#you never get to see him. you grow up and eventually the pain fades but not the memory. you lived without your brother longer than you had | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cryinginmyroomsposts · 9 months

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Growing into Love

pairing:Husband!Seokjin x fem!reader

tags: fluff, slight angst, husband Jin, non-idol!au, Arranged marriage trope, mentions of parent issues

summary: Arranged marriage could've been a lot of things, but with Jin, it was nothing but comfortable. Maybe too comfortable that you hadn't realised when you'd both fallen in love.

masterlist | Let me know your thoughts and feedback.

“You know what Mom, I’m sorry. I thought, for once, you’d understand me but of course. My bad. Let’s just forget this. Bye.”

No matter how long it had been, it was never easy. Even years of therapy cannot make the complicated relationship between your parents and you easier to deal with. After everything said and done, you still did love your parents and you knew they loved you too. Even if they weren't great at depicting it without it affecting you.

It was tiresome nevertheless. The constant back and forth, you still hoping they'd understand even though they haven't in the last twenty-seven years and them hoping you'd finally see their side.

It had gotten easier when you had moved out after high school. You had enjoyed the taste of freedom and independence for 6 years since high school, mainly because you knew it came with a deadline- arranged marriage. It was a tradition in your family, everybody always got an arranged marriage. Even after knowing that it’s your destiny, the fear of “what ifs” had eaten you up for years.

For years you'd fought against it, but eventually, you lost all the will to fight and gave in. You had no choice. No matter how much you did, they always demanded more. Maybe you were to blame, for hoping even after everything.

With all the thoughts and the pain still fresh in your heart, you slump against the sofa on the floor throwing your phone on the coffee table. You're trying your best to not let the tears fall. Leaning your head back you just breathe and try to stop the well-known spiral that was going on in your brain.

"That bad huh?"

The voice startles you. You open your eyes to see your husband standing at the kitchen entrance looking at you. His wide shoulders clad in his favourite white t-shirt, a pink worn-out apron on his slender waist, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the soft features on his face slowly turning into concern as he assessed you.

Being married to Seokjin had been a pleasant surprise. Both of you knew what you were getting into, had spoken openly about your needs and kept to your boundaries. You understood that love was not exactly an option in your situation, but there was never any animosity between the two of you.

After a year of marriage, you'd become friends and partners/ teammates of sorts and constantly enabled each other to succeed. You had a routine, shared chores, shared your hobbies with each other and existed in perfect harmony. There was never a need or yearning for more, as it felt comfortably natural at every point.

Everything you'd learnt about him made you want to remove all the unfair pain he'd been through and protect him from further pain. One month into your marriage you got to know that his family had caused him a broken heart and forced him into this predicament. Yet he was always polite and nice to you and his family, and your respect for him grew multifold. Then you began noticing how he was often silent and blue when he thought no one was paying him attention. His smile faded every time he turned away from people which made you feel like it was you who was getting hurt.

But along the way, in the last year, Jin had genuinely become more balanced. His over-hyper nature around people and the eerily silent persona at home had slowly eased into a balance that dances on the verge of both. He makes you laugh almost every day, has cried in front of you a couple times and always cooked the most delicious meals every weekend. Jin was also a complete crackhead, especially when his younger brother Jungkook visits- which is almost all the time. Jungkook had been a big part of your life since your marriage and you would not have it any other way. Especially since it made Jin smile from his heart (and annoyed him to know bounds that you spoiled Jungkook).

"Y/N, are you okay?"

You blink at the voice, Jin is now crouching in front of you, back leaning against the coffee table as he looks at you. His eyes filled with worry, lips puckered and hair tousled. You bite your lips to prevent the threatening tears from falling down.

"Didn't you hear ?" You ask with a quivering voice, referring to the phone call you had with your parents moments ago.

"No, I was caught up in making lunch." He settles one hand on your shoulder in a pat. "But from the look on your face, I assume it didn't go well. If you want to talk, you know I'm here."

You nod, blinking more furiously in a futile attempt. He smiles and wipes the tears away.

"It's ok to cry, we spoke about this."

"I know. That's what I'm doing." You say as more tears fall and a smile graces your face. "Aha, I know what will cheer you up." His eyes widen and a mischievous smile plays on his face as you look at him in confusion. "I'll call Jungkookie, you are always happy when he annoys me. I don't get it but it'll work for now." You look at him for a moment to gauge how serious he is and end up laughing when he picks up his phone to call the younger one.

"No no Jin don't call kookie. Poor thing, he really wanted to sleep in this weekend. Plus he really needs to start hanging out with people other than us." You say between laughing as Jin puts his phone down.

"Hmmm," he thinks as he absentmindedly wipes more of your tears away and you're watching in anticipation waiting for his next suggestion. "In that case, maybe ice cream will help?" He asks with big eyes and a pout, looking like an innocent child. You immediately nod like an excited 5-year-old at his suggestion.

Jin brings you the ice cream tub you'd both bought at the supermarket and hands over a spoon.

"Here, enjoy!" "Hehe thanks, I love you. You're the best Jin." "Aissh, love you too. I'll go check on lunch. don't eat too much."

You were about to hum back in response but froze mid-action, ice cream spoon on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes widen in reaction and you drop the spoon on the floor. This causes Jin to stop midway to the kitchen and look at you.

"Y/N, are you okay?" He says rushing to your side. You just look at him in pure shock.

"We, I- we-" The words fail to come out of your mouth and your mind is a mess. "We what?" He asks, the concern back on his face.

