me when i write a really long comment on a life altering fanfic and the author responds and writes something equally as long and i lowkey just reach enlightenment
You lay back in bed, watching Levi get ready for the day. He dressed methodically, practice having worn away the challenges of missing fingers and a blind eye. He glanced into the mirror, smoothing his bangs into place, but suddenly stopped.
His hands dropped and he gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles flaring white. You sat up quickly, worried that he was having a flashback- a rarer but still present remnant of the war.
"Levi?" He couldn't hear you. You quickly slid out of bed and moved beside him, edging into his peripheral vision. You raised your voice, careful not to startle him. "Levi, I'm here."
At your voice, his rigid posture fell. He broke his gaze away from the mirror. To your surprise, a sheen of tears glistened in his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
He made a low, dismissive sound, hating the way he'd let emotions spring up and choke him so suddenly. But the shock of it hadn't given him time to process, to shove anything back down where it belonged.
He gestured roughly at his hair. You leaned in, squinting- and noticed a feathery patch of gray threading through his dark locks at the root. You couldn't help smiling. Was that all?
"You're getting older, Captain. There's no shame in that." You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. "I think you'll make quite the silver fox."
His lips twitched, but he didn't take the compliment. "Tch. It's not that." He caught your hand in his and roughly ran his thumb over your knuckles, staring down at your hands as if they were easier to bear than your face.
"I've never… she didn't…” His throat worked as he swallowed, searching for the words. You waited patiently. "I'm older than my mother," he said at last.
Oh. There was nothing to say, then. That was why it had startled him, his own body renewing grief. You gave him space to think, to keep talking if he wanted, keeping your hand in his like a tether.
“I don’t remember her face, have I told you that?” His face sharpened into something pained, guilty. “But I remember her hair was dark. I imagined the night sky was like that, as a kid.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t at all.”
Levi’s hands trembled. You gently maneuvered him back to the bed. He tipped backward and lay there, frowning at the ceiling. Frustration and grief blended in his voice. “I didn’t expect to get old.”
You curled against his chest. His heart beat against your cheek, soothing the ache in your own. “None of us did, huh? But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoed. Another silence fell. When Levi spoke again you almost missed the words- the two of you pinned under the weight of them.
“She would’ve liked you. I know it.”
“Levi,” you started, throat tight, but he shook his head.
hi im alive but I just need to rant about the fact there are people actually body shaming leon scott kennedy who is famously top ten hottest fictional men of all time agreed by both men and women. 😭 we are in hell.
✧ heaven missed its aim, and now an adorably confused angel (aka, you) is wreaking havoc (and maybe stealing hearts) across teyvat ― alhaitham + ayato + dottore + diluc + kazuha + lyney + neuvillette + scaramouche + tartaglia + venti + wriothesley + xiao + zhongli x reader ⋆ incl. mentions of broken wings, you have a little radio-like device that connects to heaven 𝜗ৎ i wanted to do more charas but i was scared it'd be too long . . . part 2 ?
𐔌 . . . 𝐀𝐋𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌꒱
One second he’s reading under a tree, the next, the sky explodes and something winged crashes straight into his lap.
You, wide-eyed and covered in feathers, “Mortal! Thou shalt not gaze upon my—oh hey, you’re cute.”
Instantly, you switch moods. “Oh, thank the Creator, you broke my fall!” you chirp, wings flapping erratically and causing an Eye of the Storm to fall off a cliff. “...Oops..”
He stares at you for a long, silent second, “You’re thanking me for your lack of flight control?”
“You caught me,” you argue, proudly, “that’s destiny.”
“That is gravity,” he corrects.
Somehow, within the next hour, you’ve installed yourself in his study, sitting cross-legged on his table, sipping his tea, asking questions about “mortal philosophy” while petting his hair and getting your feathers everywhere.
He insists you’re a “cosmic disturbance.” Yet, when you fall asleep against his shoulder mid-sentence, he quietly turns a page without moving you.
You call him “wise mortal.” He calls you “airborne liability.” It’s… a start.
𐔌 . . . 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎꒱
The heavens open above the Kamisato Estate during a perfectly normal tea break. He barely lifts an eyebrow when you descend, glowing and terrifyingly serene.
Guards panic, servants kneel, and Thoma drops a tray. Ayato, on the other hand, just sips his boba tea. “Well. That’s new. It seems we’ve received… heavenly company.”
