multiple’ part), but settled on MS. Yes, Tumblr, I was nearly diagnosed with CIS.

The shoe thing took about a year from when I actively complained to doctors, or about 18 months from the first probable symptoms. That’s approximate because some things that were thought to be pregnancy symptoms could have been due to MS, like fatigue and leg weakness. I’m pretty lucky that I’m comfortable in hospitals and with medical procedures, am reasonably medically literate. I think the magic phrase that got things to happen quickly was ‘these symptoms are greatly affecting my ability to do my job’.

I don’t think my MS has progressed since starting the medication (and I’ll talk about the medication in another post). I’ve acquired one additional brain lesion since diagnosis, but I have no clue what physical symptom it’s associated with.

While some symptoms are better, I still cannot perform surgery to the standard or with the endurance that I used to,so I basically don’t any more. I can do about ten minutes, which is enough to bail a new graduate vet out of trouble, but not enough to take over completely for them. I’ve had a few years to think about it but I don’t know what the MS is going to do to my career, only that I can still practice for now.

It’s not great, but it could be a whole lot worse, and that’s how I got here.

#multiple sclerosis #MS #medical diagnosis #me the patient

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svt-nari · 7 months

Text

the airport issue / part one.

warnings: stalkers, mentions of panic attack symptoms, an angry seungcheol, creepy man bothering nari. also, not proofread! (a/n: im so sorry for disappearing for such a long time, but im back now!! hope you like it <3)

part one | part two | part three

seventeen was currently on their way to incheon’s airport so they could finally start their ‘face the sun’ world tour. everyone was so hyped up since it had been years since their last tour. and nari was no different from any of them.

you could sense her excitement from far away, her legs bouncing, the grin on her face and the way she couldn’t stop talking about all the things she wanted to do were big give aways of her feelings. all the members were so happy to see their sister like this, especially her boyfriend whose hands were busy taking pictures of the only girl’s smiley face. the day couldn’t go bad.

oh boy, how wrong they could be…

as soon as they arrived, the managers started to give them directions to follow so nothing would happen to anyone during the short-but-long walk to the boarding gate. nari nodded through it all and immediately linked her arm with jeonghan’s to walk through it all. he smiled at her and tightened his grip, holding his bag with one hand and her arm with the other.

nari’s bags were in seungcheol’s hand, so he walked pretty close to the pair, keeping a close eye on them. they ended up taking the infamous airport entrance pictures and started their small journey through the huge place.

they formed a small circle to walk close to one another, being mindful of the amount of people who were there. the walk started with everything going according to their plan, nothing out of place. though, at some point, nari felt that one of her sandals had slipped from her feet due to their rapid walking. so, she carefully unlinked her arm from jeonghan’s to get her shoe back.

as she did it, nari slightly distances herself from the members and the security guards since they were at the back of the circle when she distanced from them. when she found her shoe, she immediately put it on again and ran to catch up with everyone.

seungcheol had looked to his phone for a second and then, when he turned back to the members, he couldn’t find his girlfriend. he started to worry as soon as he realized and stopped walking. coups looked back to make sure she was still at the airport and sighed when he saw her just a few steps away, smiling at the fans.

though, his face became stoic as soon as he saw someone – or, as all of the members knew, nari’s sasaeng – approaching the girl with a big camera and a bag full of stuff while holding something in their clenched fist. they gripped nari’s arms to hold her in place and, by the woman’s face, the grip was far from gentle.

nari could feel her throat closing as the person held her in place, putting their face as close to her as they could. in their hand they held a type of blade, something that made the seventeen member eyes’ widen as soon as she saw it.

“you can’t date anyone… i saw the pictures online, i saw the date in person. if i catch you and seungcheol together again this won’t end up well.”, they muttered while looking in her eyes. “did you understand me?”

at this point the whole airport had gone silent and the members had all stopped walking when they sensed the weird atmosphere. though, when they spotted their only female member being assaulted, they couldn’t hold back any longer. specially when you could see the fear in nari’s face from far.

“hey, you!”, coups yelled out, coming closer to them in heavy steps. “get away from her! you are hurting her!”

he slightly pushed the man, glaring with angry eyes. he couldn’t believe that it was happening. the man immediately backed away, but kept alternating his gaze from him to nari.

“i just wanted to give this to her…”, he took something in a gift wrap out of his bag and held it towards her, putting on his most convincing smile. “and talk for a bit, she already got the message so i can go now. sorry for the disturbance!” the man slightly bowed and distanced himself, not before the security guards took pictures of him to send to the higher ups since it was the first time they got his whole face on camera.

it wasn’t the first time they had seen him at the same place as seventeen, always keeping an eye on nari and even trying to get close to her – at personal outings too.

“are you okay?”, coups asked her gently, trying to not startle her after everything that just happened. “do you want to be escorted alone? we can arrange something…”

nari sniffled and shook her head, quickly wiping her eyes so the tears won’t fall. she couldn’t believe that this happened, though she wasn’t surprised since this time comes to every idol at some point.

“i just want to go, please.” and that they did, without stopping. though, the man’s face didn’t leave anyone’s mind – specially seungcheol’s.

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hajimeshoe · 2 years

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Guardian

The thing about beastmen is that they are naturally hardwired to protect their love - or their "mate" in other terms. They have instincts that are incredibly difficult to control which make them feel the need to know where their mate is at all times and to put themselves at risk in order to protect their loved ones. - Mir: Author of "A Study on Beastmen"

Of all things you had expected when you met Leona Kingscholar, you never expected to fall in love with him. Or for him to fall in love with you, for that matter. It wasn't anything extravagant when you two had finally confessed to each other - just another day in the Botanical Garden.

Once you two had finally started courting, you expected the forced naps and lazy makeout sessions. You expected being teased mercilessly, and to have him force you to keep cuddling by having Ruggie fetch anything you needed.

What you didn't expect?

You never expected how protective a lover Leona was. He would constantly seem to need to know where you were. Hanging out with friends, going to see Azul, your full school schedule - if you were going somewhere then Leona was insisting he needed to know.

Not to tell you not to go, no - he never tried to tell you to not hang out with anyone (other than Malleus and Azul) so you had no issues with it so far.

Another side affect of how protective he was, though, was how he constantly made sure you ate and drank the proper amount. You didn't see him being with you constantly as a symptom, after all you two were dating.

Leona would sit you on his back when he worked out, he would keep you wrapped tight in his arms when he had a nap and you had no classes.

But the one time you truly were glad for your protective boyfriend was a spelldrive tournament against Royal Sword Academy when one of the players made the idiotic idea to hit on you.

"How's your day, hottie?"

You gave the opposing player a small glare and tried to move away, only for his arm to shoot out, blocking your exit.

"Please leave me alone," you snapped.

What neither of you knew was that you just happened to still be within range of Leona's senses.

"I'll leave...with your number," the man smirked. You hardened your glare.

"Not a chance, I'm not interested."

"Then neither of us are lea-"

"You think so?"

He was kicked to the ground suddenly. In front of you now stood an irate Leona, a snarl on his face. He bent over to pick the RSA student up by the front of his shirt. "Now, how about you apologize to my partner and swear on your life to never approach them again?"

Leona recieved a glare in response to his words...if only he coulnd't smell the fear radiating from the guy. "No? Fine. I am he who hungers-"

"Leona!" You yelled, attaching yourself to his arm to try to make him let go.

"I am he who thirsts."

"Babe, baby, stop, it is not worth it!"

"I am he who steals tomorrow-"

"LEONA KINGSCHOLAR, I MEAN IT!"

He paused as the smell of distress, something only a beastman could pick up, erupted from you. You were really panicking over the idea of him hurting some asshole who kept bothering you? Fine.

"...whatever." He dropped the other student. With a growl and a glare, he took off and left you with your boyfriend alone.

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. You had seen Leona turn things to sand. You had seen him nearly turn Ruggie to sand and it was terrifying. But something more important at the moment...

"Leona, you can't threaten to turn people to sand if they upset me."

He turned back to look at you. "I'm pretty sure I can."

"What if they take it as a threat from your kingdom? It could turn into a declaration of war!"

"So what!?" he snarled suddenly. "So what if I threaten people? I'm not my brother, threats from me don't turn into war declarations!"

"Do you think others care?!" You yelled. "Leona, birth order doesn't always matter when it comes to others. They know that you're a prince, so all it takes is some royal or someone with high connections to take it the wrong way and you could accidentally drag your country into a war!"

He took a deep breath, his gaze softening marginally as he met yours.

"Doll, if it comes to you...then I would gladly make a mess for my brother to clean up."

#twisted wonderland leona #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #protective leona kingscholar #twst #twisted wonderland

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cryoux · 9 months

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Wanderer x reader - Dream Invasion

(Sorry for using The Wanderer Picture of all time)

The Wanderer was a little exasperated now.

It seemed you couldn't go a few minutes without wandering off out of sight - which was ironic, considering who was named 'the Wanderer'.

"Where the hell did you-" he stopped short once he rounded the large tree, seeing his traveling companion laying on the ground. This wasn't the time for a nap, for Celestia's sake! He approached you, ready to give you a rude awakening, but quickly realized that something was horribly wrong.

Shivers wracked your body, and he could hear your body fighting for air with every breath. The Wanderer found himself kneeling next to you, scanning your form with wide eyes to locate the culprit of these symptoms.

The most frustrating part was that he couldn't find anything. With you unconscious and no visible wounds, the Wanderer had no hope of diagnosing the problem. His mind raced with possibilities, but none of them made any sense, and nothing fit. What should he even do? It had been 5 minutes ago that he last saw you, fit and healthy, and now you were struggling to keep yourself alive.

"You are not going to betray me like this." He growled, directing his panic into anger, but that didn't give him any more of a solution.

Then he heard footsteps. Two sets of footsteps. Oh, great. The very last thing he needed was strangers stumbling upon them - he didn't want to take his attention off of you for even a moment. Nevertheless, when a bush rustled and produced two individuals, the Wanderer brought his violet eyes up to examine them closely.