"wesaidiloveyou" The words leave your mouth in such a hurry that Seokjin almost misses it. When he realises he gets more confused and replies with a shrug, "Yeah so?"

"What do you mean so? We said THE words Seokjin." The incredulous look on his face stays put and you add, "For the first time."

He scoffs and smiles. "This is not the first time."

"What?"

His smile falters, "You don't remember?" "Remember what? Jin don't mess with me now." Your voice is timid and you feel a giant lump creeping up your throat.

"You're the one messing with my head right now. Do you really not remember saying I love you to me that night?" He looks at you in disbelief, ears reddening and his pout in full display. "What night?"

"Y/N, come on seriously?" "I really don't remember Seokjin."

He stares at you for a moment too long, sighs and walks back to the kitchen. You close the ice cream tub and run to follow him in. He's stirring the stew in the pot and even though his back is facing you, you don't miss the agitation in his movements. You wait for him to close the lid on the pot and watch as he just stares at the wall. Slowly you move closer to him but he whips around even before you could tap on his shoulder, and looks at you.

"Jin, I really do not remember what you are referring to and I'm sorry. Just tell me when it was, please." You give him your best puppy eyes and he sighs leaning his head back on the shelf above, before facing you again.

"The night after we went to your cousin's wedding, in bed, before sleeping you told me you love me and I said it back." Your jaw drops to the floor. "That was three months ago," is all you say as you try your best to jog your memory of the night.

That had been a particularly rough family function- with your father questioning every career choice you had made, your mother constantly criticising your outfit choice and every other relative asking you only about your plans to have kids. Seokjin had been very comforting and stayed by your side the entire night. You remember how his hand never moved from the small of your back the entire night and how he kept running circles on your palm whenever he held them. That night you were sure you had fallen for Seokjin, but you did not remember vocalising it to him. And definitely did not remember him saying it back.

Jin's strained sigh brings you back to the man in front of you, he is doing his best to look positive and lighthearted about this and you can see it.

"Why didn't you bring it up the next day?" You wanted to say sorry, you wanted to hug him but this was the only sentence that came out of your mouth. "I figured you said it in a sleepy daze. And maybe you didn't mean it." Jin sounds so small and nervous at the moment.

"But then it happened again." He adds before you can say anything and all you can say is, "HUH?"

He rubs his palm on the back of his neck and nods. "Yeah, actually you've said it 7 times in the last three months including today."

"WHAT?" Jin looks as shocked as you do at this revelation.

"Why the hell do I not remember it?" "How the hell am I supposed to know." Jin's voice comes out sharper and you realise how all of this might be for him. But he turns back to the dish on the stove and you are left to jog your memory to see if he was right.

"The second time was when I bought you the big chocolate cake when you were on your period- two months back," Jin says in the most neutral tone and the memory comes back to you.

You hadn't even informed him about your periods, he somehow always knew. But you were positively shocked when he walked into your shared bedroom with a chocolate cake in his hand, explaining that it will ease your cramps. It might've been possible that you voiced the exact feeling you were having in a moment of joy.

"Then it was a week later when you were leaving for work." Jin is now back to stirring and assessing his pot and his voice seems muffled.

"When?" He turns to look at you for a brief second, he assesses your confused face and turns back smirking.

"You said 'I love you bye' on your way out the door, I knew you didn't realise it. In fact, you did this again twice, Kookie was here during the fifth time."

"Wha- How... Do I have memory loss?" Jin turns around and you can see the smile he's trying to control. "Don't laugh, Jin. How else do you explain my not remembering saying it?" He stays leaning on the counter with his smirk playing on his face and says, "So you definitely don't remember drunkenly professing your love for me last week and then proceeding to cuddle me the entire night until I laid you on the bed in the morning right?"

If you were shocked till now it was nothing compared to this bombshell Jin dropped on you.

"Are you lying?", "No why would I!" Jin looks convincingly innocent but it only worsens your confusion. How did you miss such an important moment of both of your lives. Your husband loves you and has said so multiple times but your brain has successfully managed to forget that. You try your best to remember but nothing out of the ordinary jumps from your brain.

He breaks down laughing- screeching noises and all, as he watches you process it. Your first reaction, post-shock, is to hit him in the arms and exasperatedly pout.

"Jin, that's not fair. Why the hell did you not tell me any of this ?"

He sobers up then and stands in front of you, holding both your shoulders and a sweet smile on his face. "I didn't mean to hide it, I just thought you didn't want to bring it up. Y/N, you told me yourself that you're a flight risk and that you weren't looking for love. I didn't want to make you panic."

"Aww that's sweet of you." He nods annoyingly smug and you roll your eyes. "But I still feel horrible that I didn't even notice it fully. I mean.. how does one forget that?" Jin shakes his head at your words and gives a little squeeze to your shoulder as he says, "You didn't forget it, it just came so naturally to you that it wasn't a big deal."

You look up at his eyes hearing his words. "Was it the same for you?" Jin gulps and rubs the back of his neck again. He's turning redder by the minute and you love seeing him like this. "Well, yeah. I actually said it a week before you did for the first time." You open your mouth to react but he interrupts you. "And no, you didn't forget it. I was scared and told it when you were sleeping."

"When?"

"Aiish, I don't remember Y/N." He's almost as red as a tomato now. You scoff at his words. "Oh please, you just listed the 7 very random days I told you I love you. And I know for a fact you remember when you first said it. Spill it, Jin." Jin is fully blushing and you're sure you are too by how heated up your cheeks feel. You continue riling him up by poking his arms till he swats you away and answers your question.

