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venluming · 11 months

Text

Meltdown (Petrigrof)

Wordcount: 2.05k.

Type: One-Shot, SFW

Warnings: None, really.

Summary: After a long, stressful day, Simon has a meltdown and Betty helps him through it.

Extra Notes: Hello, hello! I’m writing again, yay!! I felt proud enough to post this little one-shot of Petrigrof! I don’t see enough fics that depict Simon as autistic, so I wrote one myself! And… it’s him having a meltdown, haha— but hey, it’s something! This is also based on a personal experience of mine, so there’s that. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

With the gentle pattering of rain against the window and the warm air flowing through the heater in the corner, Betty sank into the covers of her bed, bundled up in her favorite brown, woolen blanket. Beside her was a hot mug of lemon balm tea that she occasionally sips to help her go to sleep.

In her hand, she held a sketchpad with small sketches of random objects around the room, assumingly for an art project, or maybe just as general practice. She had recently begun picking up this hobby again, as she had been so busy with other things, such as her expeditions and research papers for other minor classes she had. Betty enjoyed making pieces for herself, although she very seldom mentions her love for art to others for reasons of… well, no one really cared enough to ask.

Well, all except Simon.

Speaking of Simon…

It’s just about 8 PM right now. It’s pretty dark, and Simon still hasn’t come home from his afternoon class. Betty mused on where he might’ve gone. Perhaps working a bit later than usual, which was a somewhat common occurrence with him. He’s known to be quite the workaholic…

‘I wish he wouldn’t push himself so hard…’ Betty thought, frowning slightly.

No matter, she’ll have to give him a good “scolding” when he arrives home.

…Well, not an actual scolding. He hated getting those, as it always triggered his PDA.

After a bit of time passes, she’s finally finished and decided to put a pin in it for tonight. Her main worry seems to be her lover who still hasn’t arrived yet. What was he doing?

“He’s probably just working a little late, Betty. Nothing to worry about..” Betty mumbled, taking a sip of her tea and letting out a soothing hum. What a wonderful, serene-feeling taste.

Just then, Betty heard the front door slam from downstairs. Betty quickly turns towards the bedroom door and begins to climb out of bed but pauses when heavy footsteps start trudging up the stairs, then stopping momentarily. She waited quietly for any sudden movement when the quiet steps grew louder as they approached the door.

As expected, the door swung wide open, which startled Betty a little. Standing there was a… sopping wet cat who seemed to have, unfortunately, been caught in the storm of the hour. His clothes were drenched in rainwater, dripping onto the floor. His tousled hair cast downward as it stuck to his cheeks and forehead— but he desperately wiped the stray hairs away from his wet face. He looked… terrible —with his vest and shirt slightly unbuttoned to where the collar barely touched his neck, his bow tie clenched tightly in his hand.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment with his head hung low. It felt like, as soon as he stepped through, he just… fell apart. His hands found his head and he gripped a fistful of dark brown locks, then an exasperated and strangled groan tumbled out of his throat. Betty immediately ran to his side, attempting to touch his face but he jerked back from her, vigorously shaking his head. Betty was a little confused and slightly perturbed at first, but upon observing him more, his body language told her everything she needed to know. The way he trembled in front of her, arms up in a more defensive position like a scared little kitten despite having his hands tangled in his hair. Betty knew what this was.

“Okay, no gentle touching, alright.. uhm ,” Betty made her way to one of the lamps in her room and turned it off. “Here, I’ll turn off some of the lights for you, okay?”

Simon nodded, running a hand through his soggy locks. Glob, he was so glad to be home, home to his lover. She always knew what to do when he had these moments. Moments where his body shut down and wouldn’t cooperate with him no matter how hard he tried. Moments where every single article of clothing on his body felt like sandpaper scraping against his skin. How much it hurt to utter a single word. No matter how much he might’ve wanted to, it felt like walking barefoot on pins and needles while everyone else but him came prepared with steel-toe boots.

Simon’s wet clothes clung to his shivering body. He hated the feeling of wet clothes, he hated it. He desperately peeled the clothes off his body and they hit the floor with a gentle ‘thump ’. Betty scrounges around in the closet for his favorite blanket while glancing back at her lover every few minutes. She could feel him trembling from afar, even as warm air encircled him, and in those moments, she wished that she’d been there when this first started so she could have helped him through it.