Wait a minute.

He recognized these two.

That one, with the green hair and magenta eyes - she'd been another one of Dottore's wretched experiments, hadn't she? He could have sworn he'd seen her somewhere, whether in person or in a file he could not seem to recall.

And the other, with the massive ears and bushy tail, well, that was the one he had happened to strike with lightning in a show of power. Awkward.

Of course, neither of these people had any way of knowing exactly who he was. In fact, the one-sided recognition was finally working in his favor.

Upon seeing your state, the man -Wanderer had never bothered to learn his name- ordered his subordinate to stay behind him, and he approached with cautious purpose.

"Hey, my name is Tighnari. I'm a forest ranger from Gandharva Ville, and your friend isn't looking too good. If you'd just allow me to-"

"No!" The Wanderer shouted as he saw the forest watcher reach for you. Of course he didn't trust this guy, he'd just walked out of a bush and apparently felt chivalrous enough to help a stranger. It was too kind to be true.

The forest ranger stopped with a frown. "If I may, they really need some help, and quickly-"

"No, we don't need your help! Get lost!" The Wanderer snapped, his hand protectively curled around your wrist.

"Sir, I don't care what you need, I'm more concerned about the fact that your friend here had a run-in with that cherry laurel over there," the scholar retorted with unexpected sass, then gesturing to an unassuming bush, "and they need medical attention!"

A tense staredown took place between them, both parties equally as stubborn in getting their way. The green-haired girl was the one who managed to break the silence, though she sounded laughably timid.

"Please trust Master Tighnari!" She squeaked, trying her hardest to alleviate the tension. While she failed, the Wanderer still managed to look at her, then at Tighnari, then down to you - who was noticeably worse than just a minute ago. His brow furrowed. He did not trust these people at all, and he hated having to back down from any sort of confrontation, but… you really weren't looking good. And if you left him, the wandering puppet felt that he would finally shatter for good.

So, after scowling to himself and convincing his head and (metaphorical) heart to compromise, he brought his gaze back up to this 'Tighnari'.

"...fine." the Wanderer conceded, allowing his worry pricking through his defenses and helping dictate his actions. "What do we do."

"At this stage, I need to give her an intravenous antidote. I can take her back to Gandharva Ville," the forest watcher reached for your shuddering body, and the Wanderer narrowed his eyes at him as he pulled you even closer. Tighnari backed off, though irritation sparked in his eyes. "Or you can. Just keep up, got it? She's running out of time."

With a nod, the Wanderer scooped you into his arms, holding you as he rose to his feet. He absolutely hated needing help from anyone, but you somehow meant more to him than his stupid pride.

Tighnari led the way, and the green-haired girl attempted to take up the rear - after a withering glare from the Wanderer, though, she popped back up to her colleague. The group rushed through the forest, and by the time they reached the little village in the canopy, your shuddering had increased considerably.

The moment they stepped into one of the huts, Tighnari sprung into action. Orders were given, supplies were retrieved, but none of that really mattered to the Wanderer. He set you down on the one bed in the little hut, and gently brushed some dirt off of your cheek. He didn't care where he was, who he was with, or what situation he'd gotten himself into, all he cared about was the one in front of him.

"Please," he murmured, as if you would wake up with his willpower alone. But he had learned that no matter how hard he wished, the world was cruel, and existed only to laugh at him.

"Please, don't leave me. I'll rewrite Irminsul itself to get you back. I swear it." The Wanderer allowed himself this moment of weakness, though he buried it once more the second Tighnari approached.

It was difficult for the watcher to work around the Wanderer's possessive behavior, but he managed to insert the IV anyways, then breathing a sigh of relief and giving the Wanderer a small jar and spoon.

"I've given them the antidote, and I'll take out the IV in twenty minutes. In that jar is activated charcoal, it'll help flush the poison from their system. Just have them swallow some, whenever you can." Tighnari instructed, standing from his stool and gesturing for the Wanderer to take a seat instead. "Do you need anything for your stress? I have several herbal teas that can help calm you."

The Wanderer opened his mouth to retort with a no, how dare you assume he's stressed, he's perfectly fine without your stupid tea! But ultimately thought better of it. This guy had just saved you, after all, and he was due for some appreciativeness. Just maybe not so much from the Wanderer.

"...I suppose." He kept his eyes trained on his companion, even as he heard the forest watcher leave and close the leaf shade door behind him.

Silence overtook the room. Much to his relief, your breathing had slowed down significantly, and your horrible quivering had reduced to a minimal amount. The Wanderer recalled the instructions he'd been given, and he let out a sigh. What a nuisance this all was.

The Wanderer opted to pull the blanket up to your chin, then froze. You looked almost... peaceful, in this state. It was strange for him to nurse you like this, he realized, a second before he realized that he was now just staring at you. With a huff, he turned around and buried his flushed face in his hands.

"Damn you." He muttered to you in his moment of weakness, fighting to control the blush on his face. Caring for you was the priority - he needed to curb his personal feelings for now.

After several minutes of silence filled only by his own rush of thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. Wanderer looked up, only to see that grassy-haired girl yet again. She looked so nervous, he suspected she may just pass out on the spot.

"H-hi there! I'm Collei, a trainee forest ranger… I brought some clothes for them and, uh, tea for you. I-I'll just set it here, see you!" For being on her own territory, she was ridiculously skittish. As she ducked back out the door, he failed to find any good reason why his ex-ally had bothered experimenting on such a weak-willed individual.

The sugar and honey presented on the platter made the Wanderer scrunch his nose in disdain, rolling his eyes before picking up the piping hot cup and sniffing it. The tea was an aromatic green, with hints of mint reaching past the stark scent of the tea leaves. It was, decidedly, not tampered with, not that it would matter; the Wanderer took a sip and was pleased to confirm that it was, in fact, just tea.

He savored the tea over some time, allowing the bitter green to ground him as he watched your form intently. There was noticeably more life in your skin, and your shaking had reduced almost entirely. Now he just needed you to wake up, damnit!

The Wanderer set down his empty cup with a massive sigh. How could he have let something like this happen? Truly pathetic - he couldn't even keep an eye on the one person he held dearest, and the sense that this was all his fault clung to him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as if you would wake up by the power of his rare remorse. Hah, yeah right. The world would never be so kind as to do what he wanted it to. He found himself leaning down towards you, reaching out to rest a hand against yours - only to tear it away like your radiance had burned him. How dare he attempt to sully you with his cursed touch? The very notion of having direct contact with you made him ill, though only towards himself, not at all directed to you.

The Wanderer hated that he felt this way. He hated the fuzzy feeling that took hold of him when you were near, practically stupefying him. Oh, how pathetic he felt, gone from being a feared Fatui Harbinger to a clueless, lovesick wanderer. While his Fatui days were retired for good, he still wished he didn't feel quite so… airheaded. Maybe he even wished he couldn't feel at all.

Rays of sun shattered through his melancholy as the door opened, and the Wanderer practically leapt back into his stool near the bed. Tighnari was back now, sighing to himself like he had more work to do than even the most studious scholar. "Well, let's see how they are," he approached the IV drip first, then followed the line to the person it was connected to. Following a short physical assessment, Tighnari nodded to himself.

"You're in luck! They're doing very well. But I would advise staying put for at least a few days. Those plants can really mess with someone. Ask for me if you need anything, I'll be back later." The forest watcher said, removing the IV from you and quickly exiting the little hut.

Whether he left quickly out of consideration or antisociality, Wanderer wasn't sure. But it didn't much matter when he turned back around to you. Maybe he could hold your hand, and explain that he was just checking your temperature. Or stilling your tremors. It could have been an accident! So much consideration put into an act that he doubted he was even brave enough to pull off.

A soft muttering shocked him back into the present, and he looked to you with owlish eyes. You were still asleep, he found, but you were growing restless, a deep frown over your features that he loathed to see. Were you relapsing? No, this was a different disturbance. Maybe you were having a nightmare? He couldn't quite confirm, but it sure seemed like it. The way your eyes darted back and forth under your eyelids was the biggest indicator, until he heard your increasingly distressed whimpers and witnessed your now panicked twitching. But what could he do? He was no stranger to nightmares, but it wasn't like anybody had ever comforted him through them. Normally he'd just reason through it, but he couldn't exactly reason with someone who was unconscious. Could he still enter your consciousness with the remnants of his divine power? Shit… he could try. All it would take...

Was physical contact. Unbelievable.

Taking a deep breath in and situating himself comfortably, the Wanderer reached out to grasp your hand in his own before he could second guess himself any more. Your hand was warm, he couldn't help but think as he closed his eyes, and even as he took his consciousness and sought after yours. After connecting with it, he opened his eyes, only to see darkness. No, did he fail? Was that feat beyond his power now?

A sob halted all trains of thought and motion throughout him. Slowly, he turned around, only to see you, knelt on the ground as crystalline tears fell from your eyes. No.

Ignoring your thoughts now voiced in the back of his own mind, he blinked - this time, there was grass under his feet, and a glittering starry sky as far as he could see. The scenery was quite beautiful, all things considered. But the only beauty he concerned himself with was the one crying in front of him.

Tentatively, the Wanderer reached out a hand to rest on your head. He was never good at comforting people, and he wasn't going to pretend he could be, but he could at least mimic the actions he'd seen others do when faced with similar situations.

He didn't dare speak, only allowing the weight of his hand on your head to communicate his presence. Eventually, you wiped away a set of those tears and looked up to see just who had joined you.

"Oh. It's you." You said, though whether you thought it a good or bad thing he couldn't quite tell. You sniffled pathetically, in a way that hurt his soul itself, and a wave of memories flooded his mind. Sorrow, anger, betrayal… your past grievances were not unlike his own, he discovered.

"Why are you…" he trailed off, not sure whether to acknowledge the situation or not. You only sighed, focusing on controlling your voice.

