[/]: ok,, so hi. I’m alive and I’m hyperfixated on the mental tentacle man. I had so much fun writing this and as always my wonderful partner and editor helped me — @lilliryth
[]: Love notes. Stupidity ensues.
[]: Otto Octavius x Reader.
[ ]: 5400k words.
[]: Angst with a happy ending. Mental illness mentions, suicide mentions. Overall, it’s really fluffy.
Otto Octavius had always been a man of logic and reason, a man with an inclination for science, and more importantly what made sense—even if the grey abstracts of the field themselves didn’t at first. Because, in the end, an explanation, a hypothesis would be constructed.
However, what doesn’t make sense, what has his brows knitted, lips drawn into a confused scowl is the pink piece of paper in his large, tremulous hands. Both forefingers and thumbs pinch the edges, his pinkies upturned with strain.
The writing glares at him, a sweet innocence contrasted with the bleak anaemia that is his surroundings. And, by extension, himself.
‘I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.’
He’d found the curious note in his diary planner—well, it had fallen out, to be more truthful. It was a surprise to be sure, and from the moment his eyes processed the paper’s hue, he knew it wasn’t his own. Curiosity bloomed, fingers unearthing.
Absent, he shifts in his seat as the chair scrapes against the tiled floor. The distant paranoia, which feels like a lifetime ago, flickers the lights of his mind before the whispers are silenced just as fast.
There’s no more of that.
He’s reformed, even if he does deem himself unworthy of such… a note (it was certainly a note, yes). Even if he does believe it is just that — a joke — one set up to frame him as a laughing stock. There’s no more of that behaviour.
The probability of that occurring, anyway, is slim and, once more, borders on the line of the delusions he suffered from the AI’s influence.
Yet, the thorned coils which had wrapped and solidified their insidious hold around the organ that keeps his body moving, his brain working, year and years ago, won’t let him fumble for the threads of hope; of happiness. It’s too risky. He’s at a standstill, a stalemate with his own self—a meddlesome, pitiful thing. His logical mind screams:
Occam’s Razor.
And so, the natural presumption despite external opinions of himself is that someone is enamoured.
Maneuvering so that his left hand is holding the message, he places a fist against his mouth. His teeth bite into his knuckles with a tender force. His eyes remain fixated on the words, reading them over and over, expecting the mirage to dissipate—a hallucination conjured up by the deepest shadows of his mind, claws of the past.
Who—
“You alright, doc?”
Otto lets out a noise of surprise as his actuators react immediately. Taking up as much space as they can, they straighten out and he swears he can now sympathise with terrified cats.
He feels like a cartoon.
The crash next to him is wilfully ignored. His smile is half-hearted as he looks towards his co-worker, and as if caught doing something rather inappropriate, he shoves the tiny piece of paper into one of his coat pockets.
“Yes! Yes, yes… perfectly fine.”
The co-worker, Matthew, looks at him like he’s grown two heads, or perhaps a few more metal arms, and leaves without another word. It’s to be expected and yet Otto holds his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with haste.
They sting with the burden of sleepless nights.
While he’s been in remission for ages, has healed and had his inhibitor chip reinstated, there of course is room — the room being very spacious and able to accommodate an elephant, though a room nonetheless — for doubt. If it’s happened once, it can happen again.
And, in all honesty, Otto agrees.
There’s always going to be the stain of his background, the stain of his mishaps, the stain on his reputation as a scientist. Brilliant but reckless. Impulsive. Harbouring the grandiosity of the greats with nothing to show for…
Yes, this is his burden to bear. He’s never going to be trusted again, not with the mechanical reminder attached to him for the span of forever; and since he’s never gotten his way - such a forever will be a long time.
He’s getting distracted.
Swiping his thumb to uncrumple the paper, a glance downwards determined the reality of the situation.
Real. Very real.
The walls of the establishment with each flickering glance creep towards him. Further and further they close in until that electrifying card of freedom is being wrenched out of his pocket and shoved into the lab’s clock-in system.
He’s taking his break early.
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
He notices you long before you notice him, the quickened strides you take are enough of an indication of where your head is at, and subsequently, your availability. Something settles in his chest at this conclusion, it’s not painful, though it’s not exactly comfortable either. There’s a heaviness there, a weight that he can’t quite shake.
Such a sensation deepens when you smile at one of your coworkers, making a small quip, he assumes, because they bark a laugh. It’s so surprising to you that your own amusement tangles with their own.
A lone star in the sky, tearing through the darkness with such a pertinacious conviction one’s free will to observe is obliterated. No, you demand attention, his attention, without even knowing, and it’s akin to the biological need to survive.
To breathe.
And now, it’s his turn to laugh. Rehashing poetry he’s been gifted to the local librarian was not a level he would stoop to.
The sigh he breathes is automatic and he drops his stuff in his usual spot, ignoring the holes that sear into him as he passes people by.
Soon, he finds himself in queue at the cafe nestled along the library’s front, glasses up and fixed (thanks to the trusty assistance of Mo), against the bridge of his nose. His research papers take a good chunk of his attention away from the vexing length of the line and the gawking, until the loud drawl from the counter, harbouring a mirrored resentment, interrupts his sinuous arithmetic.
Without looking up, he recites his order. A black coffee, no sugar, and a blueberry muffin. Within minutes he’s tucked away at the back of the library where no one ventures. The noise is rare, the whispers unheard and the halls gloomier.
He likes it that way.
“I always wished I could do maths. Aside from how awful and traumatic the teachers were, it actually seemed fun. Though, you do make it look easy.”
Otto’s eyes widen. His gaze darts from you to the notepad he’d apparently pulled out at some point. Hovering centimetres from the page are one of his actuators with the pen that he stuffs in his coat pocket in case of emergencies. One quick scan determines that his thoughts — which were purely hypothetical — have been transcribed for him.
Ah, the pros and cons of AI.
A smile takes over his surprise, and he shifts in his seat.
“Anyone can do mathematics, no matter the setbacks. There’s always time if you put in the work.”
You roll your eyes and sit on the table, a hand’s length away from his notepad. The movement is so delicate and with such grace Otto’s breath hitches. He tries not to notice the way your grey pencil skirt rides up your thighs, the floral seduction of your perfume so close it coaxes the subtle fluttering of his eyelids.
“Oh, come on. Otto, how long have we known each other now? You know there’s no hope for me.”
“Quite the contrary, my dear. I will admit the education system is very flawed, though if there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Well, for most, the will needs to be created. And considering you’re loving my muffin so much there needs to be free muffins after math classes. That’s an incentive don’t you think? Muffins and math!” you grin with jazz hands and, to him, it’s near irksome how delightful you are.
Then, your forefinger swipes at your bottom lip and he can practically see the light bulb going off.
“Hell, maybe I should pitch that to my superior. It’ll get more of the kids involved in our programs.”
Once the words process — you had the tendency to shoot sentences like bullets — he gives a soft laugh. He almost wants to tell you how enamoured he is, though his mouth is pinned. The urge comes out in other ways, however, as before he can stop the movement, an actuator is giving you head pats.
Your giggles light up the near-abandoned end of the library.
To his surprise, you’re not scared of him. Sure, he’s known you for a while now, but there’s never been such an intimate form of contact.
Considering all things, it wouldn’t have shocked him if you got up and left screaming. It wasn’t too long ago he was out of his mind — and criminal — and the bad reactions have happened enough times to where he’s sure it’s to happen again in the near future. What would highlight this experience as different, setting the event in bold, red ink, would’ve been the pain. Yes, worst of all, the pain.
