#hurt to comfort??

[iceman-kazansky]

Echo

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: BoB Secret Santa 2024

Pairings: David Kenyon Webster x F!reader

Warnings: Reader mentions religion, though it isn't explicitly given. Prob cringe and def not my best work. Angsty towards the end, Web gives comfort.

Word count: 2011

A/n: @multifandomfanfic Congrats! I'm your Secret Santa gifter! Merry Christmas! Secondly, HAD THIS QUEUED FOR NEXT. YEAR. I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I JUST GOT HOME AFTER BEING WITH FAMILY FOR THE HOLIDAYS AND I DECIDED TO CHECK ON THIS AND THERE WAS NOTHING?? I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY PLS FORGIVE ME GIRL.

Taglist: @inglourious-imagines @ronsparky @grumpy-liebgott @mstiemountainhop

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

You were tired. So incredibly tired. You were tired of the snow and the cold. Tired of the all time low depression circling among men you knew were formidable and strong.

It didn't help one bit that you were missing your best friend in this war.

Webster had taken a shot to the leg earlier when Easy was still in Arnhem and now laid in some English hospital recuperating. You didn’t resent him for his absence. The Ardennes was definitely not pleasant, and while you planned to stay with your comrades the duration of the suffering, you were glad Web had managed to get out of it. Maybe it was God’s will.

The days were long and arduous, soldiers' vigor spent after a week of this– ironically– icy hell. Whistle-like songs of bombs that berated the dense conifers every draining day and sleepless night had become a mere echo to your ears.

Puffing a frustrated mouthful of frozen white that furled into the midday sky, you shove your rosy hands into your opposing sleeves, curling your fists into the material and drawing your knees into your chest. The cloudy sky has cleared, and a white blanket resides on the ground.

Footsteps crunch along the ivory snow, drawing your attention. It’s sergeant Lipton, and he very clearly heads towards you. “Y/l/n,” he addresses, “I have mail for you.”

He passes you a cream envelope sealed tightly. You thank him and he asked about your well being. Short conversation ensued, but it wasn’t long before Lip was on his way to deliver mail to the next soldier.

Finally, your attention had been placed on the envelope. Flipping it in your numb hands you read the neat cursive that addressed you. The return address included a name you hadn’t expected: David Kenyon Webster.

Pulling on the loose edge of the envelope, you effortlessly opened it. Inside contained a letter:

Dear Y/l/n,

Hello, I hope things are going well for you. Things are definitely boring here for me. Doctors and nurses are pretty busy, so I sit and read for the most part, sometimes addressing mail or writing letters. You’re one of the first I’ve written, actually. Currently, I’m worried about not being able to return to Easy Company. The deadline for my return approaches soon and I’m not nearly healed enough to come back now. Or atleast, the doctors don’t think so. There are many people in this hospital, most talk about wanting to return to their old companies– the problem is, however, that most are too far to make a run for it and go AWOL. This place is quite boring, there isn’t anyone I personally know over here, and I definitely miss you guys.

Anyways, I hear the 101st are stationed along the Ardennes forest? How is it going over there? I hope to hear from you soon

Your eyes read each word, scanning the page. The letter heals something inside of you, a loneliness accumulated by means you aren’t entirely sure of. Some logical part of your brain tells you it’s your way of missing Webster. You miss the daily talks, the jokes, the deep conversations. The absence of his well thought out words leaves a hollow hole of silence in your ears and your heart.

Beginning to contemplate how you'll respond, you dig through your pockets for paper. Eagerly, you began writing your reply:

Dear Webster,

Things over here are quite the same. Every day, I mean. Nothing new– same old same old. Though, definitely not as they would be if you were here, I'm sure. We sleep in foxholes with no blankets and get bombed every day.

You pause in your letter writing, considering what to write about. You’ve already detailed the misfortunes of the 506th in the Ardennes forest currently. Finally, you settle on the topic of Christmas.

There’s talk of going home by Christmas. I hope we do, it’s only a few weeks from now. Yet, the closer we get to the holiday my hope dwindles. Realistically, I don’t think it’s going to happen. We haven’t heard much about the front lines moving. There are still Krauts all around us in the trees, and we don’t go home until there’s not. We lack the sufficient supplies to just go over there and do something, though.

Anyways, Merry Christmas if I don’t write to you before the holiday. I know letters may take awhile to reach you because I’m at the front lines. Hope England is treating you nice.

You closed off the letter, signing it before folding it closed and slipping it inside the envelope you’d snagged.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

It had been a week since you’d sent the letter to Webster. It was a quiet morning. The front lines had moved significantly, with the entirety of the 506th and the 501st being stationed along and in the small town of Foy. Ronald Speirs of Dog company had replaced Captain Dike during battle. Christmas was a few days away, and nearly all the hope of being pulled from the front was extinguished.

The air was frigid, gentle snowflakes falling from the sky to settle on the forest floor.

Crunching through the snow, Carwood approached, white box in hand. Reaching down he handed it to you, nodding to you and offering a ‘Mail for you. Merry Christmas’, before moving on further down the line.