You shook your head. "It doesn't matter." A lie. It did matter, your thoughts inadvertently told him. "You can stop pretending to comfort me." The Wanderer frowned.

"I'm not pretending."

Your eyes went wide, only for you to return to normal just as quickly. "Right. You're the version my brain conjured to cheer myself up, of course you would be different."

He yearned to tell you it was real, that he was here, but that felt like far too much explanation. Besides, if you only saw him as a figment of your imagination, then…

He could do things he'd never dare entertain otherwise.

Finally, he chose to ignore the comment, pulling your body up to stand with ease. As much as the tears pained him, he still found them so, so pretty. Just like every other bit of your existence. How pathetic he sounded.

Reaching his hands up to your head was a tentative motion, and slowly, he cupped his hands around your face, allowing his thumbs to brush away any straggling teardrops. If it were anyone else, he would have drawn away in disgust, washing his hands raw to rid himself of the germs. But you weren't anyone else. You were yourself, and that was truly all he needed you to be.

His uncharacteristic actions no longer confused you, now that you had remembered your dream state. Instead, you figured this was what you wished for every waking hour, manifesting in your dreams yet again.

The Wanderer raised an eyebrow. Again? Had you dreamed of him before? That would explain why you'd greeted him so comfortably, but it felt a little too conceited for himself to assume.

You seemed to be deeply considering something. Desperately, more than anything else in the imaginary world right now, you wanted to touch your Wanderer. To feel his porcelain unmarred skin underneath your fingertips, to gaze into the violet depths of his eyes, to run your hands through his silky hair, knock his hat off, and pull him in close-

Wait, what? You wanted to do what?!

Quickly, to avoid letting you see his rapidly forming blush, the Wanderer pulled you into his chest in a hug. His head rested on your shoulder, arms encircling your body, and now he couldn't tell if the fluttering in his chest was his own or merely a transmission from you.

He was practically gaping in his shock. No way, there was no way he'd just seen that in your thoughts. It couldn't have been from his own mind, could it? While it was unlikely, he couldn't dismiss the possibility, so he attempted to calm his -or your- racing 'heart'.

After a long while, the equilibrium was broken, and you pulled away from the embrace. The Wanderer, though, held you tight, unwilling to let you go.

It appeared you wanted to stay close as much as he did, because you once again rested your head on his chest, reaching out to fidget with the anemo vision he'd so oddly received. While it was just a hunk of metal and glass, he found it akin to you toying with his very own heart, tantalizing him with your warm perfection.

"Forgive me, dream-wanderer. I don't think I can hold myself back anymore."

Your words confused him, and he looked at you with a purely puzzled expression until you straightened up, looked him in the eyes, and-

His own eyes went impossibly wide. Through sheer shock, he felt his chest explode with feelings he'd known before, and others he would never hope to identify. It scared him, it exhilarated him, and most of all it pleased him, far too much. Tears threatened to fall from his own eyes, so he squeezed them shut and redirected his mind to the situation at hand. However fake you thought this was, he didn't care as your lips pressed against his own.

You pulled away all too soon for his liking, and he jolted from his daze to bring you back, this time with fervor. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve you. You were everything, all the things he could never be and all the things he wanted, placed into one individual at one point in time. How dare he allow himself this moment of happiness, after no less than three betrayals? As lovely as your touch, your scent, you were, he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve you.

These thoughts plagued his mind even as you pulled away for air, manifesting themselves as tears welling up along his eyes. Damnit, he was really going to cry over something like this?

Yes. Yes he was. But hopefully not right now, if he could help it.

"You need to wake up." The Wanderer prompted, trying to get himself under control.

You sighed, seeming forlorn. "I know. But I just want a little longer with you."

He wanted to reassure you that he'd have you as long as you'd have him, that he would always welcome you into his life - but that would be giving too much away. You could never find out what had truly happened here in your dream.

But oh, would he treasure the memory. The feeling of being so close to you, the elation that took hold of him when you'd kissed him - you had kissed him!

The Wanderer let his arms remain around you as he nuzzled into your neck, unable or unwilling to care about his rather expensive hat tumbling to the ground. Well, it was still technically a dreamscape. Any damage done wouldn't be permanent. So many less than pure thoughts entered his mind the moment he realized this, but he wouldn't allow anything to taint this moment between you two.

Sighing into your neck, he whispered into your ear: "Wake up. Don't be so afraid to lose me; you'll find I'm much closer than you might think." The shiver his proximity pulled from you was satisfying, but he did need you to wake up soon. Any longer in this dream would result in him possibly losing his mind entirely, devoting himself to your affections in a way he long since swore he'd never do for another.

Finally, he allowed himself to slip out of your consciousness, returning to his own body and straightening out his appearance. His body had practically used you as his pillow during his time in your mind, and he was so grateful nobody had come barging in to witness such a thing.

A slight change in breathing patterns alerted him to your awareness as you awoke, eyelids heavy as you tried to take in your surroundings. The Wanderer waited patiently as your eyes traced the patterns in the ceiling, the panes of the window, and eventually came to rest on him. He wanted to brag to the sun and moon themselves that he was the one getting your undivided attention, and wanted to make even the heavens above jealous.

I don't deserve this.

"Hm...?" You made a small, dreary sound, adjusting yourself to the completely unfamiliar surroundings. Almost completely; you would recognize your dear Wanderer anywhere.

"Took you long enough." The Wanderer scoffed, crossing his arms and relaxing his muscles, as if he hadn't been on the edge of his seat and the verge of panic since you'd been afflicted. "Get enough beauty sleep, your highness?"

Though it was meant with sarcastic and snide intentions, the 'pet name' made your breath catch as your stomach was invaded by butterflies. Or was it the toxins? You couldn't be too sure.

"What-" upon hearing your scratchy voice, you paused and cleared your throat, though it didn't solve the problem. The Wanderer was already holding out some water to you, and you took it gratefully. "What happened?"

Well, he supposed he should start at the beginning. "I lost sight of you, and the next time I saw you, you were unconscious on the ground. Do you mind explaining that?" He fused some irritation to his tone, hopefully disguising the genuine worry he'd felt.

"I…" You reached desperately for any strands of remembrance, only to be blocked by a heavy fog over your mind. Frustrated, you let out a groan. "I don't remember! Damnit, I can't remember any of it."

Now that was almost comical. All of that, and you couldn't even remember how it had started? The world really could be a dangerous place, apparently.

With a sigh, the Wanderer took it upon himself to fill in the empty space between then and now. He relayed how he'd found you, how the infamous Tighnari assisted you, and how your treatment had been administered. You remained quiet throughout the story, whether from respect or weariness he wasn't sure.

"He removed the IV and left, saying if we needed further assistance we could ask." He snorted at this. "As if!"

Now you rolled your eyes. "Don't be such an ass. He saved my life, the least you could do is be civil."

"I have been civil, thank you very much." He huffed, offended that you'd even assume he would be anything less than cordial. "Good to see your lack of faith in me is still intact."

Your lack of faith was not unwarranted, though. The story as he told it had been incomplete. Fearing your reaction, fearing your perception of him, he had omitted his exploration of your consciousness entirely. As far as you knew, it was merely a conjured scene from your own imagination, and your feelings remained unrequited and unacknowledged. But that didn't feel fair, did it?

Since when did he care about fairness? Did you really like him, or did you like the version of him you'd constructed in your mind? Not that he'd ever change himself for somebody, he was merely curious.

Good grief. Nobody had advertised just how difficult these cursed things called 'emotions' could be.

#if this seems unfinished that's because it is teehee!#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n

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akunoniwa · 5 months

Text

Reconciliation

AN: i really like the priest trope y'all and dottore continues to plague my being.

Synopsis: In which you confess to your earnest, local priest about your most wretched sins...

Pairing: Priest!Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, he's a priest all of the sudden... for some reason..., dirty (blabbing) talk, mutual masturbation ig, you two just drive each other mad

WC: ~2.7k

Also, if anyone is interested, for the last couple years I have been curating a playlist of Evil, Macabre, Scheming classical that I usually write to. You can find it here! (Spotify :/)

Dottore himself may possess a universe-worth of deranged secrets, but his malevolence was the most obvious truth of all.

He’d be a resourceful and dutiful liar, a rehearsed cosmopolitan who knows what to say to get not just underneath your frail blouse, but your skin. He’d often get hyperboles thrown his way, how he must be able to read minds… Surely… That is impossible, right?

How Dottore managed to slip in through the ancient cracks of the Church of Favonius, one could not trace with their finger alone, as he found a special way to bypass the seminary. Growing morbidly bored in his lab as his segments took care of the more ‘menial’ things, he had a thought, twisted and contorted as usual: Where could he get a true, mouth-watering taste of humanity, bare and earnest before him? Naturally, a church is a place where sin may be denounced, but in a sense is romanticized and encouraged in its fashionable banishment. How he’d not considered this his first time around was… Perhaps a symptom of his inability to have all of himself in one place, both cognitively and literally speaking.

Dottore couldn’t merely walk into the cathedral in search of employment, however. The fame he’d acquired was not for his victories, but rather his shortcomings, though the public wouldn’t discern them beyond atrocities, successful or not. While the Fatui had strange footholds in every part of Teyvat, his presence would not be shrugged off, especially should Seamus get word of his meanderings.

His plan, then, was simple– dispose of a working, familiar priest, and he could replicate him as he’s done before in Inazuma, promptly and quietly taking his place. The edges of his ears tingle with anticipation as he imagines all of the degeneracy and blasphemy he’d bear witness to in confession, perhaps he could absorb some inspiration for other projects… Or so he initially thought before you started coming to him for ‘advice’, blotting his mind with a different genre of filth.

In the confessional, he’s able to indulge in hearing various grim sins and tales, his tarnished soul getting off on the compiled suffering in one way or another. His coos of nurturing advice would aptly dilute any evidence of that, though, as he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear your most vile fantasies should he somehow get removed.

