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notjustjavierpena · 6 months

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Terror

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: By popular demand! This turned awful in my brain very quickly. I know instantly that this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, so please read the tags before jumping into this. Not everything is fun and games for hubby.

Summary: Javier doesn’t think that he has nightmares about Colombia anymore until he suddenly does. The difference is that he also has you and the family that you have given him.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, graphic description of gun violence, some gore, PTSD night terrors, major character death (but not really), panic attacks, domestic, cuddles, hurt/comfort, family time, love confessions, pregnant reader dies in this dream

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54592621

Terror

Javier searches and searches to no avail. He walks with frantic determination between burning cars and bullet shells, occasionally hitting the latter with the tips of his shoes so they go cascading down the asphalt with a clinking sound. He doesn’t trip on them though, as his steps are sure, moving around the chaotic scene of the aftermath of an ambush by grabbing at whatever he can to push himself forward.

He knows where he is but he doesn’t remember getting here, and he has no clue if he was involved in the shooting that has evidently occurred here. However, when he looks down at himself, he finds no bullet wounds and no tactical gear either. So why does he think that you are here? He yelps as he accidentally grabs the hood of a car that seems to have been burning for a while, the metal so hot that it scorches his skin. The heat radiating from the vehicle makes his body prickle with sweat, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin that is riddled with damp sweat from anxiety. He clutches his burnt hand and continues down the never-ending street.

Where are you? Where are they? He searches through several empty cars, nearly ripping the doors off of their hinges to get to you quicker. Perhaps you know where they are but he doesn’t even know where you are.

When he gets to what feels like the hundredth car, finally reaching the end of the road that somehow resembles a labyrinth despite only moving forward, panic has started to rise in his throat. He calls for you but you don’t answer, and then he calls for Lucas in case he has managed to hide himself and his sibling somewhere.

“Lucas! It’s alright, it’s just me!” He yells out but it’s just the echo of his own voice that answers him, “You can come out now, it’s over, te prome— (I promi—).”

Javier has turned the corner. It is the sight of Horatio Carrillo’s face that makes him realize that this isn’t real. Carrillo is dead, and he has been for nearly twenty years. Javier will never forgive himself for not having been there. He should have been there with everyone. It should have been him; he had had nothing waiting for him back in Laredo.

In front of him, a row of children and teenagers are kneeling but he doesn’t recognize any of their faces. He has seen this scene before. He remembers doing nothing back then, and the thought is enough to make his gut twist with guilt and nausea even if nothing could have been done to change Carrillo’s attitude towards the kids. He hears a gunshot and a young child falls to the ground, head split open from the way the bullet has torn through soft, young flesh. He flinches in a way that he didn’t back then, in a way that only a man who is a father can.

Carrillo’s blank and indifferent stare terrifies him to the point where he wishes that he could wake up. It is clear that this is a nightmare, so why hasn’t he woken up yet? Aren’t you supposed to wake up when you have figured it all out? He tries pinching his arm but nothing happens, and the claustrophobia of being stuck in his own head makes his chest constrict and his heart, too big for his rib cage by now, hammer with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings.

The stare he is watching is not one of being rid of emotion but rather the look that washes over a face when the person it belongs to is dead. His old colleague is standing in front of him in a zombie-like state and Javier cannot shake the feeling that Carrillo looks less like a person and more like a thing.

“Carrillo,” he says sternly. On the ground, the blood oozes towards his feet and he shifts to avoid it soaking through his shoes.

His colleague turns to him but doesn’t say anything. He still has the weapon in his hand, arm stretched out, and pointing the gun at the row of innocent children. Javier speaks quietly despite his anxiety, “C’mon, they’re just kids. Look at them; they’re just ki—“

He turns to look at the kneeling figures but the faces aren’t unknown to him anymore. His blood runs cold at the sight of his eldest son who has his arms stretched out to hold Inés close to his body, effectively shielding her from any shot that may be coming at her at any moment.

“Lucas,” he croaks, “¿Dónde está tu madre (Where is your mother)?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” his son replies, “I’m scared.”

“I know, don’t worry, I— I’m gonna take care of it,” he replies with a dizzying heartbeat followed by the urge to throw up.

It’s then that you appear too. His heart skips a beat as you materialize right behind your kids, pregnant with his child and vulnerable as tears stream down your cheeks. Your arms are in front of you, wrapped around your children as you try to protect them while whimpering in a way that makes Javier more than desperate. He tries to sound more assertive than anxious but listening to his own voice, he doesn’t feel very successful. He turns back to Carrillo who hasn’t moved the firearm even an inch, “For fuck’s sake, get that gun away from my family!”

“Están trabajando para Escobar, Peña. Si quieres justicia, entonces esta es la única manera (They are working for Escobar, Peña. If you want justice, this is the only way),” is the only reply he gets. Carrillo spits at the ground.

Javier takes a step forward but suddenly, a shot is fired at his feet and he is forced to jump back with his hands in the air. His eyes are pleading, his voice wavering, “Jesus Christ, Carrillo, they’re not working for him. Put the damn gun down! They’re mine. They are my kids. You’re pointing a gun at my wife!”

Lucas shifts on his spot on the ground. His knees can barely hold himself up anymore, gravel gnawing at his kneecaps but Javier holds out a hand to stop him, “Don’t move, mijo (my son). I know you’re scared but—“

But Lucas’ eyes are wet with terrified tears. He panics, throws himself to the side to crawl away and the ghost of Javier’s previous colleague seems to come to the conclusion that it is too risky to attempt a shot in the boy’s direction in case he misses, so instead—

Javier flinches at the loud sound of the gun going off. You lie on the ground in the next moment. He lets out a cry of anguish, crawling across the gravel road to get to you until his hands are scraped and his knees are dirty. The love of his life and his unborn child.

“No,” he yells as tears spring from his eyes. He clutches at you whilst you breathe rapidly and try to hold onto him as well but your grip is slowly loosening on him with every beat of your heart. He can see the way your pulse slows in how your clothes soak slower and slower, knows where it is going. You try to say something but he cannot understand it, your voice having been replaced by gurgles of blood, “No don’t try to talk, baby. Shit, I— look, it’s not even that bad. Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s not even that bad, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine, mi vida (my life). You and the baby. I promise.”

The same blank stare as the one that Carrillo sports washes over your face. He says your name over and over, “Mi amor (my love), no, no, look at me. No, no, no no no.”

Inés has started screaming in panic. She’s crying for you in the most heart-wrenching manner, terrified when you don’t react to her words like you always do. Her pitch climbs with each passing second but Javier has no strength to soothe his daughter because he yells your name until it feels like he cannot breathe.

Lucas yells for his mother in the background. The agony of hearing his children cry mixed with hearing you say nothing is too much for him. He panics, shakes you violently—

He jolts awake in the next moment to the sound of your voice. Fear still has him in its grip and leaves him disoriented, ready to fight whatever comes his way. He hyperventilates until he feels lightheaded and tries to figure out where he is, beads of cold sweat having collected on his forehead during his restless sleep.