You step forward, eyes like judgment itself, voice like thunder, “I come seeking the one called Ayato.”
He smiles politely, “Ah, my reputation precedes me. Shall we discuss this matter over tea?”
You end up lecturing him about cosmic law while he tests if angels blush when complimented (Yes, and then his teacup explodes).
For someone supposedly divine, you blush very easily when he bows to kiss your hand.
Later, when you scold him for manipulating nobles, he says, “If Heaven dislikes cunning, perhaps it shouldn’t make mortals so imperfectly interesting.”
You have no rebuttal.
𐔌 . . . 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄꒱
He found you when you suddenly appeared in his laboratory, mixing around random chemicals. The first thing you do when you see him is sneeze, and three of his clones combust because of your germs mingling with the unfortunate chemical solution.
He’s delighted. Not concerned, not shocked—delighted.
“An angel, you say? Fascinating. Tell me, are your wings detachable?”
You tilt your head, halo wobbling, giggling like a wind chime, “Detachable? No, dummy! They tickle if you touch them!”
He short-circuits for half a second. Then grabs a clipboard, “For science, of course.”
You hum happily while accidentally melting one of his lab tables with divine light. You’re the perfect specimen. (He might also be a little fond. Oops.)
He stares, fascinated as you nearly blow up his lab again, “Interesting. Divine sneeze reflex causes spontaneous combustion…can you do it again?”
“Maybe if you tickle me!”
That’s how the Eleventh Segment ends up half-immolated while the Third Segment is taking frantic notes.
You float lazily above his desk, babbling about celestial nonsense and calling him “Doctor Funny Mask.”
He swears you’re the greatest discovery of his career.
Unfortunately for you, this seemingly sweet doctor (to you, no one else thinks that) is never going to let you go. So, when you tell him your signals to Heaven are working again, he destroys your little messaging device and keeps you locked up in his lab. With love, of course.
𐔌 . . . 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂꒱
You fall straight through the Dawn Winery roof right as he’s cleaning up Kaeya’s latest prank. Adelinde almost faints.
Diluc catches you midair, with the reflexes of someone who’s done this way too often with wine crates. He sighs.
You blink up at him, dazed, “...Are you the keeper of this realm, or are you my destined savior?”
“I’m your unfortunate landing pad.”
“Ah.. so you’re the love of my life.”
“Absolutely not. I have enough fangirls.”
You cling to him like he’s a life raft, “You smell like grapes.”
“That would be the wine cellar you nearly destroyed.”
You call him “Sir Flamin’ Hot Sexy,” and he blushes for the first time since 1623.
Later, as you sit wrapped in his coat, wings drooping, you whisper, “You look sad, for someone who saved me.”
He hesitates long enough for you to reach up and brush his cheek. He catches your hand, softly, “Rest. The rest of your questions can wait until I patch the ceiling.”
When you try to thank him with “holy light,” you nearly set the vineyard on fire. He hasn’t decided whether to kick you out or hide you so you never meet Kaeya… or worse, Klee.
𐔌 . . . 𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀꒱
He feels the presence of something before you fall.
But when the “something” turns out to be you, glowing and weightless, he can’t help but smile.
“You’re not frightened?” you ask, hovering inches above the ground.
“Should I be? You seem gentle enough.”
You look at the leaves swirling around his blade, fascinated, “The wind… listens to you.”
“Sometimes it listens better than people do.”
You talk all night about freedom, about stars, about how heaven feels colder than the breeze on his ship’s deck.
When dawn breaks, you gift him a feather, “A reminder that even the sky envies the wind.”
He keeps it tucked in his haori always, though he won’t ever say why. After all, you’ve become his little angel muse.
𐔌 . . . 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘꒱
It’s mid-performance when the ceiling explodes into a bright light. The audience gasps. Lyney, to his credit, takes a bow.
“And now, for my greatest trick—oh. You’re not supposed to be here.”
You blink from the ceiling wreckage, “…Where am I?”
He grins, “In my spotlight, apparently.”
You’re trembling, wings drooping, voice soft, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your… um, mortal entertainment...I think I took a wrong turn at the Pearly Gates…”
He offers a gloved hand, “Then let’s make this crash landing our special act.”
You spend the evening helping him “vanish” doves…only for the doves to follow you instead.
Backstage, he gives you his hat to hide your halo. You smile, “You’re kind for a trickster.”
“You’re too trusting for a deity,” he replies, but his tone is warm.