“You baked this?” Otto asks, opting to change the subject as he reels in the actuator with a mental tug that looks unnaturally rough—as if it had been held by a string and yanked. He’s just thankful there’s no one behind him, he didn’t want to be accused of being evil again after smacking someone into the wall by accident and ruining half the library…
Anyway…
Watching on with a fondness, your eventual nod is hesitant and shy. Slowly, it gains confidence.
“We’re a family! The staff is all really close so if one of us is having trouble, then we do the best we can to help. I bake as a hobby and I think because of that I’m the only one Olivia trusts to assist whenever she doesn’t have the time.”
“That’s lovely. How kind.”
Your smile has a blissful sway and Otto finds himself falling into it, lingering a second too long.
“I could bake something for you! I know how hard you work, you practically kill yourself.“
Ha! If only.
His lips quirk upwards.
"Oh! There’s just so much to choose from. I could make you tiny cakes! Or some more muffins! Or cinnamon rolls—you kind of remind me of them, actually,” you say, ending in a thoughtful tone.
The smile you wear is beaming, the passion for one of the oldest crafts humanity has engaged in, is inspiring. Words are not enough to measure the warmth he feels.
With what Otto can only pinpoint as a sudden realisation, the fear of coming on too strong about a special interest — which he immediately identifies with — your joy falls, and your eyes widen.
Freezing, your stuttering begins.
The display is adorable and sympathetic. The dull ache in his chest bubbles a series of compulsions, yet never truly do they pop free. Reaching out and lacing his fingers with yours is the most overbearing and he has to physically clasp his own together to stop them. So far, his actuators have not betrayed him and he thanks the heavens.
“Oh— uh— I mean only if you want to,” you waver. “Of course, I don’t want to force you and I don’t want to give the impression that I’m great at it. I just—”
Otto releases a laugh, and he hopes it’s more reassuring than seen as an interruption.
“Darling, I’d love that.”
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
Curiously, when he gets home and checks his diary planner, there’s another note. The only places he’d visited were the library and his work—meaning the prolific, perfervid poet hovers around either area.
The only thing Otto is sure of is that it’s not you. He’d been watching you the entire time and there’s no possibility you’d slipped under his radar. Either way, the idea that the notes are coming from you is wishful thinking. A hope, a yearn which should have been quashed long ago.
He’s not a foolish, young boy anymore.
It read:
“Holding this poem
Close, like a mirror,
I breathe upon it.
I watch for some sign.
There is a faint mist
Spreading across it.
It takes hold. It clings
To the lean hollows
As the sun rises,
This sun that is going
To burn the mist off.
I give you chamois
To clear the surface.
I give you this sun.”
Otto feels his consciousness, along with his reason, leave his body. He’s now convinced this is personal, the stanzas, to his very limited knowledge of poetry and his inhibited talent despite all efforts of comprehension, call to his deepest sorrows. His regrets. Broken dreams. Still, what he gets from this is redemption, the idea of rebirth—forgiveness through the metaphor of the cloth. Of the sun’s rays signalling anew.
And somehow, it evokes something he hasn’t felt in a long time. The complex coupling of pain and release, the hope for a future. Even if one person has forgiven him, just one, he can live with that. Yes, he can press on and somehow that eases the weight. In the aftermath of all he’d done, awakening from that terrible abhorrent dream — for that’s what it had been, right? A dream? (Some days he’s not so sure) — he didn’t believe he was ever going to forgive himself. It seemed that such a luxury was off the table, not in the cards. Not for someone like him. And now, this tiny piece of paper who has no name, no indication of a presence, is telling him otherwise.
Again, he could always be misinterpreting it.
His own personal bias. Typically human. Typically Otto. Perhaps, he was seeing what he wanted to see because living with the pain is too much.
It’s all things Otto has no trouble with and, in fact, found himself enjoying quite often in his free time. At least you get a straight answer!
This, though?
Of poetry?
Of love?
The trials and tribulations of relation — saying the right things, doing the right things instead of standing like a dumbstruck statue — turned to stone by the infamous Gorgon herself, Medusa?
It’s overwhelming.
He’s never been good at it. Not even with Rosie, who’d had the misfortune of marrying him.
He can’t help the way his thoughts wander back to you, and he notes that their winding, spiralling, tracks aren’t making much sense right now.
At this time of night, what did you do? Did you have a family to come back to? Did you care for your kids with as much gentleness as the ones at the library?
He’s never been to your home, though he can picture you lounging on a daybed by your window, curtains pulled back with the shimmering beams of the moon trickling in. He can see the celestial light emphasising the glow of your features, he can picture it so vividly as if it’s happening right at that very moment; unfolding before his gaze while he floats from the melancholia.
Perhaps you’re the sole one awake in your household, once again — as you’ve recounted many a time — forgetting the importance of sleep, so engrossed by a novel you’re reading.
Every time he looks at you, there’s a new book in your hand. To be fair, it’s one of the many things he admires about you. You have such a thirst for knowledge, a will to learn, bestowing it to those willing to listen. Not once had he seen you bitter, resentful or condescending. You use your intelligence as a tool to help others — a pillar he very much believes in.
His thoughts are no longer focused on the papers he took home. And, like wandering insects, they have a determination of their own, no matter his pacific nudgings.
You, you, you.
It’s time for bed.
That much is clear.
With a puff of a sigh, he sheds his clothes leaving his chest bare while swapping out his slacks with pyjama pants. Once he’s in bed an actuator tugs on the thin chain of his lamp, plunging his room into darkness.
The war against insomnia is a harsh and unwilling one, creeping into the early hours of dawn. The all but few hours he spends sleeping on his stomach is the only solace his back gets.
He’s unsure where he musters up the will to move again.
But, he does.
Swallowing his painkillers with instant coffee, he leaves.
The next few days pass with some ease and it’s something he’s thankful for. There’s an incident with one of the interns, though it isn’t enough to make him entirely lose his temper. All it takes these days is a look. The things attached to his back evoke more from people than what shouting could ever do. The fear of possibility, the fear that he wasn’t who he said he was — recovered and healthy — overtakes anything.
It’s as exhausting as the sideways glances.
By the time his last day rolls around, he doesn’t have the energy to visit the library. Seeing you would have been the highlight of his week. A break between the madness. But, with the ache in his bones, the heaviness of his limbs, the resolve never crystalises.
The sleep comes easier this time, bringing with it the passing realisation that he never received a note that week.
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
In all honesty, he feels a bit ridiculous.
No different to three kids shrouded in a trenchcoat, incongruous, feigning the certainty and self-actualisation adults possessed (though, honestly, time has taught him this really is a facade), he leans against one of the rickety oak bookshelves, hat tipped downwards, nose buried in what was the nearest book he—
He never did check what he picked up.
One quick glance at the cover and his face falls in horror. With quick fingers, he slots it back into the nearest opening and finds something more… appropriate. From now on, he knows to always look at the titles he picks up—lesson learned.
So far, in the half-hour he’s stood there, no one has passed his table and his quest to find out his ‘secret admirer’ is no closer than when he started. His things lay dormant, calling to him, pleading with him to end this charade.
He’s going to have to think of something—
“What are you doing?”