“Javi,” you say with a hand on his shoulder and he whips his head around to face you. A moment ago, your eyes had been glazed over by death.

Immediately, he grabs your wrist in an iron grip. You place your other hand on top of his, speaking softly, “Javier. Let go.”

“Are you alright?” He chokes out and grips you harder, eyes wild in the dimly lit bedroom. He wants to run a million miles, “Are you alright?”

“I am okay, baby. We’re both safe,” you reassure him with a hand on your pregnant belly. Tears start to roll down his cheeks. He is unable to shake the image of you lying dead on the ground, “Shh…”

“Are you sure?” He whimpers, eyes flickering from your face to your stomach and back to your face again.

“Yes. It was just a bad dream. It was just a nightmare,” your voice is still ever so gentle and nowhere near the way it had been in his state of terror. He releases the clutch on your arm and you carefully run a hand over his forehead, “Breathe. Hold my hand. Tell me you love me.”

You offer your free hand to him and he carefully takes it, trying to convince himself that you won’t slip away from him in the dark bedroom. You squeeze his hand slightly. It’s a silly thing you came up with years ago.

“I love you,” he says quietly, already feeling a little better but when you say it back ever so gently, he finds himself bursting into tears. He cries and it is the kind that comes from the very bottom of one’s lungs; frantic and breathy sobs that sound almost painful.

He thought that the nightmares had stopped. They had been bad when he first met you, and he connected it to his decreasing alcohol consumption because back in Colombia, he was sometimes too boozed up to even dream. However, meeting you - marrying you - had been a glimpse into a future where he could get better because you were together. So why does his brain still do this once in a while?

“Pensé que te había perdido para siempre (I thought I had lost you forever),” he sobs when you engulf him in your arms. He rests his head against your soft chest, grabbing onto whatever he can of you to make sure you are real. It’s only times like these when his strong, broad hands feel unsure on your skin.

“Oh, baby. I’m right here,” you rock him carefully in a way that a mother does, “I’m not going anywhere, te prometo (I promise you).”

“No puedo vivir sin ti (I can’t live without you),” he continues. You reassure him that he won’t have to, that by then, someone will have discovered eternal life or made all of you into kind-hearted robots. Despite the chuckle he lets out, you also let him cry for as long as he needs to.

It takes you a while to calm him down again, resting your chin on top of his head as he lets himself fall into you instead of going out of his mind. He mumbles, “Where are the kids? Where’s Inés?”

“They’re in bed,” you promise him, arms cradling him and rubbing his back until his breathing starts to slow again, “They’re okay. They’re just asleep.”

Except they are not asleep. Your hand stops moving on his back, and he looks up at you to find your eyes on the door.

“Inés. Lucas. Stop standing at the door,” you say gently.

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

Relief floods Javier’s system at the sound of his children’s voices. His chest expands as he breathes in deeply for what feels like the first time since he woke up. He watches their little faces, hears the click of the lamp on your nightstand as you turn on the light.

“Is Daddy okay?” Inés asks carefully. Her eyes tell Javier that he has noticed the tears on her father’s face.

“We heard you yelling,” Lucas elaborates to his father, “Inés didn’t want to go in here alone. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetie,” your voice is sweet and calm. It is in these moments that he loves you the most; when you prove to be the anchor in any storm, knows that the only times he might actually get a good night's rest is when you are right here beside him.

“Come here, mis amores (my loves),” he scoots a little away from you to open his arms. His children look uncertain for a moment but then Inés rushes forward to climb into bed and into his embrace. Lucas follows a moment after, the both of them earning a kiss on top of their heads.

Inés’ eyes are wide as she stares up at him, “Papá, you scared me.”

“I had a bad dream,” he explains to both of them and attempts to smile, pulling them closer to his chest. They make faces as they are squished but he doesn’t let go, “but I’m okay now. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Then why are you crying?” Lucas gets out of the embrace to study his face, shocked to see the tears running down until they drip down from his chin.

“Daddy! You are crying!” Inés parrots her older brother as she notices too. She kneels in front of her father and tilts her head.

“I am?” He asks, pretending not to know. Inés’ tiny hand reaches to wipe a few tears away without much success and his heart clenches in his chest with how lucky he feels to have such a beautiful family.

“It’s okay to cry,” Lucas explains softly, “That’s what Mom says.”

“Alright, let’s give your father some space,” you lock eyes with your husband, cup his cheek for a moment before brushing away the last traces of tears from his face with the back of your hand. He smiles at you and it is completely genuine for the first time.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Inés protests loudly.

“What if you both sleep in here for the rest of the night?” You bargain whilst still smiling at Javier, however a little more goofily now, “Just for tonight.”

Lucas is already crawling under the covers to cuddle up next to you, and Inés lays down next to her father. It takes a moment of quiet chatter and soothing caresses to make them both fall asleep again, their bodies exhausted from being awake in the middle of the early hours of the morning.

Javier can’t fall back asleep but from the way you breathe, he can tell that sleep hasn’t found you either.

Outside, the first light of dawn has begun to filter through the curtains. There’s a warmer glow in the room now, and he peeks at you from where he lies, looking like someone catching a glimpse of their crush.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You turn your head to face him and smile tenderly, the morning glow illuminating you from behind. You are so beautiful, he thinks, beautiful and pregnant, and he is so lucky.

Your voice is filled with genuine happiness, warm and loving. You look down at your sleeping children, place a hand on your bump, and then look back up at him, "We love you too.”

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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kama1tach1 · 18 days

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So apparently after scooping the local hummingbird moths out of my butterfly cage, they just like to chill and perch on my hand. I can get my phone right up to the little guy for pictures and he doesn’t mind, hell he started cleaning himself immediately after this picture

100/10 very relaxed considering the circumstances

#moth #bug #bugblr #cute little friend #friend shaped

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lou-struck · 23 days

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Strawberry Baskets

Tanjiro Kamado x reader

~ When it comes to finding the ripest strawberries in the patch, Tanjiro has an unfair advantage.

WC: 2k

~This is one of the requested prompts for my Summertime Fun Event. Feel free to check it out.

There is nothing quite like spending a warm summer's evening on your back porch. A hummingbird flits about your garden, sucking nectar from the buds on your hanging baskets. Its sleek, jewel-colored feathers glint in the slowly setting sunlight as you admire its hovering form.

When it drinks its fill of nature's bounty, it flies away, leaving you alone once again.

You return to the book in your lap as you take a small sip from your glass of cold, fruit infused water as you wait for Tanjiro to return home from the village. Although there hasn't been a demon attack in years, the soon-to-be-setting sun makes you feel quite uneasy, and you hope he hurries along.

Twenty minutes later, your keen ears pick up the slight sound of crushing pebbles on the path leading up to your little cottage. Tanjiro's shadow appears over the ridge until finally, you see the rest of him. He looks a bit tired from a long day of work and his hair is a bit tousled from the summer wind, but it does nothing to diminish his captivatingly bright smile.