Lynette sighs, “You’re flirting with a celestial being…again.”
𐔌 . . . 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄꒱
The courthouse erupts in light. Melusines scatter. He’s halfway through a sentence when you shatter the glass and faceplant in front of the bench like a sanctified meteor.
“Oops,” you mumble, “do I have to pay for that?”
He stares, speechless, “This is… the Palais Mermonia.”
The courtroom goes dead silent. What the hell is an HR department?
You laugh, “Oops, wrong universe!”
When he finds out your communication is broken, so you’ll be staying here a while, he ends up giving you a “court tour,” partly to keep you from flying into the ceiling lamps again.
When you apologize for “breaking the sky window,” he sighs, just once, “Perhaps… we can find you lodging. Somewhere without glass.”
𐔌 . . . 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄꒱
You literally drop into his personal bubble of solitude. Bad move.
“What in the Archons’ name are you?”
You, dazed, “A… creature of heaven?”
He glares, “Then go back.”
But your wings are all messed up, so he (very reluctantly) takes you back home.
He absolutely does not help you fix your wings, but he also doesn’t leave you alone. He reminds you of a cat you once became friends with.
You become a part of his daily routine and can’t help yourself from saying, “You don’t do anything fun, do you?”
“Fun is a waste of time.”
“Then you’re doing life wrong!!”
He glares at you. You sleep on the couch that night. But the next morning, when he finds you crying because your wing’s condition worsened overnight, he freezes.
“Don’t—stop crying. That’s annoying.”
He ends up awkwardly bandaging your wing in silence. You smile through tears, “You’re not mean, you just talk like... thunder. Scary, but not harmful. It's comforting when you get used to it.”
He rolls his eyes, muttering, “Then maybe you should go back to Heaven where it’s quiet.”
He doesn’t mean it. Not at all.
𐔌 . . . 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐀꒱
You land mid-fight, radiant and confused, feathers flying everywhere. He nearly trips on a halo.
“Finally! A challenge that fell from the sky itself!”
You’re dazed, “I— wait, are you fighting for sport?”
“Of course. Wanna join?”
You heal him instantly, wings fluttering. “You mortals are insane.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He challenges you to a spar. You refuse. He grins wider.
“C’mon, angel, show me what Heaven’s got.”
By the end of the day, he’s covered in soot, you’ve broken half a cliff, and both of you are laughing like maniacs under a star-filled canopy.
Later, he tells everyone he “fought Heaven and won.” You’re still trying to explain that you were trying to apologize.
𐔌 . . . 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈꒱
You land on him mid-song. He doesn’t even flinch, just keeps playing.
“Ah, another fallen star~ Are you here to steal my thunder, or just my spotlight?”
You start humming harmony with him. The crowd thinks it’s divine intervention.
you loop your arms around sae’s neck, resting your chin on his shoulder. he huffs. “i can’t just always carry you around.” yet as he speaks, his hooks his elbows under your knees anyway, allowing you to piggyback him.
“you say that, yet i’m here on your back anyway.” you grin, now burying your face into his shoulder. a few passerby stare, some grinning, some whispering. “hey, are people looking? i feel stares.”
“no shit. it’s not every day that you just casually see a celebrity on the streets.” sae retorts, although he knew that in reality, most whispers contains the words “young love” buried among sentences of jealousy and excitement.
“mmmm,” you yawn. “i’m tired, and hungry.”
“great. let’s go eat then.” sae begins to turn towards the direction of a nearby bakery, treating your weight on his back like a feather.
you definitely doze ofc on his back; you didn’t respond to his comments or insults.
cute.
at the bakery, while you’re half-asleep on his back, he orders some of your favorite pastries. “20 of these.” the cashier looks at him with wide eyes. sae ignores her, placing you down in a chair gently and sitting across you.
“…huh?” when you woke up, you were met with a variety of colorful pastries, no longer clinging to sae’s warmth. “oh, wow. this is a sight i’d like to wake up to every day.”
noted.