“Gah!” Otto drops the book he was holding and it falls to the ground with a heavy, reverberating thud. An actuator clamps on the wrist of whoever was about to touch his shoulder and he spins to meet the perpetrator with a scowl.
The techiness vaporises as soon as his eyes land on you. There’s a wince in your expression and he lets go of his hold immediately—he hadn’t even intended to be rough.
“My dear, forgive me! It seems I’m a bit on edge, I’m terribly sorry.”
With the poise of a feather, he takes your wrist in his hand observing the slight indent in the softness of your skin. It’s the first time he’s touched you, the warmth forever imprinted into the coolness of his own. He can’t help but notice how small your hand is compared to his, and following that same train of thought, how your everything is small compared to his.
If only the contact was under better circumstances.
“It’s okay,” you breathe.
There’s a shallow quality to it and Otto quirks a brow.
“Are you sure? Are you hurt?” his voice lowers to a whisper.
One of his worst fears rears its ugly head, slithering from the shadows with a treacherous grin.
It promises torture.
He can’t have you afraid of him. He could not — would not — stand for it. The hammering of his heart assaults his ribcage and for the second time in the span of an absurd couple of weeks, he feels like he’s an animation brought to life.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassure him, lips curling upwards into something so honeyed he melts. The soft noise of surprise that leaves him is accompanied by his own relieved elation.
“Oh. Good, good.”
“So…” you begin, sliding your hand back from his. “What’s with the get-up? You look like a spy who’s trying not to give away that he isa spy and is failing miserably.”
Otto shoots you a look before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’m looking for someone,” he answers plainly. He wants to elaborate but he already feels nonsensical.
“Ooo a stakeout! I love a good stakeout,” you form your hands into tight circles, placing them around your eyes. “Any luck, commander?”
Otto rolls his eyes and with a huff, he admits defeat. He can’t believe he’s in this situation.
Nonetheless, you’re cute.
“No, nothing.”
“Who are you looking for anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Someone has been leaving me these… notes. And I’m trying to work out who it is.”
“By conducting a stakeout in the library?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Depends. What are these notes?” Otto feels a fire spreading in his cheeks and his jaw tenses.
“It’s poetry. They’re love notes.”
This is humiliating.
You gasp, hands flying up to your face, voice high-pitched and whiney, “Otto you never told me you had a secret admirer. How very high school!”
“Shush, shush! You’re going to give me away!” Otto whispers harshly, arms raising up in a frantic attempt to lower your voice.
Some librarian!
“Oh honey, you didn’t need my help with that,” your gaze looks him up and down and he squirms. The pet name does not go unnoticed.
“Alright,darling,” he smirks. “I’m asking again, what do you propose?”
He takes a step forward and you have to crane your neck all the way to meet him. He swears he sees you swallow, yet the hues of your cheeks he believes are delusory.
He fights the urge to take you by the chin, choosing instead to lean down.
"I-I— oh. Um. Well, I can keep watch,” nervous laughter punctuates your speech. “I’ll be your eyes and ears!”
With your hands on your hips, the stuttering leaves, “that way you don’t have to dress like a Looney Tunes villain in the middle of mylibrary.”
“Oh, it’s your library now, is it?”
“Yes,” you very innocently exclaim, batting your eyelashes.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you rock your form sideways, looking beyond him.
“I have important librarian things to do! Besides, it looks like you have a visitor!”
Otto swivels around so fast he can hear the wrinkling of his coat. When his eyes latch onto his table there’s no one there and neither are you when he revolves.
As he reaches his table, he quickly finds there’s another note:
“Love starts as a feeling,
But to continue is a choice;
And I find myself choosing you
More and more every day.”
In the wise words of Sylvester himself—
Sufferin’ succotash.
∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙
The stinging in his eyes and the cramp in his hand could perfectly describe the day he’s having. Aching fingers release the pen from its confines and Otto stretches his back.
“Heavens,” he grunts.
He goes to return to his work and yet a tiny part of him screams to take a break, demands to be heard after being snubbed for so long. One quick glance at the pile of paper in front of him determines the small, squeaking voice is right. The dread making its home in the pit of his stomach will not ease with perseverance. Only with time.
A coffee would fix the problem.
Probably.
He’s almost on the opposite end of the library — which in the early hours of the night is a ghost-town, who would have thought? — when he realises he’s forgotten his wallet. Blaming the lack of sleep and his obsessive work ethic he makes a sharp u-turn. The lack of people is a blessing and he tells himself if he’s working late or can’t sleep this would be the perfect place to venture.
No interruptions, no weird looks, no bitter weight on his shoulders.
He’s about to take a detour, to stroll and loosen the ridged hinges of his knees when he spots movement at his desk. It’s unbelievable. Hilarious with the right dashes of irony. He’d wanted nothing more than to catch this anonymous little poet and because of such will, he had never gotten it. Not even close to it.
And now, because he’s not seeking — at least for today — to find what he desires, to solve the riddle which has been haunting him for more than a week now, he’s gotten exactly that.
Time to put an end to the cat and mouse game.
As he steps closer, he can see them better.
The hue of their hair is familiar, their frame, their body, their little idiocracies identifiable even from behind; the fidgeting of their fingers, the rocking on their heels. Movements that highlight the activity in your brain, a big beautiful world in which he wished was laid out before him and he could, with some sort of magnification, watch the magic unfold—real magic.
A childlike enamour. A true love with all the sparks and the hope.
Whimsical.
“It’s you,“ he whispers under his breath and he begins to walk forward, a pilgrim seeking the divine.
"It’s you,” he repeats once more, a means to convince himself or to announce the processing of such a fact, he’s not sure. Perhaps both, sprinkled in with the desire for your attention.
It works.
You jump, knee slamming into the table followed by your shaking palms which fall onto the wood surface. You spin on your heels with a grimace, fast, harsh and evidently disorienting. He watches your form sway, eyes wider than an owl’s, blinking furiously.
He’s sure you’re in pain but you don’t voice it.
“Uh… me?” you grin and it’s tumultuous as you wring your hands.
“You’ve been leaving the notes all along,” he says, inching closer.
“Oh, whaaat? Noooo… no wayyy…” you scrunch your face up in what can only be perceived as a horribly forced look of confusion. “What notes?”
Otto wants to laugh, but he’s swamped by shock.
“But there’s something I don’t quite understand. How did you leave one for me yesterday? I was talking to you the whole time.”
He continues to close in on you.
“I asked someone else to do it while I had your attention. You had your back turned,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Not even they noticed.”
You nod towards his actuators and he hums in agreement, the pieces coming together.
“Yes, it seems even they were too occupied with you.”
Otto shakes his head, finally releasing a laugh intertwined with disbelief.
“I agreed to you keeping watch, and all along… it was you,“ Otto muses as he closes the distance between your bodies. Pressed against the table, you look up at him.
The restraint he’d felt in all your interactions evaporates.
His thumb swipes your bottom lip and he watches as it trembles. Your shallow breaths caress the back of his hand and his wrist, its warmth shooting through him as if directly accessing his nerves and suddenly it all makes sense.
The sound of the table creaking as you lean backwards, the scraping of your nails into the wood are enough for him. With a smirk, he leans down, centimetres from your mouth. Otto fails to notice his actuators cocooning you both.
"Not so eloquent now, are we?” He chuckles deeply, pressing his chest to yours when the actuators coiling around your forms tighten. Without looking, an actuator unwinds and the arm brings the new note forward.
