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urlovebrini · 1 month

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arranged marriage with ayato

⋆❀ — includes: ayato x fem! reader

⋆❀ — content: arranged marriage, kokomi's little sister! reader, angst, hurt/comfort, ayato is rude, ayato is bad at feelings, thoma is a sweetheart, traditions and rules, high expectations, conflict, fluff at the end, lots of water allegories, maybe a little to poetic, sfw

⋆❀ — a/n: hello everyone long time not seen, but i am back and will be writing more here! so i always love arranged marriages more if they are traditional, i try to investigate the use of japanese words the best i can but if i make a mistake feel free to correct me.

⋆❀ — arranged marries series: alhaitham | tartaglia | diluc

⋆❀˖°·࿐ ࿔˚ ayato

the strong sound of the rain lets you clear your mind and emotions a little, and even it makes you feel comfortable, it’s like the weather has decided to match your emotions, so you walk, walk to the middle of the storm, walk in the heavy rain trying to watch away all the feelings and emotions, trying to watch them and leave them behind, leave them behind as are you now leaving this house, this life, and this marriage.

the arranged marriage with the head of the yashiro commission, kamisato ayato, was one of a show, a show of peace, a show of unity and a new beginning of relations between inazuma and ekanomiya, a marriage between one of the sangonomiya clan and one of the sanbugyou, to consolidate the peace between the two new lands, in this way, you took the responsibility, your big sister kokomi had always shouldered the heavy responsibilities alone if you could help her in something you would do, so you accepted and travelled to inazuma and married commissioner kamisato ayato, and you promised to your sister that you will be fine, in reality, you believed that you will be fine, you wanted this to work out. and maybe you were being naive, or maybe you are just weak but now you are walking in a storm hopping to get away, and as you walk you try to leave all the memories behind.

the day of the wedding was wrapped in expectation and solemnity, the gardens of the kamisato state were decorated with flowers and symbols that represent the honour of the union of ekanomiya and inazuma. the ceremony was simple and formal it was what it had to be. you remember your first big impression of ayato, cordial, charismatic, you could say charming, so you smiled, thinking that this could work better than you first thought. but when the ceremony ends and the night comes is a shift of reality, his attitude distant and cold, and you feel a gap between the two, but you try to understand.

the night came and your mind went to the room, you were nervous but you thought it would be a good chance to talk without people, get to know each other a little more, and maybe begin a friendship in the same way. so when the housekeeper of the kamisato clan guides you through hallways, surprise and confusion fill your thoughts as you take notice that your room is located apart from the main rooms. you didn't want to overthink things, but a sense of isolation starts to feel in your chest.

days passed, but the feeling grew bigger, you felt lost, but trying to take control you started to explore the new house, you were surrounded by strangers but that was a thing you thought you could change. and in the reflection of your thoughts you came to realise some things, one, the kamisato clan is always busy, the servants, ayaka, thoma and ayato are always working, two, ayato is keeping his distance from you, three, even if you are now a kamisato, you don't know what are you role or work in this house.

you were in limbo, with a clear role or purpose in your new life, you are the kamisato ojousama, but is only in word, in reality, it is almost like you are an object a decoration, just a thing that doesn't even have a purpose and is just there.

time goes by, and the rain gets heavier as the short memories started, you really never had a place here, it was clear since that afternoon that you walked into the office of your husband with nervousness and determination, and you really tried to integrate yourself in the kamisato clan.

“shujinsama” your voice is timid, his gaze rested on you, and although his expression was serene, you could see the trace of fatigue in his eyes. “yes, tsuma?” even in his soft voice, you could feel the distant formality that has characterized his interaction with you. his focus went back to the papers in front of him as you started to talk “i would like to help in the next event, maybe i could be in charge or something, or help in…” your voice stops as ayato eyes rest shortly on you and get back to his papers “is not necessary, all the events are managed fine by the kamisato clan, you don't need to worry about that things”

his voice was calm but your chest hurt with his words, even with that you tried again “i really wish to help in some capacity and be more involved” you don't know why but at that moment a tear slid down your face.

silence fell between the two, as your tears slowly fell. ayato watched you, and for a moment, you saw a shadow of something beyond his facade of formality. but in the blink of an eye, his expression hardened again “ayaka is the one in charge, you are not needed” that was the first time you cried for his words.

you remember how thoma found you crying, not noticing his presence in your room as he brought you some tea, he was warm, and his words were warm, but you knew that he had a role, and you never would want to tear him from his position in the clan, so even there you were alone. and even if you are torn inside, you tried to believe in his words, in that it was only a question of time.

for some time you tried to convince yourself that you would find a hold in this place, but is like destiny was laughing in your face, that was today, maybe yesterday, here all things have protocols, and without guidance, is difficult to not make errors. the last thing you remember before just taking a bag and getting out, was the cold eyes and cold words of ayato “your mistakes shows your negligence” you tried to control yourself, now your place “it was involuntary, i was just trying too…” but his worlds felt like knives it was confusing but you remember he saying things about responsibility, about your place, about you need to show your worth

so you try to get out, you come to a realization, even if you share the family name, you are not part of his family, even if you have taken his last name you are not part of the clan and you will never be, even if you are now a kamisato in law or paper, you realize that is not enough, there is a wall, the rain falls and in a strange way, the coldness and harshness recomforts you, without a plan you are walking away.

"what do you think you are doing" a voice stops you, clear and loud, even in the middle of the storm, his voice is a bigger tempest to come, you can find more words, but you don't want to fight more, you never were a warrior, you never consider yourself strong and you don't want to be "going away". his voice is closer like a hurricane going your way "i ask again, what do you think you are doing?" you are in the eye of the storm "going away!, ayato i can take it anymore, i can't support a minute more” you are not looking at him, but hi looking at you his voice strong like always "and you think escaping is a solution? escaping your responsibilities here?"

your tears flow with the rain, the fear, the pain, the sadness and the desesperación flow inside you like a wave of emotions that they drag more and more into the sea, and all you can feel are those negative emotions, hoping to be washed away on a shore.

the image of you can escape ayato eyes, his eyes fixed on you watching you, but in reality, seeing you for the first time. he sees you crumble, the intensity of your crying is even stronger than the rain, all the emotions in the wave that drags you more and more inside the sea drowning you, and you can't breath, all the weight of your emotions dragging you down. as more tears fall from your eyes, ayato sees how your breath runs out of air, your breathing more agitated and difficult. almost like you are drowning. he sees how thoma gets to you, face full of worry "breathe slowly, here with me..."

ayato takes his distance but doesn't leave, his eyes fixed on your trembling body, your reaction taking a toll on him, you can feel his gaze, his eyes, and you can feel him coming to you"i am sorry" "never have the intention to take you to this point, i… i should have managed things in a different way” but you feel your mind foggy like its an illusion, the rain pours strong over you, and your heart pours inside of you.

you don't remember at what moment, you are taken inside the house, you don't remember at what moment you enter the bath, but now you are here surrounded by warm water and vapour, pleasant scents of lavender and rose, the room is lith in dim light, and the sound of rain continues outside.

and then the door opens, his eyes fall on you surrounded by water and spume, his eyes observe you, seeing you, he gets close, with slow and measured movements, ayato kneels next to the bathtub, is all silence only the rain until his voice breaks the silence “i have been a stupid fool, i have been also a despicable man, i made things difficult to you, and i have made you cry” his eyes fixated in you “i know apologies are not enough, but i will say sorry, and you have the right of not trusting in me, but seeing you cry like that… i don't want to make cry anymore”

lost for words you look at him trying to form a sentence but the only thing you can say is “thanks” ayato smiles at you, and it seems like a real smile “i know I've made mistakes, that i have hurt you, and sorry is not enough, but if you are willing to give me a chance, to amend, i will change, i promise you will not longer feel trapped or unhappy”

you can only nod, this is all you wanted an opportunity, a chance, an open door, ayato hand travels slowly to your check, caressing your face, and it feels warmer than the water, his eyes are soft, his smile is soft, and he rolls up his sleeves “can i?” you nod even if you don't understand his hands travel to your hair and he starts to wash it “ayato?” your voice is soft and he smiles to you “i promise i will make the things right”

⋆❀ — a/n: it was really a long time since i wrote something creative, but i am here and i will try to stay active and post constantly. really struggled with the start and trying to not make this a bible, hope that you enjoy it a little, maybe if it is received well i can make a long version for ao3, i like the idea of a young kokomi sister. like always commissions and suggestions are open, if you want to be tagged just tell me and be my guest, love you all have a nice day

⋆❀ — lovelies tags: @oveloof,

#໒꒰ྀིっ˕ ｡꒱ྀི১ brini writes #✮⋆˙𐙚 genshin impact #𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ayato my beloved #genshin impact #ayato my beloved #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fluff #hurt/comfort #ayato x reader #ayato x you #arranged marriage #ayato arranged marriage

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gardenofnoah · 8 months

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like izuku, you have your own nightmares.

it’s the thing no one talks about—you aren’t in the middle of battle with him, but you’ve watched him get knocked down enough times on the nightly news that you’ve taken the batteries out of the remote and refuse to let him buy more.

you’ve never told him about what happens behind your eyes when they close. and luckily, he’s been gone when it’s woken you up in a cold sweat. you want to spare him this—the knowledge of what it’s doing to you. except tonight you are not so lucky.

your subconscious shows you the same scenes in snippets—a reel of sickeningly close calls—except here in the dream, they are not. over and over you watch the love of your life die, alone and in vain. dissolved, skewered, burned alive by countless quirks, right in front of your eyes.

you’re there and then you’re not, torn from the nightmare by familiar hands. warm palms, thrumming with the rush of blood and an elevated pulse. the sheets are too hot and wrapped around your limbs like a vice. terrified and disoriented, you fight back.

“sweetheart—” the croak comes from the outline of him, green curls made wiry by his pillow. they sway with each of your sporadic defenses that he dodges. “hey, i’m right here—”

and he is, towering over you now. shielding you instinctively from a danger his brain tells him is at his back. he’s vulnerable—you both are. the knowledge of it stops you in your tracks.

“there you go,” he murmurs, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours and believing the wrong thing, “come back to me, baby.”

the touch melts the fear that had kept you frozen, if only slightly. you reach up to him, smoothing over every inch of skin and muscle you can get your hands on. he keeps you caged there beneath him and watches you search him for something he can’t help you find.

your palm stops over the beat of his heart and nothing in you trusts the kick against your own skin. you watched him die. you watched him—

“shh, my baby.”

the freckled face you saw go too pale is warbled and distorted in your watery view, but the thick limbs that settle over you helps some. he doesn’t go dead weight—just enough to keep you here. to remind you that he is here, too.

“i can’t watch you die.” again, you mean. but he couldn’t know that.

“i’m right here,” he reminds you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple and promising nothing. he is not so cruel, even when you need him to be. “i’m right here.”

it’s too much and it won’t ever be enough—in the dark you lose the grasp you had on your strength, and you cry. you bury your face in his neck and sob until you wring yourself out dry. he’s a pillar above you, whispering his love between words that placate into your hair. only you know now how little it would take to knock him down.

“—zuku,” you can barely get it out under the weight of the burden, “i’m afraid.”

“i know, sweetheart.” he sounds far away. the fingers that brush through your hair are disembodied. “i am too.”

#i’m not sure where this came from #but uh. goodnight sweet dreams #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku drabble #midoriya drabble #izuku angst #midoriya hurt/comfort #mha angst #bea writes ♡#izuku it’s the little things

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uravitypng · 1 year

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hi! i was wondering if you could do a hurt/comfort fic with reader and kenma? basically we’ve barely seen him because of practice and stuff and when we do see him (at his place or something), he’s either playing game with kuroo or not paying any attention to us at all and we began to feel neglected?

*insert that one cracks knuckles meme* okay i think i can knock something up real quick for ya <3

----

you're sitting alone on the sofa just like the last two previous nights. kenma has been getting more and more busy later and you understand that, you really do, he's practising, he's trying to keep in contact with everyone from the team, he's trying to stream more frequently to build up his followers but you feel neglected.

it's not his fault and it's not yours but you've barely seen him at all in the last few weeks and this is the third night in a row where you're sitting at home for kenma so you can start your movie date night and as it gets later and later you know that he's going to cancel again just like the last two previous nights.

you go about your night-time routine, having a shower and doing your skincare before you head to bed. you don't know when kenma will be home and if you stay up any later you'll overthink it more than you already are. your last thoughts as you drift off to sleep is that hopefully kenma will have time for you tomorrow.

when kenma gets home later that night all he wants to do is be in your arms, finally he's home. he's been busy all day, practising his sets all day and when he was finally able to leave kuroo wanted to have dinner with him and didn't leave him alone.

turning on the light so he can grab some water from the kitchen he sees snacks laid out on the table and remembers date night. shit. he can't believe he forgot and he can't believe this is the third night in a row that your date night has been changed. he wishes you would've called him. he quickly downs his water, wanting to see you. coming into the bedroom he see's the moonlight casting down on you as you sleep on the bed with one of your legs bent and raised next to your chest with your head buried into a pillow. he can't help but smile. you look so cute.

he gets into bed and wraps his arms around you tightly, trying to convey he's sorry for not paying attention to your recently even though you're already asleep. he keeps you close and closes his eyes, the only way he gets a proper good nights sleep nowadays is with you right beside him.

when you wake up you feel the body warmth of kenma behind you, as he's wrapped his arms around your stomach and waist tightly, making it hard for you to get out of bed. you try a bit harder but kenma just pulls tighter, you look up at him to see that he's starting to wake up. "come back into bed." you should say no, you have things to do but you want to bask in his presence and the sleepy small smile he's giving you so you give in and go back next to him in bed. from behind you you hear kenma say he's sorry.

"what are you saying sorry for ken?" you mumble, still pretty tired and out of it

"i forgot about date night, i didn't tell you that i'd be home late. i've been so busy lately and i've missed you so much. i care about you, please remember that, i love you. i'm sorry if i've been making you feel like i don't." he says lowly into your ear, pressing his body closer to yours.

you spend the entire day together, and you have your long overdue date night

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xoxodiluc · 2 years

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i love you | kamisato ayato x female! reader

genre romance, angst, hurt / comfort

cw arranged marriage, ayato tries to win you back but he's scared of messing things up again, ayato breaking down (so kinda ooc) | not proofread.

notes if u don't like flowers...... PRETEND U LIKE THEM PLSLSJHDGHSJKHD FOR THE SAKE OF THE STORY LOL / also i actually don't think this is . good ugh but shit oh well ... i'm probably gonna edit this when i have free time 💔

sequel to in my dreams, you love me back

Kamisato Ayato thought the first few months of you not living with him anymore was fine.