"I- Oh god stop Y/N, I'll tell.", "Okay, go on."

"It was the night you suggested we sleep in the master bedroom together because you felt it was unfair that I had to sleep in the guest room." Jin covers his hands in his face and cringes at himself while you've got the biggest smile playing on your face. You start giggling and that makes him look up from his hands with a pout.

"Ya don't laugh at me!" "No, no I'm not laughing at you. It's just... that's all it took for you to fall in love with me?"

His face immediately changes from his pout to a soft smile. "That's because I didn't fall in love, and neither did you.", "Oh." You try your best to let it not show but you know that your face has deflated just the way your heart felt.

Jin notices it and smiles before adding, "We didn't fall in love, we grew into it, and that's much better. I've fallen in love before and you know what, when you fall it feels like you're flying until you crash. I think falling in love is a sad thing." He moves closer and holds your face in his palms as you look up at him without breaking eye contact. "With you, with us, we didn't fall and we won't crash. I've been in a relationship where even the smallest things were a big deal- every 'I love you' and anniversary. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, I'm just saying I really do prefer how natural it feels to just say I love you and not make a big deal of it. With you, specifically. I love how we just started doing things together without overthinking it. So yea, we grew into loving each other."

By the time he is done you're eyes are watering and the tears flow down your cheeks. He wipes them away and you just stare at him, thinking about his words. He was right, almost all of your firsts since your wedding have been entirely unspoken. One day you just cuddled against him while watching a movie and neither of you questioned it. Or when he randomly pulled you in a bear hug and cried after a tough day, or when he comforted you during your family functions and you did the same. Even when you were busy trying to fight off any feelings because of your fear, you couldn't succeed. It all felt natural.

"Y/N, please don't cry. You've been crying since the damn phone call and now I've made you cry too." You shake your head sideways and pull him into an embrace, leaning your head on his chest and sniffling your tears in. He rubs your back trying to calm you down, which you do because Jin always knows how to calm you. You lift your head from his chest and look at him, still in a tight embrace.

"How are you this smart and amazing?" He smiles shyly and then smirks before adding, "I am 3 years older than you and I know a lot more than you do!"

"Tch, what a shame I didn't record that and send it to Jungkook. He'd be so happy to see you admit that you're old." You tease and Jin looks at you in mock anger which causes you to laugh.

"I've been realising it here and there but like you said nothing felt out of the ordinary or uncomfortable enough to question it. So... okay I agree, we grew into loving each other." Jin nods with a fond smile. "Now what?" you add with raised eyebrows watching keenly as Jin smirks and his hug around you gets tighter. Your face heats up as he leans into you slowly, your eyes trained on those plump lips of his that have always caught your attention. You close your eyes and wait for his lips to hit your lips and finally fee-

TRIINGGGGG

The sound of Jin's ringtone blaring from his pant pocket makes both of you jump away from the embrace. Recovering faster from the shock, Jin picks up the phone and curses as he shows you the called ID- Jungkook.

You laugh as Jin attends the call and immediately starts cursing the younger one and Jungkoook lets out his usual Elmo giggles and shouts for you to support him.

Jin was right, this all felt natural. This is your family, your home and you'd cherish it forever.

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dumplingsfordays · 6 months

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patching you up

blade x injured!gn!reader

genre - fluff

summary - blade patches you up after you got injured while fighting mara.

cw!: mentions of blood + injury, soft-ish!blade, ooc blade?, mention of blade's past life which idfk how it works lmao I should be paying attention to the storyline asjdnb, swearing, mutual pining

note - god damn. soft!blade is living in my head rent-free fr, can't get enough of him <33 I'm not usually an edgy-emo-boy fan but ig blade's just built different 💪💪

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

With each painful cough, more and more thin splatters of blood painted your mouth crimson.

It hurt. A lot. You didn't expect it to hurt nearly as bad as it did when you charged in to fight the Mara that was attacking some people that were making their way through Cloudford, but the spear that their captain had used to stab through your side was probably coated in some sort of poison, because with every sluggish step you took, you felt your body break little by little. Eventually, you collapsed onto the cold ground - your torso was numb and soon your arms and legs would be as well.

Well, at least you were going to die somewhere pretty. The sunset glimmered through the leaves of thin trees growing from large pots, which were scattered across the various bridges of the district. Starskiffs drifted lazily across the sky like regal ships on the high seas and the last thing you heard before you closed your eyes for a while was the sound of crickets and footsteps fading in.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Finally fucking awake."

A harsh voice came from your side as you opened your extremely tired eyes, which were met with dim but warm lighting and a dark wooden ceiling.

"Can't believe you got into this mess," the voice continued as you felt something tightening around your waist. "Didn't think that you'd be so stupid."

His face flashed in your hazy mind and you tried to sit up. "...Blade, I-"

"Don't move. You'll make it worse."

Hands. Ice-cold, gruff, but gentle hands pushed you back into your previous position by your shoulders, and you felt the tightening feeling again shortly after.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, then coughed again. Your throat was so dry - it felt like you haven't drank in decades, and with each cough you swore that your lungs were going to fly out of your mouth at the sheer force.

"Fixing you, obviously."

You raised your neck to try and catch a glimpse of your wounds but saw only the top of Blade's head, his raven hair tied back in a low ponytail. He was bent over your side, and just as you lowered your head back to the pillow a sharp bolt of pain shot through you, making you hiss and wince.