You place your arms on either side of your chair to stand, but he stops you. "Stay there, I'll be up there soon."

He does a casual little jog up to the porch and stands over you with a smile. "There, you just looked so comfortable. I didn't want you to have to get up because of me."

"You're sweet," you say as he leans down, his arms on either side of you, caging you in as you get lost in his presence. His warm breath makes your lips tingle as he presses his lips to yours. At times like this, when he has left you far too long he tries to make it up to you with his tender affection.

His dark red eyes glimmer like fine gemstones when he pulls away, but you notice something else written on his face. Your honest man seems to be buzzing with excitement, just waiting for you to ask him what is on his mind.

"You look happy, Love; what are you thinking about?"

His grin goes from ear to ear; he loves that you know him so well. He is terrible at hiding even the smallest things from you; just the thought of deception turns him into a steaming kettle, seconds away from bubbling over under the heat of a secret. "You know me so well, y/n; I never could hide anything from you, even if I wanted to. What are you doing tomorrow?"

You tilt your head to the side and furrow your brow, thinking about your schedule. "Nothing really, why?"

"That's wonderful," he beams with the enthusiasm of one who had just won the lottery, "The reason I asked was that when I was in town earlier, I met an old man who needed help carrying his groceries back to his home."

"And you went with him?" you ask worriedly. You know that he is strong, almost inhuman, so he had to be to survive everything he has gone through. But anything can happen, and most of the monsters in this world are not demons but human beings twisted by sin. "Tanjiro, not everyone has your goodness."

"I know, Love, but I felt like I could trust him," he smiles gently, "and in this case, he ended up helping me more than I helped him. It turns out he lives on a small farm just outside of the village. He is actually going out of town to visit his children tomorrow and said that we are welcome to the last of his strawberry patch.

"He has Strawberries?" your eyes widen at the mention of the sweet berry, and you completely forget your earlier lesson about stranger danger.

He laughs; that's what he told me, a whole patch of them. It was extremely generous of him to offer; at first, I felt guilty about taking some of his crops, but he told me that the berries would go to waste if we didn't pick them. "

"Well, if it's for the greater good, then I'm happy to help him." You say sarcastically. In your mind, however, you are wondering what kind of strawberry treats you can make with the harvest.

"I'm glad to hear it. Are you all right with leaving in the morning?"

You nod and he passes you to go inside to set his stuff down. A faint smile looms on your lips as you turn your attention back to your book. These simple moments in life make the hard parts more than worth it.

The morning sun is low in the sky as you and Tanjiro make your way down a little dirt road. There is a slight chill in the air that makes you shudder and lean in closer to him for warmth. You grip his arm with both of yours and peer over at the empty harvest baskets he insisted on carrying for you.

"I believe we're getting close to the farm, y/n. Are you sure you don't want my Haiori to keep you warm?" he asks, offering the very clothes off his back for the fourth time in ten minutes.

"I'll be alright," you say, once again, declining his offer. It may be chilly now, but that rising sun will warm up the air soon, and you'll find yourself complaining about the extreme temperature.

You see a small farm just around the bend; the sprawling fields and demure farmhouse make this place look straight out of a painting.

With your hand firmly in his, Tanjiro steps up to the wooden porch and raps politely on the faded oak door. Your ears detect the faint sound of approaching footsteps until the knob twists and the door opens to reveal the dapper-looking old man you have ever seen. His eyes twinkle beneath his grey Panama hat, and his face is shaped by prominent laugh lines. Clearly, this is a man whose life has been full of joy.

"Ahh, Tanjiro, you came." he smiles, stepping out onto the porch in a light grey little suit with a cluster of baby's breath pinned to his lapel. "Did you two have any trouble finding the place?"

"Not at all. You have such a lovely farm, Mr. Honda," Tanjiro compliments; there is a dons expression on his face as he looks at the man, no doubt coming to the same conclusion as you. "Is it really okay that we pick your strawberries?"

"Of course. If you don't take them, then I'm afraid they will just go to waste. It's the end of the season, so there won't be too many left, but I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday," he smiles, grabbing the handle of a well-cared-for leather suitcase.

"That is very generous of you," you say, eyeing his luggage. "Are you going on a vacation?"

The man's smile grows impossibly large as he nods. "Of a sort. My daughter just gave birth to twins, and I am ready to go meet my grandchildren and spoil them the way a PeePaw should. That's why I needed a bit more help getting home; you see, I went a bit overboard buying them and my daughter's presents."

"Congrats, that is wonderful," Your heart melts at his sincerity; you know that those grandkids of his will be lucky to have such a kind and caring grandfather doting on them.

As happy as he is to have visitors. However, you know that he cannot entertain you for much longer; with a quick look at his watch, his eyes widen, and he reaches for a few more parcels at his front door. "Oh my. I Best be off to the train station now. The strawberry patch is just to the left of the rice paddy. Happy Picking, you two."

He lifts the mountain of gifts and his little suitcase with Herculean strength and scurries off down the road with a jumbled little wave.

The two of you wave back and watch as the kind old man disappears down the dirt road.

"What a nice man. I hope he makes it to the station in time," Tanjiro comments now that the two of you are alone, "Shall we start picking the berries before it gets too hot?"

He extends his hand, and you walk through the farm, passing a large duck pond and what looks to be a well-protected cabbage patch before you get to a field full of strawberry plants. The lush green leaves seem to crawl along on the dirt for as far as the eye can see. Your steps are careful as you make your way down the cracked dirt path so you do not step on any vines down to his strawberry patch.

"Wow, this is quite the impressive field," Tanjiro praises, glancing over at you; the midmorning sun brings out the richness in his reddish brown hair. "Mr. Honda must be a hard worker, I cant see any weeds at all.

"Then the berries must be extra tasty," you agree. "What should we make with them? Shortcake? Mochi? Dorayaki?"

Instead of answering, Tanjiro's stomach beats him to it; it growls loudly. His cheeks turned a flushed pink color as he embarrassedly rubbed the back of his neck. "sorry about that; just thinking about all of those treats is making me hungry. Maybe if we find a lot of strawberries, we could bring some to Tomioka, Mr. Uzui, and the others."

"That would be fun," you smile, excited to have an excuse to see everybody. You can continue to walk down the path, looking out for any glimpses of strawberries, but all you see is green. Crouching down, you gently rush past the strawberry leaves to get a closer look, but it appears that the plants are without berries.

Still, on an awkward couch, you moved down the line, unable to find anything. Do you know it's late in the season, but the fact that you haven't seen any sign of fruit is a little concerning.

"What's wrong?" Tanjiro asks, making you aware of the frown that has formed on your face. "Love?"

"It's nothing, I'm just having trouble finding any strawberries. Have you found any?" You ask, hopefully. Tanjiro is searching in the row across from yours, and his basket is just as empty as yours.

"Not yet," he says with unwavering determination. "But we only just started searching."

"I guess you're right, but do you think it's possible Mr. Honda was confused?"

