could you plz do aalto, brant, and scar having an argument with their wife and maybe they said smth they shouldn’t have and reader cries? Comfort ofc k tyy
Broken Words, Healing Hands
Tags: Scar x Reader, Brant x Reader, Aalto x Reader, Angst With Comfort, Emotional Argument, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Conflict, Established Relationship, Loyalty And Trust Issues, Interpersonal Tension, Reconciliation, Mild Language, Themes Of Vulnerability.
Warnings: Emotional Distress, Crying, Verbal Conflict, Harsh Words, Mild To Moderate Tension, Themes Of Abandonment, Fear Of Loss, Brief Mentions Of Mental/Emotional Struggle, Possible Triggers: Feelings Of Neglect, Insecurity In Relationships.
The mist outside your window was thick tonight, curling against the glass as if trying to get in. You’d been waiting for Aalto for hours — again. The meal on the table had long gone cold.
When he finally stepped through the door, sunglasses still perched on his nose despite the dim light, he offered that casual, lopsided grin. “Miss me?”
“Don’t,” you said sharply, arms crossed. “You disappeared for two days without a word, Aalto. Do you think I’m just going to laugh it off?”
His grin faltered. “Work came up. Black Shores doesn’t exactly run on a nine-to-five schedule, sweetheart.”
“That’s not the point!” Your voice cracked, anger fueled by worry. “You can’t just vanish and expect me to sit here wondering if you’re alive.”
Aalto’s posture shifted, the playful façade giving way to something harder. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me. This is who I am. I can’t be tied down—”
“‘Tied down?’” The words cut, sharper than the night air.
He looked away, jaw tight. “Maybe you shouldn’t have married an information broker if you wanted someone predictable.”
It was meant as a defense, but it landed like a knife. Your eyes stung instantly. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of his shoulder devices.
When you turned away, swiping at your cheeks, the weight of his own words seemed to hit him. “...Damn it,” he muttered, stripping off his gloves and crossing the room.
You felt the ghost of his fingers on your arm before he fully embraced you from behind, forehead pressing against your shoulder. The familiar scent of rain and distant salt air clung to him. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”
“You said it,” you whispered.
“I know,” his voice cracked low, stripped of its easy charm. “I get scared, too. I just... deal with it by pretending I’m untouchable. But you’re the one place I’m not.”
You turned in his arms, and his sunglasses were gone — revealing eyes that, without the shield of glass, looked startlingly vulnerable.
“Stay with me tonight,” you murmured.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His arms tightened. “You’re the only place I ever come back to.”
And for the rest of the night, the fog outside stayed where it belonged — beyond the safety of your shared walls.
The Troupe’s latest performance had gone flawlessly — until you’d returned to your cabin and found Brant already in the middle of re-packing his things.
“Another job?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.
He barely looked up. “A lead came in for a new route. The crew’s ready to set sail by morning.”
You stepped forward. “We’ve barely been home a week. Brant, can’t you let someone else handle it?”
His hands stilled, but only for a second. “The troupe needs me. You know how it is.”
“What about me?” The question came out louder than intended. “Do I ever get to come first?”
He finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “You knew when you married me that the sea comes with me. It’s not a choice between you and them — it’s the life I lead.”
“That’s not fair,” you said, voice shaking. “You make it sound like I’m asking you to give up who you are.”
“Maybe you are,” he said, the words sharp and unfiltered.
The air left your lungs in a rush. His face changed instantly — shock, then regret — but you were already turning away, blinking against the hot sting in your eyes.
The sound of his boots crossing the floor followed quickly. “No. No, don’t you turn away from me.” His hands caught yours gently but firmly.
“You don’t get it,” you said, voice small. “I’m not trying to take the sea from you. I’m just scared it’s going to take you from me.”
Something in his expression cracked — the flamboyant mask slipping to reveal the man beneath. He stepped closer, so close you could see the faint glimmer of his Tacet Mark under his shirt. “You’re not taking anything from me. You’re the reason I always come back.”
You looked up at him through damp lashes. “Then say it.”
His smile was pained but tender. “I’d burn every map I own before I’d lose you.” He pulled you into his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath the embroidered shirt.
“Promise me you’ll come home,” you whispered against him.
“I promise,” he said without hesitation. “And next voyage — you’re coming with me. No more empty seats where you should be.”
The night was quiet except for the faint hum of cicadas outside. Scar sat at the table, idly spinning a dagger between his fingers while you tried to get him to look at you.
“You took Yangyang,” you said finally. “You dragged Rover into this. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Scar didn’t even flinch. “Of course I do. Everything I do has purpose.”
“Purpose?” Your voice rose. “You hurt people. You put them in danger.”
He tilted his head, smiling faintly. “You speak as though danger isn’t the catalyst for growth. Are you afraid of evolution?”
You slammed your hand against the table, making the dagger stop spinning. “I’m afraid of losing you to whatever twisted philosophy you’ve convinced yourself is worth more than the people who care about you!”
His mismatched eyes flickered, something darker passing over them. “If you can’t accept what I am, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
The words gutted you. They hung between you, heavy and merciless.
Scar’s smirk faltered almost immediately, but you were already on your feet, eyes glassy.
“Wait.” He rose in a smooth motion, stepping into your path. His voice softened, stripped of theatrics. “That was cruel. Even for me.”
You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, afraid that if you looked up, you’d shatter completely.