"That hurt!"

"It'll pass," he replied almost too casually. "Deal with it."

An uncomfortable pause ensued, during which you finally figured out that he was bandaging your torso up. You'd never expected anyone to find you back there, much less a Stellaron Hunter that you'd only interacted with five or six times, but thank the Aeons that at least someone did. But you did think it was strange that he was doing this for you, because from all your two-or-three-word conversations, you were sure that he wasn't the type to help an almost complete stranger. In fact, you'd think that he would be the one to cause these injuries in the first place.

While you were staring up at the ceiling in deep thought, Blade was lowkey kind-of admiring your skin. You weren't going to look down at him again anyway, it seems that you'd learned your lesson, but that just allowed him to eye your softness in more detail. This was his chance - he'd been admiring you from afar ever since you first met, and he wasn't about to let this opportunity to see what you looked like close-up pass.

Before he knew what he was doing, Blade's fingers reached out to lightly press onto skin that was near your wound, at which you hissed and leaned away from his touch.

"You sure that you're actually healing me?" you asked.

"Yes. I know what I'm doing, trust me."

He continued to press curiously but gently, making sure not to hurt you on purpose. Your skin was fascinating to him - it was soft, warm, while his was unforgivingly cold; yours had a fascinating shade of life about it and his didn't. This contrast was what made his eyes widen a little everytime he made physical contact with you, and he found small differences like these to amount to vast ones overall. Maybe this is what always made him think that you came from a different world entirely.

Blade then noticed that your hand was trembling by your side - the painkillers must be wearing off. He stood up from the chair beside the bed on which you were resting and reached for a couple pills and a glass of water on a nearby counter, moving them to the bedside table. His hands felt your back as he sat you up to administer the medicine.

You now saw where you were - from what you could tell, it was a small house or apartment somewhere. Dark wood covered the walls, ceiling, and floor, and tapestries and thriving plants littered the environment. You didn't know that he had a green thumb, but now that you did, you felt safer somehow - what if this cold, distant man was more human than you'd originally thought him to be?

His lithe, cold fingers brought you back to reality as they rested under your jaw, pulling it open gently, and your eyes focused on his admittedly quite handsome face again. Crimson eyes, the color of a blood moon, stared intensely at yours in avid concentration before travelling back to his other hand, which was now lifting a glass of sparkling golden liquid to your lips. There was a certain reverence of sorts glimmering in his expression, and this was accompanied by the fact that he was treating you like he would a glass flower. Your lips finally met the rim of the glass and when you finally tasted the elixir, you sighed.

It was cool and sweet, a refreshing sensation that battled the humidity of the room and the pain in your side. You drank the entire glass with ease and after Blade set it down on the bedside table, he wiped away some stray droplets of the shining liquid with a rough thumb.

That was it - Blade had become an entirely person just now. You could see it in his eyes and feel it as he breathed: this was not the same person who happened to be walking by a person on their deathbed and had enough pity in their secluded heart to heal them. He treated you like an old friend or a partner, perhaps, by taking you in.

"You'll experience drowsiness soon," he mentioned, "don't feel like you can't sleep. I won't leave you."

You laughed lazily in return, already feeling the effects of the painkillers. "So you can murder me in my sleep?"

"...I can leave-"

"No, no, I'm just kidding."

You sigh and relax into the pillows beneath you as Blade lowers you onto your back again. His gaze lingers on yours for maybe a second too long but he pulls away, preferring to sit down in a chair by the bedside and stare out at the scenery surrounding the house.

Once your eyes close and your breaths become quiet, he gives it a couple seconds to make sure you're asleep before softly starting to hum. It's an old tune from his past life, one which he used to smith to, and as midnight moonlight begins to stream in through the window, it veils your calm face in a hazy, shimmery glow that rivals even the smoothest of satins. He reaches a hand towards the apple of your cheek, cradling it in his palm as he sighs, a faint smile dancing on his lips.

"You're gonna kill me someday."

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai #fluff #blade #hsr blade #blade hsr #blade x reader #star rail blade #blade x y/n #blade fluff #blade x you #hes so babygirl for some reason like???

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an0nymousmessenger · 7 months

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For I'll Keep Every Promise

Synopsis: He wakes up. Word Count: 2.4k tags. fluff, angst, happy ending Sequel to 'A Thousand Wishes Unheard' note: I was going to post this later but I think you guys need it. Ao3 Link

Darkness. That was all he could see. He felt nothing– as if he was floating in a neverending void.

He was dead.

He had to be. He remembers the bitter taste of blood coating his mouth– the way he struggled and choked on the very thing that ran through his skin. He recalls the loud ringing in his ear, growing ever louder as his vision faded out.

Well, he supposed he tried his best. Really. He gave it his all.

It just wasn’t enough.

What remained of his heart ached. He supposed he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise to you. He hopes you won’t blame him…he had held on till the very end.

Death wasn’t so bad. Before he went he was able to see his students, laughing and smiling, he even got to hold you close before he had left. Not to mention he even saw his friends again, and he had gotten to say goodbye.

He had no regrets.

Well…he supposes there is still one that lodges itself in the back of his mind.

It was you.

He had never gotten the chance to…

“Satoru,”

He turned his head to look at you, who was savoring your lollipop as you leaned back on the balcony.

Lemon flavored. The very sour kind.

He had a snide suspicion that it was to keep him away from stealing it…

“Satoruu~” you repeated, drawing his attention again.