He reads aloud.
“I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many, or just one. What am I?”
Otto quirks a brow before chuckling, “oh? How very highschool.”
He pauses for a moment, already knowing the answer. There’s a vulnerability to it, a hurdle he must cross for beyond is the green grass he’s always dreamt of. The dried weeds of the past have held him back long enough. In this, he realises he does want redemption, salvation—forgiveness. Nothing a God could ever provide, but a choice he has to make for himself.
“Love,” Otto breathes. "The answer is love.”
When he looks back down at you, your eyes are closed. Waiting patiently—just for him.
“Otto,” you whisper with a lull so sweet he groans with fluttering eyelids.
His nose brushes against yours and he’s keenly aware of the way you hold onto him, fingers curled around his arms, nails digging into the charcoal wool of his coat.
“My dear.”
Finally, he kisses you.
Lips in sync, hearts beating, the flitter of his eyelashes against your cheek. Their pairing is as tender as he’d imagined, the light almost hesitant nature of your reciprocation says more than anything he could ask—and he’s glad for it. For he, too, hasn’t done this in a while.
So long, in fact.
Your hands move from his arms and one rests against the fullness of his cheek, while the other travels through his umber curls. There’s a slight tug and he leans into the motion with a whispered, mellifluous moan. You slip in your tongue then, and Otto’s actuators unwind. Two latch onto the carpet with a carefulness to ensure no damage is done, and he assumes they’re reacting to the dizziness he feels, while the other two grip the table in a similar manner. There, he lowers you with a tilt. He hovers over you, kiss yet to be broken as you rest against the wooden surface. While your legs go to wrap around him, Otto pulls away with a lovestruck smile. It’s light and his brows are lifted at their tips, eyes hooded.
“How long?” He asks.
He’s so gentle, he can’t help it—he doesn’t want to misstep, make the wrong move or harm you in any way. There’s such a deep, intrinsic need to keep you safe it’s overwhelming. Suffocating.
Once you open your eyes, delayed as if still soaring from the kiss yourself, he feels the warm giddiness in his stomach intensify. Part of him expects the scenery to change, to morph into the darkness of his room, far from you; without a light.
“Since the beginning,” you confess.
He recalls the early days of his healing. While he had gotten his inhibitor chip fixed, the psychological damage was done. And so, for a long while he struggled. With the looks: suspicious, fearful, disgusted. He struggled with his co-workers’ opinions, the hecklers, the random acts of unkindness. In a way, at the start, it was as if he hadn’t changed at all, the irritability, the impulses, minus the lack of impulse control, were still there. He wasn’t as stable as he is now, he had to get there. And so, logically, this did not make sense, for how could someone love a monster such as he?
“How were you not scared of me?” He says, honestly. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, he hangs on your every word.
“Otto,” you ease, thumb reaching down to stroke his bottom lip. “I don’t believe anyone’s more fearful of you, than yourself.”
He says nothing. He knows you’re right.
With a knowing look, you cup both of his cheeks and he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. It’s easy to get lost while in the entrancement of the library; a gentle giant. It really does feel like they’re alone there, just the two of them hidden in the clearing of the secretive shelves.
“You don’t have to be so afraid anymore,” she punctuates her sentence with a kiss. “You’re so full of goodness. You’ve always tried to do your best.”
Another kiss.
“You’re enough even if you think you’ve lost yourself.”
And another.
“But you don’t have to be alone anymore. We can find that, together.”
Otto is the first one to close the gap this time, and he tries to ignore the trails running down his cheeks which are swiped away by your thumbs.
Always so perceptive and so caring.
That night, he doesn’t go home alone and the blandness of his apartment doesn’t feel so bland anymore. Not with you near it.
And he finds, with you by his side, he falls asleep without difficulty.
“I’ve wanted to request Ultimate Imposter x Reader, but the reader has PTSD (the kind that leads to panic attacks and derealization).”
I would love to answer to your request! ^^
And I find this to be such a wholesome request as Ultimate Imposter is sadly very underrated in the Danganronpa community and he’s a large comfort character for me. In the anime, he was always there for Ryota and I’m glad I got this request.
── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──
Ultimate Imposter Comforts you During a Panic Attack (☆ - ❤︎)
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Content/Trigger Warning: This fic has mentions of slight blood, mentions of PTSD, selfshaming, panic attacks, and the reader being in an overall state of stress and slight depression.
Comfort Angst.
FEM!Reader x Ultimate Imposter
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A cabin had the door slammed shut a little bit ago. The window was wide open for air and the door was left unlocked. Whoever was in there wanted air and to be alone, but she knew someone would probably come by.
A girl curled up into a ball, shaking in fear. Just mere moments ago, she was coughing up whatever she had eaten down the toilet, only to see the red blood that is meant to be stored in her body.
Was this her punishment? Was this meant to happen? She was vulnerable.
A few days ago, Hiyoko was calling her a fat pig because she was bigger than the smaller girl. Naturally she was bigger and she knew Saionji was only saying it to get on her nerves, but she can’t help but feel insecure. Didn’t help the fact that this wasn’t the first time she was called overweight in her life.
She was shamed and bullied into thinking she was fatter than a cow. Just looking into a mirror, no matter how much she tries to see herself as perfect, she was just too big.
She didn’t fit in clothes, nor did she fit sitting on the couch with friends. When Nidai tried picking her up, he accidentally muttered about how she was heavier than everyone else. She knew he didn’t mean it. But still…
They began to cough into her hand from lack of air thanks to her crying.
“Hey…” That voice. It was coming from behind the door but you would be stupid not to know who it was. “Can I… Come in…?”
She hummed in acceptance, watching as he walked inside. She knew of his case and how he really wasn’t Togami. He’s even pretended to be Ryota for an entire 2 years. In agreement of her opening up about her insecurities to him, he opened up about some of his life to her.
He sat down with a huff and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s.. Going to be okay…”
She sniffled and more tears ran down her face. “I don’t understand… What did I ever do? Do I just not fit their expectations? Am I too nice? Am I too big? Am I too childish? Am I-” She was cut off with a pat to the head. She looked up and gazed into his eyes.
“Hey. You are you. And if nobody likes you that way, then they are stupid.” He looked into her eyes before pulling her into a hug. “I mean, look at me. There’s no way you’re bigger than me.” She laughed and wiped her away.
“You’re a nice person, you know that? Someone would have to be stupid to hate you.” She smiled softly at him.
He let out a small chuckle before looking out her window. “You’d be surprised really.” He pointed to her and continued to speak to her. “Listen closely. If anyone messes with you ever again, find me. I won’t hesitate to lecture them. Nobody will ever mess with you. I won’t allow it.”
The duo smiled at each other until he spoke up with, “C'mon. Food always solves this sort of problem.”
“I’m okay. I think I’ll just sleep for a bit..”
It was quiet. The nice quiet. Leaning into his chest, she relaxed her legs and let them fall a bit.
Silence. That’s all she needed.
As well as the comfort of The Ultimate Imposter. That’s all she needed.
That’s all she could ask for.
The two were cuddled up against each other. One was listening to her breathing. The other was listening to his heart beat.
They loved the moment dearly.
Blocking out the world, they fell asleep on the wooden floor. Together.
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A/N: Ack- I’m so sorry this took so long, Anon! I kept getting distracted and then I was indulged in my own mental problems. I’m not the greatest at writing angst so it’s crying worthy, but it’s comfort. So The Ultimate Imposter cuddling you until you fall asleep on the floor is just what I personally would need.