Your hands trembled as you held the package. Slowly, your fingers moved to tear holes in the wrap holding it, peeling back the layer to open the mysterious box. There was another letter, and your hands brought it closer so you could read the short, neatly scribbled and unfolded note:

Merry Christmas! This is for you because I wanted to get you something for Christmas. I know it isn’t much, but I hope it lightens your time in the Ardennes. Sorry I’m not there to give it to you personally. When I read it, I really liked it, so maybe if you like it too we can talk about it when I’m back. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Signed,

David Kenyon Webster

A smile spreads across your face. You remove the letter from the box, the paper revealing a book.

You run your hands along the hard covering on the outside before your numb fingers find themselves flipping through its pages. It’s definitely small enough to fit in one of your tunic pockets. It settles nicely in the safety of your clothes while you reach deep into another pouch to grab a pencil and a paper.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Trucks rumble down the road, exhaust hangs in the air. It’s early February, the streets of Hagenau are muggy and littered with broken cobblestone. However, nobody in the 501st minded. There were warm showers and food, and shells of houses to stay in.

The scar of Belgium hung heavy over all the regiments involved who were currently stationed in Hagenau. There was a loss like no other present, many faces missing amongst the drastically shrunk groups.

Carefully, you picked your way along the ruined streets. It wasn't long before the sound of stones shifting underfoot signalled a new presence had arrived. You turned, half expecting to see an officer coming to you for an inquiry, but we're shocked to lock eyes with a face you hadn't seen in what felt like a millennia.

“Web,” You spluttered, eyes widened in shock. “When’d you get back?”

He fell in step beside you, face turned to you as he answered, “Earlier today. I just talked to a few Easy Company troops.”

You nodded. When was the last time you'd seen him? Suddenly, like a lightbulb, you remembered Bastogne and the book you carried in your tunic pocket. “Thank you for the Christmas gift. I really enjoyed it.”

The corner of his lips lifted upwards at the mention. “Of course.”

A few minutes of silence passed after that, the only sound being the clobbering of stones beneath your synchronized steps.

Eventually, you collected your voice again, finding a subject and picking the conversation back up. “I'm glad you're back.”

He made a little noise. Sort of like a scoff. “Thanks, but it doesn't seem everyone else is.”

Glancing over, it didn't take a genius to piece together it was bothering him. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“It doesn't seem like I'm very popular here anymore.” Webster explained. He sighed, eyebrows furrowing before he carryied on, “I don't know. I thought it'd be easier coming back. That I'd get a warmer welcome. Yet, all I've gotten is cold glares and it's like everyone here is.. well, different. All of them act like I wasn't around from Toccoa until Arnhem. Maybe I've been naïve.”

You shook your head, “You're not naïve, Web. Although the men might have a cold shoulder for a while I'm sure they'll eventually welcome you back.” You paused to contemplate your next words, “I mean, we did just go through hell. Maybe they feel envious you weren't there, or they know you can never truly relate. Even if you are from Toccoa days.”

Webster's shoulders merely slump in defeat. “Do you envy me? For not being there.”

“Of course not! If anything, I'm happy you weren't, Web. Bastogne was really..” You paused, searching for a word. Anything to describe the emptiness that the aftermath left, the loss of close friends you still haven't accepted are gone yet. You swallow hard, throat bobbing before you replied, “-tough.”

The walk grew quiet after that. You didn't have anything to input and it appeared that neither did Webster. However, even if you did, it would've been impossible with the increasing ache in your chest, the hollow cavity of a wound you'd reopened. A tidal wave of memories about to send you spiraling.

Skip. Penkala. Smokey. Guarnere and Toye. Some dead, others shipped off the front lines with superficial injuries. Their names echoed relentlessly in your head and you could feel a cold sense of dread and unease filling your system, spiking your nerves. What did you mean you'd never speak to them again; You'd never hear a sarcastic comment or a joke that had you bent over with tears in your eyes, howling in laughter. What did you mean you'd never get to jump from the belly of a plane with them again? Never experience the relief of seeing them alive and well when you made contact with the company on the ground, knowing your Toccoa boys were safe.

Webster happened to glance over while you were trying to calm yourself and immediately noticed you trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. “Are you okay?” He asked and you hated how concerned his voice sounded. You were stronger than this. You knew you were.

“I-” You tried, but the words died in your throat. Feeling like a hand had reached up from the depths to drag you under, you felt the pinpricks of tears in the corner of your eye. In a panicked state you had the revelation that you were about to break down in front of Webster. The small splash of tears against your tunic seemed to echo in your ears and it wasn't long before you became a shaking mess with tears streaming down your cheeks, unable to utter a single word.

Web didn't say a word, instead he took a step closer and wrapped his arms around you. It was obvious that he wasn't sure about this through the hesitance mirrored in his actions but you hoped he knew what he was doing was right. You relaxed into his hold, your body leaning into him instinctively.

Your tears fell more freely now, trapped between your cheeks and his fresh uniform. You felt his hand trail up your back, stopping to rub comforting circles.