“Hm?”

You flash him a smile, the kind of smile that lets him know that you are about to either stir up trouble or say something random.

It was the latter.

“What do you want to do when you're older?”

He snorts, “What kind of question is that? Of course– a sorcerer.” He wanted to add ‘what else?’ but decided it was obvious enough. Adding the last part would also ruin his good mood. His path has already been pre-designed and pre-routed for him. He has no other choice.

“No, what I mean is if all this didn’t exist.”

“Aw~ are you saying you would rather not have met me?” He sings out in a fake-pained voice, knowing that it was not what you meant.

You roll your eyes, having been used to his antics for a few years now, “Perhaps,” you say with a playful smile, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be better off.”

“Nah, I doubt it.”

You sigh before turning to face him. You widen your eyes when you notice he is already looking at you, but quickly move on, but Satoru doesn’t let the red creeping up on the tip of your ears go unnoticed. “I’m saying if you didn’t have cursed energy and stuff…like normal people, you know?”

He wanted to laugh and point out that it sounded like you were indicating that people like you and him were the odd ones, but he decided to let it slide.

“I dunno, maybe I’ll start a singing career, something like that.”

“Pfft, so what? That you’ll get even more admirers and fans?”

“Exactly! What? Don’t you agree? My face is pleasant to look at.”

Scoffing, you say, “One of these days I’ll make sure to crush that ego of yours.”

He rolls his eyes before looking back out at the school grounds, watching the sun slowly set behind the forest of trees. Although he had said the first thing that came from the top of his mind, he supposed singing wouldn’t be that far reached.

After all, he excelled at everything.

"How about you?" he asks. "Do you have something in mind already?"

Observing the setting sun, you reply, "Mhm, yeah. Something like that."

"Really?" He sounds surprised, not realizing how seriously you were considering it. "What is it?"

Hesitating, you eventually respond, "It's... nothing."

His interest is immediately piqued.

"Come on! What's your idea? Share it with me!" He playfully pesters you with a grin.

"No!"

"You can't tease me like that! I told you mine, didn't I?" He whines a bit more before eventually coaxing it out of you.

It was when he saw you sigh, watching as the tension left your shoulders that he knew he won.

“Fine, I’ll tell you then. But you can’t tell anyone else– okay?”

He makes a gesture of zipping his mouth and throwing the zipper away, his curiosity increasing. It always does when it comes to you.

“I want to be…” you wait a bit, as if for dramatic effect, “...an author.”

You turn to look at him after a moment’s silence before breaking out in laughter.

“Haha- what’s up with your face? Surprised?”

Indeed he was a bit surprised. An author? He had no clue. When it comes to you it seemed as if he's only ever scratched the surface. It made him want to know more, want to ask more.

He never does.

"An author," he echoes thoughtfully.

"Yeah."

He wanted to ask why, but you had already started talking.

“An author. I guess it’s because I want to write stories, I grew up reading them you know? Made me feel safe.”

A hint of melancholy graces your smile as your thoughts drift elsewhere; it's a different kind of smile than the one before–a sadder smile.

"Who knows? I'm sure being a sorcerer has provided ample material for incredible stories. I'll be entirely unique. Maybe I'll even include tales about overcoming curses and how people like us save the day."

"Why not add in a ridiculously handsome guy who defeats all the curses with seamless ease too? Make sure 'remarkably attractive' is emphasized."

Laughing, you playfully smack his arm. "Okay, Satoru. I'll consider it."

He couldn’t help but break out into an amused smile. What an odd dream, he thought. Though he supposed he wasn’t against it.

Satoru Gojo excelled at everything, yet nothing he achieved seemed to measure up to you.

He felt his mind start to drift and fade away, threatening to join the other souls in their lost journey home. Wait…he called out. He didn’t want to go just yet. He wanted more time, more time to replay his memories, to live in them just for a second longer.

“Satoru,”

He could hear your voice, calling him in that familiar and recognizable way that was only special to you.

“Satoru.”

He wished he could’ve told you how much he loved hearing you say his name, it rolls off your tongue so nicely. He was never one to care about names, it never mattered to someone like him.

All he needed was Gojo – a name denoting his status, lineage, and power. His first name barely held any weight compared to his clan's. No one needed to know who Satoru was, no one ever did…so he couldn’t have cared less for his name- and yet you somehow made him love his name– only when you say it does it sound special– like it’s his name like he is someone.

Someone other than the honored one. Someone other than the strongest.

“Satoru!”

There were a lot of things he never got to tell you, another thing to add to his regrets. If only he had been brave enough…if only he had picked up his courage and told you everything.

“Satoru- please!”

He paused. Ah- what is that feeling? He could feel something wet fall onto his face. Was it raining? How could that be? How could he feel if he was dead?

And yet that warmth around his face only made him more confused. He could feel as if someone was holding them, cupping his face carefully as if he could break.

"Please wake up… Satoru, I beg you…"

His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

The first thing he saw when his vision came back into focus was your face. Your crying face looking down at him with your hands cupping his face.

Then he looked around, realizing that the battlefield on which he had been sliced in half was gone. He was in a room, a hospital room.

He looked down and saw the rest of his body, no longer split into two. Had Shoko done this?

“Satoru!”

He returned his gaze to you. You were smiling, smiling, and crying.

Questions, so many questions flooded through him at that moment, but he decided that he could ask those later. Right now was more important, right now felt like it was all happening inside a dream.

