just your local bisexual . anime and manga enthusiast , working on trying to write fanfiction. age : 17 pronouns : she/her . and also follow me on Wattpad and insta at alastorhazbin666. Ask:open my alt account is @alastorhazbin666
Summary: You had loved him since the days when he was kept in chains, hidden from the world in the cold dark of the basement. Now, years later, you live together in peace.
TW: pregnancy
Your cottage sat at the edge of the woods, where the mist lingered even at midday and the trees leaned close as though guarding a secret.
Smoke curled from the chimney, the scent of pine and rosemary drifting through the damp air.
It was quiet there, peaceful.
You had built this life together from the remnants of a darker one.
Once, he had been hidden away in a cellar, chained to stone, spoken of only in whispers. You had been the only one brave, or foolish, enough to bring him light.
You had tended to his wounds, taught him words, stayed when others turned away. You had seen the man underneath the monster.
Now, years later, the chains were gone, the cellar replaced by sunlight and silence.
He chopped wood in the mornings, read in the afternoons, and every evening he waited for you by the fire.
There was gentleness in him now, though sometimes, when shadows moved too quickly across the wall, you could still see the old fear flash behind his eyes.
You loved him more for it.
It was late winter when you first began to suspect.
You would wake with nausea, find yourself dizzy after tending the garden, and sometimes feel an odd fluttering in your chest that was not quite your own. At first, you dismissed it, a passing illness, perhaps.
But then the physician came, a kind old man from the nearby town who still remembered you as the woman who lived āwith that quiet fellow on the hill.ā
After a brief examination, he smiled gently.
āMy dear,ā he said, āyou are with child.ā
The words filled the room and settled deep within your heart.
For a moment, all you could do was sit in silence, your hands pressed to your belly. When he left, the world felt different, sharper, brighter, and unbearably fragile.
You thought of your husband, his hands rough but careful, his eyes so full of love and sorrow. You thought of how deeply he feared the blood that ran through his veins, the scars that marked his skin, the unnatural spark that had brought him to life.
You knew he would be terrified.
That night, as the wind moved through the pines, you sat by the fire, staring into the flames. He was across the room, preparing for bed, his hair falling loosely over his brow. The candlelight softened his face, turning the harsh lines into something almost holy.
He noticed your silence first.
āWhat is it?ā he asked softly, buttoning his shirt. āYou are quiet tonight.ā
You hesitated, your fingers tracing the edge of the blanket.
āI have something to tell you.ā
āThen tell me, my heart.ā
You rose slowly, the wooden floor creaking under your bare feet. Crossing the room, you took his hand, the same hand that had once been a weapon but now only knew tenderness. You placed it over your belly.
āThere is a life,ā you whispered, your voice shaking. āGrowing here.ā
At first, he said nothing. His eyes searched yours, as if expecting a cruel jest.
Then his hand jerked back as if it had been burned.
āNo,ā he said sharply. āThat cannot be.ā
āItās true,ā you replied. āThe doctor confirmed it this morning.ā
He shook his head, stepping away from you.
āNo, I was not meant to create life. I am not like other men. I was made, pieced together from-ā His voice broke, anguish flooding his face. āWhat have I done? What kind of child could I bring into this world? What if they suffer as I did? What if they look like me? What if the world calls them a monster before they take their first breath?ā
You reached for him, but he turned away, pacing the small room.
Tears blurred your vision.
āYou think I would call them that?ā
He froze. You could hear the tremor in your own voice as you went on. āYou think I would ever see anything less than love in what weāve made? I was so happy, so ready to share this with you, but now you speak as though itās a curse.ā
Your voice faltered, and the tears came faster. You sank onto the bed, your hands trembling in your lap.
āI love you,ā you whispered through sobs. āAnd I love this child. But if you cannot bear it, if you think this is something to be feared, then perhaps I was foolish to hope you would stay.ā
The room fell silent but for your quiet crying. He stood motionless, his chest heaving.