You came in routinely, your voice shrouded in its faux shame, so close to his ear as it was only separated by a mere wooden screen. He could damn near feel your tongue as it pushed your impure thoughts to him on its crests and troughs. He was well aware of your intentions, convinced you’d not step foot on church grounds were it not to hand-feed him samples of your depravities. The image of you kneeling, in such a decadent position while you granted him whispers of obscenities, made it hard to restrain a grin of utter, vulgar satisfaction.

Knowing who was approaching next, he allowed himself to loosen his grip on his character only slightly, “My… I never would’ve expected your prompt return…”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” Your voice crept beautifully through the holes of the screen like a miasmic mist. He allowed his still-unfamiliar title slipping past your lips prick chills all over his body, the blatant implications of hierarchy stoning him.

This was all between you two anyhow, so he decided to play with you to his content, “I can only imagine.” His true voice, too, lingered like smoke through to your ears, dense yet airy, “Perhaps the Lord will find it within His grace to admonish you of your consistently licentious behavior… Tell me, dear, what ails you?”

“I just can't seem to stop thinking about you, Father…” You always had a hard time dropping the guise immediately, as if you haven’t shared these thoughts with him numerous times before.

You heard him shift, his robes moving slowly about his tensed, upright form, your voice drowning him when it was shaped in such a needy tone, “Ah… Quite the predicament, indeed. You know this is a safe place for you to air your sins out into the open, you must proclaim them clearly to Him.”

Your light giggle sent wakes of delirium through him, “I could never conceal my true self from you, Father… Although, I find myself wondering if you’re really an envoy of God or a spawn from Hell.”

“You wound me, darling, deeply so, though that will not divert my faith and divine purpose to ensure your merciful forgiveness.” He improvised artlessly, your implications alone rustling his guts, a friction he was growing addicted to. His entire being salivated at the thought of what mangled ideas you’d bring right to his feet. How you returned to him, beckoning for attention like a crow as you’d gift him with gleaming desire.

“A true messenger of God’s word would surely not get giddy at the thought of fucking one of their devotees… Wouldn’t you agree?” Your words were somewhat daring on your part, as you couldn’t entirely surmise just who was inches from you, but he has more than revealed his insatiable lechery.

You swore you could feel his breath through the screen as he pushed out an arrogant chuckle through his nose, as if there were no other place for you but the palm of his hand, “It’s that very thing, your passionate devotion, that compels Him. Though it seems you’re trying to parry attention away from your misdeeds…”

You noted, much to your pleasure, how he didn’t deny your accusation, “It’s just… Often when I go to pray before bed, I get distracted…”

“It’s entirely normal to get distracted,” He briefly paused, you could almost feel the breath that was perched in his throat in your own, “Perhaps you’re neglecting a piece of your conscience, an inherent part of yourself that you’ve yet to reconcile with.”

An inherent slut, that’s what he thought. How you come in here weekly only to tempt him, your mind is devoted to nothing nearly akin to a god. Truly exquisite.

You continued a bit more blatantly, toying with him, “That could be… It’s so hard to not lose my train of thought when I’m on my knees and can’t think of anything but your voice in place of His.”

His body was bleeding soot, he felt a build-up of carnal animosity trickle into his veins as you spoke, “Is that so… Was I not conveying His word as I usually do, darling?”

Your knees were quickly growing sore from kneeling, but the pain was blunted by the dull buzzing in your abdomen, “If His words are usually detailing what terrible things he’d like to do to me, but I can’t be so sure…”

His legs inadvertently parted, weakening upon your implications, a heat radiating between them that he wished was due to your body being between them. He was trying with every atom that built him to keep his hands in a neutral position on his thighs, but so desperately wanted to alleviate the growing strain in his slacks, “Terrible, indeed… I think you’re not truly allowing Him to touch you, darling, letting Him resonate deep inside you…” His veiled smirk ought to run laps around his entire face as he shuffled through his deck of delirious innuendos. He just enjoyed the theater of it all as his hands clawed at polyester.

While his acting was laughable from a more rational perspective, you were too intoxicated with want to mind and his prods were becoming too potent, “You may be right, Father,” You hoped to any higher power that calling him that was fucking with him. Not being able to see him was making you spiral, the need to merely touch him was stacking as you were beyond yourself before even making it to the church. Being that his voice was all you knew, you were sure that should he actually graze your skin, you’d be all the more susceptible to his antics.

As much as he likes to indulge in teasing you, he so badly wanted to drop the act that you’ve both rehearsed so many times before and insist that you meet him on this side of the screen. Your honeyed voice is always shredding him to dust, his mind disintegrating at the thought of how reprehensible it’d be to take you right here in the confines of the confessional box. Look him in the eyes from your precious, kneeled perspective and tell him how far from God you’ve fallen, how your repentance can only be properly demonstrated on his cock. Your delectable moans would drip right into his ear as he takes you, making your sex the only sacrament you’ll ever require.

“Father?” You called to him through his mental escapade delicately, his silence unsettling in several ways, though it seems you’d successfully wedged your way into his head.

“Yes, darling.” His ability to respire becomes all the more taxing, the facade threatening to shatter as he almost forgets his role for a moment.

“Could you… Do me a favor?” Curling, winding, your vague presence was constricting around him so deliciously.

“What is it…?” You already had him at the heel of each consonant. You debated in your fantasies what you’d lose yourself over more: Being told what to do, or telling him what to do… Did you have to choose?

You bared your fanged will, “I know you want to touch yourself desperately, if you’re not already…” You began, confident in your assumptions as you heard an eroded breath tumble from his lips, “Could you do that for me…?”

His brows collided in a furrow, dumbfounded with how forward you were finally being, “Of course, darling…” He easily committed, “Anything to bestow God’s love, even to the undeserving…”

He didn’t care to hold back his heady exhale upon finally kneading a palm into his already well-hardened cock, cuffing it now and then to outline the silhouette through his pants. You, too, let him in on your movements, ensuring he heard your sweet, lofty mewls as your fingers padded your clit ever so slowly.

“How do you feel, Father… Tell me…” You sang to him, oh how he wished he could see your flushed face, how you urged him to pleasure himself.

“I know it wouldn’t compare to your vile little mouth.” He groaned through another wavered exhale, “I would go as far as to guess you were wet before you got down on your knees, before you got to this Church, thinking about how badly you want to be fucked in such a sacred place…” Saying this knowing damn well how his body faltered at the sight of your name being rightfully branded on his list for another confession.

“Maybe that’s just how I show my devotion, Father…” You bit your lip as your clit gradually stiffened with need, cycling just the right spot, hardly able to resist rutting into your hand.

“Fuck, and you keep calling me that,” His grip tightened, though he’d not let himself free from his constraints yet.

“Is that not what you are? Or are you, God forbid, hiding something?” You pressed him in unison with your hand.

Him revealing his true identity would benefit no one, including you, but something about being able to fuck you as his true self set him ablaze. His expression tightened into one of brief apprehension, he could feel the knocking of his heart in his throat– There’s no feasible way you’d know who he is…

“Of course,” He assured himself more than anyone else, “But when you say it the way you do, in that sickening little whine of yours… It’s too good, darling, too much.” You reeled as you could hear the grin that tugged at his lips, though the struggle to maintain composure between you is what spoiled you.

“Are you moving… Fast or slow?” You forced him to elaborate, though your voice only continued to dwindle.

“Painfully slow…” His hips instinctually rose and fell in his vice grip, “I wish it were any part of you, darling… Your hand, your pretty mouth… Maybe you’d be sitting in my lap…” He mused wickedly.

You hummed in a whisper, “I wish I could touch you…” You decided to admit, “What would you want me to do to you, Father…?” You dug your interrogation into him as you wandered to your cunt, overflowing with slick need as two fingers dove inside in a curl. How you could have his cock pushing through you right in this moment but you both opted for this pitiful demonstration instead…

He adored how you were tearing yourself apart for him, desperation infecting your words, “Perhaps I’d want you to start with your hand in place of mine so you could realize how utterly insane you make me feel… How hard I am for you with just your voice alone, darling.” The rhythm of his breaths was becoming more hasty, the timbre of his voice growing more tangy as his lust snuck through the confines of his weakening dignity.

“Fuck, I really just wanna feel your hot lips wrapped around me, that filthy mouth of yours… Your flattened tongue running against the underside…”

You egged him on with a moan of approval, his mental painting distracting your movements from exceeding a slow massage inside you, “That sounds so good, I want to be the one making you feel good…”

On that note, he found himself needing to corrupt you. Requiring it. It was a perfect setting to do so, beheld in the eyes of sanctity at its most intense. It made him want to rip his own heart out, how this feeling ravaged his entire being. He wanted to be the only one who could make you feel like you served a purpose, symbiotic destruction as he’d fuck you until you could recall nothing else but the sensation of his cock filling you to the most dizzying brim. As much as he wanted you to worship him, he found the prospect of making you ascend with pleasure more gratifying.

“I bet you’d be the kind to get off on me fucking your mouth, neglecting your aching little cunt…” He loved denying himself the raw contact with his cock, but it was becoming quite the task to uphold as he moved to fumble with his belt buckle.

Your face managed to insulate itself with a blush that, should he have seen it, he would’ve taken you upon first notice, “I’d want you to grip my hair, forcing me to keep eye contact…”

“Good, darling, now you’re imagining… How I’d make you gag looking right into your eyes, as that’s only what you deserve for punishment’s sake.” He managed to free himself from his slacks, with no patience to adjust himself beyond his length protruding through the opening of his fly. Your shallow pants were so close to his ear, through the fine holes of the screen he hallucinated a face to imagine. He watched the apparition of you sway and twitch as you were barely able to remain upright while your fingers pumped inside you.

“Do you often touch yourself in prayer, darling?” He ventured.