“Hey…crybaby, seems like you you missed me?” He teased with a small grin.

You gave him a look through your tear-soaked face as if you couldn’t even believe what he was saying.

“Y-You! You bastard! You annoying– infuriating- stupid dumbass!”

“Aw, come on…” he drags, “You don’t mean those…do you hm?” Although the tone in his voice is light– playful even as if he hadn’t just returned from death, as if all he wanted right now was to live this moment to the fullest, he was dearly wishing this– whatever this was– to last a little longer.

He slowly brings his trembling arm to hold onto yours, he wanted to hold on to you tight, as if everything he was seeing was about to break, to fall apart for him to realize it was all a dream.

He waited for you to disappear, to return to the part of his imagination that was playing tricks on him.

Instead, you move sideways to hug him, crying onto his shoulders.

"No...no, I don't," you managed through choked sobs.

He hummed softly, "I guess I kept my promise after all, huh?"

You nod into his shoulder, still holding him tightly.

You and him fall into a comfortable silence, he lets you cry on his shoulders just as how you let him hold onto you.

Several minutes passed before you pulled away, sniffling and attempting to compose yourself while wiping away tears with your sleeve.

Satoru wanted to reach out and wipe them for you, but his newly healed injuries did not allow him to, moving his hand had already been hard.

It went on like that for a while; you sniffling and crying as Satoru stared at you quietly, taking everything about you in as if this was the last time he was going to see you, just the same way he did on that night underneath the torii gate, using his eyes to try to imprint every detail, everything, every aspect of you into his memory.

That night felt like a lifetime away.

He was the first to break the silence, “Where are the others?”

By now you had calmed down, and were able to answer in a coherent way, “Recovering…everyone is- they’re fine.”

Fine. Not good, but fine.

He’ll take it for now.

“We managed to win and…” you give him a look, “you know…the students declared their victory for you,” You say with a smile.

His students. They managed to do it, just as he thought they could. He sighed contently.

You then spend the next half hour going over exactly what had happened after he had passed out, how Kashimo had come out right after him, and how eventually the rest of the students joined in.

In the end, they had managed to pull through, but it wasn’t over. Sukuna had been dealt with, Megumi’s condition was unknown, and Kenjaku was nowhere to be found.

Shoko had indeed been the one to heal him. Immediately after the battle they were able to recover his body and managed to heal him back together just in time.

“We- we almost- I didn’t know if we made it in time or not…” You say, choking up again. He could see the tears you were desperately trying to hold back, to look brave in front of him, trying to break through.

“Hey, I’m right here, aren’t I?” He beckons you to come closer.

He eventually holds you in his arms, drawing slow circles on your back, as he knows it calms you, “Shhh, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere else.”

You mutter, “Better not,” which causes him to laugh.

He wanted to let this moment drag on forever, just you in his arms, just you and him.

“This…this is real– right?” He says quietly, and in such a small voice he doubted you had heard him.

You raise your head to look at him, the soft kind of smile he’s always known playing on your face, “Yes, Satoru. This is real, as real as it can be.”

He can feel himself start to tear up, because if he had to be honest- he was scared too, he was terrified, but he had no choice. He had to play his role, his role as the strongest.

But now he could just be Satoru, just him holding onto you, keeping you close.

“Then I’m glad.”

Bonus:

“Gojo Sensei!” Yuji, the always energetic kid exclaimed as he ran into the room, followed by You, Maki, Yuta, Nobara, Panda, Inanumaki, Shoko, and everyone else.

They all had recovered for the most part and seemed to be relatively okay. They all wore relieved expressions as they entered the room to see that their Sensei was alright.

Yuji was the first to arrive at his Sensei’s bedside.

“Hey, kid!” Gojo Sensei waved. He had recovered enough to prop himself up and do basic movements, which to Shoko had been a miracle itself.

Yuji then began launching himself into the things that had happened while Gojo had been recovering, and Gojo returned the energy. Everyone got their turn, talking until visiting times were over and they had to be ushered out.

You were the last to leave. Just before you turned the doorknob Satoru called after you, “Hey- wait.”

You turn around, waiting for what he wants to say.

“When- uh when this is all over and when you have some free time, let me take you out, yeah?”

You barely ever heard Satoru Gojo stumble over his words, and when he did you know it was because he was nervous, and everyone knows Satoru Gojo is never nervous, yet that always seemed to be the exception when it comes to you.

You found it cute, the way he would try to seem aloof as the back of his neck became a beautiful shade of bright red.

“Yeah, but let’s save that for when you recover.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be up and ready by next week,” he says as if it were a fact, his blue eyes seemed to shine even brighter.

You sigh, even after coming back on the brink of death he still acts like a child, but you smile nonetheless, “Next week it is then.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #fluff

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b33zlebubz · 1 month

Text

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER SEVEN

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

WEDNESDAY APRIL 24TH 2024 MEXICO, 0000 HOURS

The pain in your chest is getting worse.

It's hard to sleep that night for many reasons. One: with all the rain of the other night it's hard to find any wood dry enough for a fire. Mexico has relatively tame weather compared to what you're used to, but Springtime is a whole different beast, inconsistent and unpredictable. Nearly ninety degrees in the daytime and then dropping down to the fifties at night, you find yourself sweating all day just to be freezing and damp when the sun sets. The thin blanket you pull out of the back of a wrecked truck doesn't help much and neither does the fact that you've developed a fever.