But why... Why was he missing your presence? Whenever he comes home, he has the urge to call out your name, only to remember that you were gone.

He knew he had no right to miss you. He got what he wanted, right? He should be grateful for it.

"My lord, could you repeat what you said again?" Thoma was stunned.

"...Bring these flowers to Y/N's home."

Thoma stared at the flowers in Ayato's hands, then cleared his throat, taking them from him. "O-Okay, my lord."

"Flowers?" Your cheeks warmed, accepting the flowers Thoma gave to you. "From whom?"

He was noticeably nervous, "Uh... From Lord Ayato..."

You involuntarily dropped the flowers as soon as you heard his name. "Oh. Tell him that I do not accept these." Thoma gulped, nodding as he picked up the flowers.

"I will."

Sighing, you crouched down and helped him. "I'm sorry for suddenly dropping it, I—"

"It's okay, milady! I understand."

You gave him a small smile as you both stood up. "Thank you. Um... Have you eaten dinner? I still have some." You pointed to your back, where you cooked yourself some food for dinner, not knowing it was too much for one person.

Because you got used to cooking food for Ayato.

"Oh, I appreciate it, milady." And you invited him to your home for dinner, forgetting about Ayato for a while.

Ayato knew you wouldn't accept the flowers he offered, especially when he wasn't even the one who gave them to you personally. He called himself a coward.

He sighed, sitting on his chair. If Ayato showed up instead of Thoma and offered you the flowers, would it still make any difference?

Well, take the risk or lose the chance. Ayato was determined to let you know he was sorry.

Thankfully, your house wasn't that far away from his.

Your mood immediately became sour when you saw your husband at your doorstep. "What do you want, Ayato?"

For the first time in years, he felt nervous. "You didn't accept the flowers."

"I see no reason why I should."

He agreed. "I... I apologize."

"Okay. I don't forgive you." Your words hurt more than Ayato had expected, though he knew you would never forgive him.

Ayato nodded and gave you the flowers, "At least accept these." About to shake your head, he whispered, "Please."

Once you hesitantly took it, he turned around and walked away. You feel your heart breaking as you watch his figure disappear further.

The next day, you got ready to buy some groceries. You reminded yourself to stroll around Inazuma City for a while afterward, but you disregarded that thought once you saw Ayato again in front of your house. Now, you wanted nothing more than to sulk in your home. What does he want?

"I don't mean to disturb you, Y/N." You almost rolled your eyes because he did disturb you.

"What are you doing here?"

He sighed, "Please, let me make it up to you."

"And you think I'd still forgive you?" You scoffed, walking past him as Ayato closed the door for you. You get that you were being a little harsh, but you wouldn't forget what he did to you back then.

"No, I know you won't."

"So why are you still bothering?"

"Because you didn't deserve the way I treated you. So from now on, I'll treat and respect you as my wife, even if you ignore me, even if you don't talk to me. If I could, I'll do anything to take back the things I said and did to hurt you."

You felt your heart beating quickly. You won't forgive Ayato, but he could still make it up, though you didn't trust that he wouldn't hurt you again.

With a little hesitation, you nodded. "Fine."

A hopeful look flashed on his face, "All right. May I accompany you wherever you go?"

"Sure, do whatever you want."

Days, weeks, and months passed by, and Ayato would accompany you every day. You wondered, how could he have so much time for a busy person?

It seemed that he kept up with what he said, though. Even when you ignored him like how he ignored you back then, he treated you like you were his wife, like... the love of his life.

He walks you back to your home every time you go out and sends you your favorite flowers and other things you showed interest in when you walked around Inazuma City. Funny how you were once putting an effort into your relationship, and now it was the other way around.

You were confused as well... about Ayato and your feelings for him. Were you actually thinking of forgiving him? You had to know if he was being genuine. How would you know he wouldn't hurt you again?

So when you were walking back home along with Ayato, you asked, "What do you want from me?" The question came out to be harsher than you intended.

He stopped in his tracks, and he couldn't answer. You turned to look at him with furrowed eyebrows and see him clenching his fist as the tears threatened to fall from his eyes...

"I..." He gulped, "I don't know what you're—"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't—"

"That's what I thought. I won't be living here anymore."

Ayato remembered the day you left his home. "No, I didn't mean— Please, don't leave..."

Your eyes widened, "Ayato, I won't leave." The man in front of you who is usually composed sobbed and got on his knees. The sight cracked your heart, and you crouched down to soothe his shoulder. "Hey..."

Because even after everything, you still loved him. You were just scared of getting hurt again.

Soon after Ayato calmed down, he couldn't look at you, so he stared at his hands instead as he started speaking. "I wanted to win you back. I want your love, even though I know I don't deserve that… So for as long as it takes, I'll wait. And if you don't have the heart to take me back, I understand and I'll leave you alone."

"You idiot... Don't you think you've waited for too long?" He looked at you with wide eyes, "It's okay, Ayato. I forgive you."

"But—"

"I still love you. I guess I just was just scared of getting hurt again."

He hugged you, finally saying, "I love you. Archons, I love you very much."

You buried your face into his neck, "You mean that?"

"Of course, yes." He pulled away to caress your cheeks with his hands. "Let's try again. Let's get married."

"Aren't we married, though?" You said, hiding the smile on your face.

Ayato shook his head, "I meant that we should get married as a real couple. I really want to, Y/N. Please?"

He got your answer when you kissed him on the lips.

Not only in your dreams, but in reality, he loves you back.

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bunnystalker · 4 months

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washing machine heart (18+)

toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart, baby bang it up inside.

cw; implied cheating, workplace romance, reader is the bad guy here, hurt/no comfort, eventual sex, p in v, afab reader, vulnerable wesker

pet names; dear (reader receives)

a/n; i love mitski and angst

albert isn't a stalker. not normally. he's observant, for good reason- he has to be. if he wasn't alert at all times, his life would be on the line.

that's the justification he gives himself for watching you so casually flirt with chris, and chris flirting right back. it makes his heart tick in just the worst way imaginable. his stomach tenses, a searing wave of heat washing over his back. he hates this.

you're unaware of the watchful eyes on you. how albert wesker feels about you is none of your concern, mainly because you don't work for him. and maybe it's because of that fact that you enjoy flirting with his crew so shamelessly. touching chris's arm, watching his cheeks pinken so slightly from it. chris's hand finds your waist and just as you're leaning closer, the bell signaling the end of the workday rings.

you smile seductively at Chris. "well… i've gotta go, but i'll swing by sometime, okay? pinky promise." you give the bigger man's bicep a light squeeze and then make your exit.

it hurts. albert wesker is actually hurt.

he goes home late that night after finishing some much needed paperwork, his thoughts only on you as he drives. you, again, as he gets out of his car and locks it. you, accompanying him inside while holding his arm.

and you, in his bathroom as he showers. it's not always sexual, he's a more emotionally complex man than he'd like to admit. when he imagines you with him, you're always clinging to him somehow.

sometimes, you're holding his hand as he walks through the r.p.d, other times you're kissing him with all you've got and he can't say no. if only that was real. at 38, he's accepted his life of solitude. he can't exactly have a partner with what's to go down soon anyway. it's best if he abstained.

and he does, for the most part. he goes to work, watches you flirt with chris, or barry, or jill, or even rebecca- whoever you feel like- and then goes home. rinse and repeat for weeks.

that is, until your flirtatious gaze falls on him for once. your touches on his shoulder don't go unnoticed. of course, you get little physical reaction out of him. nothing but a measly blush as he brushes your hand away.

then, you stick around until all the other s.t.a.r.s officers are gone, and it's just you and him at the end of the day.

"hey, al?" you give him a small smile, almost shy. a blush tints your cheeks, your eyes more innocent now.

"yes?" he looks up from his paperwork, still sat at his desk. pen in hand, a metric ton of papers sat on either side of his desk.

"well… i was wondering," you start, approaching his desk nervously. he stops his paperwork completely. his heart is pounding in his ears, "if you'd like to go out with me sometime."

this must be a joke.

"dear," he adjusts his glasses, "you're joking." he states plainly.

"no, i'm not. i mean it." you step closer, so you're directly in front of his desk. he leans back in his chair and sets his pen aside, his gaze fixed on you from behind his shades.

"when?"

"tonight."

"where?"

"the bar."

"what time?"

"when are you off?"

"seven."

"eight, then."

"fine. don't be late. goodbye."

successful, you walk out of his office feeling light on your feet.

the date goes well. you two drink and he's surprisingly charming under the layers of stoicism and otherworldly nerdiness. he wonders if he's dreaming the entire time. he's wanted this for so long, and now that it's happening, he feels… anxious. like he's waiting for the shoe to drop. you're stunning. too good for him, for who he really is, not the facade he's putting on now.

the other shoe drops in a way he wasn't expecting.

you're almost a year into your relationship. he's working all the time. it's hard for you, even harder on him to be away from you. his days off are few and far between, which he cherishes every chance he gets. while he's not the utmost affectionate person in the world, he tries. and he tries so hard for you.

"oh my god," you whine quietly as he takes you from behind, your back arched with your faced pressed into the mattress. this was meant to be quick- you have errands to run and a job to go to, all within the span of two hours. he's thrusting into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, soft groans and breathy moans leaving him, too.

you're stupidly close, especially with how he's rubbing your clit. your cunt flutters before clamping down on his dick, a loud moan leaving you.

"fuck, chris, oh my god!" you whimper as you finish.

albert has never been an angry man.

"what?" he's pulling out and tucking himself away. it settles in just exactly what you've said. just how much you've revealed within a matter of mere seconds. you turn over and sit up against the headboard.

"why did you- what is going on? tell me. tell me right now." he sits down on the bed, his hands clasped in front of him on his lap.

"nothing is going on." you're a bad liar. you always have been.

"then what was that? why?" he's nauseated. upset. betrayed. he loved you, let you in when he swore he wouldn't, kissed your scars and told you that you're the only thing he lives for.

"i-i don't- you- it's not what you think, honestly." it's too late. he's getting off the bed, running his hand through his hair as he paces. this is his karma for living. you. agonized, he leans against the doorframe to the ensuite bathroom and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you're sleeping with him, then. that's it. that's all it is, right? just sex, not- not love, is that right?" he can't bring himself to look at you.

"he- chris keeps me company, al. you're always so busy, and it's not my fault-"

"not your fault? what, so it's my fault?"

"i didn't say that,"

"you didn't have to. i knew something was going on from the start- you always liked him more than me, so why am i even here?" he might cry.

you're grimacing.

"can't i love you at the same time i love him?"

"no! why can't you love me!? did you ever love me? was i even on your radar?" he throws his glasses on the bed and covers his eyes, trying to will away the tears.

you approach him and he stumbles back against the bathroom door.

"don't do this to us." he whispers, taking his hand away. his gaze lingers on the floor.

"it's too late."

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#albert wesker angst #angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil angst #hurt/no comfort #implied infidelity #implied cheating

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merriepy · 6 months

Text

✎﹏﹏﹏Autumn Sun

Sova x afab!Reader

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, oneshot

cw: slightly suggestive (?)

summary: After you've felt down for the past few days and now refuse to come out of your room, Sova decides to try to help you with your struggles

a/n: I've pretty much read every single Sova story on here so I needed to make my own because I'm starving qwq

Words: 1,502

Your room was lit up by the soft evening light of the autumn sun. It wrapped everything in its soft, orange glow; everything except that heart of yours which was dyed in black. Truth was, you haven't been feeling great at all lately. You were so used to it that you didn't care anymore. Was there a particular reason why these feelings were stirring up inside of you? You couldn't tell anymore.

"Y/N?" you heard from behind the door. A voice so gentle and soft that it felt more like a melody; a melancholic melody as you acknowledged the concerned tone in his voice. You knew that you could just send him away, out of everyone in the Protocol he was by far the most respectful one and he would do as you say immediately. But you were longing for affection and comfort. So, despite immediately regretting your decision, you let him in.

Sova was the kind of person whose mere presence was enough to change the mood of the entire room. Whenever he was standing next to Brimstone during meetings his deadly calm aura would send shivers down your spine. And yet, he was by far one of the most caring people you've ever met in your life. He would commonly check up on everyone in the Protocol, and maybe that's why you didn't like him: because he was not only paying attention to you.

He walked over to your bed, and as you expected him to sit down on your bed and ask you if you wanted to talk to him he bent over the top part of your blanket and pulled it down until he could see your eyes. His smile was warm as always. "Sasha…" While checking the temperature on your forehead with his hand he made sure to keep eye contact with you. "I don't want to ask if you're okay 'cause… I mean it's pretty obvious that you're not fine." He took a step back from your bed, tilting his head a little bit while asking you silently with his eyes if you wanted him to leave or to stay. You felt tears rolling down your eyes as you visualized how the conversations might go with him and yet you still nodded, begging him to not leave you alone.

"Any space for me?" he asked and gave you another heartfelt smile. You knew that he was thanking you for trusting him and accepting his offer. After moving to the left side of the bed, you invited him to lie down next to you. He happily obliged.

You stayed quiet for some time and the awkward silence grew between you two. You didn't know what to say, you didn't know how to put this misery of yours into words, you didn't know how to start. And he could tell, especially since you didn't make any effort to hide your struggle. He placed his hand on your cheek and moved a little closer to you. "Deep breaths, Y/N." It still felt weird nowadays when people called you by your actual name and not your codename even though you and Sasha were always doing it when you were alone. "Take your time, I will wait for you."

Tears started to roll down your face. The comfort he gave you made you tear up as you were able to release the sorrow within you. "Sasha…" you cried out, wanting to thank him but not being able to properly produce a sentence between your sobs. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. You placed your head carefully on his chest and calmed yourself down by listening to his heartbeat. While your tears slowly started to get less and less, Sasha placed his right hand on your head and slowly stroked over your hair.

"Is it really okay if I tell you about it?" you asked carefully without looking into his eyes out of shame. "I don't want to burden you with anything." Sova stopped his hand and moved it up to your chin. Gently, he shifted your head up so he could look into your eyes. "You're never a burden to me, darling." He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. The spot where he had laid his lips on your skin still felt comfortably warm and you wished that he would continue kissing you.