“just hurry up and eat, you lukewarm idiot.”
you shove a few baked goods into your mouth. sae rolls his eyes, grabbing a napkin and dabbing near your mouth. “thanks, sae. you’re always looking out for me. this is why you’re my best friend.”
his heart drops a bit when he hears his title.
but that was fine. if it means staying close to you, he doesn’t mind the status.
he’ll just make sure that no one else gets close to you.
i can’t stop imagining leon experiencing his SO’s family
he doesn’t remember his own much at all.
so when he’s welcomed into yours, he’s subdued but polite, crammed between your cousins, aunts, and uncles in the living room. it’s the first you’ve seen him look truly uncomfortable.
your family clocks it immediately and they’re there, making it their mission to include him.
your uncle takes him by shoulder like they’re conspiring together as he goes around firing his stupid inside jokes, bringing him up to speed on each one, even “cooking one up special” just for him.
your grandma asks him to help her in the kitchen with the dish that’s been in the family for generations, a favorite for gatherings, insisting he wear one of her handmade aprons—a right of passage that you all had to endure when you were younger.
your cousins get a beer or two in him and shockingly manage to tap him in for flag football. and you can’t look away from him rolling in the grass, laughing, a rare smile on his face.
your mom, your aunts, your grandma give him the biggest squeezes as you leave, like they can sense that he’s not used to it—your aunts coyly cracking jokes about how they “can barely fit” their arms around him while your mom shoos them off.
on the drive home, you can’t help but notice the faraway look in his eyes, the quirk of his lips.
“so. what’d you think?”
and his look is nothing short of bittersweet, a long-buried grief there, so raw that you take his hand and trace your thumb over his knuckles, understanding.
he never thought he would have any of this. an orphan, married—hostage—to the will of the government, his work. yet here he is, here you are.
your mom who sends him little gifts “just because” she saw them out shopping and immediately thought of him. your dad who messages him funny videos that remind him of “that one time” they hung out. your nieces and nephews who constantly ask if uncle leon is coming to their soccer game, their birthday party, their school play.
all filling a wound he didn’t speak about. one that used to yawn wider as each phase of his life came and went, but was now slowly knitting closed.
Xiao memorising the sound of mortal!Reader's breathing and knowing when you're well, when you're pretending, when you're sick, when you're drunk, when you're suppressing tears or laughter, when you're sound asleep, when you're about to wake up, when, decades later in the gentle night, you are dying quietly in his arms, and you don't even know
i wanna freak angel out; not in the typical sexual way but in an intrinsically spiritual way in which our souls collide and take with them pieces of each other so that neither will be whole unless their have one another
You lay back in bed, watching Levi get ready for the day. He dressed methodically, practice having worn away the challenges of missing fingers and a blind eye. He glanced into the mirror, smoothing his bangs into place, but suddenly stopped.
His hands dropped and he gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles flaring white. You sat up quickly, worried that he was having a flashback- a rarer but still present remnant of the war.
"Levi?" He couldn't hear you. You quickly slid out of bed and moved beside him, edging into his peripheral vision. You raised your voice, careful not to startle him. "Levi, I'm here."
At your voice, his rigid posture fell. He broke his gaze away from the mirror. To your surprise, a sheen of tears glistened in his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
He made a low, dismissive sound, hating the way he'd let emotions spring up and choke him so suddenly. But the shock of it hadn't given him time to process, to shove anything back down where it belonged.
He gestured roughly at his hair. You leaned in, squinting- and noticed a feathery patch of gray threading through his dark locks at the root. You couldn't help smiling. Was that all?
"You're getting older, Captain. There's no shame in that." You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. "I think you'll make quite the silver fox."
His lips twitched, but he didn't take the compliment. "Tch. It's not that." He caught your hand in his and roughly ran his thumb over your knuckles, staring down at your hands as if they were easier to bear than your face.
"I've never… she didn't…” His throat worked as he swallowed, searching for the words. You waited patiently. "I'm older than my mother," he said at last.
Oh. There was nothing to say, then. That was why it had startled him, his own body renewing grief. You gave him space to think, to keep talking if he wanted, keeping your hand in his like a tether.
“I don’t remember her face, have I told you that?” His face sharpened into something pained, guilty. “But I remember her hair was dark. I imagined the night sky was like that, as a kid.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t at all.”
Levi’s hands trembled. You gently maneuvered him back to the bed. He tipped backward and lay there, frowning at the ceiling. Frustration and grief blended in his voice. “I didn’t expect to get old.”
You curled against his chest. His heart beat against your cheek, soothing the ache in your own. “None of us did, huh? But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoed. Another silence fell. When Levi spoke again you almost missed the words- the two of you pinned under the weight of them.
“She would’ve liked you. I know it.”
“Levi,” you started, throat tight, but he shook his head.
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