"I suppose it's possible," he murmurs, placing his hand on his chin in thought, "But I swear I can smell strawberries."

Of course, you can… You forget about your fiancé's superhuman sense of smell.

You watch as he closes his eyes and, walks calmly through the field and searches for a smell that your nose simply cannot pick up. If it was anyone else, you would be doubtful about whether or not he can actually smell fresh strawberries, but if anyone can, it's Tanjiro.

He walks like a man on a mission and doesn't stop until he is several meters away from you in a different row of plants entirely. He crutches down, and you can see his victorious smile from meters away.

"Is that the spot?" You call out to him. As you try to step harmlessly over a row of plants to get closer to him.

"I think so," he nods. His scarred hand brushes aside the large leaves to reveal a bush full of ripe berries untouched by bugs and wildlife.

" Wow, there's so many of them," you exclaim, staring down at the abundance below you. "They look perfect!"

"And that's not all," he says brightly. He nods his head, and you can see hundreds of berries dotting the bushes around you. "It looks like we'll have more than enough to get out to our friends later on."

You look down at your two woven baskets thoughtfully and chuckle.

"What was that for? He asks, looking up at you quizzically.

"It's nothing," you smile, ruffling his hair. "But I think we might need a few more baskets."

#demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer fluff #kny fluff #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #tanjiro kamado #x reader #demon slayer #kny

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notmaplemable · 1 year

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Coming Up Short

Summer: You know, I think our kids are going to be super tall.

Willow: What makes you think that?

Summer: Well, Qrow is pretty tall. So I think it just makes sense that his kids would be.

Willow: But both of us are somewhat short, so it would be more likely that our children are closer to an average height.

Summer: Nah, just you wait and see. They'll all be super tall.

Willow: We'll see.

Twenty-Something years later.

Summer: ...

Ruby: (5'2")

Zwei: (4'10")

Weiss: (4'11")

Whitley: (5'3")

Willow: I believe you were wrong about them being tall, dear.

Summer: To be fair, Winter did kind of poison the well on that one.

Winter: (5'8")

Willow: She is a tall girl.

Summer: Maybe she stole her height from the rest of out kids.

#rwby #rwby shitpost #caged hummingbird #hummingbird #qrow x willow #summer rose #willow schnee

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shadowbriar · 9 months

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Matt Murdock - Your Wedding Dress

Pairing : Matt Murdock x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 1.7k Warning : Angst. Get your tissues, I mean it. Synopsis : It was one thing to attend her wedding as a guest but to meet her before the ceremony? Would Matt have such strength in himself to face her? Notes : I listened to Phoebe Bridgers - Scott Street outro 1 hour on ytmusic while writing this. I suggest you do the same to get that maximum punch to the gut. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Matt’s grip on his white cane tightened as the smell of florals and champagne hit his nose. The soft sound of wedding symphonies was heard, and he could hear the bustling murmurs of the guests crowding the venue. This would surely be one of those days where he wished he didn’t have his heightened senses.

If only Fisk hit him a little bit harder on the head the other day. If only he’s gotten an important trial to attend to today. If only he’s got any other reason to pass up this harrowing day. If only.

Karen’s gentle squeeze on his arm is the only anchor Matt now has to not completely lose it. Foggy and Marci were a few steps behind them and though none of the four exchanged a word since they got out of the taxi earlier, Matt could tell from the beating of their hearts that they were worried too. For him or for her, he wasn’t sure. It would’ve been a pleasant mini reunion for them all if the circumstances weren't as unfortunate.

He knew that the grey cloud surrounding his head was contaminating such a pleasant morning. His sour expression was in contrast to all the gleeful smiles and happy faces the other guests have. He knew that he should, at the very least, pretend that he’s happy for her. Matt tried. He painfully has tried to be happy. To finally accept his final defeat in life and let her go, but it’s just such an impossible task to do.

Some people are bound to leave greater marks than others in your heart.

“Excuse me,” Someone called from behind the quartet “Is any of you by chance, uh, Mr. Murdock, Ms. Page, Mr. Nelson, or Ms. Stahl?”

“That is us all, actually,” Foggy answers, knowing that his best friend has no power in him to utter a word.

“Oh perfect! The bride has asked to see you all before the ceremony.”

The three friends glanced at Matt, waiting for his response. It was one thing to attend her wedding as a guest but to meet her before the ceremony? Would Matt have such strength in himself to face her?

Before any of them could say a word, the person who seemed to be one of the wedding organisers ushered them to a room. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating. It was the only thing Matt could sense with every step they took. Like a magic spell binding him to follow blindly wherever it may lead. Even if that final destination might be his death.

His heart was hammering inside his chest. Like a hummingbird trying its best to flee its cage. Yet when the door closes behind them, when they’re finally given the privacy to see her alone, when the noise of the havoc happening outside was muffled and all he could feel is the serenity of this bridal suite, Matt suddenly feels like he was afloat.

“You guys made it.”

Matt clenches his jaw. Her voice was as sweet as a melted butter, yet it did nothing but make all the muscles in his body tense. His body went uptight. She was everywhere now. Her scent, her voice, her heartbeat. All of her is filling and suffocating his senses.

The sound of her dress sweeping the floor as she comes closer to them makes his heart ache. He wonders just how beautiful she must look right now. He wonders if she’s wearing that one dress she once described as her dream wedding dress. The one with thousands of mini buttons and a long sleeve of beautiful lace that feels like feathers when you touch it. He wonders if her dress has that long train that he argued would be quite a problem when she needs to do her slow dance later.

The four of them shared their small talk with Matt still busying himself to be desensitised with the event unravelling before his eyes. It proved to be a challenging task to do with her presence around. Everything about her just pulls him whole like a blackhole he couldn’t escape.

“Guys, would you mind giving me and Matt a moment?” She says at last. Matt could feel her heartbeat quickening a little “I don’t really have much time left before the ceremony starts, so if we could just have a few minutes..”

“Of course, yeah! Sure,” Foggy says fast “We’ll be outside.”

Matt could hear the soft sound of the door closing behind him yet it serves as a loud gun to his ears. He’s finally alone with her now, for God knows why, for God knows how long. A part of him wanted to throw away his cane and run towards the closest window to flee himself, but a bigger part of him wanted to melt his feet to the ground and bask in this moment forever.

“You look handsome,” She compliments, slowly taking closer steps towards him. Matt’s breath hitches when he feels her hand around his neck, trying to fix his collar “You’re wearing the tie I gave you back in college.”

“It’s the only nice tie I have,” He says with a smile “I’m sure you look handsome too.”

“Yeah, right.” She scoffs, Matt could tell that she just rolled her eyes.

“What’s wrong? You don’t feel beautiful on your wedding day?”

“Oh, no, I do feel pretty, it's just..” She pauses, letting out a soft sigh “It’s just not what I imagined.”

Matt forces a smile, “Describe your dress for me.”

“Don’t you want to just touch it? I’m not the best at describing things, remember?”