“Only if it’s to you… Your voice truly haunts me, especially when you tell me all of this worthless shit, I just… Can’t help myself, Father.”

“I think of you all the time, how close we are right now, how I could fucking destroy you but we continue like this anyway.”

“Why don’t you come out of your little box and fuck me then?”

His damned laugh that drove you up the vaulted cathedral walls sounded once more, wondering how long he could be stowed away like this. It is Sunday after all, but perhaps this schedule 10 minutes before mass was intentional. Dottore was adeptly full of himself as he’d not mind if your screams were heard over the choir, in fact, that’d be ideal. While the confessional wasn’t in the main hall, it wasn’t secluded enough to dampen how his hips would assault the skin of your behind as he took you…

Your offer was too divine to refuse.

#...i could write a part two...#hoyoverse plz feed me more dottore content im withering lmao #perhaps if he kicked my ass i would stfu abt him...???#il dottore x fem!reader #il dottore x reader #genshin impact x reader #il dottore #genshin smut #作文

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ignoremeimnothere · 11 months

Text

6 Months

I'd just like to preface this SHIT Drabble by saying I'm literally writing in in work so that it doesn't leave my brain. Inspired by my managers friend who literally found out they're 6 months pregnant last week under the same circumstances, praying for you girl. Like all traumatising experiences I like to thing of Pedro handling me in the situation, this one probably made a lot more sense in my head. Let's hope I come back to the to improve it or progress it.

'You’re 6 months pregnant”

You laughed confused, maintaining eye contact with the doctor.

‘No I’m not’

The room immediately became thick with awkwardness.

‘The tes-’

‘Is wrong. I’ve got the implant. No bump. No symptoms’

You listed off all the reasons you couldn’t be pregnant. It was only by chance you had required a trip to the doctors. A holiday was booked with your closest friends for next month. You had only come in to get some anti-anxiety medication for the flight you were so scared of, a blood test was routine before you could get it.

Your doctor’s eyes squinted slightly, trying to figure out how to handle the conversation. You held their gaze refusing to look at anything else, especially Pedro who was beside you completely silent.

‘The results are yours. We can run another one if you would like but you are 6 months pregnant. 6 and a half to be more precise’

Your eyebrows furrowed, the doctor started a spiel you couldn’t quite focus on. They provide you with a few pregnancy tests to use in the bathroom. You leave to do them alone, you haven’t looked at Pedro since the doctor dropped the bombshell that was obviously-

‘Positive’ Both tests displayed strong second lines as you felt the blood drain from your head.

Pedro shut your car door as he makes his way to the other side. You haven’t said a word since returning from the bathroom tests in hand. He gets into the driver's side but can’t bring himself to turn on the engine just yet. Your head is completely blank, normally you would spiral but the shock has prolonged that still.

‘Are you ok’

You can barely shake your head, you finally look at him. ‘Are you?’

Deafening silence fills the car. You’ve no idea how much time has passed before Pedro eventually begins the drive home. You’re completely spaced out until you approach your street.

‘I don’t want to go home’

‘Ok baby, where do you want to go’

Pedro reduces his speed dramatically giving you time to think.

‘I think I need to be alone’ You blurt out.

‘Ok’ Pedro maintains his calm demeanour, attempting to regulate the panic he watched creep into your eyes.

‘Is that ok’ A lump appears in your throat.

‘Can you be alone in the house?’

He proposes a safe compromise but you shake your head, your breath catching in your throat.

‘In the car’ Another suggestion.

You shake your head unbuckling your seatbelt before Pedro has reached your home. He calls your name, a gentle warning to not do anything dangerous.

‘I think I just…. I need to….’ You struggle to figure out what you need to do.

‘Breathe with me’ Pedro parked the car and unbuckled himself, twisted towards you he grabs your hands, pecking them before meeting your eye.

‘It’s ok’ He begins. ‘You can be alone but I need you safe, do you want me to take you somewhere?’ You shake your head. ‘Ok baby but I don’t think now would be the best time for you to drive a car, do you want me to leave?’ You shake your head again.

‘I’ll take a walk?’ You suggest, it was a cloudy day making it quite quiet.

‘Ok Cariño, do you have your phone on you?’

You nod, checking your pocket. He kisses you on the cheek, unsatisfied he gently grabs your face planting a lingering kiss on your lips. You rest your forehead on his having a silent conversation. You would clear your head, come back and have the conversation. For now you needed to take in everything. You swallowed your guilt for needing to be alone, wishing that you could instead process this beside Pedro. You leave before you suffocate on the silent questions lingering in the car and make your way down the street wondering how the hell your life had changed so much within the space of an hour.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal drabble #dad!Pedro passcal #pedro pascal imagine #Pedro pascal x pregnant!reader #pedro pascal x reader

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cafeinthemoon · 5 months

Text

Ruins - Part XXI + Extra Content

Chapter 22/?

Wordcount 3,3k

Title Part XXI

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warnings: none

Tagging @holdyourwine @lilacshouko @shirayuki-ayumi @telvess (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: I'm glad I can share this chapter with you bc I couldn't wait to post it anymore! I wanted this moment between them to be special not only bc it is, you know, they honeymoon, but bc what it will mean for both of them in the future: the trust, the intimacy and the respect they have for each other can be sensed in each second, and it's expected to grow stronger. I really wanted to depict what a healthy relationship means when I had the idea for this story, and that's why I'm putting such effort in these things.

Also I wanted to include some humor in it as well, so I hope you enjoy the content by the end of this chapter as well haha

Your face warmed up when the god revealed his identity.

So, the doctor of the gods is Apollo’s son.

You would still need time to conciliate it, since Asclepius looked like a twin of his own father, but despite your surprise, you soon caught up with the good manners and greeted him with the owned respect.

– It is an honor for me to finally meet you as well, Asclepius-sama – you gave him a fainting smile – I apologize for my first reaction, but you really resemble the God of the Su…

Your last word was interrupted by a sudden decrease on your blood pressure, and your head fell back on your pillow. Hades rushed to your side.

– Y/n? – he helped you to sit and adjusted the pillow behind your back – Are you alright?

– I am – you sighed – For a moment, my body felt heavy again and my sight got dark, but it’s coming back again…

When your sight was finally reestablished, you looked at Asclepius and noticed he had a serious expression. He approached your spot and sat on the bed, placing the cane beside him and taking off the bag from his shoulder.

– These episodes of weakness… when exactly did they start?

You made an effort to remember, but even this was painful for you.

– One or two hours after I drank the ambrosia, I guess. But it was easy to handle... at least until I sensed the beginning of a headache. I passed out for the first time in our way here, on the corridor. But this isn’t everything: while I stood here, waiting for you, my Lord, I noticed my senses... increasing – you indicated the opened balcony with a frail hand – I’ve been hearing the nightly animals as if they’re close to this room, but they’re actually miles away, and all these sounds make the headache worst.

Asclepius thought of this for a moment, a hand under his chin. Then, he took out a strange instrument from his bag, something that resembled a portable mirror.

– Please, put your palm over the lens – he asked and you obeyed, putting your hand over the place where the glass would be if it was a mirror – Keep it there for a few seconds.

You sensed a cold upon your skin, as a glowing light appeared and vanished, little by little until everything was dark again. The exam was finished. Asclepius thanked your collaboration and analyzed the instrument. You glanced over the lens and noticed a purplish glow over them, in a shade that resembled the one of your hair now.

– It is just as Zeus-sama said – he started – You are on the growing spectrum. The blessed fluid is slowly assimilating your natural characteristics and expanding them beyond the human limits. However, your body is still mortal, and this is the cause of the uncomfortable symptoms: your immune system still views these changes as signs of sickness and it’s trying to fight it, but as the ambrosia takes over your cells, turning them into divine ones, they will become the majority, and your body will no longer react as if you were sick.

You swallowed. Knowing what was going on with your body was somewhat relieving, but you were still worried about the possibility of the symptoms increasing, and you exposed those preoccupations to him.

– About this, I might have a solution – he replied with a kind smile – Just give me a second.

He turned the instrument off and put it back in the bag and started searching for something else inside it. Finally, he took out a small bottle from it and handled it to Hades, who received it with a frown.

– Don’t tell me that it is what I think it is…

You leaned to your husband, trying to observe the bottle, then turned to the other god.

– What is this?

Asclepius had a curious expression that deepened his resemblance with Apollo: the grin of someone who had the undivided attention of powerful beings.

– Hades-sama may tell you this story later, when you have more disposition to listen to it – he replied – But to summarize, it is the medicine I created to cease a terrible plague that almost ended humanity in the past. I don’t want to brag about it, but its effectiveness was such that some men became immortal, and Hellheim lost potential inhabitants thanks to it.

Hades sighed by your side.

– Those were chaotic times, in fact, but I’m glad everything was solved – he gave the bottle to you.

You turned to the doctor.

– If this was the effect on human beings, how am I going to react to this medicine now that I’m already becoming a goddess?

– It will diminish the discomfort caused by the metamorphosis – he explained – And it will do this without interfering in the process, like other substances would do, which would be too risky. You see, you’re not really sick, y/n-san. You’re just changing. Then, I recommend you to take it only when you feel you’re not going to stand the symptoms for any longer. Small doses are enough to help you.

Asclepius’ last words sounded as comforting the ones of an adult who was trying to console his child about growing up. You didn’t find it offensive, though: being someone who was used to observe how the living beings’ bodies work, maybe it was exactly the way he thought of the situation; you were leaving the childish state of being a mortal and was now entering the adulthood of existence by becoming a divine being. Of course, the process would be scary and even painful at some point, but it was also a wonderful experience.

Suddenly, you remembered something you’ve been wanting to ask to the gods you were more familiar with, but haven’t had the opportunity.

– Ah, about this, there’s something I’d like to know, Asclepius-sama – you observed the bottle in your hands – Is it possible to tell what type of goddess I’m going to be?

He thought of the question for a while.