Was I the only kid to ever fall asleep on the floor as a way of comfort?
Aziraphale is kind of sad after everything because they are “free” but he also misses heaven a bit (like leaving toxic family vibes?) And Crowley maybe cuddles him and reads him a story? Is a little extra domestic to make his angel feel less lonely in the world?
So, have some soft comfort in the South Downs! 1,225 words
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Crowley peered at his angel from where he was sprawled in an armchair in their new living room. They had finished moving into their cottage in Devil’s Dyke a few hours ago. Aziraphale had puttered about, fussing with books on the new shelves until he finally pulled one down to read. Then he had fidgeted about the living area, fluffing and rearranging pillows, getting a blanket then setting it aside. He finally sat on the sofa, changing his position restlessly until he eventually settled.
Crowley had been scrolling on his phone, but had kept a half eye on the angel the entire time. He had watched all the activity from where he had thrown himself into a plush chair, limbs draped over the arms in what would have been an uncomfortable position for a proper human body that wasn’t sometimes a snake (this didn’t apply to Crowley, so he was perfectly fine).
The angel was now the perfect picture of one entirely engrossed in what they were reading. Only, the last time Crowley had seen him turn a page was a half hour ago.
“Something wrong, angel?” he ventured.
Aziraphale startled and looked up into golden eyes crinkled with concern. He could see them easily, and the emotion they were drenched in, as Crowley had taken his sunglasses off the moment they were inside and hadn’t touched them since. It warmed him to see the demon appear so comfortable. He wished he felt the same.
“Hmm? Why do you ask, dear? Just reading, everything is fine.” He forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile onto his face. This only made the demon scowl.
“Well now I’m even more concerned. What was that? Was that meant to be reassuring? Bit too close to the look you’d give Michael, if you ask me.”
Aziraphale’s face did something complicated at that, settling on perturbed.
“What a ridiculous thing to say, I don’t know what you mean.”
“C’mon, angel. ’S been six thousand years, y’ think I don’t know how to read you by now?” Crowley drew himself up out of his seat like a puppet on strings, then crossed over to sit on the couch beside Aziraphale. He gently took the book out of Aziraphale’s hands, snapping a bookmark into it and setting it onto the coffee table. “Is there something wrong with the cottage? You having second thoughts?”
“No! No, nothing like that. It’s nothing, really, Crowley.” Aziraphale twisted the ring on his little finger. “It’s wonderful. I love the cottage. There’s nothing to have second thoughts over. It’s a lovely village, a perfect cottage, and it’s ours. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“And yet…?” Crowley asked, sensing words left unsaid.
Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth.
“It’s nothing, really. Terribly silly.”
“Out with it, angel.”
“It’s just. I… even though they were rather awful, and I didn’t feel that I properly belonged… it’s just odd, that’s all. To be cut off from heaven. But it’s quite ridiculous. I’m glad!”
He looked rather more miserable than he did glad, Crowley thought, but he kept that to himself.
“Good riddance. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than on our side,” Aziraphale affirmed, giving a more sincere smile, though it was a bit weak, and his eyes still looked sad.
“It’s alright, you know. It’s alright to miss what it could have been, should have been. It’s ok to miss the home or family you knew, even if it was a bit shit.”
Aziraphale sputtered. “But you hate Gabriel.”
“I do. I want to drop the archangel fucking Gabriel into a pit of bubbling goo… But that’s not the point, Angel. It was all you knew for thousands of years. Unknowable amounts of time. It should have been where you belonged. It’s ok to mourn all that.” Crowley reached out a hand and gave Aziraphale’s knee a gentle squeeze. “And I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere. And hopefully we can build our own thing. Our own side. Our own home, maybe even our own sort of family.” Crowley was thinking of the humans they had befriended over the notpocalypse.
Aziraphale’s eyes welled, and he fought to keep his cheeks dry. He covered the hand on his knee with one of his own.
“You have always been that. Will always be that, to me.“
“Sap,” Crowley accused, though his eyes were overly fond.
Azriphale gave a soft, pleased smile, the best one Crowley had seen all day.
“Softie,” Aziraphale returned fondly.
“Well, so long as you don’t go telling anyone. Here. You get more comfortable, and I’ll go get you some cocoa.” Crowley picked up the discarded blanket and tucked it around his angel, then went to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later and handed over a steaming cup, with so many little pink marshmallows floating on top that you could hardly see the cocoa underneath. Aziraphale flushed and accepted it gratefully.
“Oh,thankyou.”
“Be right back, Angel.”
Aziraphale looked at him curiously but waited quietly, sipping at his drink.
Crowley went to the bookshelves, trailing a finger along the spines until he stopped at an old red hardcover, pulling it off the shelf. He came round the sofa and settled in the other corner, facing Aziraphale. He opened the book and started reading aloud.
“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.”
Aziraphale smiled into his mug, eyes twinkling. Even after so many millennia, Crowley could still surprise him.
“Are you laughing at me?” Crowley demanded, his nose crinkled up. Aziraphale grinned wider before biting it back.
“I’m not laughing, dear.”
“Wot’s that look about, then?”
“Do you object to my smiling?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Mmm?” Aziraphale’s eyes were twinkling with mirth.
“That’s enough of that, then.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Enough of what?”
“You’re distracting me. C’mere.”
Crowley took the mug out of Aziraphale’s hands and set it on the coffee table, earning a befuddled look from the angel. He then grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him around until he was resting against Crowley’s chest, stretching his own long legs out around him. Crowley fixed the blanket back around Aziraphale, then handed him back the mug.
“There. Now, where was I?”
Aziraphale was too stunned to reply.
“Ah, yes. ‘And then he feels that perhaps there isn’t. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh.’”
Aziraphale wiggled a bit, getting more comfortable.
“Ngk,” Crowley said. “Stop wiggling about, would you?”
“Sorry.”
“Drink your cocoa.”
“Yes, dear.”
Aziraphale let the heat from his cocoa and the demon at his back seep in, making him feel cozy and settled. Things were different now, and it would be an adjustment. He had a hard time with change, but this was one he welcomed with excitement and hope. He already felt lighter than he could remember ever feeling. By his demon’s side — on their side — dreams he hadn’t let himself entertain were not only possible, but entirely likely. Change could be scary, but for once he looked forward to it.
I lost the prompt, but @veritasrose wanted some soft hurt/comfort with the wolves. Geralt is in pain and in a funk, and his brothers take care of him. 609 words
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Geralt woke up in his bed in Kaer Morhen, in pain and in a funk. His knee and elbow ached, the room around him looked grey, and the air felt oppressive. He wanted to pull the bedding over his head and stay there, but he knew that the longer he lay there, the more uncomfortable he would get.
With a grumble he threw the blankets back and pulled himself up and out of bed, slowly tugged his clothes on, and headed downstairs.
As he walked around the table in the dining hall his knee twinged, and he bumped into a chair with a curse before dropping into the one next to it. Lambert looked up from his seat on the other side of the table and raised a brow. After silently appraising his brother for a moment, the younger witcher went to the kitchen without a word. He came back a few minutes later to find Geralt rubbing at his knee, and handed him a steaming mug.
“Drink this, pretty boy.”
“What is it?” Geralt eyed the mug skeptically.
“That tea Vesemir makes, for inflammation and shit.”
