#plus it gives me the excuse to use words like eschaton. so.

[shmothman]

I think I hit send before my ask was ready. I was trying to ask for prompt 7 if you were still taking them. I think I fragmented my sentence and it probably came off weird or rude (I hope not).

No you’re totally good!! No worries 🥰

Hurt/Comfort Prompt List (closed)

7. "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now."

(I will use this as an excuse to write more feathers. Because I’m reading the manga now.)

Eschaton (vash/reader, 645 words)

There are feathers bursting from his skin: his cheeks, his arm and shoulder, spreading and lengthening with each passing moment. His blue eyes are wide and terrified, half-consumed in some terrible frenzy—he’s fighting against it with everything that he has, his voice hoarse as he screams, begs you to run. But you’re rooted to the spot, not horrified by his transformation but by the pain on his face, his expression twisted in sheer agony; how can you heed his words and abandon him when everything in you is more afraid for him than for yourself? When all you want to do is embrace him?

You take a step toward him, and there are tears in his eyes now as he swipes at the air—claws forming from his always-gentle fingers—with a cry of anguish: get back, please! Your heart is breaking, but you can’t obey him, not now, not when he needs you; he needs you—

He clambers away from you as you approach, your hands held out before you in a placating gesture, words of comfort falling from your lips without any input from your brain; it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m not leaving you.

He shakes his head (feathers catching the movement, long and sharp and beginning to obscure his right eye, white eclipsing blue) whispering a rasping please, please run. But he isn’t going to hurt you, as much as he fears he will, you know this for a fact, more certain than you are of anything in the world, he could never, ever hurt you.

Now he’s covering himself with his arm, with his wing, harsh light emanating from his skin as you kneel before him in supplication—let me help you.

He cowers, sobs, but you don’t shy away. 

A horrified, wet gasp sounds from his lips as you fall into him, arms wrapping round the shaking expanse of his back, feathers soft and sharp and shiver-glowing.

I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.

A loud sob, wrenched from the depths of his chest, one more cry of run.

You’re shushing him quietly, hands smoothing over impossible wings, eyes shut tight against the blinding light. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

There are tears wetting your shoulder, and then the world is muffled as wings surround you, his body once more visible—twisting, strange, inhuman—not daring to touch you with transformed hands but enfolding you, protective, understanding that you refuse to leave him as the wind rises around you. But your hands are on his back, your lips in his ear, whispering comfort, soothing; finally his arms close around you.

His rasping sob sounds like your name.

And so you stay: your arms around his body and his around you, repeating over and over I’m here, I love you.

The light begins to fade first, dimming, winking out, enclosing you in the darkness of his embrace. He shakes in your hold as shuddering sobs wrack his body, and you don’t think he even notices as, slowly, the feathers begin to retract, as the wings retreat. His nails are blunt now as he clutches at your shirt, gasping apologies into your shoulder. 

He has nothing to be sorry for. 

It’s a long time before he comes back to himself, before his weeping grows soft, before he collapses into you. Before he lifts his head to look into your eyes, expression full of so many conflicting emotions that it makes your heart twist painfully in your chest.

You know what he’s going to say: that you should have run; this was too dangerous; you could have died. And you aren’t naive, you know what he’s capable of; but you also know that he isn’t defined by the destruction, that his transformation doesn’t have to mean that anyone gets hurt. You’ll prove it to him. 

No matter how long it takes, you’ll prove it to him.