The sight of your tears seemed to break something inside him.
Slowly, he crossed the room and knelt before you.
āPlease,ā he murmured. āDo not cry.ā
You looked up, and your eyes met his, those strange, sorrowful eyes that had haunted you since the day you first saw him in that dark cellar.
His hands, still trembling, reached for you, cupping your face with infinite care.
āI am sorry,ā he said. āI was afraid. I have spent so long believing that my hands could only bring pain. But youā¦ā His voice softened. āYou have made them gentle. You have made me gentle. And now, with you, I have created something pure. I do not deserve it, but I will love it with everything that I am.ā
You covered his hands with yours, pressing his palm once more against your belly.
āThen promise me,ā you whispered. āPromise you will never see this as a mistake.ā
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours.
āI promise, I do not.ā
You stayed like that for a long while, the fire crackling softly beside you. His breath was warm against your skin, his heart, steady beneath the patchwork of scars. When he finally spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper.
āTell me,ā he said, wonder threading through his voice. āWhat does it feel like to carry life?ā
You smiled through your tears.
āIt feels like hope.ā
He nodded slowly, eyes closing.
āThen I will not fear it.ā
That night, as you drifted into sleep in his arms, his hand never left your stomach. And when you woke before dawn, you found him still watching you, a faint smile on his lips.
āI created death once,ā he said quietly. āBut now, with you, I have created life.ā
And for the first time since he had drawn breath in that dark, cold laboratory, he truly believed he was human.
The days that followed were soft and slow.
The cottage, which had always been peaceful, now seemed alive in a different way, each creak of the floorboard, each gust of wind through the trees felt charged with new meaning.
You were often tired now, though joy lingered in your smile.
He would insist on doing everything for you, fetching water, lighting the fire, even tending to the hens outside, though sometimes you caught him watching you with a look of awe, as though he still could not quite believe what you had told him.
He began to build again.
It started one morning when you woke to the sound of scraping wood. Following the noise, you found him outside, sleeves rolled up, his large hands smoothing the edge of a plank.
The faint smell of resin and sawdust filled the air.
āWhat are you doing?ā you asked, though you already knew.
He looked up, hesitant, as though afraid you might disapprove.
āI wanted to make something,ā he said quietly. āSomething for the child. Something good.ā
āA cradle?ā
He nodded, and his lips curved into a small smile.
You stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
āIt will be beautiful. Everything you make with your hands is.ā
He paused then, looking down at those hands, large, rough, marked by old stitches and scars.
āI used to believe they were cursed,ā he murmured. āBut now I think they were only waiting for a purpose.ā
The cradle took weeks to finish.
He worked slowly, carefully, shaping each curve as though he were sculpting a prayer.
You often watched from the doorway, your hands resting over your belly, listening to the rhythmic rasp of the plane as wood became form.
Sometimes he would stop to ask your opinion.
āShould I carve stars or leaves along the side?ā
āStars,ā you said once, smiling. āSo our child will always sleep beneath the heavens, even indoors.ā
At night, when he thought you slept, you would hear him murmuring softly. It took you a few evenings to realise he was speaking to your belly. His deep, rumbling voice carried through the stillness, unsure at first, then tender.
āI do not know what you will look like,ā he whispered one night. āBut your mother says you will be beautiful. I hope she is right. I hope you will not be afraid when you see me. I will protect you. I will be gentle.ā
You never interrupted him. You simply listened, smiling in the dark.
By the time spring crept through the woods, the cradle was complete.
He had carved stars into the wood, as promised, and lined the inside with soft linen. When you saw it for the first time, your breath caught in your throat.
āItās perfect,ā you whispered, running your fingers along the smooth edge.
He shook his head, shyly.
āItās not perfect. But it is made with love.ā
āThat makes it perfect.ā
He smiled, which still carried traces of disbelief.