– According to what Zeus-sama told me, you’re on the growing spectrum. I don’t know how much he told you about this, but your side on the spectrum of transformations usually determines what types of power you might hold. Gods with the same process as you use to have familiarity with wildlife, the cycles of nature and rebirth. Demeter and Chloris, though they were divine since the start, are this type of goddesses. It’s too soon to tell if your powers are going to be similar to theirs, but they will work under the same principles.

You pondered for a moment, then turned to your husband.

– It makes sense when we remember our dreams about the ruins, Hades.

– Indeed – he agreed – A living human visiting the world of the dead really seemed to be a sign back then. Now we need to observe the development of your powers to reach a better understanding of it.

Asclepius, who was hearing the conversation in silence, stood up put his bag back around his shoulder and grabbed his cane.

– Hades-sama, y/n-san, my sincere wish is to see you reach the referred understanding. It will be a great achievement for yourselves and for the world of the gods – he bowed his head – Now, if you excuse me, other matters demand my attention.

Hades stood up right after him.

– Will you stay in Valhalla, then?

– Yes. Usually, I would visit Valhalla every six months to check on the girls’ health, but personal problems prevented me from coming in the last semester – the doctor explained; and, turning to you, – This is why you’re only seeing me for the first time now, y/n-san. Finally, try to take as much rest as possible. This is as important as the medicine I gave you.

You gave him a cordial smile.

– I will do this, Asclepius-sama. Thank you for everything.

The god bowed for the second time.

– It’s good to hear that. And, if you need me, I will be in the chambers besides Hermes’.

– Thank you for answering our call, Asclepius – Hades replied – I will accompany you to the door.

The two men left and your husband closed the door behind him. You observed the small bottle in your hands for a while before putting it upon the night stand at the left side of the bed and letting your head fall on the pillows.

***

Hades came back to your chambers after a few minutes, stating that he was going to take a bath himself.

– Are you going to be alright while I’m there? – he asked while caressing your hair.

– I am – you smiled, still lying your head on the pillow – If things get complicated, I’ll be following Asclepius-sama’s instructions.

– Good – he bent down to kiss the top of your head – I’ll be right back.

You never had a clear memory of what happened after he left you, but you were inclined to think you just stood in bed, in the dark, your consciousness slipping out as you listened to the murmur of the shower somewhere near you. You were tired and weak due to the transformation, but you were in peace: you had a medicine to lean on, the man you loved was close and your family was out there having fun.

Everything is in its right place.

It was impossible to measure how long you stood in that quiet, peaceful state, somewhere between asleep and awake, but it changed when your body began to feel cold; this cold appeared first in your feet and spread to your legs, then to the rest of your limbs as you pulled the sheets more and more against yourself, but your efforts to keep the warmth were useless, for the cold didn’t come from the outside, and soon you were taken over by successive shivers. You tried to move to your side, but felt your body heavy, as if your blood pressure got suddenly low again; this time, your head started spinning. You knew your situation were getting more serious, and couldn’t help feeling anxious.

You tried to move back to your previous position, to reach for the medicine on the night stand, but your attempt failed: your body barely obeyed you. Now you were really scared, and before you did anything to avoid it, you were already breathless and crying.

What’s going on? What’s happening to me? Am I going to...

A yellowish light appeared on the wall above your head, illuminating the headboard and the painting over it (you opted to keep the art with the fawn and the nymphs). With one last effort, you moved the sheets away and saw the bathroom’s door opened: Hades’ silhouette was stepping out of it, wrapped in a robe. You couldn’t keep looking, because the headache increased, forcing you to close your eyes.

Apparently, your bad state was evident from far, because soon he rushed to your side.

– What is it, y/n? What’s happening?

You tried to sit on the bed, but your body didn’t obey you. You only managed to change your position with his help.

– I don’t know... – you whispered, covering your forehead with your hand – My head hurts… And I couldn’t even reach for the medicine…

Making you look up to him, he moved your hand away and put his palm over your forehead, then on each side of your neck.

– You got a fever – was his worried answer – And a bad one.

Your heart jumped at those words.

– It explains this cold I’m feeling… It’s so scary… – you sighed and passed your arms around yourself as another shiver spread through your body; you raised your eyes to him, raising a trembling hand to hold the sleeve of his robe – Can you stay with me?

Hades stared at you for a moment, a glimmer of compassion in his eyes. Maybe he was thinking the same as you: that was going to be the first time you were sharing a bed; of course, none of you expected this moment to be like this, but it was there before you, and both of you sensed the importance of it.

Your husband sat by your side and wiped your tears, involving you in his arms and kissing your forehead.

– Of course I can, little one – he then grabbed the medicine and opened the bottle, holding it close to your lips – Take it.

You accepted the remedy and, after a small dose, he put it back on its previous place, then turned around the bed and took off his robe; he left the piece on the back of a chair beside the bed and finally took the place by your side.

– Come here – he passed his arms around your body and placed you between them, your head leaning on his chest, your legs folded between his.

You moaned when a new, stronger shiver spread all over your body.

– I’m so scared...

You felt the warmth of his hand massaging your back and curled yourself more on his lap.

– I know – he whispered – But I’m here with you – and, kissing your hair, – And if things get tough, we have a doctor nearby, okay?

– Okay – your voice faded as you replied; and, with an attempt to laugh, – You know… I’ve been wondering how our first night together would be like… And, among all the possibilities, I’ve never considered something like this… I’m so sorry for ruining it...

– What are you apologizing for, little one? – you felt his fingers fondling your hair – You’re turning into a goddess. The most beautiful one. There’s nothing to be sorry about.

– But I wanted to give you… to give us better moments… It’s our honeymoon, after all…

He strengthened his grip around you and kissed you again.

– Each moment, and each night we will spend together will be better than the other. This is just the first one. You don’t have t lose your head over it.

You spent a moment in silence, gathering strength to reply.

– I see…

In fact, you were anxious about that night for weeks, so when it finally came, it was only natural that you felt frustrated, even disappointed with yourself, to see things happening in an uncomfortable, unplanned way. But another thing you weren’t expecting was to find relief while speaking about your feelings and then being understood by your husband: perhaps you’ve been putting so much expectation in your own part in this that you forgot you weren’t going to take care of it by yourself; yet counting on each other was a golden rule of relationships, even more in romantic ones.

I still have too much to learn.

Fortunately for you, you had a reasonable partner, one who have learned the art of patience for centuries and who would teach you in this sense for the next ages. Ages… when you remembered that this was going to be your lifespan, your heart ached, and more shivers hit your body, but guiding your thoughts away from it would calm them down, and with effort you trained yourself in this sense.

That night was long. You spent all of it in the arms of the King of the Underworld, alternating between moments of dreamless sleep and tired consciousness; this extended as the transformation went on, and the fever diminished as the hours passed. During those painful hours, Hades was always there with you, whether talking or just caressing you; as you got used to his warmth, you noticed the cold ceasing, and as the metamorphosis became more tolerable, your body relaxed more and more in his embrace. Slowly, as the new day approached, you were recovering the sense of control over yourself, and the fear of the future diminished, until it completely disappeared.

***

The first hours of the next day were something between dream and reality, for you witnessed – well, you listened to – curious things, but had no ways to decide if they indeed happened or if they were just your imagination.

At some point, you woke up, but didn’t open your eyes. You sensed you were alone in the bed, but it was still warm, and you supposed that Hades might have left moments ago. Though the room was quiet, you had the impression that your husband was in the living room with a visitor – paying close attention, you recognized Poseidon’s composed tone. They had a brief talk when most of what was said was in a foreign, ancient language that, thanks to the lessons given by your husband, you identified as Greek.

Apparently, Poseidon was going to leave Valhalla that day and came to see his brother before the travel. Besides the rapid, murmuring exchange of words in Greek, there was some chuckling, so you had no idea of what was being said (and you'd rather remain oblivious to it).

But then the conversation turned to a language you were able to fully understand.

– You don’t need to worry about that – Hades was saying – She wasn’t in conditions anyway. The changing is being successful, but it has been taking too much from her mortal body. She had a bad fever during night, but it was gone last time I checked.

– Did you call Asclepius to see her? – Poseidon inquired.

– Yes. He gave her a potion for her discomfort, but she wasn’t really medicated – your husband replied – The process of having your biology rewritten, according to him, can take longer or shorter depending on your body’s conditions, and cannot be interrupted or altered by the ingestion of medicine. Besides, as the altered cells become the majority in one’s body, the process becomes easier, and their immune system no longer recognizes the mutation as a problem. I talked to him moments ago to keep him in touch with the situation. He believes that she will be one of us by the end of this day.

– I see – his brother said – If this is the case, then she has suffered less than Heracles, who almost had his body swallowed by fire.

Hades laughed at this.

– Yes, but, please, don’t say this in front of her next time you see us.

– Alright – Poseidon’s voice softened – Send my regards to her when she wakes up.

They exchanged a few words in Greek, then said their farewell in the common language.

– I must go, now. Goodbye, brother.

– Goodbye. Be well.

A door was opened at the distance, a few steps were heard beyond it, then the door was closed, followed by utter silence.

***

Extra content

This is part of what was said between the brothers in ancient Greek, alternated with laughter and inner jokes that are impossible to translate:

– Good morning, elder brother. I came to say farewell. Some things demand my immediate attention in the Seas.

– I see. Truth is that I was expecting to have your company during our breakfast, but I knew that it wouldn’t be possible.

– You and your not-so-subtle way to call me antisocial. Anyways, I would have communicated my intentions sooner, but we haven’t the chance to speak yesterday and I didn’t want to interrupt your moments together. So... I am not interrupting anything now, I hope.

– Absolutely not. But if you’ve showed up earlier, you would’ve found the doors locked.

– I wouldn’t judge you. Not after what we saw at the party. You would be a fool if you didn’t take measures to keep your runaway bride safe.

– Please, don’t say these things about her. With that gaze of yours upon me, I would’ve run if I was a human girl too!