Tears rolled down your face once more as you told Sasha about everything that was bothering you recently. How you were always there for anybody and it felt like nobody had your back, how you felt like your friends were bonding over experiences you couldn't share, how the stress was getting to you physically and emotionally. During all of this, he stayed mostly silent and just let you talk about anything that you needed to get off your chest. He commented from time to time on your statements or he turned around to hand you a tissue from your nightstand.

"So I feel like I'm falling behind, you know? I just… don't want to be outcasted." Sova brushed the tears off your face with his fingers. "I understand," he said calmly, his hand still resting on your cheek. You suppressed the last few tears and smiled at the man next to you. "Thank you for being here, Sasha. And for… well, listening to my stuff," you mumbled with your voice still trembling. "I think I'm done now."

The man ran his fingers down your cheeks until his hands reached the back of your neck. He pulled you even closer until you could feel his breath on your lips. "I will always be there for you, Y/N. And I will always listen to you and your struggles." Before you could reply, he had pressed his lips onto yours. You could taste his favorite tea through the kiss, as well as the passion he was holding for you. Your hand wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer than he already was. The warmth of his presence made you feel so very much at ease that the last few painful tears ran down your face. Sasha quickly brushed them off your cheeks before pulling you on top of him.

You didn't expect such a sudden move from him and since he is pretty strong he had no problems placing you exactly where he wanted to. He grinned as he watched your flustered expression. His hands moved under your clothes but before he did anything else he looked at you. Your face was still a little red. "Do you want me to continue?" You felt how your heart picked up pace after hearing his words and you nodded quickly. You didn't want him to stop, under no circumstances. "Tell me if I'm going too far," he whispered into your ear before kissing your neck. His fingers ran down your sides, every movement making you feel better and better. Sova made sure to not come too close to your private parts and it made you feel comfortable knowing that he was so respectful of your boundaries. Your arms were still placed around his waist but you didn't want to move since everything was too perfect right now. He continued kissing your neck down to your shoulder and you just enjoyed it, taking in all those feelings that stirred up inside of you.

"Finally feeling better?" he asked as he pulled far enough away from you to properly keep up eye contact. His hands had stopped moving and he was now holding you in place; gently, yet somewhat protective. You just smiled happily. "Thank you for cheering me up, Sasha!" You firmly wrapped your arms around his hand and pressed your body against his with your head resting on his shoulders. He loosened his grip so you could move more freely. "I told you that I'm always here for you, my love." Sova looked outside the window, the autumn sun was about to fully fade away behind the trees. When his gaze had wandered back to you, he smiled warmly and gave you a quick kiss. "Because I love you, Y/N." You returned his soft smile and words of affirmation.

Sova stood up from your bed and reached his hand out for you. "What do you say, love? Wanna go outside and enjoy the rest of this beautiful evening?" A red blush hushed over your cheeks, flattered by his request despite everything that had happened earlier. You cherished that he wanted to spend that much time with you. By taking his hand you lifted yourself from your bed into the man's arms. "You're so cute, love~" he whispered into your ear. You passionately kissed him as a response to which he happily obliged. "I love you, Sasha," you told him after your kiss had ended and he had let go of you. He laughed softly and wrapped his left arm around your shoulder. "I love you just as much."

#「♡」 valorant #「♡」 sova #valorant #sova #Valorant x reader #sova x reader #sasha novikov #valorant agents #x reader #sova x you #oneshot #fluff #hurt/comfort #Valorant sova

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cookies-over-yonder · 10 months

Text

the gap between a tragedy and comedy

Sure, Taylor gets frequent nightmares about Scary killing his dad, but he's alive, so everything is fine. Right?

[title from I/Me/Myself by Will Wood]

ao3

☆

Taylor gasps and opens his eyes.

Another nightmare about his dad dying.

But it's okay, he's alive and all is well. Taylor focuses on that thought as he slips out of the bed, grabs his cane, and starts pacing back and forth. It's a good way to get the excess energy out.

He and his friends were having another sleepover, so Taylor was careful to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake anyone up.

Link is still asleep in the bed, and Scary, Normal, and Hermie are in sleeping bags sprawled across the floor.

There's not much space to walk, but he manages.

As he walks, he still can't erase the memory of sobbing over what he thought was his dad's dead body. His dad, who just came back into his life, and got him such a perfect present, and who was truly wanting to connect with him… but he's alive. He's alive. So everything is fine. Everything is fi—

"Ow, fuck!" Taylor yelps as he hits the ground. He tripped over Scary's leg.

Immediately, he clasps a hand over his mouth. So much for keeping quiet.

He lays there for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction, but none come. Everyone was still asleep. Nice.

Taylor tries to lift himself up. He fell forward and his arms broke his fall for the most part, but now they were hurting more than they already were. His elbows buckle underneath him and he collapses against the floor again.

Maybe he'll just sleep here for the night.

He closes his eyes, but then all he can see is his dad's body.

Fuck.

"Taylor?"

Fuck.

"Hi, Link."

"Whoa, man, what happened?"

Link is already in front of Taylor.

"My arms hurt. I can't…" Taylor tries to lift himself up again, and he doesn't even make it slightly off the ground.

"Okay, I'm gonna lift you up, okay?"

"Yeah."

Link carefully turns Taylor onto his back and scoops him up, carrying him bridal style.

"Sorry if this hurts."

It does. "Don't worry. I'd rather have this than be stuck on the floor."

And then the soft bed cushions him as Link sets him down on the bed. "Blanket or no blanket?"

"No blanket."

"Alright."

After placing him back on the bed, Link grabs the cane off the floor and props it up beside Taylor's side of the bed.

"Thanks, man. Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. Are you okay? What happened?" Link asks as he sits on the bed next to Taylor.

"I tripped on Scary's leg and fell."

"Why were you up?"

"I—I was, like, pacing. You know, too—too much energy and all… all that," Taylor stutters. His heart is beating too fast from the adrenaline of the fall. "I'm fine, though."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Taylor says, feeling his chest start to hurt. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm chill. Let's just go back to sleep."

"You look kinda shaken up, man."

"I'm fine, I just had a… I had a dream about… like… when Scary killed my dad—but then it turned out that he was fine and still alive so like it's fine and I don't know why—I mean—It doesn't make sense for… just—I'm fine. Yeah."

Taylor's chest hurts more now. He's unsure of whether he'll even be able to fall asleep after that.

"I'm all good. I just—I fell and couldn't move, so I guess that could explain the… I mean, that's like, happened to me before. I just call my mom for help."

Taylor remembers another thought that crossed his mind when he thought his dad was dead. What if it happened to his mom?

"Look, ju—just… Le—let's go to sss…sleep. I…I'm fine now. Thanks to you…your rescue, my hero. Uhh—"

"Taylor, take a breath," Link cuts him off.

"Huh?"

It confuses him for a second, but once Taylor's no longer trapped in his thoughts, he realizes why his chest has been hurting.

"Shit," Taylor says, shifting himself to sit up a little, "I—I'm—"

Frozen, Taylor becomes hyper-aware of his breaths coming too fast, and his hands shaking, and the memory of his dad's dead body, and it won't go away.

"Taylor, Taylor, hey."

Link is sitting in front of him now. "It's okay," he says.

It's definitely not.

"Uh…" Taylor can feel hot tears sliding down his face now. Crying is something that's happened before, but whatever's going on right now feels out of his control. And scary.

Taylor feels like he's choking. He can't get enough air in.

"I—I don't know what's… Link, I don't know…" Taylor's voice wobbles. "I—I can't…"

And he's still thinking about his dad dying, even though it didn't really happen. And it's stupid that he won't stop thinking about it.

Taylor is hyperventilating.

He's hyperventilating, and shaking, and light-headed, and dizzy.

He's definitely dying right now.

But it's not from a battle. It's not from a wound. It's… he doesn't know.

Whatever Link says next is muffled and faint. There's one thought circling Taylor's mind:

"This is such a suh—stupid way to die."

And of course, it's the perfect time for his pain to flare up. A terrible ache spreads through his limbs as if it couldn't have gotten any worse.

Everything hurts, and it's really cold, and his skin feels prickly and uncomfortable, and that makes him cry harder and breathe faster.

Suddenly, his cheeks feel warm. Something is pressing against them.

The unfamiliar feeling takes Taylor's attention away from everything that is so wrong right now. He blinks away the tears blurring his vision and looks up at Link, a lot closer to him than he was before.

There's hands on his face. Link's hands are on his face, and his mouth is moving. Past the static in his head, Taylor manages to make out what he's saying.

"...lor. Taylor. Taylor."

"Ye—" His breath hitches. Ah. He can't talk. A nod should suffice, so he settles for that.

After nodding, Taylor can see Link's expression soften a little.

"Listen to me," Link says, sounding surprisingly assertive. "You are not dying. Trust me, okay?"

Taylor trusts Link. He's always trusted Link. Usually he sounds a little unsure of himself, but right now he sounds the most confident Taylor's ever heard him be.

Something about that makes Taylor believe it. He nods again.

"Okay. Breathe in for four seconds. I'll count."

Taylor does his best to follow Link's directions.

"One, two, three, four."

Taylor takes in a breath as big as he can, which is not very.

"Now hold it," Link says, and Taylor focuses on how sure he is in what he's saying. It makes him feel safer.

"And out, two, three, four."

Taylor lets out a sigh. It gets a little easier to breathe, but not by much.

"Now let's do it again," Link says, practically hovering over Taylor, with his hands still on his face. He's so close, and he must feel so warm…

"Can—sorry—uh, can we…" Taylor leans in, presses his face against Link's chest, and wraps his arms around his back. "Can we do it like this?"

"Yeah, we can," Link answers, and Taylor can feel himself being held in his embrace.

It is warm.

And he continues to breathe with Link, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

After a while, Taylor breaks the comfortable silence that fell over them.

"Hey… why did you cup my face earlier?" he mumbles.

"I didn't want to hold your arms, because you said they were hurting."

"Oh," Taylor feels his face get hot. Careful and considerate and kind… Link really is a hero.

A hero who's running his hands through Taylor's hair now. It's soothing.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Sorta… I mean. Thank you—I just, I don't know because… I… I've had that nightmare so much, Link. I don't know, I don't know, and I'm in a lot of pain, and I hate it, and none of this is badass like I want it to be. I don't know why this is… I don't know why it's still freaking me out."

"Mm, well… your dad is okay, but the sight you saw and fear you felt were real," Link says, and then he gently pulls Taylor off his chest and looks him in the eyes. "And you are totally badass."

Taylor lets out a wet laugh.

"I mean it. You're still here. You're alive. You're persevering. That's badass."

Link's eyes are wide and determined. Taylor can feel their gaze piercing through him, and all he can do is stare back. Their faces are as close together as they were before, though this time Taylor is a lot less out of it.

Their faces are really close together.

"Okay," Taylor whispers.

"Um, so, we should sleep."

Taylor cringes. "Yeah…"

"What's wrong?"

"I'm kinda scared. I know that nightmare keeps coming back."

"I have an idea."

Link guides Taylor to lie back down, and helps him turn to the side, then he shifts himself to lie down too, wrapping an arm around Taylor and pulling him close.

"If you have that nightmare again, I'll be right here. I'll protect you."

Taylor shudders, and a fresh wave of tears falls down his face. "Okay."

He's thankful that Link doesn't comment on how Taylor continues to cry into his shirt. Maybe he's already asleep…

Link silently starts rubbing circles onto Taylor's back. He is not asleep.

He just lets Taylor cry.

And eventually, they both fall asleep.

◇

The next morning, Taylor is the last to wake up.

Link watches as everyone else wakes up and files out of the room to brush their teeth and get breakfast, but he doesn't move, because Taylor is clutching his shirt with a death grip and his face is still buried in it.

"Taylor, wake up, it's time for breakfast," Link says, nudging him with the hand that's already on his back.

Taylor whines, shakes his head, and presses himself further against Link's chest.

"Taylor, come on, aren't you hungry?"

Taylor shakes his head.

It's not unlike him to be clingy like this, but Link suspects that what happened last night is still weighing on him.

That suspicion is confirmed when Link sees Taylor's face scrunch up and his hands start to tremble.

"Taylor, are you okay?"

Maybe it's a stupid question, but it's still worth asking.

At first, Taylor doesn't speak or move.

But then—and Link almost misses it—he just barely shakes his head.

It makes sense.

Taylor isn't really one to break down—last night must have shaken him up pretty badly.

And judging by him not knowing what was going on, Link could guess that that might have been his first time having an anxiety attack.

It must have been scary.

Seeing Taylor spiralling like that startled Link as well. Link was no stranger to recurring nightmares, but he had no idea Taylor has been going through the same thing.

Link tightens his grip on Taylor, holding him close.

"How about we get up after a few minutes?"

"No, it's—we can—" Taylor shifts back a little, and then cringes. "Ow—" he shudders and sucks a breath in through his teeth.

"It's okay, it's okay."

"We should ea—fuck, I… I can't… hurts…"

"Okay, okay, do you want me to carry you downstairs? Or I can bring you food up here."

"You can um. You can carry me again."

"Okay, okay," Link turns Taylor onto his back. Taylor cringes again, and he pulls his hands up to cover his face, and he starts breathing fast again.

"Hey, hey, just breathe."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—I'm just kinda… I—I—uhh…"

"I know, it's okay," Link says, helping him shift to sit up against the wall.

"Mmm, yeah… Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just… I need—I need a second," Taylor says, burying his head further in his hands.

"It's okay."

Taylor takes a big breath in, holds it, lets it out, and lets his hands fall back down onto his lap.

"Thank you…thank you for your help last night."

"Of course, anytime. How are you feeling now?"

"I'm… I don't feel good. I don't know why," Taylor says.

He really doesn't look too great. His face is red and stained with tears, and he's trembling again, just a bit.

"Okay, it's okay, let's go downstairs and get breakfast."

"Okay, maybe I can…" Taylor slowly shifts closer to the edge of the bed and grabs his cane. Link slips off the bed and stands in front of Taylor, ready to help.

Taylor stands on his feet for about a second before he falls forward into Link, who wraps his arms around him instinctively.

"God, my legs hurt so bad."

"I'm gonna pick you up."

"Okay."

Link scoops Taylor up in his arms, and Taylor's face gets a little redder.

"Tha—thanks."

Link grabs Taylor's cane and hangs it on his wrist.

Taylor's eyes are shut, his cheeks are flushed, and his mouth is agape.

When Link shifts him a little to get a better grip on the cane, he can see Taylor's face scrunch up.