āWhen I was first created,ā he said softly, āmy maker saw me and recoiled. But when I think of this child, I feel onlyā¦ wonder. Perhaps this is what it means to truly make life, not with lightning or science, but with love.ā
You stepped closer and took his hand, pressing it once more to your stomach.
āThen you are more of a maker than he ever was.ā
He looked at you, eyes bright, voice unsteady.
āYou have given me everything I never thought I could have. A home. Peace. And now a future.ā
That night, you sat together beside the fire.
He traced your palm with one finger, watching the way the firelight painted your skin gold.
āDo you think they will be afraid of me?ā he asked softly.
You shook your head.
āThey will see what I see.ā
āAnd what do you see?ā
āA man who once lived in darkness and still chose to love the light.ā
He was quiet for a long while after that, holding you close. When the baby kicked for the first time, his breath caught in awe.
He pressed his ear to your belly, his whole being stilling as though listening for the sound of redemption itself.
And when he finally lifted his gaze to yours, there were tears in his eyes.
āThank you,ā he whispered. āFor believing that something like me could create something so pure.ā
You kissed his forehead, brushing away the tears.
āIt wasnāt belief,ā you said softly. āIt was truth.ā
Outside, the night was calm.
The wind moved gently through the pines, and the stars gleamed above, the same stars he had carved into the cradle, waiting to guard the child born of two souls who had once lived beneath the ashes, and now stood in the light.
May I request a erlang x gn reader where they are tg but the heavens do t agree to it , she could either be mortal or an immortal š¤
Sorry for the delay in responding, I hope you like itāįµā¢į“ā¢įµā
It is what it is.
The wind blew cold through the sacred mountains, carrying the scent of white magnolias blooming under the moonlight. Further ahead, at the edge of mist-shrouded cliffs, a field of chrysanthemums blossomed in silence, their petals swaying like echoes of farewells never spoken. Down below, in the mortal world, paper lanterns floated over the rivers, reflecting whispered promises to the gods. You had always known your existence was insignificant in the eyes of the Heavens, but now, standing there, you felt your very soul shattering.
Erlang Shen stood before you. His gaze, ever stern, wavered between devotion and torment. The deep blue of his robes contrasted with the golden gleam of his armor. He was meant to be the most faithful to the divine order, the hunter of demons, the celestial enforcer. But now, he was just a man facing an impossible choice.
The air around was heavy, as though something unseen pressed against your chest. No words were spoken, yet the decision lingered, suspended between you both, inescapable. You knew. You knew some things could never be changed. Love between a mortal and an immortal was like a candle in the wind, too fragile to endure.
The breeze intensified, carrying a chill that seeped into your bones. The world around seemed to tremble, as though the very fabric of reality was shifting. Erlang Shen stepped forward, his eyes filled with something you could not name, yet it gripped your heart in an almost unbearable way.
You tried to smile. Wanted to say everything would be fine, that perhaps another path remained. But the words never came. There was an overwhelming weight upon your body, something invisible, inevitable. You felt your strength leaving you, like a paper lantern dimming as it touched the water.
The chrysanthemums around you swayed gently, petals detaching and drifting away in the wind. You faltered, and then you fell.
Erlang Shen moved swiftly, his arms outstretched to catch you. This time, he reached you. You collapsed against his chest, his fingers pressing into your back as though trying to hold you in the world for just a moment longer. Your name escaped his lips in a desperate whisper, trembling like the flickering lanterns reflected on the water.
He said nothing more. He only held you, his dark eyes locked onto yours, as if memorizing every feature, every breath, every fleeting fraction of time that remained. You felt his hand against your faceāwarm, firmābut powerless against the creeping cold that seeped into your skin.
Nothing stopped your fall. No miracle came. Only the wind, cold and indifferent, carrying your final breath away. The field of chrysanthemums swayed once more, their pale petals scattering in the air like fragments of a love doomed to disappear.
The mortal who dared to love an immortal vanished into the mountain breeze.
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