“I'd rather hear you talk.” He says, he could almost feel the heartbreak mirrored in her heart beat “Please.”

“Well, uh, where do I start,” She says with an awkward laughter escaping her lips “It’s an off shoulder ball gown with some super tight corset. I’m supposed to wear a glove with it but I couldn’t be bothered. Oh, and the veil. The veil might be the cherry on top in this. I look like a ghost from the 1800s.”

Matt let out a genuine laughter, amused by the distraught she seems to be having, “So no mini buttons?””

She shakes her head, “No mini buttons.”

“No long sleeve with lace that feels like feathers?”

“No, no feather like lace.”

“And no long train?”

“No,” She says, this time with more shakiness in her tone “No long train.”

His tongue darts out of his lips, licking it as he tries to find a word to say, “That does sound like an awful dress.”

“It is,” She agrees in defeat “It’s the worst.”

Silence fell upon them. A familiar one that typically would be comfortable and soothing, yet for once it made them tick like a timebomb. Matt wishes that his abilities would extend into mind reading because God knows just how desperate he wanted to know what she’s thinking. He wanted to know the truth about her heart, what made it beat so loud whenever he laughed or smiled at her. He wanted to know what is making her eyes glossy right now.

“Rescue me, Matt,” She finally whispers “Get me out of here.”

Matt swallows the hard lump on his throat, “And where would we go?”

“Anywhere. We could go miles away from here or.. Or we could just go back to your apartment and drink some beer,” She begs, her sobs get louder as a tear escapes her eyes. She takes one of his hands that was clutching the white cane and places it on her cheek, trying her best to melt into his hold “Tell me that you don’t want me to go on with this. Tell me that this is a mistake, that us breaking up was a mistake. Tell me that you don’t want me to marry him and we’ll be free, Matt. We’ll be free.”

“You’ll never be free with me,” Matt argues, his own voice breaking “You’ll never be safe with me.”

And that’s when Matt feels it. His heart completely shatters as she breaks into tears. He could feel her trembling, feel the pain she’s going through with this marriage. He could feel the heartbreak and despair in her heart. He could feel the frustration and anger that she desperately wanted to vent yet had no outlet for. He could feel it all.

But this, as much as it destroys them both, this is what is best for her. She deserves to be with someone who could provide a stable life for her. Someone who doesn’t spend their nights haunting bad guys and going home on unGodly hours with blood and bruises littering their body. She deserves to be with someone who could protect her, not the one who would only draw danger towards her.

“I don’t love him, Matt. I never do,” She reasoned “I could never love anyone as much as I love you.”

Matt pulls her close for an embrace. He tries to eliminate all the space between them, pulling her impossibly close, yet it still doesn’t feel enough. It hurts him to know that for once their embrace couldn’t fix the problem at hand. He wanted her all for himself but even his greed isn’t as big as the love he holds for her. He couldn’t risk it. He just can’t.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers “I’m sorry you don’t get to have that dream wedding you wanted in this life.”

She remains quiet, her sobs are the only thing filling the room right now.

“Hey, look at me,” Matt says as he pulls away from the hug, cupping her face to make her see him “I’m sorry I caused us this mess, Baby. I never wanted to hurt you.”

She nods, forcing a smile, “I know.”

“I promise you, in every other universe, you’re wearing that wedding dress. You’re smiling and happy because I’ll be waiting at the altar, and I’ll cry. I’ll cry when I feel you walk down with orchids on your hand. And we’ll exchange our vows, and I’ll kiss you before the priest announces us man and wife because I just couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait.”

A laugh escapes her lips.

“And then we’ll make a fool of ourselves for our dance because what exactly can you expect from a blind man and a woman with an insanely long train of dress?”

“Oh, Matt,” She cries, pulling him for another hug “I love you so much.”

“I know, Baby,” He breathes “I love you even more.”

“Promise me this is the only universe where we don’t end up together.”

Matt pulls away. His thumb caresses her skin gently before pulling her for a kiss. The very last kiss they would share in this lifetime, “I promise.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock scenario #matt murdock scenarios #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock angst #matt murdock oneshot #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x oc

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sinkovia · 8 months

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Fluff idea!!!!!!

Hear me out:

Reader adopts two cats, Price has to deal with them :3

I jus think it'll be fun

I THINK PRICE WOULD HAVE SO MUCH BEEF WITH THE CATS LMAO. Only at first though, I feel like he would slowly start warming up to them after realizing they could be sweet and not act like giant New York street rats.

As you enter the pet store to grab some bird feed for your front porch hummingbird feeders, you find yourself drawn to the area near the adoption center. You heard the sound of soft mewing as you approached, and two feline faces peered out from a cage, their eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Reading the tag, you discovered that they were a girl and boy duo who had just arrived at the store yesterday. Found in a box outside, they looked a bit worse for wear, and the tag mentioned that they were the last ones left for adoption. Unable to resist the pull of compassion, you decided to get a closer look.

One of the cats, the more adventurous of the two, cautiously approached. You extended your hand through the bars, and the cat sniffed it curiously before rubbing the top of its head against your palm. A wave of affection swept over you as you felt the soft fur under your fingers.

The two kitties had tugged at your heartstrings, and you knew you couldn't leave them behind. Your excitement grew, and with a sense of purpose, you started looking for a store worker to inquire about the adoption process. The idea of providing a loving home for them made your trip to the pet store even more fulfilling than you had anticipated.

The front door creaked open, and you slipped inside with a cardboard box cradled carefully in your arms. John, engrossed in something on the TV, glanced your way as he heard the door but didn't pay it much mind until he saw you with the box.

"What's in the box?" curiosity etched on his face.

"Nothing," you replied with a sly smile, but just as you spoke, a soft meow emanated from the box. John raised an eyebrow, immediately skeptical.

"No, you didn't," he declared with a knowing look as the meows continued. You winced slightly, rubbing your stomach, and with a dramatic expression, "Ooo wow, must have been that food I ate earlier. I'm so gassy,"

The meows persisted, growing louder, and you paused. Caught in the act, you couldn't suppress your smile. John just shook his head, laughing at your attempt at secrecy. You kneeled down, letting them out of the box. They slowly peeked their heads out one after the other.

“You got two? love.” You quickly picked one up, holding him up in front of John’s face.

“Look how cute they are hun. This one is Chucky and that one is Tiff. It’s short for Tiffany.” He smiled seeing how excited you were.

As days passed, John's initial amusement turned into exasperation when he found himself facing the challenges that came with the new additions to the family. The first encounter was during a flea bath. Attempting to help, he found himself in a comical struggle as Chucky scratched him when he wriggled in his arms.

"You bloody spawn of the devil!" John exclaimed as he ran up his arm and scratched down his back. Losing his balance, he stumbled foward, ending up in the tub, now covered in cat hair.

You quickly put Tiff down, “Oh my god are you okay?” you helped him out of the tub and left to get a towel. He huffed, glaring at Chucky lick his paw on the bathroom counter as if nothing happened.