Taylor wasn't this bad before they went to sleep last night, but Link knows that stress can cause the pain to flare up, and Taylor has definitely been under a lot of stress.

Link carries him down the stairs.

☆

Taylor almost falls back asleep as Link carries him down the stairs, but the voices of the others quickly wake him up.

They sound concerned, though Taylor can't really process what they're saying. "'M fine," he mumbles, hoping that's enough reassurance.

Sounds like it wasn't, because now Link is saying something to them.

It seems to calm them down. He isn't sure.

And then Taylor lands on something soft and warm.

Taylor opens his eyes. It's the couch. And Link is propping him up against the armrest with a pillow.

There's also two sets of eyes looking at him.

Normal and Hermie. They're sitting on an adjacent couch, both glancing at him every few seconds like they're not wanting him to notice that he's being stared at.

"I'm fine, guys, don't worry," Taylor says, though the weak and raspy voice betrays him a little.

Before they can say anything, Link comes back with two bowls of cereal. He places one on the coffee table, and Taylor slowly shifts to an upright position, taking his legs off the couch.

Taylor grabs the bowl and puts it on his lap. He can feel Link hovering over him, ready to assist if needed, but not too overbearing.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Link says, sitting next to him with the other bowl. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV. "What do you wanna watch?"

◇

The look on Taylor's face is worth everything to Link.

His eyes light up, and a big toothy grin appears on his face in an instant.

Taylor takes the remote and searches for a show.

He still looks a little frazzled, but he's got his spirit back.

Once Taylor finds a show, he puts the bowl back on the table, presses play, and leans into Link's side.

Link wraps his arm around Taylor's shoulders and pulls him closer.

"I love the soundtrack of this movie," Taylor says, and his voice is so full of love and passion and light.

Scary comes down the steps, fully dressed with her hair and makeup all done. "You guys watching Totoro?"

"Yeah," Taylor says.

"Ah, look who finally woke up," she comments, nodding to Taylor, before sitting on the couch with Hermie and Normal, kicking her feet up on the foot rest.

And suddenly, Link feels his heart nearly jump out of his chest. Taylor's got both his arms wrapped around Link's torso.

His breathing is nice and slow, his eyes are half lidded but fixed on the TV, and his face is still a little red.

☆

Taylor feels more emotionally exhausted than he has in a while.

He didn't sleep well, his head hurts, his arms hurt, his legs hurt, his back hurts, his chest hurts…

A lot hurts.

The girls in the movie thinking their mom is going to die makes him press his face further into Link's side.

Link's grip on him tightens, and all at once everything is too much, and his breath hitches, and tears fall, and then Link's thumb is on his cheek wiping it away.

Taylor turns to face Link.

They lock eyes.

Link's eyes are dark and warm and caring and concerned and protective and safe and wonderful.

His arms are strong. Taylor doesn't know when he and Link ended up intertwined like this, but he's being held and he wants to stay like this forever.

The music from the TV courses through Taylor's veins and relaxes him, or maybe that's just the warmth of Link's embrace and his enchanting eyes.

There's just something so… different about Link.

Toward him, Taylor just feels this gravitational pull.

Maybe it's his kindness.

Maybe it's his care.

Maybe it's his support.

Taylor doesn't know.

The way Link looks at him makes him feel like the most beautiful scene in any anime.

Link makes him feel like that even when he knows he looks like a mess.

Taylor can feel the hair stuck to his face with sweat, and his eyes are dry from crying so much. He's an emotional mess. He's a physical mess. He's a mess in every form.

But Link doesn't see that. Link is just gazing at him. Studying him, maybe.

And then Taylor's gaze drops.

Link's mouth is open just a tad. Taylor can hear him breathing in and out.

And his lips…

Taylor stares, and he stares, and he stares.

He can't tear his eyes away. He's looking… and thinking… and wondering… what it would feel like…

Taylor sucks in a breath and shuts his eyes. His heart is thumping and his face is on fire.

Fuck.

"You okay?" Link asks, and his voice is so warm and worried and it makes Taylor feel like molten lava.

"Uh… yeah."

Link's hand is on his head and carding his fingers through his hair again and it feels so nice and it feels so right and shit, Taylor knows what that gravitational pull is.

But it's okay, it's fine. This feels right. Taylor cuddles up against Link and closes his eyes.

"Taylor, are you even watching?" Scary asks.

"I'm listening," he mumbles into Link's side.

◇

Before Link knows it, Taylor is asleep on his side.

Some other movie autoplayed, but Link doesn't pay it much attention, he's too focused on Taylor.

He looks a lot more peaceful than earlier. Link is almost certain that Taylor did not sleep well last night.

Hopefully he was sleeping better now.

Link rests his head atop Taylor's and hums.

…Taylor has pretty eyes.

Link wasn't sure what was happening but somehow they'd ended up staring at each other for a while. Maybe Link was just seeing things, but was Taylor looking at his lips?

…Did he have food on his face?

He licks his lips. Nothing.

Huh. So Taylor was just… looking… at his lips…

Taylor's lips are kind of chapped. There's a little dried blood, too. He must have been biting them. Link does that when he's anxious too.

And just as that thought crossed his mind, Taylor started biting the skin on his lips again.

Not wanting to wake him up, but not wanting him to hurt himself, Link puts a hand on his cheek.

Taylor's eyes just barely crack open. "Wha…?"

"Sorry, just… you shouldn't bite your lips like that. They're bleeding."

"Mm…"

Link watches Taylor close his eyes again and lick the blood off his lips. "Fine..."

Slightly dazed, Link thinks he knows why Taylor kept staring at his lips.

And when Taylor presses his face against Link's chest, half–lying on top of him now, Link feels a new kind of nervousness.

But it's kind of nice?

It's nice.

And Link swears to himself that he'll keep Taylor safe from nightmares until the end of time.

♡

#swiftli #fic #hurt/comfort #dndads #taylor swift dndads #lincoln li-wilson #angst #I FUCKING DID IT #FIRST TIME POSTING A FIC ON TUMBLR HFIDFDUIGRHNG #cUZ AO3 IS DEAD #HDUG7SYEEGHREH #enjoy ! ^_^♡#cookies writes and cookies wrongs

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majorbuckyegan · 3 months

Text

He exhaled a shaky breath, feeling another tear sliding down his face. He'd never wanted to cry in front of Gale, but he didn't think he could hold it together any longer.

"It's okay, John." Gale said, gently squeezing his thigh again, "Trust me, I know how hard all of this is. I know how much it hurts with every man that we lose, but we will be okay. Like you said, if there were only two pilots left up there, it'd be me, and it'd be you. We'll be fine." (x)

#have a little emotional hurt/comfort plus smut set after episode 3 ♡#gale x john #buck x bucky #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mine #buckbucky #clegan

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sorcerous-caress · 5 months

Text

We die at the same time | Wyll

[angst, comfort, themes of depression, guilt, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

It was always the same, at the end of the day, the same quietness welcomed you back to the camp, an eerie contrast to the scream filled battlefield you were just at hours ago.

It was always the same routine, wash away the blood, wipe any pieces of torn flesh, heal any re-opened wounds.

Gather your companions and do a headcount, gather your supplies and gears, gather the lurching of your stomach as you force down food, gather your sainty and go to bed.

It was always the same, but it never got easier. How could it? How could you sleep after taking a life. You almost swear you could feel their souls tugging away at your flesh, that look of certain dread in their eyes when they know they'll meet their fate, it haunts you whenever you close yours.

Your companions were always the same, it seemed no amount of death could phase them. Beating hearts of stone, you wondered.

How does it come so easily to them? Why not you?

Why do they easily succeed without trying at something you've been giving your all yet constantly failing at.

It was never fair, life was never fair.

Death was fair at least, you thought, no matter how powerful an opponent might be, they all always met the same end by your own stained hands.

The glint of their eyes slowly vanishing as their dead corpse laid on the floor, still warm, blood confused in their viens on why the stream suddenly stilled, on why the breath suddenly dropped, on why the heart suddenly stopped.

The chatter of your companions faded, as they healed and regrouped, the druid and cleric tending to the others' wounds, the mage adjusting his prepared spells. You were granted a solid ten minutes of solitude to kneel besides the corpse, before life had to move on, and your group of misfits had to stumble into their next misfortune.

As you laid on your bedroll, facing the dim night sky, your thoughts wandered.

What's the point of it all?

The abyss whispered back.

What's the point of anything?

A clear dark sky, not a single star in sight, even the moon veiled away her light.

Endless darkness, a comforting familiarity, much like eternal death it was always the same. Everyone and everything was the same under the dark, a beautiful melody on a constant loop, until you could remember nought, not even your own name.

Maybe you too should join, you've always pictured your own image onto every corpse you've encountered, your reflection in their hollow eyes. wondered what your own body would look like in their place, how slow those ten minutes would feel for your companions before they too had to eventually move on.

"You seem deeply troubled, one might say the weight of the world was on your shoulders." A friendly voice, a warm ember amidst the void becones you.

Glowing as you cradle it, destilling your blood, melting the frozen ice off of your numb cold fingertips. Your own colour returns to your face.

You open your eyes, Wyll's asymmetrical eyes meet you.

"A restless sleep? You kept tossing and turning" his lips move, you register his words slowly.

Were you sleeping? Your heart is hammering against your chest.

The stars glitter above you, the lady moon shines brightly, half vieled yet still ever so elegant. Fire crackles next to your bedroll, your other companions resting peacefully.

"I'm fine." You say out of reflex, anything to get away from that concern filled gaze.

You lie and he lets you, you steady your breathing and he waits.

"Maybe a walk would clear your head?" He extends his hand, you eye it carefully.

"Do you have a place in mind?"

"You could say that."

His hands are not soft, yet his grip is firm and comforting, the grip of a hand which has felt the handle of a blade more than the comfort of bedsheets.

And so Wyll leads you to an opening amidst the forest trees, hand in hand as his other held a bundled soft blanket.

You can't help but eye his horns, they give the illusion of making him look taller. The small rigges bulging below his soft skin failed to make his smile any less warmer, to make his face any less charming. Mizora might have celebrated her small victory, yet the truth remained, she failed to strip Wyll of anything of value, of anything that truly made him himself.

You vowed to never forget his original eye colour, you've even written it out in a notebook stashed under your pillow. Even if he forgets it, you'll be sure to remind him.

If Wyll proved anything, it's that you can take everything that made a human human, everything but their humanity, and their humanity was everything.

Only when he let's go of your hand do you snap back to reality. Having already reached your destination, Wyll spreads the blanket on top of the ground below, a tight fit for two.

"Get comfortable, the air is fresh and the night is still young."

And so you do, sitting down on the soft blanket. Wyll joins you after, giving you the courtesy of choosing your own space as he settles with what you left for him.

You realise he is waiting for you to start after a few moments of silent.

"I don't know," you eventually say, "what I'm feeling I mean."

The air is gentle around you two, breeze tangling with the leaves of the nearby trees. An owl is perched up against a branch, eyeing the cricket nuzzled between the tree's roots. The forest never sleeps.

You continue. "Maybe I'm not strong enough for this. Each day, I wake up and I think it will become easier, but it never does."

The owl turns its head, feigning disinterest. The cricket goes quiet at the subtle sound of feathers ruffling, the branch creeks.

"And we've reached this far, we're almost at the city gates and i keep telling myself to just hold on a little longer, how much of a waste it would've all been if I gave up now."

The cricket moves, a simple step spelling its doom as the owl swifly dives down. A peak so sharp holds the fragile insect hostage, the owl flies off as it makes its way back home. The death of another will feed her children to grow strong and healthy, she seems proud of herself.

"But I just can't." You swallow down the urge to throw up, their blood is on your hands, their screams in your dreams, their flesh beneath your feet. "How do you manage? How do any of you function?"

And why can't you?

"In truth, no one does." There's defeat laced through his words, a deep seeded regret in the hollow of his cheeks, "You assume everyone else knows what they're doing."

"So we're all just pretending that this is normal?"

The baby owls cry and squeak, the sturdy nest barely makes a sound as their mother perches on its edge. The cricket must be digested before it's shared. Her babies will be fed.

"Isn't it normal?"

The cricket gives one final push with all of his strength, one last silent scream into the void. I was here, he says, I existed, and whilst brief my life mattered. His strength is not enough, the owl swallows him down, the world keeps turning anyway.

The death of another, the birth of another.

"It's a delicate balance" Wyll says, "we're doing this for a reason, to save a lot of people. We're not needlessly claiming lives and carving a path of blood for no reason, We've avoided as many fights as we could afford."

"Yet we still took many lives."

"Yes, and we shouldn't deny it, much like how we shouldn't deny that we tried, we really tried to make it better and no one can say that we didn't."

His hands look cold, you think, reaching over your hold them in yours. And you're correct. The warmth is fleeting from his fingertips.

Wyll leans closer as you softly blow warm air against his fingers, warming them and holding them close to your chest. There's a glint in his eyes, an awe.

To be met with such gentleness, to be mirrored the same kindness, his walls crack down.

"I dread going back into the city" Wyll confesses, "to tarnish the memory i held in people's minds with my current appearance. To many, the blade of frontiers died long ago."

He brings one of your hands to his chest just like you did, he presses it against the space between his lungs.

"But I haven't, and you haven't. We are both very much alive" his voice, a mere whisper, barely louder than the two heartbeats you're listening to.

"What makes you think we will stay alive?"

"We will, you will" Wyll says, "at least you will, I wil make sure of it."

His embrace is warmer than your bedroll. He looks at you as if you hung the moon in the sky in front of you, and yet you're held as if you were even more precious.

When a human touches your skin, when a human holds you close, when a human lets you in, it stays with you for the rest of your life.

"We will do whatever it takes." Determination drips from his tongue, "fight ever harder, be ever stronger"

To make you stronger is the only gift a person sure of their eventual departure could offer you. Wyll's arms hold you as if it was the last time he'll get the chance to.

Maybe it's what he's used to, never offered the luxury of security within a person's heart. Always fleeting, always sharpening the blade.

Each night is endless. You think the sun would never rise again, and the dark can be especially deceptive when you least expect it.

You've been here before, many times before, and you've survived the night and its dark thoughts, many times before.

As it always was, the sun rises again, the same.

You'll be here again, but you won't be alone, not anymore. Even if you were, his words will be the amber to shield you with its light until the morning comes, until your brain is clear again.