“Okay, let’s get you wrapped up,” Betty pulls out the navy blue blanket and scurries over to him. He seemed to have already stripped himself of his clothes, to which she wrapped the soft blanket around his shivering body and led him to their bed. “I’ll get you some water… do you want some water?”

Wiping his tear-stained face, Simon nods and tries to bask in the warmth of his blanket and the heat from the heater, now that he laid closer to it. Betty opens the door and glances back at Simon with a gentle smile before closing the door and running down the stairs.

Not long after, Betty comes back with the water and places it on his bed stand. He seemed to have dove under the covers again with only his head poking out from his blanket. Betty chuckles, climbing over to the other side of the bed and laying beside him. Upon observing him closer, his scleras were bloodshot red, like he’d been crying for a while. Simon scooted closer and stared into her eyes for a moment before looking at the sketch pad in the space between them. Betty slowly turned to the book and picked it up, placing the pad in his lap. She figured he might want to say something without straining his voice since he’d gone non-verbal.

Simon’s hand snakes out from beneath the covers and he takes the pencil attached to the pad then flips to a blank page. Betty watches him curiously as he begins to write something down in a slow, gradual manner, his face softening the more he writes. He flipped the page over and she couldn’t help it when the corners of her mouth rose to her cheeks.

“Thank you, I love you”

Betty resisted the urge to take him into her arms and pepper his face with kisses. Alternatively, she takes his free hand and squeezes it firmly.

“I love you too, Simon.”

Simon flips the pad back around and begins scribbling something else.

“I need more pressure”

Realizing what he meant, Betty nods and begins climbing on top of him, aligning the side of her face with his own, and dropping most of her body weight onto him.

“Howzzat? That enough for you? Twice for no, once for yes.

Simon taps her once and she smiles against his face. She looks to him for permission, which he does give, then proceeds to wrap her arms around him and give him a firm squeeze. A small giggle escaped his lips as Betty held him in her arms.

After a while, Betty found herself growing more drowsy by the hour. Really, she had only been rambling to Simon about her day and other miscellaneous things. Only after a few minutes of talking did she hear the gentle snoring of the man who’d curled up beside her with the slow rise and fall of his chest. She thought that now it might be a good note to end off for tonight.

Leaning over the sleeping man, she pulls the cord to their dimmed lamp light then snuggles up against him. With a soft glittering of her eyes, she drifts into a soundless, serene sleep.

────────────────────

“Mmhh… five more… minutes…”

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips as he shook his lover once more. Betty stirred but her eyes stayed shut. After a few more gentle shakes, Betty groaned, rubbing her eyes before sitting up slightly and opening her groggy eyes to look at him. She sighs and gives him a tired smile.

“Ah, morning… how’d you sleep?”

Simon pressed his lips against her forehead. “I slept alright, you?”

Betty’s smile only grew when she heard his voice. Ever since last night, he’d been quiet as a church mouse, so hearing his voice again, it quelled that lingering anxiety she didn’t realize she had inside.

“Heyyy, you’re talking again! And I slept alright myself. I’m assuming you’re feeling better after your meltdown last night…”

“Indeed,” Simon lays against the bed frame, his bare chest exposed to the warmth of their room. “Thank you, again… last night was really… stressful— for me. I—uhm… glob, I was suppressing that for a while…”

Betty pouts, gently jabbing him in his side. “You dumb-dumb, why did you suppress it? You know that’s not good and… you can step out of class, you don’t need to prioritize your work if your nervous system is donking out!”

“Ahm— I was doing another presentation, and a lot of smaller things kept building up… and before I knew it, it almost happened— in the middle of it. That same guy threw another… book at me today. Starting to reconsider this whole thing, honestly…”

Betty huffed. “Again?? Who was it, was it the same guy? I should really teach that guy a lesson—“

“No, no… it’s okay,” Simon waved his hands. “You don’t… it’s fine. Please don’t.”

“No, because what’s this guy’s fascination with throwing shit at you??”

Simon shrugs. “No idea, but it’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“Simon…”

“I promise it’s fine, dear. If it’ll make you feel better, the next time it happens, I’ll give them a lecture on presentation etiquette, how does that sound?”

That was mostly a joke.

“You sound like you want a book to be thrown at you.”

Simon chuckles, scratching his nape. “Alright, bad joke.”