Nighttime snuggling became a distant memory as the cats took their positions on either side of you, leaving no room for John to join in. He would glare at them as they slept peacefully, snuggled and warm next to you, and all he could do was shake his head, muttering about "bloody spawns of the devil."

The next morning, as John stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug, he saw Chucky eyeing him from the counter. He scowled at him.

"You're like a rat, you know that?" he muttered, shooting a glare at him. "You think you can snuggle up next to my wife and kick me to the curb? You're a little devil spawn."

Your head peeked into the kitchen, eyebrows raised. "Did you say something?"

John casually took a step back from the cat, "No, love. Nothing at all." when you left he took a sip of his coffee glaring at Chucky who just slowly blinked at him.

One afternoon, during John's focused work, the duo darted through the house, leaving chaos in their wake as they knocked over his coffee mug. While John sighed in frustration, you got up chasing after them. Catching one of the troublemakers, you held him up to John's face.

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on your paperwork, I promise it won't happen again," you voiced the imaginary apology on behalf of Chucky. John initially wore an unamused expression until you peeked your head from behind the feline, revealing an apologetic smile. The tension melted, and a reluctant grin spread across John's face.

In the days that followed, the cats, undeterred by John's attempts to shoo them away, found his legs to be irresistible scratching posts. Persistent and curious, they continued their mischief, extending their claws despite John's efforts to maintain a sense of composure.

On one particular night, as John lay on his back, Tiff decided to make herself comfortable. She stretched luxuriously before gracefully climbing onto his chest, kneading his stomach with her paws. After a few rounds of kneading, she curled into a ball, settling on his chest. John huffed out a sigh, feeling the weight of the feline on him. Her large, puffy tail occasionally swiped across his nose, prompting him to turn his head to the side. However, her tail still managed to find its way toward him, eliciting a sneeze or two and a touch of irritation to the otherwise peaceful night.

John couldn't deny the joy the cats brought to the household. John found himself growing attached to the mischievous pair. The initial resistance transformed into reluctant acceptance, and before long, he was reaching for them to scratch behind their ears and indulging them in their nightly cuddle sessions. The stray cats had not only found a home but had also carved out a special place in John's heart.

╭∩╮( •̀_•́ )╭∩╮ << Price to Chucky when reader isn't looking.

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forsworned · 21 days

Text

a thought i couldn't get out of my head about kyle because of this image

cw: religious themes, sexual themes, sacrilege, religious guilt, temptation, power dynamics, Kyle being a delicious temptation.

Penitent!Kyle is beaten, battered, and bruised seeking salvation when he has a terrible run-in with God’s Judgement. He’s the biggest talk around your small, docile, God-fearing town, caught stealing apples with pockets full with of hardtacks. He begs the Minister to let him go, he was running from his “demons”, he says. And that single-handedly saves him from losing his head. Poor, wretched soul, tortured by the voices in his head.

You spot him in the dim sanctuary, a lone figure at the witching hour, talking to the altar, begging for forgiveness in the form of penance. To be gentle, graceful, and the utmost serene. And you, the town beauty, who has been spying on him for the past half hour or so, step out. There’s a creak in the wooden floorboards that captures his attention. And then he sees you, face illuminated by the candle you carry with both hands. It casts a warm, angelic glow over your dulcet features, and his amber, dewy eyes team at the sight. An angel.

He curses himself for the lack of restraint his cock is practicing, but he holds himself still as you approach him. Hands interwoven on the prayer rail, kneeling before God, tears cascading down his smooth golden brown face—looking like an angel himself.

“You’re seeking salvation,” you take him in once more, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in your rib cage. “I see your struggle, I can help guide you,” you murmur, each word a tender caress, “help you find the forgiveness you seek.”

God has heard him. The pathetic sinner he is, He has heard him.

“You’d do that for me?” His whisper is faint, but you hear him clearly in the still night.

You don’t even skip a beat, “Yes.”

And his honey eyes analyze your every move, from the beat you gentle place your pricket candleholder atop of the prayer bench to the way you gracefully glide to the ewer, pouring out holy water into the a bowl. His heart beats louder with every stride you take toward him and you stand tall, poised and maternally before him. Like Mother Mary in the flesh, the light cascades a heavenly glow upon your skin. It’s as if the voices in his head grow silent with every word you utter.

Your voice echoes along the church walls as you begin the ritual, he’s hardly paying attention to the declarations that fall from your mouth. Only imagining how your lips would look puckered around his twitching, rock hard length, “…and renew your soul, granting you the redemption you seek.”

The candlelight dances, outlining your visage, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He’s no longer obstinate in the path God creates for him. He is more than willing to embrace humility, show remorse, and let go of his pride. His eyes quiver, body spasming from the long hours he's spent in these four walls to subdue his demons, to strive for the quiet, serene life of man and wife, and to give up his incubus-like ways. The route to redemption lies right there in front of him, right between your bosom. So soft, so sweet, so willing to bring him to the light, coax him through your expressions of adoration toward the Lord.

“I accept.” He bows his head in acknowledgement, before you tip the bowl to have his sweet, supple lips touch the rim. His knees touch the wooden floor and he looks so sweet, so submissive and willing to give anything to have his sins wiped clean.

Your core throbs with heat, envisioning him hiking up your wool skirt to lap you up. But you allow him to drink, holding the bowl steady as he takes his first tentative sip, water dribbles down his chin and wets his breeches as he sups it up with a haste that makes the desire coil tight within your belly. It’s hard to ignore the large bulging between his thighs, the clamminess in his hands as he puts them over yours. He hears the sudden shudder in your breath, stumbling over as you lose your composure, water spilling into his lap, and apologizing profusely for your clumsiness.

His hardened length presses against his breeches and your innocent eyes broaden at the profane and luscious sight. You’re quick to pull on the discarded surplice that lies on the prie-dieu to blanket his sodden form. Temptation still lies heavy in the air, but you swiftly turn your back to him, rushing out of the chapel. Heart on your sleeve for the man that showed up on your town's doorstep for deliverance as you rush back to your home. You creep back through your window you leave ajar, un-wedging the fork and softly placing it on your nightstand as you catch your breath.

Fingers trembling at your sides with desire and adrenaline, and the memory of his hardened length outlined through the thin fabric of his breeches, tear stained bronzed cheeks, plump lips, woolen hair and taut chest that peeked through the loosened placket of his cotton shirt. And how can you forget his eyes? Eyes the color of golden, everlasting hearth, of polished amber in the first rays of dawn.

With clammy fingers, interlaced at the edge of your bed, you pray to God to let your provocations dissipate into the zephyr of the cool Autumn wind. Part of you doesn’t even want the enticement to leave you, to give into human nature. After all, man was weak.

This deserves a part two, yess???😇

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im-a-writer-sometimes · 1 year

Text

Thank You, Doctor (Miguel O’Hara - Part 1/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Description: After being snagged from your own universe and put to work in the med bay in the midst of spider society, you catch the notice of one Miguel O’Hara.