"What's my purpose Wyll? In all of this" you're laying on top of him, head buried into his chest, hugging of his arms to yours.

"What's the purpose of a sunset being pretty?" His mind isn't so sharp with the haziness of sleep clouding it, a yawn escapes him.

You stare at the sunset in front of you and try to see what he sees in you.

"What's the purpose of a dull blade if not to signal when the war has come to end, when peace has flourished." His other arm strokes your back, his voice is sleepy, his words are slow.

"You want to get dull? Get old and lose your edge with me?"

"I want to be loved, like many of us do." You see yourself in him, as he says that, see your worries mirrored, "a dull blade can claim no lives, a dull blade can raise no tragedies"

His lips meet the top of your head, a gentle kiss.

"I want you, I want to grow old with you. In any form, in any universe, in any way." His eyes flutter shut, the sunrays are comfortably warm against his body, your own bodyheat like a weighted blanket on top of him.

"You'd be with a killer."

"Then give me your sins and let's bear them together"

#Wyll'sWeek #Wyll's Week #♡Wyll #♡event #♡comfort #♡angst #Wyll x reader #♡hurt comfort #comfort #angst #depression #♡depressed reader #nb!reader #nonbinary reader #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #wyll ravengard #wyll

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littlexscarletxwitch · 1 year

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── ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ 𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): angst-ish, hurt/comfort, sfw

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited, mentions of alcohol (don't drink kids lol), swearing

word count: 1,700

note: this was inspired by 'midnight rain' by taylor fucking swift, I just love this song. I tried my best but I don't know if taylor would approve of (💀). I added a marvel reference which I'm kinda proud of. Also, writing angst is so much fun. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you enjoy <3

You were sad, drunk and sleepy.

Sonya told you to go home a while ago, but you were too tired to move for yourself. She noticed that, so she called the only person she knew would come in an instant. The problem was that it wasn’t one of your friends, or any of your siblings, hell, you would have preferred she had called your mum. But it wasn’t up to you.

“She is here for you, sweetie.”

In your half drunk half asleep state you couldn't tell what Sonya was saying. She saw you struggling to understand her words, so she just pointed to the front door of the bar. And there she was. Even in your current state, you could recognize her everywhere. How could you not? You spent hours looking at her, engraving every little detail of her face on your mind. You could tell by the look on her face that this wasn’t how she planned on spending her saturday. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely your fault. Sonya, your friend and bartender, was the one who called her. Although, deep down you thanked Sonya for calling her, even if it hurt you would always love seeing her stupid pretty face.

“Thanks for calling, Sonya. I’ll take it from here.” Said that raspy low voice of hers, one of the many things you loved about her.

“Take care of yourself, hun.” Sonya whispered to you and nodded to Florence.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Now that was embarrassing —being carried by your ex to her car so she could drive your drunk ass home. This was not how you expected to end your night, but you should have thought things through. You should have thought better than getting so drunk that you couldn’t move for yourself. How stupid of you.

You both were silent the whole car drive, you could read the room, she was mad. But she didn’t have the right to be mad at you, she broke up with you. She had no right to feel anything for you. She caused this whole thing. You just wanted her, you wanted everything from her, but you knew she was a Hollywood star in the making, she was making her own name, how could you blame her? You only wanted what was best for her, so you let her chase that fame. As a consequence, you two fell out with each other. You tried your best to not let her slip away from you, but she had her mind elsewhere.

Florence never wanted to break your heart, you were nice. One of the nicest people she’d ever met. You meant everything to her, but she didn’t want to hurt you anymore. She knew she had become distant, that she was too caught up with her career, and it did you no good. So she did what she thought was best for you and let you go. It was the hardest decision of her life, but she thought you were better off without her. She thought you would build your life back up again. And when Sonya called her, after a month of breaking up with you, she knew that she had made the wrong decision. Florence wasn’t mad at you, she was mad at herself, for letting you go, for not making things work out with you. She missed you and hated herself for what she had done —what she had done to you.

She was surprised when Sonya called her, she didn’t expect a call from the bartender at 1am but she knew it had to be important if she was calling her of all people. However, she was even more surprised when she told her you had gotten drunk. You weren’t the type of person to get drunk in a bar. She immediately knew that something was wrong with you. And when she got to the bar and looked at you, she knew you were there because of her. The sad look in your eyes made her hurt ache.

Once in your apartment, she put you to bed. You thought that was it, you were never going to see her on, except for when she would be on tv. You didn’t like that thought. You wanted her with you. You wanted her to take your pain away, even if she had caused it.

“I miss you.” You whispered. You hoped she would say she had missed you too.

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you're talking about.” she couldn’t take you seriously, not in the state you were in. Even though she really wanted for it to be true.

“Haven’t you heard that a drunk mind speaks a sober heart? And that’s how my stupid sober heart feels. I miss you, Florence.” Florence’s heart missed a beat.

Hearing her name falling out of your mouth, caused a revolution inside of her. Truth was she never stopped loving you, but she thought you would be better with someone who wasn’t like her. Someone who could give you their full attention. Seeing you like this, broken hearted, made her hurt burn, since she was the reason you were like this. She caused this whole thing.

“Okay, how about we talk about this in the morning when you’re no longer drunk, huh?” she needed to leave, seeing you like that was killing her. She was afraid to make things even worse.

“Stay,” you said, so low that she barely heard you, but loud enough to stop her from walking away from you, again. She thought she imagined it, but then you said it again. “Please, stay. I miss you, just come back to me.”

“Y/n, i’m sure you’ll regret it in the morning.” She didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

“I need you. Can you at least hold me until I fall asleep?”

“I’m not sure–”

“Please, it's the least you can do.” Even when the only light in the room was coming from your window, she could see the pleading in your eyes. She could never say no to you.

She lied next to you, unsure of what to do next. Should she say something? Should she do something? She missed this, being this close to you. She missed your scent, even now when she could smell the alcohol on your lips. She missed your warmth, your touch. She wasn’t sure if you were already asleep, she couldn't see your face since you were on your side, but she had to try.

“I regret letting you go.” There she said it, she thought it would make her feel a little bit better, but it didn’t. The burning feeling still in her heart.

You turned to face her, letting her know you were listening, she took it as a sign to keep on talking.

“Things haven’t been the same since you left. I feel hollow, all of the time, as if something is missing. And it's you. I know that I hurt you, and I hate myself for that. I just thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“Did you really think that you leaving me would be good for me?”

“I now realize that, I just thought–.”

“No, I don’t think you actually know. You broke me into a million pieces. The one person that I love the most in this whole word, and you just pushed me away as if I was no one. Do you know how fucked up that is? We were supposed to talk to each other when things got complicated, not just push the other away.” Venom spitting from your mouth, And Florence couldn't blame you. You had every right to be mad.

“I know I fucked up, big time. But I want to make things better now. I can’t live without you, Y/n. I want you back, I need you back. I’m, I’m not giving up on you, on us. I will go through hell and back if I have to prove to you how much I regret this.” Tears were forming on your eyes, could you trust her again?

“You hurt me.”

“I know, baby. I know I did,” Tears rolling down your cheeks, Florence hated seeing you cry, especially because of her. “Just let me make it better, okay? Give me a chance to prove myself to you.”

You already knew the second she lied beside you that you would forgive her, no matter how bad she had hurt you. Florence had this power over you, yeah, she destroyed you in a million pieces, but she also could make you hold in just seconds. You needed her just as much as she needed you.

“Okay.” That was all Florence needed to bring you closer to her. She kissed your tears away, holding you tightly as if never letting you again.

“Now go to sleep, baby. You must be exhausted.” She smile at you.

“I’m scared that if I do, when I wake up you won't be here anymore.” You mutter, scared to admit that to her.

“I promised you this is not a dream, baby. I’m here now. It 's okay. You can rest now.”

You rested your head in the crook of her neck, it made you feel at ease. You have been longing for this feeling ever since the break up. A smile formed on your lips once your nose was filled by her intoxicating scent. You missed this, you missed her. But she was here now, ready to amend every wrong she had made.

Florence promised to herself that night she would never hurt you again. If things got complicated, she wasn’t going to throw in the towel. She would find a way to make things work. She was never going to give you up. She had peered through a window, all the love she unraveled and the life she gave away, and she didn’t like it, not even one bit. She was relieved when you gave her another chance, and she was going to make it worth it. Because you were her sunshine to her midnight rain, and she couldn’t live without you.

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated! <3

-M

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh x you #agnst #hurt/comfort #imagine #florence pugh imagine #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #your fav florence pugh blog <3 #Spotify #[🎧⊹♡] based on songs i love

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arlertdarling · 11 months

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❥ WRONG PLACE, RIGHT TIME — levi ackerman x gn!reader, swearing, death, loss, mourning, modern au, angst, hurt/comfort, maybe slightly ooc levi, this is kinda sad but it has a good ending i prommy<3 PLS read the warnings and enjoy!

The columbarium looks even more miserable than usual, soaked in rain and grey under the clouded daylight. You’re standing in front of it, one hand tightly gripping your umbrella, the other gripping your late spouse’s favourite flowers even tighter. You’re wondering if it ever gets easier and holding back hysterical laughter at the same time. Of course it had to be raining on the day of the month that you’re visiting their urn, like a scene from some depressing drama.

You always knew that death is a part of life, the conclusion we’ve all had pre-written for us since the opening paragraph. And you knew it was hard. You’ve had distant relatives pass, and felt some of the weight that comes with grief and accepting death; you’ve seen and been told your fair share of how loss changes people, both temporarily and permanently. But it’s clearer now more than ever that knowing something is not the same as being prepared for it. You knew it was hard, but no amount of knowledge could ever make you understand just how hard it really was.

You know now though. When someone dies, they freeze in place and time, into a forever still-life image of what was and will never be again; a catalogue of memories that lasts for as long as you can remember them. They become a concept, an imaginary something whose existence can only be proven by what they left behind in the physical world. A name — and the anecdotes and personality traits others think of when you say it. Preserved in your mind like a pocket of air in ice, they’ll stay; never moving forward, only back to the moments and memories that make up what’s left of them.

You’ve had the same moments and memories playing on loop for weeks. Not really on purpose, they’re just kind of there. There when you wake up, when you check the fridge with an empty belly and no appetite, when you decide to put off showering for another day, when you’re alone, when you’re with friends, when you’re trying to sleep away the feelings in your chest. You feel as ghostly as the images of them that flash behind your eyes, comforting yet haunting all the same.

Wet footsteps pull you out of your thoughts. There’s sweat between your fingers where they’re still clinging to the plastic-wrapped bouquet. You tilt your head in the direction of the footsteps. A man stops some feet away from you, face concealed under his umbrella and one hand tucked into the pocket of his dress pants. If he notices your presence or stare, he doesn’t show it.

You’ve been coming here every few weeks, and every time without fail, this man is here too. At first, you thought he was a stalker, but he never approached you or stood closer than three feet, let alone looked at you, so that feeling was short-lived. He asked you for a light once, but other than that, you’ve never interacted.

You often wonder which one he is there for, who the person was, what his relationship was to them — but you never bother to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds. He never brings anything with him either, aside from the occasional lighter and cigarette packet, and tends to stay longer than you. You’re only really here to soothe a healing wound and replace the flowers once they start drooping. The ones from last month droop more than normal under the weight of their wet petals, and you hope that the heavy rainfall won’t do more harm than good to the fresh bouquet you just put up.

A month later, the sky has just a few clouds dotted across it. The weather has been hectic, so as you’re approaching the columbarium, you’re curious to see how the flowers have been holding up. Before that though, you notice him first, standing in that specific spot that’s all his own by now. He’s dressed in the usual: a long-sleeved shirt, a blazer and matching trousers, all well-ironed and spotless, and a pair of polished Oxfords. You’ve always imagined him as a lawyer or office-worker of some kind; he certainly looks the part, especially with his tired face and perfect posture. There’s so much you don’t know about him, you can’t help pondering over things like what he eats for breakfast or if he has any pets or allergies, and imagining him in scenarios like typing away on a computer at a tidy desk or yelling ‘Objection, hearsay!’ across a courtroom. You’ll never know if any of those things exist beyond your imagination, and you have no way of knowing for certain either, but you like to think about it from time to time.

Two months after that, you notice he’s had a haircut. You can never tell when his undercut starts to get thicker, but once it’s trimmed, it becomes so obvious that it was overgrown before. It’s clear that it’s done professionally, and that he must be particular about his hair in general, if the perfectly combed middle-part and licks of gel are anything to go by. He looks good, you think, but as with most thoughts about him, you drop it before anything else can follow. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he lights the cigarette between his lips, then pockets the lighter and takes in a drag. His form is slanted and controlled in an effortless kind of way. He looks good, even in your peripheral vision.

The following month, you’re switching out the flowers with a different kind than normal since your florist didn’t have your usual. You think it’s the first time he ever looks at you, at least with any sort of interest in his eyes. It seems like a trick of the light at first, the way his silver eyes dart away when you glance at him. In fact, you’re still not really sure it actually happened, but you like to think it did, if it means he’s at all as curious about you as you are about him.

Three months later is the one year anniversary of your spouse’s death. For once, you’re not on your own; their family and close friends hover near their niche, paying their respects and exchanging embraces. You’re off to one side, not feeling particularly talkative or social, which is no surprise given the occasion. He arrives as he always does, but stands further away than usual, and with a more guarded expression. You wonder if the number of people intimidates him or makes him uncomfortable, or if there’s just something on his mind. After a short while, everyone starts to head off for the memorial service. You’re the last to take your leave, looking over your shoulder at him and hoping for a second of eye contact that never comes.

The month after that, he is nowhere to be found. You don’t think much of it initially — he’s never late but sometimes you’re earlier than he is — but he never arrives. You stay embarrassingly longer than you normally would to see if he shows up. He doesn’t, and you chalk it up to some minor thing, like a change of plans or a visit cut short. It isn’t until two months later, when he still doesn’t show, that you start to worry. You’re not sure what exactly you’re worried about, or if it’s something to even worry about in the first place. You start to visit every week and convince yourself that the only reason for it is that you’re just missing your lover more these days.

The relief you feel when you see him four weeks later is monumental. You’re practically buzzing as you walk up to him and you don’t even know you’re smiling until you feel your mouth corners drop at the sight of him. He’s always had faint shadows under his eyes, but you’ve never seen them this dark before, and his gaze is so heavy that it’s akin to a dead man’s. You wonder how much sleep he’s had, if any, and if it has anything to do with why he hasn’t visited these last few months. You wonder and you wonder but none of it leaves the confines of your mind. You’re just strangers, after all; two strangers who regularly see each other, but strangers nonetheless. All you can do is sigh, the joy of seeing him subsiding, and go to switch out the flowers.