“Why?” Geralt looked at him with narrowed eyes. “What did you do?”
“Oh, shut the fuck up and drink it, would you?”
Geralt rumbled, but did as he was told.
Eskel came out of the kitchen with Vesemir, putting out plates laden with breakfast. He quietly served Geralt, then himself, and Geralt grunted his thanks. They ate a quiet meal, and after silently appraising the younger wolves while they ate, Vesemir asked Geralt and Eskel to clean and organize the library instead of continuing the repairs they’d been doing outside the day before.
In the library a few hours later, Geralt dropped a book and cursed, then kicked the shelf in front of him before letting out another string of expletives.
“You want to talk about it?” Eskel asked.
“What, dropping the book?” Geralt said bitingly. Eskel just gave him a look in response. “It’s nothing. I woke up sore. And… it’s… quiet here.”
Eskel’s lips quirked. “Never bothered you before.”
Geralt scowled and didn’t answer.
“Couldn’t be missing someone, could you?”
Geralt let out a quiet growl.
Eskel chuckled. “No, of course not.”
-
Over dinner, Eskel turned to Lambert.
“Hey Lambert, what do you say to a throwback? We all sleep out in front of the fire here, like the old days?”
Lambert spluttered. “What, are we—” Eskel shot him a look to shut up, then cut his eyes to Geralt and back, and Lambert changed course. “I mean, yeah, a good ol’ fashioned puppy pile! Sounds, uh, sounds great.”
Geralt didn’t say anything, but after dinner he went over and started piling furs on the hearth. When everyone was done with dinner and clean up, Eskel, Geralt and Lambert flopped onto the furs, bellies full. They shuffled around until Geralt had his head on Eskel’s middle, and Lambert’s was on Geralt. Eskel pulled the tie from Geralt’s hair and started combing through the silver strands with his fingers. Geralt felt tension that he hadn’t realized he was holding melt away from his body.
“You should invite him next year,” Eskel murmured.
“What? That isn’t - I mean, who—” Geralt said, and Eskel huffed a laugh.
“Just think about it.”
“Hmm.”
Lambert had started softly snoring, and shifted to curl into Geralt’s side.
Geralt laughed softly. “He always was a cuddler in his sleep.”
“But he’d bite you before he’d admit it,” Eskel said.
“Mmm.”
They lapsed back into silence, Eskel lightly scritching Geralt’s scalp.
“Thanks Eskel,” Geralt said softly.
“Any time.”
Geralt drifted off to sleep, cozy and warm and safe.
Genre: Angst, but also fluff with a cute ending since this is a comfort fic
- While I did write this with Jaehyun in mind, you can find the other members’ versions here on my AO3 account. Their fics are identical to this one, I just changed the names so it could be about the member you want. -
Length: 3 599
Summary: Ever since you’ve met Jaehyun, it felt like a new light has shone into your life. Even the smallest gestures from him made you feel cared for and loved, a feeling you hadn’t felt in forever. However, you couldn’t help but worry. Worry about the day he would find out your long-kept secret.
Or, in a less poetic way, the day that he’d find out about your self-harming habits.
A/N: This fic is not meant to romanticize self-harm in any way and is mainly focused on the healing aspect of it and overcoming it with another person by your side. There are also no graphic descriptions of it, so I hope it doesn’t trigger anybody. As someone who has experience with this kind of issue, I know very well that there is nothing romantic about this and it’s a serious topic. However, as other fics with this kind of theme have helped me feel better in the past, I wanted to give back to the community and hopefully make someone feel even the tiniest bit better :)
And remember, you are strong, you are valid, you are worth something. Even if it might not seem like it right now, there are many reasons for you to keep going. Life will get better, and all that you might be dealing with right now will only make you stronger in the future.
It was yet another peaceful evening of lounging on the couch, doing absolutely nothing in an attempt to relax after a hard day. The lights in the living room were dimmed down, making the room feel that much cozier. The TV was on, illuminating your lying figure in an unnatural white. It only served as background noise, however, as you were mostly just looking at things on your phone.
You could hear Jaehyun shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely making himself a quick snack after coming back from work a little while ago.
You smiled to yourself as you heard the quiet rustling in the other room. Your apartment used to be so empty, so quiet. Void of life, even with you in it. Colorless. But now, with Jaehyun finally moving in with you, it felt like your home was glowing. Everywhere you went, you would see small things that would remind you of him, even if he was away. His warm hoodie thrown over the chair that he would always beg you to wear. The tall vase full of beautiful flowers that he gave you when he took you out on a date last week. Hell, even just seeing the second toothbrush in your bathroom made you smile.
You weren’t alone anymore. There was someone who cared for you now. A sun that brightened up not only your apartment, but your life as a whole.
Hadn’t it been for Jaehyun, you might not have been here anymore. As dark as that sounded, it was true. It felt as if he was an angel sent to you last minute to give you hope again. The will to keep going.
You still remember those days. Each passing day, you were growing more and more certain that your end was coming soon. With each new mark on your body, you could feel yourself slipping further away. You can still recall that same feeling of emptiness overcoming your heart and soul. That feeling of mindless surviving from one day to another.
Then he came along.
He didn’t know about them. There was no pity in his interest in you. He wasn’t caring just because he would have felt guilty if he didn’t do anything. He genuinely saw you as someone beautiful and interesting.
And that’s what stung the most.
You feared the day that he would find out. When he would finally see you for who you were - someone fake, someone unstable, a liar. You imagined it over and over, a different scenario each time. Will he find out in the summer, when you’re constantly struggling to keep every scar hidden? When you have to keep coming up with believable lies as to why you can’t wear dresses and shorts, like all normal people do? Or will it be by accident? When you’re changing out of your clothes and he walks in on you unknowingly? Or will he-
You could go on and on. There wasn’t a single day where these kinds of thoughts hadn’t occurred to you at least once. And all of them ended the exact same way every time. With him being shocked, angry, and disgusted. With him promptly breaking up with you and leaving you, along with the light he brought into your life. Leaving you in the dull darkness once again.
You felt like you were going crazy, the pressure and fear building up in you each day making you feel like you were drowning.
It had to stop. You had to stop.
And so you did.
You told Jaehyun.
It was about two or three months into your relationship, during one of your usual movie nights. Well, you called it a movie night, but it was more or less just a giant cuddling session, really. It surprised you as well how quickly the two of you have grown close. You would almost never let anybody get that close to you in such a short span of time, so how did you end up like this so soon? And why did it make your heart rush with excitement every time?
You guess Jaehyun just really had that much of an effect on you.
He was perfect in every way. Caring, loving, respectful, patient, oh so patient with you. It took just a single look from you for him to know if you were or weren’t comfortable doing something. And every time you weren’t, he’d just give you the sweetest smile, silently telling you that it’s okay, that he’ll wait for you.
The two of you were lying on the couch, with you resting on his chest and wrapped in his arms. You could tell that he wasn’t too engrossed in the movie you two were watching, noticing his glances at you every now and then. You didn’t mind, of course, it was adorable catching him every single time and watching the faintest blush spread across his cheeks along with a small smile.
But then his hands started to wander. And as they went further and further down, you knew what they were implying. What he was implying.
It was funny, really. Of all the scenarios you’d made up in your head about him discovering your utmostly hidden secret, this wasn’t in any of them.
You were brought out of your thoughts by the feeling of a hand slipping under your T-shirt, cold fingers contrasting your warm skin.