Betty chuckles right along with him until they’re both laughing at his really stupid lecture joke. The laughter soon died down though as the two climbed out of bed, raising their arms to stretch.

It only took Simon a few seconds to realize he wore only his underwear, which he remembered was a result of yesterday where his damp clothes lay bundled still near the doorway, so he made his way towards the closet to search for his spare PJs he’d leave here in her room.

Betty, being her usual self, stares lovingly at his backside, especially towards the lower region. She folds her arms and smirks to herself.

“Hey, are you working on your glutes?”

Simon blinks, trying to process what she just said. He slowly turns around, perplexed. “What?”

“Like… glute exercises.”

It took him a minute, but it finally clicked and his cheeks began to burn at the question. He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, haha . Ass joke, funny. I don’t… workout, that’s just how it naturally looks.”

“That just makes it better!”

“Betty.”

Betty giggles, embracing him from behind and nuzzling into his cheek. “Okay, okay… I get it, too early…”

He huffs. “Way too early…”

“Apologieees— I’ll go make us some breakfast while you change . What’re you in the mood for?”

Simon finally finds his blue and white-striped pajamas. He slips on and buttons the shirt and then the pants. “Pancakes.”

“Cool, cool!”

As Betty quickly exited the room, Simon stood beside the closet, pondering over the events of last night. How fast she was able to catch onto his symptoms, how loving and caring she was during the ordeal, how safe he felt when he finally let himself break down in front of her, which he hadn’t done in a while.

His lips curled into a warmer smile, feeling content.

He’s really happy to be with such an amazing person. He wouldn’t trade her for anything else in the world.

“I should help her with breakfast…” He finally said, closing the closet door and making his way downstairs to his soon-to-be wife.

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monpalace · 2 years

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Time knew he would never be able to understand all the new-fangled sayings and things that the youth said nowadays; especially given how much time he spent around the other Links without picking up a single term.

It came with being older in age (and era), he knew that. He could easily accept it because there was no shame.

He just can't help but wonder how you managed to keep up with the younger members. You were so close in age, and yet you had a much easier time understanding them.

(Were you his? From what he understood, you came from similar times.)

(He prays you are.)

Four and Sky, despite being “older,” even knew what words the younger generations used in their day-to-day lives.

“You're troubled.”

Time allows his eyes to wander from the conversing group that settled around the fire to his side. He was more than out of the way from the others, resting his aching back against a tree.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, letting his gaze move elsewhere so as to not let his hesitance show. “I’m fine. Your eyes deceive you.”

“My eyes deceive me?” Rather than offense, your voice mocked his own in amusement. “I’d be a fool to not see you sulk in this corner by your lonesome. I’ll ask again;” you hum, taking his hand into yours. “What troubles you?”

Time makes a vague gesture to the gossiping group, the tales of Wild’s experiences days after he woke up from his century-long sleep transitioning into Wind’s carefully spun stories of the seas to impress his older brothers.

“Their language is lost on me.”

“Lost on you?”

“Aye,” Time groans.

The laugh that bubbles out from your throat; Time has known (his) you long enough to know which ones you're able to hold back and which ones you can't.

He knows this is one of those laughs you can't stifle.

Time’s lungs clear at the sound. Whatever smoke and fog that previously cluttered them instantly dissipates into the air he breathed, the (not so) subtle of his brows undoing itself the few seconds it went on.

“They're not having an easy time either, you know,” you say.

The comment makes Time huff, his spine curling under the heavy weight of his armor when his muscles relax. “I know.” The leather and metal of his gauntlets creak around his fingers uncomfortably when he cracks his knuckles. “I know,” he reiterates.

“It’s always aye with you. Yes sir, no boy— you’re so formal.” Despite the discomfort of it, you lean onto his arm. “The only ones not intimidated by it are Twilight and Hyrule. Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

Time ignores the way you stare down at the armor he wore.

The phantom warmth he felt emanating from your body leaves when you stand. He wants to reach out and bring you back beside him, but he doesn't believe he should be selfish when he looked so rigid and was seated so close to the others.

The desire grows when you stretch an arm behind his head and cup your hand around the back of his head, fingers scratching his scalp. His body feels akin to an open flame with you pull him forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Take your armor off and join us. Tell us that story of your ex-fiancée, yeah?”

Time is ashamed of how quickly he sheds his metal outer-casing, but he does as told like a dog receiving a bone.

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