“You’re later than usual today,” he says so quietly that you almost think it’s just a voice on the wind that you hallucinated in your desperation to speak to him. You stare at him, waiting for any sign that his low, hoarse words weren’t just a figment of your imagination. He just stares back at you, one eyebrow arched and his eyes expectant.

“Um, yeah,” you say, slowly, just in case you imagined the look on his face too. “I missed my bus so…” You trail off, tempted to smile at the fact that you’re actually, finally speaking to him. The swarm of unanswered questions that you’ve been trying to avoid suddenly floods you all at once. “It’s been a while since I last saw you here,” you say on impulse, but nothing else makes it past your lips. Lingers of why is that? and where have you been? and are you doing okay? die on your tongue.

He sighs. “Shit happens, I guess,” he mutters. His tone is void of all emotion, apart from maybe the exhaustion of someone who has been carrying too much for too long. You’re not sure what to say, about to opt for a hum of agreement when he speaks again. “I just needed some time away. Got two of these to take care of now, after all.”

You swallow nervously, trying to think of how, if at all, you should respond. How could he say that so casually? Like a comment on the weather or an arbitrary greeting? Your stomach hollows at the thought alone. Two urns; two whole people. That’s two names, two different faces and personalities, two lifetimes full of memories and smiles and tears, two amounts of habits and mannerisms, two lists of likes and dislikes and hobbies and pet peeves, of favourite films and colours and animals. That’s two whole people that he knew and he’s standing here like he hasn’t lost them both.

“Spare me,” he says, the flame of his lighter dancing over the tip of his cigarette. “My mother died when I was just a kid, so I don’t remember her. And that old bastard’s lived long enough, if you ask me. It was about time he kicked the bucket.” He tucks his lighter away and exhales some smoke, staring at the cigarette between his fingers. “Besides, it gets pretty tiring hearing the same shit the second time around, let alone the first.” His lips purse as he breathes in and pulls out the cigarette again, along with a slow trail of smoke. His eyes are on you as he says, “You, of all people, should know what I mean.”

Your gaze gravitates toward the flowers beside your partner’s urn. He’s right. It’s comforting the first few times — the condolences, the ‘sorry for your loss’s, the sympathetic glances — but after a while, it loses its warm touch. It starts to feel like an awkward finger, prodding at a bruise to point it out, even though you know it’s there, and all you wish is for it to heal already.

“Levi,” he says next, and all you can do is look back at him, puzzled.

“What?”

“My name,” he says through another trail of slithering smoke. “It’s Levi.”

You smile at this break in character, this rare show of warmth. You might not really know this Levi guy, but you get the impression that he doesn’t do things like this — whatever ‘this’ is — very often.

“I’m (Name),” you say, and that’s all it takes for the rest to pour out. “It’s good to officially meet you, by the way. I know we’ve technically known each other for over a year now but, also not, I guess…” You chuckle awkwardly. “Since this is the first time we’ve properly spoken to each other and… I don’t know. I suppose it’s just nice, is what I’m trying to say? If that makes any sense?”

Levi just takes another drag of his cigarette and for a second you think this is it — you’ve fucked it up by being weird, you could not have made it more obvious how deprived you were of human interaction if you tried — but then he turns to face you. You get a good look at his eyes, almost appearing sunken in by the dark shade of purple under them, and the dips in the hollows of his cheeks that make themselves known in the change of lighting. Then you spot the creases in his suit and shirt, his loose, ungelled hair, the scuff marks on his shoes. And that’s when you think: who am I kidding? This is a man who is mourning a second person before he could understand how to mourn the first. He is just as deprived and sad and lonely as you are; if anyone is to understand you, it’s him.

“The feeling is mutual,” he says. Then he smiles, faint and fatigued, and it feels like a shift. Right then, you feel your heart nudge forward. For the first time since your partner’s death, you feel really, truly present; like all this time you’ve been on autopilot with your consciousness trapped in the memories of your lost love, stuck in moments long gone. You know the deceased are chained to who they were, unmoving and silent and still, but somehow you’ve only now realised that you don’t have to be. You’re allowed to move on.

So you decide to take the leap. “Do you…” you start, and figure it’s too late to go back now. “Do you want to go get a coffee or something?”

Levi lowers his head as if thinking. “Well, I’m more of a tea guy myself,” he says before dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. He smiles again, and your heart nudges forward some more. “But sure. Let’s go get coffee. Or something.”

After that, the rest is history.

Sometimes you wonder if he ever would have spoken to you at all, if not for you being late because of that bus, or if the entanglement of your lives was inevitable from the beginning; pre-written since the opening paragraph. You were two lost people whose paths happened to cross — and maybe it was the wrong place, but God, was it the right time.

#divider by benkeibear #cw death #tw death #tw loss #tw mourning #aot fic #levi fic #levi fanfiction #levi angst #levi hurt/comfort #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #{♡} juno writes !!

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allovertheplace-writing · 1 year

Note

Hello, I saw that you're requests are open and if it's no trouble I would like to ask for kazuha with fem s/o who is insecure about their looks and body? Thank you in advance and have a nice day.

Genshin Impact

Character(s): Kazuha

Genre: Fluff + Comfort

Type: Headcanon

Description: Some days you cannot ignore the way you see yourself and every frown, every thought, finds a way to hinder your daily life. Today, though, as it all creeps in, you aren't alone

Warning(s): Female Reader(Pronouns and Gendered Terms Not Mentioned / Can Be Read by Anyone Without Being Misgendered), Insecurities, Touching(Innocent in Nature)

Hello, anon!! It's no trouble at all <3

I hope you enjoy and have a great day or evening!

It was a feeling, a simple pit in your stomach whilst you looked for something to wear for the day. Nothing seemed quite right and frustration boiled at the back of your throat with every failed outfit. Your silent words of disdain toward the unflattering clothing soon turned to your own self

You tried to shake your head and focus on finding something you knew looked good, but they just wouldn't stop. The very brain that knew you were attractive, attacked you as if it didn't. It would keep going until it ate you alive; until it consumed all that you are

But his voice, ever so soft and ever so kind, called for you just beyond your quarters, inquiring if you were ready to follow him just as he would the wind. It had your heart halting and your lungs aching. What would you say? More so, what could you say?

Perhaps it was your silence that would drive him away, maybe you could hide and wallow like days long passed. Though you knew better than that, that he would always make sure you were alright. He knew the way your dressing habits changed whenever your thoughts raged war upon your very being, he knew your torment like he knew his past

"May I come in, love?" He spoke in a hush, as if a mere wisp of urgency would send you hurling into the fiery pits of the underworld with only the souls of the damned to keep you company. His bandaged hand was on the weathered knob of your door long before you managed to push out a hum, but he waited for it despite the seconds or minutes that went by. For you, he would wait an eternity; he'd wait lifetimes

The door's hinges whined as he pushed it open, scared to allow him in just as you. Though your fear did not bloom from the stem of him knowing, rather, it fell from the wilted petals of your heart. To worry him so hurt more than any anguish your mind could grow in the soil of your battered soul.

A breath fell from his lips, an exhale soon followed by careful words. "Are...are you alright?" The twisting of your brow had him stepping closer. He payed no mind to your shrinking once he had you in his arms, sliding and locking loosely between your middle. He had been unsure before, but more than aware now. "Is it one of those days?"

The shirt in which you tried before his interruption was pressed ever so tightly to your chest, a meek attempt at shielding your weeping heart from his curious eyes. Your throat, tense and screaming for rest, only managed a quiet squeak - a squeak that was intended to be a 'yes'

His chin nestled above your shoulder as he breathed, his cheek smooshing when he leaned into you. "I'm perfectly content staying in today, if that's what you want." Hands, once locked and resting against your stomach, now wandered and danced across your bare skin. His thumbs rubbed circles whilst his fingers traced every curve and every mark. Like honey they dripped slowly and tickled the expanse of your skin in cold lines, lighting fires in their wake.

"There is always one thing the wind calls you toward, you know. Constantly pulling and pushing you until you finally find it.." His bangs dragged across your neck as he shifted, lifting and turning his head. Warmth settled against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin with every word. "And, for me..." Hands found your own, "I have found that you are what it's been leading me to."

Your aching fingers loosened around the crinkled fabric within your hands, his words relieving as much as they were lung aching. The shirt fell from your grasp when you reached for his hands, tangling your own with his as you pulled them close. Your chest rose with a shaking breath, your nose burning.

"To me, you are the world. Full of wonders and life." Your eyes itched as they watered and blurred. "A never-ending masterpiece of bountiful views and tasteful cuisines." His lips graced the curve of your cheek, "A flower that withstands hurricanes and tsunamis."

"You're so strong, (Y/n), but please...remember that you can lean on me whenever it gets too difficult." Another kiss is pressed to your cheek, "I love you, dearly."

#♡ - Rosie writes!#genshin impact x reader #x reader #writing #fluff #comfort #headcanons #scenarios #drabble #hcs #genshin impact kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact #hurt/comfort #genshin kazuha #gi #gi x reader

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julibellule · 1 month

Text

Fandom : Our Flag Means Death

BlackBonnet (Ed x Stede)

Stede finds Ed injured on the beach and takes him in to care for him

Rated Explicit, 14k words

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

It has been so long since I've had the time to really sit down and read 📚 so happy I've started with this one. I loved everything about it. I am a big supporter of the polyamory philosophy that wants the person we love to be free and happy 😊 and it is beautifully brought up here. Mary and Stede both seem happier in this wonderful AU. Go ahead and read this fic for a good dose of love and sweet angst that gets nicely resolved in the end.

Set in an #Alternate Universe where Ed is a #Stranger!Injured. Lots of #Hurt!Comfort, #Fluff, and #UST as Stede mend his #Injury. And a bit of #Angst as Stede tries to process is internalized #Homophobia. Some smut as we are witness to Ed and Stede's #First Time together. Read in #POV!Stede, #POV!Edward, and #POV!Mary. Features some #Mary♡Doug and some #Stede♡Mary. With #Alma Bonnet, #Louis Bonnet, #Mary Allamby, and #Doug. A little bit of #Cuddling and #Love Confession. Well adjusted #Polyamory. An #Anal sex scene with Ed giving Stede a #Blow Job. Sweet #Bottom!Ed while Stede #Praise him. #Virgin!Stede with men. Set during the #Golden Age of Piracy

>>> Click here for more BlackBonnet fic recs <<<

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aramiese · 2 years

Text

Love me through silent words

Albedo x !gn¡ reader

Summmary: overwhelmed student reader getting comforted.

Fluff/Comfort

Albedo knows how stressed you can get with school and everything going on with your daily life, however the man is a patient lover, always so understanding.

That's why when you finally decide to come to him, he silentely open his arms for you despite his messy sleep schedule, he would still lay down your shared bed before letting you cuddle up to him.

He would listen to you rant if thar's what you needed the most, but in time where you decide to just let him hold you so close to him, he simply doesn't have the heart to resist you.

One of his hands would slowly find it's place on your wait holding you firmly while his other one would comb slightly through your hair in a way to distract your mind from everything you have been through.

He always smells so nice, a faint smell of cologne mixed that's reassuring at most.

Focusing your hearing on his steady heartbeat, his slight breathing, the room is as silent as ever yet it feels full of love and promises.

Promises that he will be there, that you can count on your boyfriend anytime you need him and then comes the praise..

He was always proud of you, proud of your accomplishements and wouldn't hesitate to brag about you if asked or not.

Warmth fills your heart and soon your own body feels warm and fuzzy.

The last thing you feel are soft lips on your forehead before going to dreamland, secure and safe.

He will be there to support you anytime you need him to.

#arawrites♡#genshin comfort #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #albedo #albedo fluff #albedo x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo comfort #student reader #comfort #hurt/comfort #vent #genshin oneshots #genshin #genshin impact

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cookies-over-yonder · 8 months

Text

Fun and Games

CO-WRITTEN BY @silverlistenstothings

Taylor takes Hermie to the arcade! ... Things don't go as planned.

Part 15 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roommates

ao3

When Taylor insists on going to the arcade, Hermie reluctantly agrees. They’re really not that interested in doing anything that involves being around people other than Taylor and maybe the rest of the Leading Cast—not that they showed any interest in being around them, though they suppose that’s only fair—but Taylor is incredibly enthusiastic about some newly imported game cabinets straight from Japan and Hermie is, at their core, a pushover. They arrive soon after it opens, with Taylor’s hand wrapped around Hermie’s as he eagerly leads them inside.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Hermie asks, skeptically glancing around the arcade. It already smells sticky-sweet and sweaty, the air stiff and just barely cooler than it is outside.

But Taylor is practically bouncing as he leads the way over to a claw machine and presses his face to the glass.

“Look! Hermie!” Taylor points out a round pink plush bird wearing a green hat, half buried amongst the other plushies. “Bun-chan…”

“Who?” Hermie asks, circling around to the other side of the machine.

“It’s a plush bird from the UFO Catchers in Yakuza ! It looks just like that!” Taylor says, tapping his claws against the glass. “I need it.”

“… I assumed, from the title, that that was a game about organized crime?”

“Uh-huh! But it’s also about playing baseball and card games and crane machines!” Taylor explains, before glancing at Hermie and giving them a look. “You should play Kiwami sometime, I think you’d like Majima.”

“… alright,” Hermie says, helpless to dispute it one way or another. “I don’t have any money on me, so you’ll have to get your own token card.”

Taylor gives one last longing look to the plush bird, before trotting off towards the card machine. Hermie remains by the crane game, glaring at the little plush bird. It seems entirely unrepentant in its position.

Taylor returns, pressing a card into Hermie’s hand and pushing them out of the way in one movement.

“I’m gonna get that bird,” Taylor vows, sliding his own card into the reader.

Hermie looks down at the card in their hand, quietly baffled. The bright logo of the arcade shines up at them.

“You didn’t need to—“ Hermie starts, and their voice comes out sounding so pathetic that they give up on the sentence altogether. “You know these things are rigged, right?”

“Not to me! I’m great at crane games!” The machine beeps, and Taylor maneuvers the claw over the bird.