– Watch your mouth, old man! She only ran after she saw you. She was perfectly fine with us.

– Hey!

– Speaking of this, how is she doing?

– A bit tired, but well. Sleeping like a little lamb.

– Hm... You already reached the phase of the ridiculous nicknames, brother?

– Everyone reaches that phase, sooner or later. Just wait.

– Hmpf. I won’t have you cursing my fate, old man.

– It’s not a curse. You’ll thank me later.

Part XXII

#snv x reader #ror x reader #snv hades x reader #ror hades x reader #record of ragnarok hades #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie hades #record of ragnarok x reader

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beansprean · 11 months

Text

Nandor and Alexithymia

Ok so this is an attempt to organize a mess of thoughts I’ve been mulling over recently; appreciate anybody who reads the whole thing lol. My “he’s just like me fr” nandor dissertation.

So first things first - alexithymia is a symptom/trait that tends to appear for a lot of neurodivergent people, including myself, as well as those affected by emotional neglect/abuse or other related traumas. It involves "difficulties in identifying, describing, and processing one’s own feelings, often marked by a lack of understanding of the feelings of others, and difficulty distinguishing between feelings and the bodily sensations of emotional arousal" (livingautism.com). For me, though I’m decently good at recognizing others’ emotional states when I’m paying attention, I have a lot of trouble categorizing my own. I have to rely on physical cues (am I smiling? Laughing? Crying? Is my heart beating fast?), mimicking others (if this happened to someone else, how would I expect them to feel? How do other people feel about this so I know what I’m feeling?), or past experience (this thing made me feel like this, so I must be feeling this now). The physical cues are less helpful than they sound, as the definition implies, because maybe my heart is pounding because I’m anxious, or excited, or I hate you, or I like you, or I’m afraid, or I just ran up some stairs. Maybe I’m crying because I’m sad. Or frustrated. Or angry. Or hungry? I literally cannot tell what my emotions are telling me most of the time, which makes communication and relationships extremely difficult to navigate. I don’t know if I enjoy talking to you. I don’t know if I enjoy this activity. I don’t know if I have a crush on you. Everything just feels like anxiety or apathy unless it’s already at 100%. One of the specific anxieties that I deal with in social situations as a result of this is not a fear that people won’t like me, but that I won’t like them. A new person approaches! They want to hang out/date! But oh no, I have no idea how I’m feeling about this person at this point. What if I don’t end up having fun? What if I dislike them and I don’t know why? What if they upset me and I don’t know why? How will I navigate breaking up with them? I’m consumed by the future possibility of being unable to interpret my emotional state and being unable to communicate or verbalize well enough to get out of the situation without acting like a jerk and hurting their feelings or ghosting them completely.

But this post isn’t just me ranting about my brokebrain, I wanna talk about NANDOR’S brokebrain. Some of you may be ahead of me.

Obviously we are all aware that Nandor is completely UNAWARE of his feelings a lot of the time; this is not news, I’m just pathologizing it lol. And not only does he have trouble expressing, identifying, and verbalizing his emotions or recognizing them in others, but...he's dead. He can't rely on physical reactions to help him out - his heart doesn't beat, his skin doesn't flush, he doesn't need to breathe, it's unclear if he can even shed tears! The past 700 years must have felt like endless apathy so much of the time - no wonder he gets depressed.

But it definitely makes sense to me that Nandor is affected by fairly severe alexithymia, and he would have trouble choosing between his wives or recalling the feelings he had for them or which one he really loved and what that felt like beyond just how unobtrusive their presence would be for his day to day routine. And at the same time it is clear to us that he wants nothing more than to hang with Guillermo and spend time with Guillermo and ensure he gives reasons for Guillermo to stick around - but he doesn't really recognize that himself. He becomes increasingly anxious and paranoid as his wedding to Marwa approaches, doesn't understand why he is so fixated on everything that could ruin it or stop it from happening, and projects those thoughts on everyone else around him. He assumes that everyone is conspiring to stop the wedding because he unknowingly wants people to give him reasons to back out. Guillermo confronts him with this, and Nandor can only verbalize that this is a big moment that is making him afraid. (Not to mention that he clearly was waiting for an objection from Guillermo which Guillermo consistently refused to give despite seemingly agreeing with Nadja's. And the whole expecting Guillermo to be jealous and confused/disappointed when he wasn't?? Honey.)

Yet, we also know from the "I like what he likes" wish that Nandor DOES want this wedding to happen. He wants to be married, he wants steady companionship, he wants to tie himself to someone and say "look, look, someone loves me! I am never alone!" Yet immediately after the wedding he balks at turning her and making the marriage "eternal". He is already bored of what he has turned her into and confused why he isn't enjoying the company of someone who will stay by his side and never argue or disagree with him or expect an emotional intimacy from him he can't give. Isn't that what he wanted? Why didn't this fix him? Why is everything still so dull?

(slight tangent on the "I like what he likes" wish honestly what a fuckin DREAM I wish I had a second person who could project my emotions/preferences for me so I could recognize them... I wish they had played around with that for a few more episodes, the comedic potential alone has sustained me for so long...)

He sees Guillermo and Freddie, feels Something, but doesn’t understand what. Discomfort? Longing? Anxiety? Lots of options we as an audience can assume or interpret, but I think we can all agree it's more complicated than just Nandor falling in love at first sight as he assumes. Nandor DOES experience passing infatuations fairly frequently - an intense blaze of emotion he interprets as love and obsesses over, pushing quickly for commitment because he believes that tying himself to someone will solidify those feelings forever. He has to act quick before they fade!

So back to Freddie, Nandor is: 1. Confused by Freddie's presence and unusually pushy about following them around and getting details about their relationship, 2. Genuinely charmed by Freddie's loser white boy swag and interest in artefacts from his home country, 3. Kept up all night by thoughts about Freddie, and 4. Able to recognize that outright stealing him would be a bad move because it would probably make Guillermo upset. Round of applause for #4, good job Nandy.

But, like with the wedding, is he just projecting? Assuming? He knows he feels something strong - an intense blaze of emotion and obsession he associates with his past relationships - and he comes to the conclusion that being with Freddie is what will finally make him happy. Might he actually be feeling misplaced jealousy because he's in love with Guillermo? Or because he sees Guillermo happy in a relationship for the first time and wants that feeling for himself? Or subconsciously sees this as another way to tie Guillermo to him and ensure he can't have a life outside of Nandor? All of these are valid. Nandor certainly doesn't know.

The last point I want to make in this messy ramble of a post is this: what if, in addition to worrying that turning Guillermo into a vampire will set him free from any bonds or obligations to Nandor and he will leave, Nandor is worried HE won't like Guillermo anymore if he is a vampire? And then what?? People change when they...change. He did.

#wwdits #nandermo #nandor the relentless #wwdits speculation #wwdits meta #alexithymia #not art

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doumadono · 9 months

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Emergency request! (if possible)

I recently found out I have a severe case of anemia (join the club, right? You seem like a pro at dealing with this for quite some time!) It's not just the symptoms like fatigue that bother me, but rather looking as pale as paper. My coworkers even made comments about it in a funny manner.. Could I request a comforting scenario with Dabi and the reader (she/her) after she learns about her diagnosis?

An otherworldly glow - Dabi x Reader

Synopsis: Dabi, and later Toga, both react to your recent anemia diagnosis A/N: hi, sweetheart! No need to stress over that anemia situation. Feel totally free to slide into my DMs, and I'll be your guide through this. I'll dish out some personalized advice – having a doc on call can't hurt, can it? 😅 Maybe I can actually be helpful for once, ha! 😅

MASTERLIST

You step into the League of Villains' hideout, the dim lighting and familiar surroundings providing a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of your recent diagnosis. As you make your way through the corridors, you're greeted by the sounds of hushed conversations in a distance and the occasional clang of metal.

Entering a common area, you spot Dabi sitting on a worn-out couch, his attention focused on a book. He glances up as you approach, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he closes the book and sets it aside.

"You're back finally," he says, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

"Yeah, just got back from the doctor's," you reply, offering a tired smile. "Turns out it's quite severe anemia."

Dabi's brow furrows slightly, his concern evident despite his stoic exterior. "Are you alright?"

You nod, taking a seat next to him. "Yeah, I'll manage. It's just been a lot to take in."

He gives a nod of understanding, his gaze softening. "You know, we all have our battles to fight. It's alright to lean on others when you need to. But, of course, don't expect any special or lighter treatment."

You lean back against the couch, appreciating his words. "Thanks, Dabi. It's just… hard sometimes, you know?"

He leans back as well, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I get it, doll. Sometimes the world throws things at us that we never signed up for. But it's how we face them that truly matters, isn't it?"

As you sit together, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, Dabi sharing a few anecdotes from his own experiences. You find yourself surprisingly at ease, the tension from earlier gradually melting away.

After a while, Dabi glances at you with a small smirk. "You know, you've got that pale complexion going for you. Guess we'll have to call you our resident ghost now."

You can't help but chuckle, giving him a smack on the shoulder. "Oh great, just what I needed the most – a new nickname, Mr Patchwork. It was rude!"

He smirks back, his tone teasing. "Embrace it. Who needs a tan when you've got an otherworldly glow?"

"Oh, seriously, Dabi?!" Yet your laughter fills the air, and you realize that this interaction, though unconventional, has been a source of comfort.

Amidst the lighthearted banter, you hear a mischievous chuckle from behind you. "Well, well, what do we have here?" The voice belongs to no one else but Toga Himiko.

Dabi rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. "Just what I needed – a company of the weirdo."

Toga ignores his sarcasm and plops down on the couch next to you. "So, what's the diagnosis, cutie? You're not dying on us, are you?"

You chuckle at her bluntness. "No, just severe anemia. Apparently, I've become the resident ghost around here, according to Dabi," you give him a look.