Warnings: blood, probably language, ignoring the ATSV worldbuilding for the sake of my silly little plot

A/N: Are there plot holes? Yes. Do I care? Yes, so please don’t bring them up, I might cry. There’s an occasional Spanish interjection from Miguel, but I am not at all a fluent Spanish speaker, so feel free to correct me on anything if so inclined! Translations are at the end. Also, it includes a roundabout ode to my dearest love, Oscar Isaac. If you know, you know.

🕷

Not every anomaly was kept in a cage. Some, like yourself, had made use of your idle hands, hands that for one reason or another, could never again touch your own universe. It had taken some convincing, but after Lyla had heard enough of your requests from the neon red confines of your prison and carried them to whatever faceless spider person led this operation, you’d been let out. Your cage hadn’t disappeared per se, but it had widened a little. If your return to your own reality would cause its inevitable collapse—as you had repeatedly assured it would—then this was more than you could ask.

You made use of your figuratively-shackled hands in the med bay. You’d been a medical student when you’d been stolen from your universe, and you knew enough to patch up the wounds that came through your work station with ease most of the time—sometimes, after skimming a medical textbook and winging it. So far, no one had died on your watch, and you called that a success.

But your confidence, it seemed, may have been overinflated.

When a group of spiders rushed into the med bay with a large, tattered body strung between them, you felt profoundly out of your depth for the first time. But they couldn’t know that, lest you ended up caged once again.

“Put him on the bed,” you instructed. “Stomach down.” They heaved the body onto the bed, and you could make out the navy and red lines of a shredded suit, as well as a mess of brown hair, matted with blood you were hoping wasn’t his own. “Do you know exactly where he’s wounded?” you asked, running hands over the expanses of skin you could see, trying to make out where the various bloodstains were coming from.

“He was sliced along the back,” answered a breathless spider. “Stabbed twice in the abdomen as well.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” you said, to no one in particular, but there were suddenly several sets of hands helping you turn the man over. “You,” you continued, nodding to the spider standing across from you. “Grab a towel and keep pressure on the wounds on his abdomen.”

You conducted as thorough an examination as you could with your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your throat, so many eyes trained on your shaking hands. The man had a few other shallow cuts and bruises, but as the spider had said—the biggest concerns were the slice along his back and the two stab wounds in his stomach.

Several of the spiders lingered as you worked, offering tools and towels and anything you needed to speed up the process. And then, in a half hour that felt like a handful of seconds, your work was done. If you had been asked to recount your actions movement for movement, you’d only be able to offer up a breathless blur of adrenaline and then the sudden empty stillness in the room after you'd managed to stabilize him.

He was laid face up on a bed, covered by a blanket since you’d had to cut portions of his suit off of him. He couldn’t quite put a pin on his age, but he was handsome. You’d done your best to wash the blood out of his hair, and it fell in half-dry curls over his forehead. The angles of his face were severe, but they were soft, even kind somehow. At least in his sleep.

And then, to your great misfortune, he woke up.

At first it was a fluttering of eyelids, and you stood sharply from your chair, trying to look busy, as if you hadn’t just been sitting there staring at him. And then it was a few quiet groans as he tried to readjust himself.

“Don’t sit up,” you said at the sight of him trying to push himself into a seated position. “You’ll rip out your stitches.”

He just blinked at you. “Who are you?”

“The person who saved your life,” you said, bristled by the gruff, mumbled annoyance in his tone.

He shook his head. “I have enhanced healing, I don’t need anyone to—” He was cut off by his own sharp gasp as he tried to haul himself off the bed. He went still and then avoided your eyes as he slowly lowered himself back down onto the mattress.

“You were saying?” you said, a smile curling your lips. You turned to the counter behind you, pulling a roll of gauze and medical tape from one of the cabinets. “You had a severe laceration on your back. You’re lucky it missed your spinal cord.” You turned towards him, gauze in hand, as you sat and scooted your stool towards the edge of your bed. “And that’s not even mentioning the two stab wounds.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, scooting away at your sudden closeness.

“Your stab wounds were still bleeding when I finished, so the gauze likely needs changed,” you said. He lifted the blanket from his torso, peeling aside what was left of his suit to find two bandaged wounds, with—as you’d predicted—red-drenched gauze. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t protest as you reached out and began to peel back the tape. After a minute or so of quietly working, he finally spoke again.

“You’re human,” he said.

You smiled down at his abdomen, not pausing your work. “Are enhanced deduction skills part of the wide cache of spider abilities? Because you are remarkably observant.”

You could feel his eyes on your profile, but you didn’t turn to face him, not even when he quietly finished his thought. “You’re the anomaly.”

“I was under the impression there were more than one,” you said, pressing down the last stretch of tape and pulling the blankets back over him.

“You’re the anomaly I let out,” he clarified.

“Ah,” you said, standing and walking to the sink to wash your hands. “So you must be the big man in charge. The one who ordered me to be stolen from my bed.”

“There is much more—”

“I know,” you said, turning back towards him, hands braced behind you on the counter. “It has been explained to me plenty. My father was from another dimension and never should have jumped into mine and knocked up my mom, and I never should have been born.” He watched you as you spoke, scanning your face for any sort of malice, but you merely shrugged. “Wish I could have told my mom that’s why he flaked.”

“You’re not upset?” he asked.

“And who would I be upset at besides him? You?”

The man simply blinked at you, hand mindlessly reaching to brush his abdomen, the expanse of skin you’d just bandaged. The carefully stitched wounds answered the question of any lingering resentment towards your captors.

“It would be natural to hate—your circumstances,” he said eventually.

You turned back towards the counter, quietly putting away your supplies. “You should rest until the end of the week.”

“That’s not—”

“In bed for the next two days, and no missions until the stitches come out.”

“But I have en—”

“Enhanced healing. Believe me, I’ve heard it a thousand times,” you said, finally tuning to face him. “But like it or not, you’re still just as human as I am.”

“I’m only half as human as you are,” he said, and it was the clearest he’d spoken since he’d woken up. At the slight flash of fangs with the lift of his lips, you understood why.

🕷

The next morning, you found him fast asleep where you’d left him. It was more instinct than choice, your gut churning with curiosity, that led you to slowly reach out your hand and pull up the right side of his lip, confirming you hadn’t in fact been hallucinating. He had fangs. Before you could pull away, his hand shot up and caged your wrist before his face as his eyes waned open.

“I have to ask,” you started.

“No, I’m not a vampire,” he said, keeping your wrist in his grip, his voice deadpan, as if he’d answered this question a million times before.

“What are you then?” you asked, pulling your hand from his.

“Half spider.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “A spider bite made you half spider?” you asked, but he simply stared. You could tell by the low drop of his brow that he’d already told you more than he would have liked, so you simply turned away, prepping your space for whatever spiders might come through your station that day.