Hermie circles over to the other side, where they can see that the positioning is way off from this angle. Before they can say anything—not that they were planning on saying anything anyways—Taylor slaps the button and the claw descends. It pokes uselessly at the top of the next plush over, before it moves over to deposit a whole lot of nothing in the prize slot.

Hermie claps mockingly. Taylor glares at them.

“You have a go if you’re so good at it!”

“I’m not,” Hermie says, though they circle around the machine to take over the joystick anyways. “Nobody is, that’s the whole point.”

They move the claw over top of the bird, checking from all angles and carefully nudging it into place, before reluctantly tapping the button to descend. The claw lowers around the bird, wrapping around the little green hat and tipping the plush to the side, before ascending with nothing to show for it. Taylor gasps.

“Told you it was rigged,” Hermie hisses, glaring at the claw as it deposits its empty bounty into the receptacle.

“But you were so close! Try again!”

“I’m not going to get any closer,” Hermie scoffs, even as they position the claw for another try.

And then another. And then another, and another, and another, swiping their card again and again and hissing at anyone who tries to form a line behind them. They will get that stupid bird. It’s a matter of pride. It, of course, had nothing to do with the way Taylor’s eyes lit up when he first saw it.

Speaking of Taylor, he’d wandered off at some point to play any number of games that were better than this one. If he’d told Hermie where he was going in the first place, it’s long since been forgotten, because Hermie is incredibly focused on this damn crane game. Nothing else matters.

Hermie isn’t sure how long they’ve spent nudging the joystick and slamming a fist against the button before the claw finally closes around the body of the bird and holds firm all the way until it drops it into the receptacle. Nearly in disbelief, Hermie scrambles to retrieve their prize.

“Fucking finally!” Hermie shouts, lifting the bird above their head.

Their exclamation earns a few disapproving looks from the surrounding parents, because there’s a lot of parents, and a lot of kids, and a lot of people. Taylor was right to get here before it got crowded, because it’s crowded now and it sucks.

Hermie holds the bird to their chest as they suck in a sharp breath. The sweet-and-sweat scent of the air has only gotten stronger and it’s nauseating now that they’ve noticed it. It’s also fucking loud , people yelling to be heard over the noise of the arcade cabinets. Lights flash and people move around, an endless blur of sights and sounds. It’s not so crowded that it would be hard for Hermie to move, but they will risk running into people, and the very thought of touching anyone, especially a stranger, makes their skin prickle.

They check their reflection in the glass of the claw machine to ensure that it’s not literally prickling. The shade of the left side of their face is midway between that of their scars and their unblemished skin. Something bulges beneath the skin just before their hairline.

They tap the horn back into place with the heel of their hand, harder and harder until it sticks, then a few more times for good measure. It’s hot in the arcade but suddenly they're wearing a hoodie anyways, pockets to hide their claws in and sleeves to cover their arms. It’s so fucking hot but it’s better than anyone noticing just how much of a freak they are, and it’s better than letting their bare skin touch another person’s.

Hermie throws the hood up over their head, and glances longingly at the door.

They could leave. They couldn’t get home on their own, obviously, but they could leave, just until they calm down, just until the arcade clears out a bit.

They hold the plush bird closer to their chest, take a deep breath, and delve deeper into the arcade. They need to find Taylor. They don’t give a shit what he’s doing, they just need to get out of here before Hermie kills someone.

Their legs hurt, now that they’re forcing them to move. Their shapeshifting had returned their ability to bend half the joints below the hip after they were sealed in place by scar tissue, but they seemed to have locked back up. It happens sometimes, but they sure wish it wouldn’t happen now.

They limp through the arcade, hissing and snapping their teeth at anyone who bumps into them. None of them notice, none of them move out of the way, and each time Hermie brushes up against another person they feel their scarred skin writhe , trying to create an additional barrier between them and the rest of the world.

They pass the food court with no sign of Taylor. The overwhelming scent of grease and sugar makes them sick, a nausea that follows them even once they leave the scent behind. Their tail coils tightly around their leg, hidden beneath their pants. They’re glad they ditched the sweatpants in favor of something lighter, but it’s still so fucking hot. They shouldn’t be able to feel the sweat collecting along the back of their legs through all the scar tissue, but they swear that they can .

God, they wish they were dead.

Everything is so loud, but they can hear their wheezing breaths and the pounding of their heart over it all. They’re sure everyone around them can hear it too, can hear just how pathetic they are.

They’re staring. Nobody ever pays attention to Hermie until they don’t want them to. Everyone is staring. Of course they are, they’re disgusting.

They run a hand down their face. They feel the way the left side of it shifts beneath the pressure. The sensation makes them gag, and they snap their mouth shut against it. Their fangs catch on their lower lip and they bite down until they taste blood. They had hoped that the pain and familiar taste would give them something to focus on, but it’s just another sickening addition to the sensory onslaught they’re already subjecting themself to.

God, they’re gonna fucking kill Taylor when they find him—

As soon as the thought crosses their mind, their eye catches on the familiar colors of Taylor’s cane. It’s laid across the floor between two arcade cabinets, and Hermie feels their stomach drop before they stumble a step closer and their eye lands on the tip of Taylor’s shoe, peeking out from between the cabinets.

They take a deep breath to prepare to voice the rant they’ve been writing in their head, but the words die on their tongue the moment they see Taylor in his entirety.

He’s pressed against the wall in the narrow space between two arcade cabinets, entirely ignored by the people around them. His knees are curled up to his chest with his head buried in them, hands pressed over his ears. His breathing is sharp and shallow, and he’s shaking badly.

Oh.

Alright, Taylor’s off the hook this time.

Fuck.

Okay.

Hermie kneels down to match his height.

"Taylor, hey," they say, in a voice soft but hopefully loud enough for him to hear it over all the other various overstimulating sounds.

"Mmmnnn," is all Taylor replies with, a mix between a groan and a whine.

"Taylor, come with me, it's quieter outside."

Another whine.

It's at this moment that Hermie remembers that Taylor likes touch when he's panicking. But this is sensory overload… so it would make the most sense for him to be averse to it, no?

Well, he's barely responsive right now, and despite every fibre of Hermie's being telling them to not, not, not touch anyone right now, the state Taylor's in and the opportunity to do something about it is all overpowering.

Hermie puts a hand on Taylor's… head. It's hot and his hair is so sweaty and oh, god, touch makes Hermie feel sick to their stomach, but this is Taylor .

Somehow, it kind of works? Taylor is lifting his head, opening his eyes, and looking at Hermie, and Hermie is moving Taylor's hair out of his eyes, and his forehead is so sweaty and gross—

And Taylor has clearly been crying. There's a fresh set of tears in his eyes. And he's still covering his ears. And he's squinting, which makes sense, because everything in this place is too fucking bright.

"Taylor, can you come outside with me?"

Taylor's head tilts in the smallest, tiniest fraction of a nod. Hermie pulls their hand away from Taylor's hair in favour of passing him his cane.

Taylor hesitates, but then he slowly pulls one hand away from his ear—wincing at the noise—to grab it. Then he pulls the other hand away, just as slowly, and puts it flat on the ground in an attempt to lift himself up. He's shaking from head to toe, so Hermie isn't surprised when that doesn't work, and he crumples back to the ground.

And starts sobbing.

"Okay, here, take my hand."

Taylor grabs it, and Hermie pulls him up, keeps a tight grip, and guides them to the exit. Taylor's sobbing the entire time. The sound of it is somehow even more grating than the beeps and shouting children. The sensation of Taylor’s sweaty hand in their own, even more sweaty hand makes their stomach roll, but Hermie is sure that if they release him he’ll crumple back down to the floor.

The arcade is even more difficult to navigate with Taylor trailing after them. They don’t want to pass the food court again- they’re fairly certain they won’t be able to keep themself from throwing up this time- so they alter their course to avoid it. This, of course, means that they have no idea where they are and how to get out. And they need to get out.

Something touches their shoulder and Hermie jumps. It retreats as they whip around to find the source, which is probably for the best because Hermie was moments away from sinking their teeth into it.

An arcade employee stands behind them, hands held up placatingly. They’re saying something, and their face reads as concerned, but Hermie can’t catch the words. Something about ‘okay’ and ‘brother’ and ‘help’. Objectively, Hermie knows that they probably could help, but they can’t get their mouth to form anything other than a wordless snarl. The employee reaches out again, and Hermie snaps their teeth at their approaching hand. They’re already suffering through Taylor’s touch, they can’t stand a stranger’s.

The employee pulls away, face dropping from concern to something like fear or disgust, but Hermie has no interest in dissecting the intricacies of their expression. They turn on their heel and continue towards what they believe to be the exit. It feels like an eternity before they finally see sunlight and manage to escape the arcade.

They expected everything to be better as soon as they got out, but it’s just as loud and bright and stinky outside as it was inside, just in a different way. The sunlight is overwhelmingly bright and the cars rushing by are overwhelmingly loud and the scent of gasoline and hot asphalt is… well, overwhelming.

There’s no way either of them can get on the bus right now. They need to find someplace quiet to calm down. Hermie’s brain scrambles uselessly for a solution for far too long until they remember the library they passed on the way over.

“Close your eyes,” they tell Taylor, linking their arms together to pull him closer even as the increased contact makes them want to tear their own skin off. “I won’t let you bump into anything.”

“‘s loud,” Taylor sobs, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s an undeserved show of trust given the last time Hermie navigated the Leading Cast blind, but they’re not really in any mood for mischief at the moment.

“I know it is,” Hermie agrees as softly as they can while still being audible over the sound of cars. “We’re going to the library, it’ll be quiet there.”

“Wanna go home,” Taylor whines, burying his face in Hermie’s shoulder as he clings to them. Hermie tries very hard not to flinch.

"I know," Hermie says, turning them in the direction of the library, walking slowly but with a steady pace so Taylor can follow, and they can get there quickly.

As soon as they enter the sliding doors to the library, Taylor shudders. There's strong air conditioning in here, and they both run hot, so they're bound to get cold faster.

Fucking hell, the library is bright too, and Hermie scans the area before their gaze finally lands on a spot in a corner where the light doesn't quite hit it. Hermie starts toward it, guiding Taylor along.

The library is nowhere near as crowded as the arcade was, but there are still a few looks shot their way. Hermie's glares seem to make them avert their gazes, and whether or not it has anything to do with their figure becoming less uniform and more grotesque is the least of their worries right now.

After what feels like an eternity, they reach the darkest corner in the library.

"Taylor, let's sit down, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles, opening his eyes the tiniest bit to see where he's going, and then he crumbles against the ground, leaning his back against a bookshelf and drawing his knees up to his chest once more.

He's breathing fast, and breathing loudly, and then it's muffled by a hand in his mouth that he's biting, and he's definitely piercing the skin with his fangs, but Hermie would be a hypocrite to make him stop that.

Hermie sits across from him, holding their hands up, but not quite sure what to do.

And then he says something, but it's muffled by his hand, and Hermie has no idea what it is.

"What's that?"

Taylor seems to realize this, and pulls his hand out of his mouth in favour of burying his head in it, covering his eyes. "It—it… loud."

It's significantly quieter in here than outside, though Hermie can hear the low chatter of people scattered about, and the AC running, and yeah, it is a little loud.

"Okay, I'm going to cover your ears," Hermie says, and when Taylor nods, they bring their hands around to cup his ears.

Hermie feels the shift as their hands morph to close the little gaps left after they cup Taylor's ears, and they get a little thicker. The odd sensation of their hands shifting does nothing to ease the nausea still roiling in Hermie’s gut, nor does it protect them from the unpleasant prickle of contact.

While he's still very much panicking, Taylor seems to loosen up ever so slightly, and it reassures Hermie that their somewhat noise-isolating hands are helping a bit. They can suffer through.

As they fight to get their own breathing under control, they reflect on the day’s events and try to determine where it all went wrong. Getting out of bed was probably their first mistake, followed by agreeing to go to the arcade. They probably shouldn’t have let themself get quite so enraptured by the crane game either, so they could have noticed their own signs of overstimulation, found Taylor, and left before things got this bad. But then, Taylor should have done the same.

… but who's to say he hadn’t? If they hadn’t noticed how overwhelmingly crowded and bright and loud the arcade was in the depths of their hyperfocus, who’s to say they would have noticed Taylor? Had Taylor come to them and asked to leave, only for Hermie to brush him off? He didn’t seem like the type to give up that easily, but what if he was already shaken and struggling at that point, enough that he couldn’t force Hermie to focus on him? It was easy to blame Taylor for bringing them here in the first place, but this all could very well have been Hermie’s fault.

The familiar weight of guilt settles in Hermie’s chest. Even if Taylor hadn’t come to them, they still could have— should have prevented this. The realization has their eye stinging, but they can’t break down, not when Taylor’s busy doing it already. It’s fine. They can—and will—beat themself up over it later. For now, they can perform their greatest role yet: a pair of noise-canceling headphones that can touch people without wanting to remove their flesh from their body. Not that most noise canceling headphones have flesh, an attribute Hermie very much envies at the moment.

… they wonder if they could shapeshift their flesh away entirely. Now probably isn’t a great time to test that out, though. They put the thought out of their mind before their body can get any ideas.

They’re not sure how long it takes, but eventually Taylor’s shoulders stop hitching with muffled sobs and hiccups, and his breathing starts making an attempt at evening out. Hermie still isn’t sure if they’re allowed to move away yet, but Taylor’s hands slowly begin to lower from his eyes, and that’s probably a good sign.

Hermie looks away from Taylor to scan the area once more, and they spot an array of headphones on a rack nearby.

Slowly, Hermie pulls their hands away from Taylor's ears, feeling the instant relief of no contact at the expense of Taylor's exposure to the noise.

Another pang of guilt.

They slip their hand into their pocket and pull out the plush they won earlier—something once so rewarding, and now so, so insignificant compared to every horrible thing that obtaining it has caused.

Taylor's hands are further away from his face now, and he's lifted his head up slightly. His eyes are still closed, but when Hermie places the plush in his hands, they open.

He looks at it with a half-lidded gaze, says nothing, and holds it tighter.

"I'll be back in a second."

Taylor nods, still not tearing his eyes away from the plush.

Hermie grabs the headphones as swiftly as possible, returns to their spot kneeling in front of Taylor, and slides them on his head.

Taylor lets out a little sigh, and closes his eyes again. That thought in the back of Hermie's mind creeps up again: the thought that Taylor trusts them enough to give up his sense of sight. It’s so entirely undeserved that it makes them sick.