Toga leans in closer with a sly grin, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Hey, you know, I've got this kinda unusual idea to help with your anemia. Have you ever considered… drinking blood?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Wait, seriously?"

Toga nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, think about it – it's like a natural source of iron, right?"

"Oh, wonderful. Now we're not just a villain organisation but we're also giving medical advice. What's next, Toga? Career fucking counseling?" Dabi snorted.

"I'll stick to more conventional methods. Iron supplements and a balanced diet, you know?" You tell her, rubbing your nape.

Toga pouts, crossing her arms playfully. "Well, fine, be boring as Dabi. But just remember, if you change your mind, I'm here with my trusty collection of syringes!"

Dabi lets out an exasperated sigh. "I still can't believe I'm outnumbered by lunatics."

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year

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Can you do something Where reader hasn't been to the doctor in years and Marina doesn't know until she develops a fever and they insist they go with her and help he through the exam?

Authors note: I know that it was all about the fact that Reader have not seen the doctor for a long time, but I immediately associated that with fear. It doesn't make any sense and deviates a bit from the correct storyline of Station 19 because Reader takes the hormone shots for a desired pregnancy instead of Carina, but nothing else came to mind at the moment. Sorry!

...

"How do you always manage to magically attract every disease when you go out that door?" Maya looked at you reproachfully while pulling a clinical thermometer out of your ear. A look at it showed her no improvement; you have been stuck in bed with a fever for two days and you still did not want to admit it.

"For the 100th time, I am not sick," you hissed, getting a violent fit of coughing that made you bend over forwards. You actually choked on your own spit from all the fuss. The blonde quickly poured water into a glass and held it in front of you. At the risk of choking, you accepted it gratefully and took a long gulp of the room-warm water to soothe your throat. "Of course not. You are perfectly healthy!" she exclaimed ironically and prepared a spoonful of medicine for you.

Strongly, you frowned at the foul-smelling liquid and the bitter after taste of the antipyretic syrup. You were not a fan of any type of medicine designed to nurture your healthy. Instead, you preferred to let your body decide for itself how long it took to get rid of each symptom and flu.

"Bellezza, I will make you an appointment with the doctor today-" Carina´s female voice replied, whose Italian accent dominated whenever she was concerned. You looked demonstratively to the side where the brunette was standing in the doorway, tugging at the button of her sleeve and skeptically raised an eyebrow at you.

"I do not need to see a stupid doctor!" you replied grimly, crossing your arms across your chest like a small child in protest.

Both, Carina and Maya, did not understand why you were so reluctant to visit the family doctor. All he would do was run a few tests on you to see what you did caught. Both knew that you were terrified of needles, they realized that as soon as you had to start take your hormone shots.

But there was more to it, they just had to find out why.

Maya bit frustrated the inside of her cheek. Her head was bowed down, her hand placed on your covered thigh and gently stroking it while her gaze shifted sideways to the brunette. She hoped that the Italian would approach you with her gentle manner and find out the reason for your negative attitude towards a visit.

"When was the last time you saw a doctor who gave you a thorough check-up?" slightly interested, the blonde lifted her head and waited for your answer. As if reading your mind, the corners of her mouth turned down and her bright blue eyes stared at you in disbelief. "And I do not mean our gynecologist, but a real one"

"Maybe a few years ago.." you paused, paying attention to the curious looks. Horrified, the brunette walked over to the bed and sat down. It gave out under her weight as she leaned towards you. You looked at her with a glance normally reserved for children, who had made a mistake and were afraid of trouble. "My family doctor at the time made a mistake during the postoperative examination and was rather harsh. Almost costed me my life. I have not trusted any family doctor since. This has increased rapidly over the years"

She nodded in understanding before taking your face in both hands and looking deep into your eyes. It was strange, even though you were covered in a feverish veil, there was something forbidden beautiful in her eyes. The brown sparkled expectantly and with a gentle touch, she traced the contours of your face.

"But this is important," Maya stated, her facial expression abruptly becoming serious once again. You knew it was important to have a check-up at least once a year to prevent illnesses or even detect life-threatening diseases early, but blood draws were not your thing at all. And as you knew, these values also had to be checked from time to time. "We will come with you. But you have to go, we need to know what is wrong with you"

You rolled your eyes, cursing under your breath before nodding and flopping back into the bed. You felt defeated. You had no chance to defend yourself against your two wives. What they said, had to be done.

...

It was not a day later that your doctor´s appointment took place. Tense and restless, you sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair in the middle between your two wives and nervously played with your wedding ring, which was stuck on your sweaty finger. Your leg bounced dangerously fast as your heart raced.

Your body tried to protect you from a real threat with uncontrolled bouts of fear, even though it seemed exaggerated, unrealistic and groundless. A gentle hand wrapped around your thigh, trying to calm you down which let you lift your head up.

Carina leafed very calmly through a magazine, a gentle smile graced her lips before another arm timidly laid on your shoulders from the other side. Touched by the individual gestures, you pressed yourself against the blonde and closed your eyes.

You felt sick thinking about what was being done to you in the small, sparsely furnished room. "It is going to be fine, sweetheart. It is just a small, harmless examination," Maya tried to calm you down, but it did not quite work. You looked at her in disbelief while your shrill voice swept through the room. "If he wants to draw blood, I will be gone faster than you can turn on your fire truck´s siren"

Slightly insulted, you turned away from her. But her hands gently grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to her again, your body engulfed in her arms. "Nothing will happen to you, we are here"

"Ms. Y/l/n, please!" suddenly, the lady from the registration calls out and you look in panic between Maya and Carina. They just nod and smile at you encouraging before pulling you up from your seat.

Together, you walked into one of the treatment rooms, where you sat down onto the leather armchairs in front of the desk. While waiting, an awkward silence spread and you looked around anxiously.

It was a small room furnished with a large dark brown desk and a lounger. Soft shades of yellow blended with the brown of the bookshelf lined with anatomical books, which were rounded off with bluish paintings of various dandelions.

You seemed to be able to argue about the taste, but when the door suddenly flew open and a strong breeze blew in your direction, you jerked out of your thoughts and turned in your seat. While the two ladies next to you greeted the man in a white coat with a handshake, you remained frozen.

"So, Mrs. Y/l/n. You are here because of a constant fever for three days that does not seem to be breaking?" the older man asked as he pulled himself closer to the table.

He was in his fifties, slightly plump and a well-known doctor in Seattle, who had his own medical practice for more than 20 years. Dr. Brown, at least according to his little name tag, seemed nice. However, that did not take away an ounce of panic out of you.

You nodded your head in response, wanting to add that aside from being here in hell, you are actually fine. But you refrained from doing so and instead bit your lip with nervousness. "Good, then free your chest and sit down on the lounger," he said calmly and composedly, possibly sensing your fear.

Your gaze turned between Maya and Carina, who smiled at you cautiously and gave you an encouraging nod. They noticed how visibly pale you got as you stood up on shaky legs and walked to the back corner of the room.

You did what you were told and slowly but involuntary undid the buttons on your blouse. You felt embarrassed walking around half-naked in front of a man, adding even more color to your already ruddy cheeks. Sitting down on the stretcher at the very front and waiting for the elderly gentleman to come up to you with his equipment, you saw the blood pressure monitor in his hand and another rush of fear came over you.

But you had to be brave, otherwise you would never get out of here.

Roughly, he put the cuff on your left upper arm and you did not like it at all; the noise and the pressure that formed hurt incredibly, bringing back memories from the past. Scrutinizing, the blonde glared into your eyes that showed nothing more than helplessness before deciding to keep you company.

Maya stood diagonally behind you and put her hand on your shoulder. Again, she had put on that lovely smile and the empathetic look with her steel blue eyes. This calmed you down a bit.

"Blood pressure is a little high, but I think it is from the stress your body is going through," the doctor said sternly, looking up at you. "I will now listen to the heart and lung"

With a sigh, you let yourself fall forward slightly and grabbed your shoulder to reach for your wife´s hand. Immediately, she intertwined her fingers with yours and squeezed them tightly. This gave you some support and you closed your eyes as the cool feel of the iron stethoscope pressed against your back.

As expected, a bolt of lightning shot down your spine and you winced softly to yourself. A shadow in front of you and the smell of lovely, sweet perfume penetrated your nose, letting you guess that Carina had also come to your side. Her fingers danced softly on your forearms, stroking them soothingly as you took deep breaths and tried to calm yourself down.

You fought back your tears and buried your head in the firefighter´s shoulder as best as you could. You were tired, exhausted and totally drained. Your body was already struggling with the fever and there was not enough room to fight your fear with every single exam that had to be taken.

"So far, you are physically healthy. I can not find anything unusual," he began to speak as he let go of you and gave you permission to get dressed again. Hesitating and considering, he stroked his lip with his index finger and disappeared back behind his desk. Flat, he placed his hands over the brown wood and began writing down his findings into a file. "So you think it is just some kind of cold?"

"No. Colds do not come without symptoms," he answered quickly, gently shaking his almost bald head. "But I did notice some small puncture wounds on the lower abdomen. Diabetes?" You all shock your head simultaneously as you all began to grin. They were by no means insulin corrections but one of the most important steps for your future. "Hormone shots. We are trying to get pregnant"

It was not until you said that sentence that it clicked in Carina´s head. Elevated temperature for longer days can be caused by hormonal changes that occur in the female body and can be an early indication of a likely pregnancy.

The first early signs of pregnancy can appear before your missed period and were not uncommon. There are also uncertain, probable and very rare signs of premature pregnancy, such as in your case- fever.

She started grinning at you and you didn't understand why. You might have been healthy, but the fever lowered your ability to work or do everyday things. Irritated, Maya and you took turns looking at the two doctors who were trying to make sense of your visit until Maya's eyes opened wide, her jaw dropped and she was the first of you two to understand.

"There is a possibility that the fever indicates an early pregnancy. To be on the safe side, I would advise you to take a pregnancy test and see your gynecologist. Even if the result of the test is negative"

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