A gloved hand tilted your chin up gently. His smile was gone — replaced by something raw and unsettling in its sincerity. “You’re the only one who’s ever looked at me and seen a man before the monster. I shouldn’t punish you for that.”
“You make it hard,” you whispered, the first tear breaking free.
“I know,” he admitted. “I live in storms. I drag them with me everywhere I go. And you still stay.”
“I stay because I love you,” you said, voice cracking.
His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek. “Then I’ll try — for you — to be a calmer sea. No promises on still waters, but calmer.”
You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him. “That’s all I can ask.”
Scar’s arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady against your ear. “You’re my tether, little lamb. Without you, I’d wander so far I’d forget my way back.”
Hello, hope it's fine if I request more than once!
How about a Brant x Reader where she ended up as a Pilgrim herself and endured very traumatic events before being found and saved by Brant and the Troupe. As a result of said events, she never spoke so everyone assumed she was born mute until she eventually speaks to Brant due to feeling safe around him. How would he act before that (thinking that she's mute) and how would he react when hearing her voice for the first time?
Hello 👋
It's fine. You can send as many requests as you like ♡
Brant x (fem) reader
A silent voice
The moment Brant saw her, huddled among the wreckage of yet another forsaken Pilgrim’s Sail, he knew she had suffered greatly. She was thin, her clothes torn and ragged from the unforgiving trials of Penitent’s End, and her eyes—haunted, wary—spoke of horrors she would never utter. Or so he thought.
The Troupe of Fools had found her on one of their rescue missions, bringing her back to the hidden refuge of Fool’s Elysium. Like many before her, she was taken in, clothed, fed, and given a space to heal. But unlike the others, she never spoke a word. Not even in pain, not even in comfort.
At first, Brant assumed she was mute, like some of the others who had survived the journey. Many who faced the Dragon of Dirge lost more than their voices—some their minds, others their very will to live. Yet, despite her silence, she was strong. She adapted, she learned the unspoken rhythms of their troupe, and she carved out a place for herself amongst them.
Brant, ever the performer, took it upon himself to entertain her. Whether it was through grand gestures, exaggerated tales, or whispered stories in the quiet glow of the cavern fires, he would always find a way to bring some light into her somber eyes. It became a routine—him speaking, her listening, her presence a comfort he never knew he needed.
Still, the silence lingered, an invisible barrier between them. A part of him ached for her, wishing he could ease whatever suffering had stolen her words. But he never pushed. He never asked. He simply stayed.
Until one night, when everything changed.
The storm raged outside Fool’s Elysium, the entrance sealed with heavy tarps to keep the howling winds at bay. The firelight flickered, casting shadows against the stone walls, and Brant found her in her usual spot—knees drawn to her chest, staring into the flames. He approached as he always did, settling beside her, his warmth a familiar presence in the cavern’s cool embrace.
“I suppose you’re waiting for another tale,” he mused, voice tinged with the soft lilt of amusement. “Or perhaps a song? Something tragic and romantic, fitting for such a dreadful night?”
She didn’t move, but he felt her gaze shift toward him, the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing between them. He exhaled, leaning back on his hands. “You know, I always imagined my soulmate would be someone loud. Someone who could match my theatrics word for word. But here you are, proving me an absolute fool.”
A small, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. Not quite a smile, but enough to make his heart lurch. He continued, emboldened. “But I don’t mind. You don’t need to speak for me to know what you’re thinking. It’s in your eyes. Always in your eyes.”
For a moment, there was only the sound of the storm outside, the distant echoes of laughter from the others deeper within the cavern. And then—
“…Brant.”
The voice was soft, hoarse from disuse, barely more than a whisper. But it was there. Real. Hers.
Brant froze, his breath catching in his throat. He turned to her, wide-eyed, as if he had imagined it. But she was staring at him, waiting, her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. Her expression was uncertain, hesitant, like she had just crossed an invisible threshold and feared what lay beyond it.
His heart pounded. Of all the things he expected in that moment, hearing her voice—hearing her say his name—was not one of them. He opened his mouth, but for once, words failed him.
“Say that again.” His voice was barely above a whisper, a fragile plea carried by the firelight.
She hesitated, then, softer this time—“Brant.”
It was his name, just his name, but it was everything. A single word that shattered the silence, breaking through the walls she had built around herself. And it was for him. Only for him.
A sharp breath escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he surged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce embrace. He felt her stiffen for just a moment before slowly melting into him, her head pressing against his shoulder. He held her tightly, as if anchoring her to the present, as if trying to shield her from every nightmare she had ever endured.
“You spoke,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You actually spoke.”
She nodded against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. He could feel the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clung to him like he was something solid in a world that had once been cruel and uncertain.
He laughed, though it came out choked, overwhelmed. “You… you have no idea how much this means to me.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her expression softer now, less guarded. “I… feel safe,” she admitted, voice still rough but steady. “With you.”
Brant’s breath hitched, and he cupped her face gently, his pink eyes searching hers. “Then I’ll make sure you always are.”
The storm outside raged on, but inside Fool’s Elysium, wrapped in Brant’s arms, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time—home.
And for the first time since she had arrived, since she had endured the horrors of the pilgrimage and found sanctuary in Fool’s Elysium, she felt something close to peace.
Brant didn’t let go of her hand for the rest of the night.
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