You snapped your head up, looking into your boyfriend’s eyes. He looked right back at you, and you could see that your sudden movement had startled him. His hand immediately retracted from you, fixing your shirt back in place as if to try and correct its mistakes.
“I, uh, I-I thought you were ready, sorry. I should have asked, I know, I really didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay, Jaehyun, really. I want this as much as you do, I promise. It’s just that…there’s something else that’s keeping me from being truly ready,” you said as you pulled yourself up from him into a sitting position. You tried to keep the rising nerves from shaking your voice, but it was getting harder with each passing second.
“And what is that something, baby? Is it something that I did?” He sat up as well, folding his hands in his lap.
You just shook your head, feeling the pit in your stomach growing. You tried to make up an excuse, but you couldn’t think of anything.
“Well, did you do something? Or did something happen? Talk to me, please,” he said, rubbing your arm comfortingly.
You tried to say something, anything, but no words came out. It felt like your brain was going a hundred miles a second, and you just couldn’t keep up.
You couldn’t handle it anymore.
You broke down in tears, burying your head into his chest and letting his hoodie muffle your cries. ‘He doesn’t deserve this,’ you thought. ‘He doesn’t deserve me.’
Sobs continued to rack through your body, and it felt as if all of the pain you’ve been holding in was coming out at once. You clutched his arms in your hands, holding onto them for dear life.
His own hand had returned to your body, but this time, it just ran over your back repeatedly in an attempt to soothe your cries. The room was silent, safe for the sounds of your labored breathing and muffled sobs.
You could hear his heart beating fast in his chest, only making you feel that much more guilty. You felt bad for him, you really did. He never deserved such a burden.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered after you had finally managed to get your voice under control again. You could feel the vibrations in his chest as he asked you why, voice sounding just as pained as yours.
This was it. No excuse will save you now.
You carefully pushed yourself away from his chest, locking eyes with him again. You tried to look for any clues on how he might be feeling right now, but you found nothing. They were completely unreadable to you, with an unknown emotion written in them. He was waiting.
You sighed. “Jaehyun, I…I’m really sorry. This isn’t your fault. Please, don’t feel bad about anything that you’ve done. You’ve been nothing but amazing to me, and I can’t thank you enough. I don’t deserve you, seriously.”
At that, he opened his mouth to try and argue with you, but you just put your hand up, silencing him before he could say anything.
“Not only do I not deserve you, but you don’t deserve me either. You deserve someone happy, someone who you can depend on, someone who won’t be keeping secrets from you like I have.”
You could see the shock and betrayal on his face, eyes widening at your words.
“Wait, does that mean…a-are you cheating on me? (Y/N)? No, that’s not it, you wouldn’t do that, right?” He asked in a panic, grabbing your hands.
You could feel tears welling up in your eyes again. Fuck. Why the hell would you ever cheat on someone like him? And why does it hurt so much to do this?
“Of course I’m not cheating on you, Jaehyun! I would never do that! I just…” you trailed off, choking on your words. You removed your hands from his, folding them in your lap instead. You wanted to curl up in on yourself and disappear. This was never meant to happen. This shouldn’t be happening.
And yet it is.
“You just what? (Y/N), please, tell me. I need you to tell me so I can help you,” he pressed on, rubbing your knee with his hand to emphasize his point. “Do you trust me?”
You could only weakly nod, feeling your throat constricting and stopping any potential words from coming out. A fresh set of tears spilled down your cheeks, making Jaehyun’s heart break at the sight.
He didn’t speak again, waiting for you. That was the thing about Jaehyun, he always knew that you didn’t need to be asked twice, you just needed a bit of time sometimes.
You winced at the pain of your throat tightening even more when you tried to speak, crushing your spirits even further. And not only were you sitting there, crying in front of Jaehyun, but he looked like he was going to start crying as well.
Deciding to just get it over with and face your demons, you shuffled a bit closer to Jaehyun, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down at least a little bit. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled up your clothes for him to see.
There they were. One of your biggest secrets, taking form in the abstract mess of lines of various lengths, shades, and visibility. Some were faded, some were recent. But all of them were there, staring right back at you to pull you back into reality. This was it.
The silence that followed was deafening.
You were waiting for him to say something, anything, but he stayed quiet.
You couldn’t look him in the eyes. Instead, you kept your gaze on those angry red lines as your heart thrummed in your ears.
“Oh no.”
…
His words repeated in your head over and over again. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t understand. Where was the disgust you were expecting? Or the breakup that you were preparing yourself for this whole time?
“No, no, no no no no. Baby, why…” He trailed off, trying to process everything that he was seeing. “Come here,” he pulled you into his arms, sighing deeply.
You couldn’t move, staying stiff in his embrace.
It was through your rigid state that you noticed the slight tremble in his arms and labored breathing as he held onto you tight, tighter than ever before.
Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him too, pressing you closer together. You stayed like this for a couple of minutes, trying to take everything in. The silence enveloped you again, only broken by Jaehyun’s occasional kisses to the top of your head as he tightened his grip around you.
After a bit, he leaned away from you, making you lift your head up from his chest to look at him. You looked into his sorrowful eyes, giving him a bitter smile.
“We’re going to get you help, okay? We can get you someone to talk to about this, if you want. Someone who knows how to deal with these things. And in the meantime, you can always just talk to me, you know? I’m here for you. I’ll be there for you when you need me, just-” he hugged you right back into him, exhaling a deep breath as he thought about what to say and how to say it.
“Just please, if you ever feel like this, or if you feel even the slightest need to do this again, call me.”
“B-but, I don’t want to bother you…” You mumbled into his chest, heart beating at your words. You’ve never been this honest with anyone before. It was terrifying.
“You won’t, baby. No matter how busy I might be, you won’t bother me. What would hurt me more is if you wouldn’t tell me. I need to know how you’re feeling and what’s making you feel like this in order to help you. So please, can you promise me that you’ll tell me? Pretty please?” His words ended in a mere whisper, looking deeply into your eyes.
You leaned forward into one of the softest and gentlest of kisses you’ve probably ever had. When you pulled back, the two of you just looked at each other again, with you giving Jaehyun a small smile.
“I promise.”
And it was just because of him that you never broke that promise.
It wasn’t easy, of course. Countless hesitant phone calls to Jaehyun followed after that night. Some were relatively short, with only small words of affirmation and a gentle and sincere ‘I love you’ at the end to ease your mind. Others went on for hours, with Jaehyun distracting you by talking to you, the two of you getting lost in each other’s thoughts and ideas. All of the calls did help, however, and you could feel yourself starting to get better once you began opening up to him more. Did it feel embarrassing and scary? Of course it did, but it also helped you realize more things about yourself and your feelings. You started to notice small patterns in your urges. What time of the day they were the strongest, what things or activities triggered them, and so on.
It never really went away, though. Not yet, at least. There were still moments that gave you that strangely addicting tingle in your skin, ones that reminded you of your past doings. Only this time, you resisted them every time. Whenever you looked at your past scars and saw them slowly beginning to fade, you knew you had to keep going. You couldn’t disappoint Jaehyun. You couldn’t disappoint yourself. You couldn’t let the cycle start all over again. So you resisted.