But it’s fine. Hermie’s not gonna worry about it right now. With Taylor reasonably comfortable, or at the very least not getting worse, they need to figure out how to get home. The bus still isn’t an option. They really don’t want to call a Lyft, considering it would be on Taylor’s dime and they’d have to interact with a stranger. According to the clock across the library, it’s about an hour past when Ms. Swift said she’d be home, so that’s… an option. It’s not one they like, at all, but it is an option.

They hate asking Ms. Swift for anything. It calls to mind all the times their adoptive parents refused, all the times Hermie had asked, then pleaded for them to go to his performances, to come and see the one thing he’s good at, only for them to sneer and turn up their nose. Besides, they know they don’t have any right to. She’s given them too much already.

But this is for Taylor, not for them. Hermie could suffer through the long bus ride back to the house, but Taylor probably couldn’t without another meltdown. They can call Ms. Swift if it’s for Taylor’s sake.

They stare at her name in their contact list for far too long. She gave it to them when they first moved in, and it has since gone entirely untouched. They’re pretty sure she has their own number registered as well, which means their stupid fucking name would show up on her phone if they called.

She’d probably ignore it, if she knew it was them. Luckily, they know what pocket Taylor keeps his phone in, and they can grab it from him easily enough. He doesn’t even notice, distracted as he is by… everything else that’s going on.

They know his passcode, no shapeshifting for the sake of Face ID required, which is probably for the best considering they still don’t feel like they’re entirely in control of that part of themself.

Most of the recent calls are to his mom, so it’s easy for Hermie to find her number. They don’t let themself think about it for too long before dialing and bringing the phone up to their ear.

“ Hey honey !” Ms. Swift answers after the second ring. “ You at the arcade with Hermie ?”

Hermie swallows, and then in their best approximation of Taylor’s voice, “um, we’re at the library now, actually. It got kinda… loud and overwhelming at the arcade, so we’re hiding out here until… I was wondering if you could pick me up?”

“ Yeah, of course, baby ,” Ms. Swift says immediately, voice going soft. “ Is Hermie with you ?”

“Mmhmm.”

“ He’s okay ?”

What? What ?

“Uh—yeah, yeah he’s fine.”

“ Alright, you two stick together alright? I’ll be there in fifteen. ”

Oh. That makes sense. She just wanted to make sure Hermie was there to look after him. Why she trusts them to do so is a mystery, but it makes more sense then her being worried about them .

“Okay. Thanks Mom,” they say, glancing at Taylor. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to them at all.

“Of course. See you soon. I love you .”

“… Love you too.”

Ms. Swift hangs up. Hermie breathes out a sigh of relief, and slips Taylor’s phone into their pocket. They slide to the floor beside him, and Taylor immediately leans into their shoulder. Hermie just barely manages not to flinch. It’s a little less sickening than it was at the arcade, but it still makes their skin roll. They wonder if Taylor can feel it through the fabric separating them. If he can, it doesn’t seem to bother him. They can’t force themself to lean back into Taylor the way they usually would, but they tolerate the contact.

They tap their claws against Taylor’s knee. He slides the headphones off one ear, looking at them.

“Your mom’s coming to pick us up. She’ll be here in fifteen.”

“M’kay. Thanks, Herm.” Taylor mumbles, hugging the plush bird a bit closer to his chest as he cuddles nauseatingly close to Hermie’s side, using Hermie’s shoulder to nudge the headphones back over his ear.

Hermie continues to bite at their lip. The pain is much more pleasant to focus on than the contact. The coppery taste of blood only makes their nausea worse, but it’s fine. Hermie’s fine. They’ll have to be until Taylor’s safely on the way home.

They wish they could close their eyes too, but people keep trying to enter Hermie’s little section of the library, so they have to be on guard. Luckily, they’re fairly easily dissuaded by Hermie’s one-eyed glare and, perhaps, Taylor’s pitiful aura. The fact that Hermie’s horns have grown out enough to distort the shape of their hood and that half of their face looks more like hot wax then human skin might also serve as a deterrent.

Fifteen minutes is a remarkably long time when you and your companion are sitting, overstimulated, in a corner of a library. Hermie tries to spend the time forcing their skin back into human form, but every time they try to focus on shifting their burns into something more regular, they’re forced to acknowledge the weight and warmth of Taylor against them and they end up not making any progress at all. They can’t even force their horns back beneath their skin, and even if Hermie can pull the hood up far enough to hide what they are, they still form a strange shape on top of his head.

There’s no hiding them. They’ll just have to find a way home that doesn’t involve Ms. Swift. They can take the bus on their own. Sure, it’s about 4 and it’ll be stupid crowded from people trying to get home from school or work, but it’s better than letting Ms. Swift see them like this. They’ve already failed to carry their own weight like they promised, finding out just what her tenant is would surely be the last straw. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t found out so far, but Hermie is a very good actor. Still, even the best have their limits, and this will be theirs.

“Taylor?” Ms. Swift’s voice.

Hermie hunches in on themself, raising their unscarred hand in a feeble wave. They jostle their shoulder to get Taylor’s attention. He perks up immediately upon seeing Ms. Swift, jumping to his feet and stumbling into her arms. She catches him, wrapping her arm around him and peppering kisses onto the top of his head.

“Hey, baby, hi, let’s get you home, okay?” She runs her hand soothingly through his hair, pushing it back so she can kiss his forehead when he pulls away enough to let her. He moves to her side, clinging to her arm with both hands and burying his head in her side.

For a moment, Hermie thinks that they’ve been forgotten about entirely, and they’re very glad that they won’t have to explain themself. That hope is immediately dashed when Ms. Swift looks up and meets their eye. She looks startled for a moment, before she schools her expression.

Well. They’ve certainly been caught.

“I um—“ their voice comes out strained and weak, trembling like they’re about to cry. Fuck. Goddamnit.

“Can you grab Taylor’s cane for me?”

Hermie’s mouth clicks shut. They nod helplessly, unsure of what else to do, and grab Taylor’s discarded cane. They shakily rise to their feet, and follow Ms. Swift as she leads the way out of the library. Once the entrance is in sight, they stumble to a stop.

“Ah, um—wait, the headphones—" they gesture over to the rack they snagged them from.

“I was wondering where those came from,” Ms. Swift muses, pulling Taylor out of her side enough to take the headphones and whisper reassurances all the while.

Taylor immediately melts back into her side once she’s done, and she offers Hermie the headphones. They return them to their place, and hesitate beside it. Maybe they can still slip away, to avoid the worst of Ms. Swift’s scrutiny. Unfortunately, she remains where they left her, looking at Hermie expectantly. A furrow has formed between her brows, but Hermie can’t read into it before they’re ducking their own head and following like a scolded dog.

“I—I can take the bus,” Hermie says, worrying their claws over the handle of Taylor’s cane. “I know that I—"

“Hermie,” she says, sharp enough for them to flinch. “You don’t have to do that.”

“… okay,” Hermie agrees, voice quivering. They’re so pathetic. They should be a better actor than this.

She leads the way to her car parked illegally outside, one tire run up partially on the curb. Taylor takes shotgun, leaving Hermie to tuck his cane under the seat and crawl into the back. They sit behind Taylor, curling up against the door as soon as their seatbelt is clicked into place.

Ms. Swift starts the car, turns the music all the way down, and flicks the AC off. There’s the rumble of the car, but beyond that it’s so quiet. It’s almost unnerving after the constant background buzz of everything happening outside. She pulls away from the curb, and Taylor whines as it drops off it—a sentiment Hermie shares, but doesn’t voice. They need to be quiet. They can’t attract attention to themself, not right now.

Which is what makes the tears building in their eyes so inconvenient. Hermie isn’t great at crying quietly.

They continue to chew at their lip. The pain just makes them want to cry more. Hermie recognizes the post-adrenaline desire to break down, but they’re not safe yet. They can’t give into it.

A tear trickles its way down Hermie’s cheek, searing hot and embarrassing . They wipe their face on their inner hood against their shoulder, but it’s followed by another, and another, until their shoulders are hitching with it. They sniffle and struggle fruitlessly to keep their breathing even, teeth grit against any pathetic noises they might make. Their lips aren’t enough to muffle it, so they raise their scarred hand to their mouth and bite.

They wonder if it’s a demon thing, to bite at your hands like that, considering it’s a trait they share with Taylor. It would make sense as some kind of teething instinct, given that Taylor’s fangs seem to still be growing in, but Hermie’s teeth are probably as big and sharp as they’ll get. At least, they hope they won’t get any sharper, considering the damage they can do now.

It’s a fair amount of damage. They’ll have a lot of blood to clean up later. They’re not really worried about that now, though. For now, it’s doing a passable job at muffling their sobs while also giving them something to focus on.

“Hey, Hermie?” Ms. Swift says from the front seat. Hermie flinches hard, releasing their hand and hiding it in their pocket. They quickly wipe the blood from their mouth, before glancing up to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t meet theirs, eyes still fixed on the road. “It’s okay. This doesn’t change anything, you know that, right?”

How can it not? They’re more hot wax than human at this point, complete with demon horns and animal ears and a stupid fucking tail that looks just like their dad’s. They don’t understand how Ms. Swift can just take that with little more than a raised eyebrow.

Perhaps she just doesn’t want to show how disgusted she is in front of her son? That would make sense, Taylor is already so stressed out. Surely there’s something worse waiting for them when they get home, once Taylor is tucked away safely in his room. The anticipation is just making their anxiety worse, but their muffled sobs have tapered off into just hiccups and silent tears, and it stays that way for now.

The Swift household is a comforting sight, despite everything. Hermie knows they’re just an intruder there, but even a mouse makes its home within the walls.

Ms. Swift pulls into the driveway. Hermie retrieves Taylor’s cane from beneath the seat. They step out of the car on shaky legs, prepared to hand it over, but Ms. Swift beats them to the car door. Hermie shies away, only glancing at her face before ducking their head.

“Hermie, honey,” Ms. Swift says, reaching to place a hand on Hermie’s shoulder. Hermie manages to fight down a flinch. “It’s fine. You’re okay. Thank you for taking care of Taylor today.”

Oh. That’s not what they expected at all. If they weren’t already so exhausted, they might start sobbing again. It still might be in the cards, actually.

Ms. Swift gives them her best attempt at a comforting smile, before opening the passenger door for Taylor.

"Taylor, sweetie, let's go inside," she says, leaning inside, and Hermie hears the clicking of the car buckle.

Taylor whines.

"What is it, baby?"

"Can you carry me?" he mumbles in a tear-laced, wobbly way.

Ms. Swift hesitates. "I can try," she says, and she doesn't sound sure at all. She's adapted to many other activities with only one arm, but Hermie suspects that carrying Taylor isn't one she's practiced.

Taylor throws his arms over her shoulders, and she scoops him up, with her arm wrapped around his back, and her hand reaches under his knees to hold them up.

"Mommy…" he mumbles, burying his head in her shoulder.

"I know, baby, it's okay," she hums, pressing a kiss against the top of his head.

The familiar feeling of envy rears its ugly head at the sight.

Why does Taylor get a loving mother and decent father when you get four parents who all hate you ? it growls, but Hermie knows the answer to that. For all the differences between the King of Hell and a trickster deity and two completely average upper-middle-class human doctors, there’s a single common factor, and that’s Hermie. Skill issue , as Normal might say. They’re not entirely sure what they’ve done, but they’re certain it’s their own fault.

Hermie watches Ms. Swift carry Taylor toward the entrance and notices his breathing pick up again.

"Taylor, honey, breathe," she hushes him, to no avail. In fact, Taylor gets dangerously close to hyperventilation. Again.

Hermie, trailing behind them, notices that Taylor's hands are shaking. It looks like he's grasping for something.

And then Hermie's gaze lands on the plush, left behind to face the elements on the concrete driveway. They’re a bit bitter about how easily their gift was discarded—not that they expected anything different—before they put two and two together.

They pick it up with their unbloodied hand and catch up to Ms. Swift and Taylor.

"Here," they say with a voice quiet, rough, and most prominent of all, weak .

Ms. Swift turns to face them, and her eyes cross theirs before they land on the plush.

"Taylor, look," she says softly, and he pulls himself away from her chest, and once he spots the plushie, he's reaching for it.

Hermie hands it to him, and once it's safely in his grasp, his breathing starts to slow.

Ms. Swift shoots Hermie a small smile, one that is so incredibly undeserved.

“Keys are in the front pocket of my purse,” Ms. Swift says, pivoting so the purse resting against her hip faces Hermie. “Could you unlock and open the door for us?”

Hermie nods, a bit too eager to have a task. They carefully unzip the front pocket and fish out the keys, fighting against the urge to root through the bag for anything else. Ms. Swift isn’t even looking at them, still focused on Taylor. They could swipe her wallet, no problem.

But they don’t. They’d probably be the first suspect anyways. They just take the keys and unlock the door, holding it open for Ms. Swift to enter through. They don’t even do the facetious little bow they usually do when holding the door open for people. That would require an amount of energy that they don’t possess at the moment.

“I’m gonna take Taylor upstairs, but we can talk afterwards. If you want, I mean. Whenever you want. Just know that I don’t care about…” She turns back to tilt her head at them meaningfully. “I’m not gonna kick you out or anything like that.”

Why not , Hermie wants to ask, but it’s a kindness they can’t bring themself to question. Instead, they follow Ms. Swift up the stairs, darting ahead to open Taylor’s room for her, before they duck away and go to their own room. Their legs feel weak the moment they cross the threshold, and they barely have the presence of mind to close the door before they’re stumbling over to their bed and collapsing on it. They feel like they’re in desperate need of a shower, and they definitely should clean up their hand before they make a mess, but they grab a pillow with their unbloodied hand and bring it up over their face instead.

Finally, they’re free to wail into their sobs, loud and ugly and exhausting. They have a headache that they won’t be able to sleep through without medication, and they really need to wrap their hand before it stains something, but going into the bathroom means getting far too close to Taylor and Ms. Swift, and they can’t risk being heard when they’re finally letting themself sob.

It feels so stupid to be breaking down over a bit of overstimulation and undeserved kindness after everything they’ve been through, but there’s some comfort in the fact that Taylor’s doing the same on the other side of the bathroom. After everything, it almost feels good to cry over something any other teenager might.

#angst #hurt/comfort #taylor swift dndads #hermie unworthy #cassandra swift #dndads #dndads au #fic #arcades #the mortifying ordeal of being roommates #cookies writes and cookies wrongs #autistic taylor and autistic hermie so real ♡

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