Two: you're definitely sure you have at least one broken rib. The first day after the battle you had the adrenaline to numb the pain, but now that it's faded, it's easier to notice how it takes a great deal of effort just to breathe without your lungs spasming painfully. Each breath aches, rattling in your chest. You can't put pressure on your side without seeing stars and the bruises are damn near black across the expanse of your ribs. Still, you won't rest more than a few hours at a time—knowing that the second you do, you might not be able to get up again.

And that brings you to the last thing; the radio is still dead silent.

You're staring at the ceiling, leaning back against the truck's wall as you listen to it; the static. The charge has died twice now and both times you've revived it with an emergency battery. Once that runs out, you plan to charge it with the SUV. The longer you listen to the buzz of an empty signal paired with the steady sound of Ghost's breathing beside you, the longer you get to thinking about what might happen if nobody comes to find you.

You think about the first time you put your survival training to use; left for dead in some safe house during your tour in Yemen, left by your squadron in a rushed retreat. Back then, the pain in your side had been a nasty knife wound to your ribs, but now it was shattered bone and bleeding organs. The longer you listen to the static the easier it is to recall the coldness of concrete on your skin, the burn of sand-caked sweat and blood in your eyes. The sputtering static of your comms picking up no signal and the growing panic of being forgotten. The blood. The death. The memory once so far away now felt tangible again; real.

It's funny. The longer time went on the easier it was to forget about moments where you weren't so strong, but it was also easier to get lost in them whenever they unearthed themselves at the most inconvenient of times.

Then a warm hand on your shoulder shatters the illusion—and you panic.

Within moments, you're up again. You grab the unknown enemy by the front of his shirt and force him back against the floor with an audible thunk—causing weapons and gear to swing and the truck’s suspension to bounce. When the red clears from your vision, your eyes are locked with two tired, brown irises blown wide with surprise as your grip tightens on his wrists against the floor.

Shocked to your core, your body goes rigid.

You lost a lot of your usual muscle mass during your first few weeks in Camp Viking; after Yemen and everything else that happened. Stress, too much sleep or not enough, and a complete lack of appetite were a fatal combo to all the progress you made after signing your life away—so when Ghost met you, you were the weakest you've been since before joining the military.

Now: your shoulders are broader, arms and legs thicker and crisscrossed with ragged scars. Skin glistens with the sweat of a fever as you hold him, still bigger than you, pinned to the floor.

The breath knocked from his lungs; he's panting. You're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, to see how your own labored breathing stirs the hair laying on his forehead. Close enough to realize you've only ever seen him out of breath like this one other time—

Christmas Day.

His eyes flash with something familiar and you know he remembers it, too.

You shoot off of him in an instant. Mind reeling, you turn to leave. Run. Do something to quell the fire in your veins and the burn of memories in your delirious mind.

"Angel, wait—"

The nickname falls on deaf ears. Before he can gather his bearings enough to scramble upright, you've grabbed the radio and disappeared into the night with a burning face and a newfound heat in your bones.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 26TH 2024 MEXICO, 0300 HOURS

"Echo 0-2 to Actual."

Your voice sounds rough with insomnia whenever you speak into the radio for the hundredth time.

It's been two nights since you've been in the van with Ghost, two nights since you've talked. You're avoiding him—it's just as clear to you as it is to him—and embarrassment ravages your mind as you continue to keep yourself upright, keep yourself moving. Now, the stretch of bodies was four lines deep instead of two. Now, sitting on top of the SUV with ruined boots dangling over the edge and a raggedy blanket on your shoulders; it officially burned like hell to breathe.

Above you, the stars are the brightest you've seen since Camp Viking. The night is just as quiet.

You close your eyes for a long time, dread settling in your stomach at the thought of staying here much longer; of what might happen if you're not found. You think about how long the walk from here to the next civilization might be—if, by some miracle, they don't shoot you on sight.

Bandaged, anxious hands hold the radio tight in your lap before pressing the button and bringing it to your face once more.

"Again, this is Echo 0-2 attempting to reach Actual. I've got a wounded Lieutenant with me…is anyone there?"

Static.

You try again, "Echo 0-2 to Actual. Watcher. Anyone."

Again, nothing. You sigh, batting the side of the small machine against the heel of your hand. Crickets chirp somewhere far off in the distance as you curse and eventually give up. Tired eyes fall over the pitch-black landscape before you, getting lost in the quiet. Your skin prickles against the cold air as your eyes sink shut. Shoulders slump for what feels like the first time in weeks as exhaustion, a gentle but swift current, sweeps you under.

"Nice night."

You jump and whip around, clutching the fabric of the front of your uniform.

"Fuck," you breathe out. "Just you."

He stands with what appears to be two of the American MREs you found in hand, his uniform notably cleaner now—having shed his dark, dirt-matted jacket for a dark compression shirt that stretches over thick muscles. He looks…better. Able to stand upright, at the very least. There's more color to his face but that could very well just be the cold. The fresh bandages you helped him put on the last time you talked don't show any signs of being bled through and he definitely doesn't have a hard time sneaking up on you—a good sign.

"Well…don't sound too excited."

You only huff at his remark, turning back around to look at the radio in your lap as your face burns with embarrassment. Your hands are still shaking as you take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, and you wait for him to finally mention it—acknowledge it. Your hands on his wrists. His heaving chest. Your breath on his face. Christmas Day.

He shifts and at first you think he might be leaving now that he knows where you are. Instead, he appears beside you, sliding down to dangle his legs over the edge and wordlessly hand you one of the MREs.