Nothing would have been possible without Jaehyun, however. It was like he developed a sixth sense for it. Every time he noticed your face drop slightly, or the way you were picking at your fingers anxiously, he knew what was going on. And every time he noticed this, he didn’t hesitate to do whatever he needed to make you feel better. Whether that meant subtly changing the topic of your friend group’s conversation or goofing around with you until you were laughing again, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he wanted to see you happy again. And he succeeded every time.
It wasn’t just subtle things like this, though. He was very open about it with you as well, never shying away from the topic. He wanted to make you feel comfortable, after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to close off again. And so he decided to support you as much as he could, even going as far as checking off every day that you haven’t self-harmed on your little calendar on the fridge. It was a bit embarrassing for you at first, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit like a child, but you soon grew to like it as well. And as you watched the rows of checkmarks growing with each passing day, you were more and more proud of yourself.
And so one row grew into two, then three, ten, twenty…
The soft pads of feet echoed throughout the apartment as Jaehyun walked into the dim living room with a big smile on his face. You smiled back at him, getting up from the couch to hug him, but he stopped you. Confused, you looked up at him.
“Don’t get up just yet, I have something for you,” he said, and it was just then that you noticed the small box in his hands. Curious, you turned off the TV and sat up straight on the couch, waiting expectantly.
He placed the box on the table in front of you before rushing back into the kitchen for something else.
“Don’t open that just yet!” He called after you as he rummaged in the bag he brought home with him.
“I won’t, don’t worry,” you giggled at his antics, feeling a small buzz of excitement coursing through you as you sat patiently.
He returned a few seconds later, holding two small items in his hands. You couldn’t see what they were in the darkness of the room, so you waited for Jaehyun to do whatever it was that he was planning.
He knelt on the floor next to your spot on the couch, giving you a small grin before turning back to the box.
Opening it carefully, he revealed the small cake inside. Your favorite kind of cake, to be exact. Taking one of the things in his hand, which you finally realized was a small candle, he stuck it into the middle. With his other hand, he flicked on the lighter he was holding, lighting up the candle.
The room was now cast in a gentle yellow glow, the flame of the candle swaying slightly.
“Tadaa! Happy anniversary!” Jaehyun said, picking up the box and bringing it closer to you. “Blow out the candle!”
You couldn’t help but be confused. Did you miss something? It wasn’t your birthday, that you knew for a fact, nor was it Jaehyun’s. And you just had your anniversary the other month, so what could this mean?
“Jaehyun, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I understand. What exactly are we celebrating here?” You asked with a small chuckle, looking into Jaehyun’s happy eyes.
“Wait, did you forget? Today marks a year since you’ve last…you know. Since you’ve stopped harming yourself. I thought it deserved a small celebration,” he looked at you with a bashful smile, faint red tinting his cheeks.
However, when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, he started to panic.
“(Y/N), are you okay? Why are you crying, baby? Wait, you didn’t start doing it again, did you…?” He said in a rushed voice laced with concern. Quickly putting the cake back on the table, he sat next to you, bringing you close as he looked all over your body for any new scars or bruises.
You just hugged him, shaking your head. “No, I didn’t, I promise. I just- this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Jaehyun. Thank you for being here for me and for caring for me and-”
“Shh, it’s okay, come here.” He whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he did the same on yours. “You have no idea how proud of you I am. You’ve been so strong and brave this year, and I really admire you for that, you know?” He said, rubbing gentle circles on your back.
You just stayed like that for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth and comfort, until Jaehyun spoke up again.
“And if my endless admiration isn’t enough for you to keep going, you have this cake to motivate you as well,” he said jokingly, making you chuckle with him.
You broke the hug, Jaehyun’s arm still wrapped around your waist as he turned back to the cake. “Do you want to blow out the candle?”
You thought to yourself before speaking again. “Can we do it together?” You asked, a light blush tinting your cheeks. Jaehyun just smiled, intertwining your fingers together as he bent forward slightly.
He squeezed your hand once, twice, and after the third squeeze, you blew out the flame at the same time.
The room went dim again, but you could still see the adorable shine in Jaehyun’s eyes as he turned back to you.
He leaned closer to you, connecting your lips in the most loving and gentle of kisses.
It’s Always Sunny in the Survey Corps: Chapter 3, The Gang Moves In
Rated:M
Summary:The last thing Levi ever wanted was to be in charge of a squad, much less a family. But when a charming blond, an arrogant ass, a quiet man with a penchant for animals, and a cute ginger enter his life, he knows he’s doomed because they’re all fucking crazy. Cue Squad Levi fighting for Levi’s attention through various shenanigans, drama, and a family that none of them signed up for. Oh, and slaying titans of course.
Chapter Summary: The squad moves into the Special Ops Barracks. Eld is upset since his towel never seems to dry, and Levi still isn’t sure what he got himself into.
It was very odd, Lucy thought, as she watched Virgil sleep.
He’d been up for hours, wailing and refusing to be comforted. He wasn’t wet, he wasn’t feverish, had been doing all the important things babies do when they’re healthy…but still he would not sleep!
As the sun came up, Lucy tucked Virgil into the babywearing sling and shuffled into the kitchen to make herself a much-needed cup of coffee. Jeff would drop Scott off at preschool, and John, her quiet child, would give her no trouble, but she’d need all the moxie she could get to stay awake after this all-nighter.
Then a curious thing happened: The moment the fresh, hot brew sputtered into her cup, Virgil quieted. He blinked a few times, then yawned, and by the time she’d added milk and sugar, he was sound asleep.
Jeff thought she was nuts, but when she demonstrated a few nights later, he had to believe: Virgil, at the ripe old age of two months, loved coffee.
Two years later…
Lucy was nursing Gordon and drowsing in her chair, slowly rocking and humming to her sleepy, milk-drunk newborn. A tiny hand pulled on her pant leg, and she woke to see Virgil standing beside her. “Hello, sweetheart. What can Mommy do for you?”
“Mama coffee,” he said, pulling at her hand.
She chuckled. “Maybe you’re right, love. Maybe Mama does need a little bit.” She gathered Gordon up and rise from her chair, then put him over her shoulder to burp as the coffee brewed. She turned away to retrieve the milk from the fridge—and saw a tip-free tumbler next to her mug. There was Virgil, grinning at her.
“No, coffee is for grown ups, sweetie.” She went back to the fridge. “How about some apple juice?”
He shook his head. “Want coffee!”
She looked at him for a long moment, then said: “okay. Mama will make you your very own ‘coffee.’”
Virgil clapped his hands in delight.
Lucy poured his cup full of milk, added a half teaspoon of sugar, then splashed a small dollop of coffee from her cup into his. She stirred it well, blew on it until it was only lukewarm, snapped on the spill-proof lid, then handed it to him. “Here you are. Try that.”
She fully expected him to make a horrible face and tell her “ew, nasty!” However, Virgil climbed up on the chair next to her and promptly drank from his cup. His brown eyes lit up. “Good!”
“Oh dear God,” she laughed. “What have I done?”
Many years later…
Virgil stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. First things first: Coffee.
“You know,” said Scott, sitting at the table with his own cup, “I can’t remember when you didn’t drink coffee.”
“Oh?” Virgil poured a cup full of the elixir of life. “Hmm. Neither can I.” He gazed into his cup with a fond smile. “I dunno why, but it always reminds me of Mom.”
-End-
Awww, that last line….
Beautiful
Nutty
(Returned from first day back at work…have fallen on face)
::gasps:: This is the most adorable, wholesome thing in the world and I love it I love it I love it!! My new comfort fic!!