It turned out to be a slow day. Only two spiders came through, both needing minimal attention, and you sent them on their way about as quickly as they’d turned up. And the whole time, you felt a set of red, half-lidded eyes watching you. You would occasionally slip over to his bed to redress his wounds, answering negative to his questions of leaving. “Bed rest until the end of the day,” you said after the second spider had left. “And then I’ll fit you with some crutches and help you to your room.”

“I don’t need crutches.”

“What you don’t need is that attitude,” you said, lifting your eyes to his. “Or else I’ll send you home without a sucker.”

He tilted his head, entertaining your humor but never cracking a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n. Y/l/n.”

He blinked at you as if he was familiar with the name, but all he said was, “Not Doctor Y/n Y/l/n?”

You clicked your tongue. “I was two years from being Dr. Y/l/n.”

He nodded down at his bandaged abdomen. “You seem like a doctor to me.”

“And you don’t seem half spider,” you said. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mister…”

“O’Hara. Miguel O’Hara.”

You nodded and turned back towards your station, beginning to slowly clean up for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you go still. “That you can’t be in your own universe.”

You turned back to look at him, offering a wry tilt of your lips. Not quite a smile. “That’s alright. I imagine you're similarly displaced for the sake of your noble mission. You just had the luxury of choice.”

“Would you have chosen to stay?” he asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice that made his fangs flash from behind his lips. “Knowing your universe was collapsing?”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, eyes narrowing at the sudden malice. You turned back towards your station, tucking supplies back into cabinets. “I guess I should thank you for letting me work in the med bay. I was losing my mind in that cell.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he said. “Just makes me feel worse.”

You turned back towards him with a smile and a sucker held between your fingers. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

🕷

An hour or so later, when a spider with basic first aid training—a.k.a. the only kind of medic they’d had before you—came to relieve your shift, you helped Miguel out of bed and onto a set of crutches, carrying an armful of medical supplies behind him as he trudged to his room. If people stared at the sight of him limping, sucker in his mouth, they received a look from the man. You couldn’t see said look from behind him, but you could see the way it had people turning—occasionally running—away.

Once you got to his room, he seemed annoyed at the way you slipped in behind him, but he said nothing as you laid out medical supplies on his nightstand.

“You’ll want one of these in the morning and one with dinner for the pain,” you said, jingling the orange bottle you set down.

“Don’t need it,” he gruffed out.

“Alright, well then I imagine you don’t need help getting into bed,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He leaned the crutches against the wall. “Now you’re catching on.”

You gestured to the bed beside you, stepping away so he had enough room to climb up onto it. It was slow, sliced up by the occasional grunt or half-swallowed gasp of pain, but he got up there, tugging the covers over himself.

“Bet you’re regretting that decision,” you said, and he only huffed. You took that moment of silence to look around the room. It was all black and gray angles, not a touch of personality anywhere. Not a picture frame or flower vase, no posters or art.

“You know, having some kind of general joy or cheer in your room might speed up your recovery,” you said, walking over to the window to peer out at the street below.

“Now you’re giving interior design advice?” he said, face half buried in the pillow. He was likely still groggy from the pain medicine you’d given him before.

“I’m just saying, maybe try getting a hobby or two,” you said, pulling the curtains on his window closed.

“My hobby is saving the multiverse,” he huffed out. You turned slowly from the window, eyebrows raised as you met his eyes.

“Was that—a joke?”

He huffed, turning over onto his side. “Good night.”

You started towards the door. “Oh, of course, you’re welcome, Mr. O’Hara. I was so happy to patch up your bloody wounds and gently tug you from the precipice of death. Saving such grateful spider people like yourself is truly my calling in life.”

You stopped before the door, hand lingering on the knob as you glanced back at his figure, curled away from you on the bed. He gruffed out something inaudible and you stepped closer.

“What was that?”

“Mujer implacable,¹” he cursed, before turning over just enough to meet your eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. Now get out of my room.”

You smiled and reached for the door. “Good night to you too, Miguel.”

🕷

It was midnight when Miguel woke up again. The dull buzz of the pain meds had worn off, and the sharp ache of his limbs pulled him sharply from sleep. And then, shortly after, the rumbling of his stomach had his feet hitting the floor.

He told himself he’d simply go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat, but it proved to be easier said than done. With a few curses muttered in Spanish, he sunk against the set of crutches you’d provided, letting out a breath at the sudden lack of pressure on his wounds.

When he made it to the cafeteria, he found it not empty, as he had been hoping. A singular figure was sitting in the corner of the room, the tray before her stacked neatly with various food. Of course. Of all the people to witness his shameful hobble into the cafeteria, it had to be you.

You glanced up as he entered, eyes going wide for a moment.

“You look like someone who didn’t take their pain meds,” you said, lips curling into a smile at the grunt he offered in response. You watched him fumbling with a vending machine around the awkward angle of his crutches and stood, crossing the room to come up beside him.

You didn’t wait for him to ask for help, you simply gestured before you, silently asking what he was trying to reach. He stared at you for a moment before nodding towards a pack of flamin’ hot cheetos. You fetched it for him with ease, before carrying it away from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you sat back down at your seat and set his cheetos at the spot across from you. You didn’t respond, you simply watched him with raised brows, waiting. Eventually, he grunted out something in Spanish and joined you, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

“What does mujer implacable mean?” you asked.

“What?”

“That’s what you called me.”

He ripped open his cheetos and sat back in his chair, watching you as he took the first bite. “Relentless woman.”

“Hm,” you said, smiling. He watched as you stood up and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the counter, eyes narrowing as you sat back down and offered them to him.

“What are those for?”

“They keep you from getting cheeto dust on your fingers,” you said, smile growing as his eyes widened.

“Mujer brillante,²” he breathed, taking the chopsticks and ripping them open. Something adjacent to a pleased smile overtook his features as he sat back, chopsticks in hand. And then he seemed to remember who was talking to, and his smile flattened out.

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just crushed by the weight of endless, multiversal knowledge trying to fit within a mind only equipped to handle the existence of one, pondering the meaning of my birth without a clear place in a singular universe and a purpose only carved out by my own inability to accept my multiversal irrelevance.”

He blinked.

“Also, I’m an insomniac,” you said, and he shoveled another cheeto into his mouth.

“I don’t think anomaly equals irrelevance,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. You didn’t seem irrelevant though, and he was going off of that.

“Then what does it mean?” you asked, and there was no humor in your voice. No malice either. Just a sharp curiosity.

“It means that the universe is delicately balanced, and you, mujer implacable, are a wrecking ball.”

“So I’m relevant, just not in any of the good ways.”

He shook his head. “In your old life, maybe. But you can be whatever you like here. Relevant. Irrelevant. Whatever suits you.”

“I think I’d like a healthy middle,” you said.

“Midrelevant,” he said, almost smiling.

“Exactly.”

The conversation was sparse as you both ate, but something soft opened up before you within Miguel. You’d already seen him at his weakest, so he had no reason to hide from you. And as you helped him back to his room, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

🕷

Part 2

(1) “Relentless woman”

(2) “Brilliant woman”

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