Something about the wordless gesture brought a sense of comfort to you. It was unknown but definitely not unwelcome. He made you feel like maybe everything would be okay, that he'd hold you again, just like this, if anything ever went south.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

[kyri45]

I didn’t realize you were the person who did the fanfiction tag drinks.

ahah yeah that's meeee!!

If you guys are interested they are all available as stickers on my RB!!

[cronchy-baguette]

I promise

[futuristic-koala]

[stayuntilthefoglifts]

I will remove anyone from my life to protect the peace that I've worked so hard for. Nobody took me out of the dark. I did it on my own.

Unknown

[aphel1on]

nothinggg better than torturing an emotionally repressed character until every single trauma they've ever refused to process starts spilling uncontrollably out of the cracks. like a matryoshka doll situation of repressed trauma and baby you better believe i'm going in there with a hammer

[tojbnuy]

boyfriend!toji who doesn’t know why but he feels this weird jealousy everytime he sees you meet your friends and greet them all with a big hug. you never did that with him. you relationship was still fairly new to the both of you, but you kissed you fucked you even held hands sometimes when walking around. but, what toji was now realizing, was that he wanted a hug. well, he wanted a hug from You. not a casual little hug, a hug. holding each other. he didn’t know how to broach the subject without sounding needy and like the complete opposite of how he usually acts. he had never cared about this kinda stuff with other people, he’d never experienced it growing up and he thought he could live without it. until you. until you showed him that wanting to be held was normal. he’d been thinking about it for a while until one night, as the two of you got ready for bed it simply slipped out.

‘how come you don’t hug me?’

immediately you stopped plaiting your hair and turned to him with a shocked look.

‘what?’

‘how come you don’t hug me? like when you see your friends or you say bye you hug them. you don’t hug me.’

as soon as he said it he felt stupid. a grown man like him, older than you and he was sat here asking for a fucking hug. what if you turned the question around and said ‘well you don’t hug me’ what would he say? that i’ve never done that before sorry i don’t know how? his thoughts came to a stop when he felt a small hand grab his own larger one.

‘i- toji im so sorry. i’m sorry i didn’t think that was something you wanted.’

fuck now he’s made you feel bad.

‘nah doll you don’t have to say sorry, its nothing let’s just go to bed’

‘no toji please. let’s talk about it.’

you lifted the blanket and made your way over to his side of the bed so you could sit face to face. everything about you was so soft, so kind. such a complete contrast to himself. he was panicking, he didn’t do stuff like this, never talked about stuff like this.

‘honestly toji, i really just thought you weren’t a touchy person. i’m sorry for just assuming especially considering everything you’ve been through,’

‘no please doll. i wasn’t trying to blame you for anything. i just’

his palms were actually sweating, but your face. god your darling sweet face, looking at him like he hung up the stars in sky. like every word out of his mouth meant the world to you. you would wait for him to get the words out no matter how long he took.

‘i don’t know to be honest. you’re right i’m not a touchy person i’ve never really hugged anyone. but i want that. with you. and im sorry, i should be the one to initiate it i just didn’t really know how doll.’ his voice was so quiet, just a rough whisper.

he looked up to stare into your glassy eyes when you leaned in and kissed him. a small whisper of a kiss.

‘can i hug you?’ you said with your lips pressed against his.

he knew you knew he would prefer not to dwell on it.

and then he wrapped his arms around your back so tightly like he was showing the universe just how bad he needed you. he pulled you into his lap and let his cheek fall to your shoulder. he felt your arms wrap around his neck and you fingers stroking the hairs at his nape.

neither of you spoke, you simply sat and held each other and made a silent promise to maintain the closeness from today onwards.

‘thank you for telling me toji. you big baby.’

‘yeah that’s enough. time for bed.’

your giggle was music to his ears.

[chappellrroan]

which ao3 tag are you?

[greykolla-art]

My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

[candaru]

no no. you don't get it. the reason I injure my blorbos until they can't walk is because that's the only way they'll ever let someone else carry them. the reason I curse them to be sick and feverish is so that they'll finally open up about their emotions while delirious. the reason I force them to overexert themselves to the point of exhaustion is so that when they pass out they can finally rest.

I'm doing this for their own good.

[2danesand1cat]

Bruce Wayne calling any of his children sweetheart.

Especially if they are hurt or crying or otherwise distraught.

That’s it. That’s the post.

[portalmonsterrr]

Memento Vivere

Some additional notes:

[cronchy-baguette]

When all this is over, will you stay with me? For good?

[kyri45]

[stayuntilthefoglifts]

People who wound us get no say in how we clean up the blood.

Harriet Selina

[bebx]

average ao3 author’s notes be like

warning: I am about to put the blorbo in a situation so perverted and fucked it will traumatize and destroy them completely, physically and emotionally. this is your last warning.

hey guys, I hope you all are having a great day!! thank you for sticking around with me! 😊 life update: I did end up adopting the puppy! he’s so cute you guys, literally melting my heart 😭 anyway, remember to drink water and be kind to each other! ilysm 💕🥰✨🫶🏻 enjoy!

(this is indeed the same author on the same fic in the same author’s notes, of course)