Your throat constricts at the very thought of food, staring down at the sad, brown package as he tears his open and sets it up to heat. You squint at the label to read the contents.

Cheese Tortellini in Tomato Sauce. Well, there are worse things.

"No luck?" He asks.

You let out a sigh of relief and mentally thank whatever God above he decided against bringing it up. Instead, you shake your head wearily as you set the MRE aside, deciding to save it for when you know you'll keep it down. Hypocritical, you know, but you've only been able to find a handful in the rubble thus far.

"No," you breathe, disheartened. "Still nothing."

A moment passes, filled only by the sound of crickets and the rustle of plastic packaging. There's movement in the distance followed by barking. Coyotes, no doubt.

You both sit in silence for a while and your thoughts slip back into dark territory. You rub your chilly arms as you stare out over the hellscape before you—wondering how many more bodies out there you have left to gather. How many families you're failing; leaving their beloved soldiers in the mud to rot because you're losing the ability to walk straight.

Then, Ghost speaks, ripping you out of the depths of your head.

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

You shoot him an incredulous look. Then, you shake your head with a scoff. You know what he's trying to do; lighten the mood, in his own strange way. For a moment it works, and it's easy to pretend you're somewhere else. A simpler time, maybe, where all you had to worry about was which hallways to take to avoid being seen sneaking around the barracks.

You try not to let his obvious attempt at lifting your spirits work. So, you only raise an eyebrow at him, "really?"

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?" He repeats again, nonchalant as ever, as he pushes his food around the package with his fork.

You stare at him for a while before deciding to humor him with a sigh. "Too many bananas…or something?"

"'Cause he's dead."

"Hm," you nod your head, pursing your lips into a line. "That was bad even for you."

He huffs, "too soon?"

"Far too soon."

"Noted." He shifts, placing his food to the side to take something out of his pocket. After all these years, it surprises you that even he's still off-put by the smell of death in the air. "You got a light on you?"

A stupid question—and he knows it.

"Always. Why?"

He pulls a full pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket, flicking the top open. The packaging is slightly crumpled but otherwise remains spotless, unlike the rest of him. He plucks one out and holds it out to you.

You glance at the cigarette, then up at his face—almost shocked he managed to keep them safe while the rest of him is so beat up. You notice bruises are beginning to show under his eyes from his broken nose and there's a stubble starting to form on his jaw, patchy with scars you never noticed until now.

You take out your lighter. An orange glow lights up his battered face as you flick it twice, let the flame catch, and then shut it again. He takes a deep inhale, sitting back on his other hand, before letting the smoke billow out past his chapped lips.

"Fuck," he sighs, already slumping with relief. "Could always count on you for a light. Good to know that hasn't changed."

"What can I say," you respond, managing what you can of a small smile. "I'm an angel."

He chuckles lowly. "You're anything but, Colonel."

He offers the cigarette to you. It's tempting, really tempting, but the pain in your lungs is far more annoying than the nagging effects of withdrawal.

"I'm good," you brush his arm away and attempt to hide the tremor in your hands. "I quit a few years ago."

"Hm," He seems surprised, or maybe he's humoring your obvious lie, you're unsure. Nevertheless, he presses the cig to his lips again. "Good on you, then."

You find yourself relaxing again slowly, anxious thoughts easing as you breathe in the smell of nicotine and look up at the stars above. It's silent save for the sounds of the desert, and you find yourself thinking about a time where you both sat just like this for hours. Getting by with nothing but the warmth of a heater, a flickering lantern, and a pack of cigarettes to keep you both company. You remember laughing until your stomach hurt at his dry humor, once upon a time.

"This place is hell," Ghost says, deadpan as ever, as he exhales another cloud of smoke.

Flashes of cold concrete, rough sand, and nauseating heat flash through your mind again. You realize, then, you prefer the warmth over the cold any day—no matter what you've gone through.

"I think I'd rather be in hell," you mutter, rubbing your arms. "At least it's warm, there."

He chuckles a little, and you wonder if he's reminiscing just as you are.

"That it would, Colonel," he says. "That it would."

It's quiet again. Years ago, the silence might've been filled by soft touches—a head against a shoulder or a hand on a back. Instead, you both just sit there. His hand is just centimeters away from your own, and you wonder if it would be easier to take it or pull away. Or just…talk. You want to speak, want to apologize or something—but the words are stuck in your throat. You want answers, you want closure, but your hand curls into a fist as you realize that fuck. You're not strong enough to break the question.

He's staring at you. You can feel when he does it. For some reason, you always have. After a moment, you hear him take a breath. He leans back on his hand as the other flicks his cigarette and comes up to touch the sore part of his head.

"You know…" He begins with a sigh. His mouth opens and shuts again, hesitant. Suddenly, he looks away. "I—"

"This is Watcher trying to reach Echo 0-2 and Bravo 0-7," a garbled, female voice interrupts him from the radio. "We hear you, Angel."

@crazy-phan-girl13

#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #cod ghost #simon riley

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jeonstellate · 10 months

Text

spaces between us

you never want to cross paths with seungcheol again but, as it seems, the universe has other plans.

๑彡 choi seungcheol x afab!reader

๑彡 secret baby!au, post-break up!au — angst

๑彡 paragraph format — 1K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from one direction’s spaces (whose lyrics fit the ‘past’ that led to this story, albeit it was not explicitly told here).

๑彡 this is quite impulsive, actually. i was reading through my old fics in my drive a couple days ago && thought i can tweak this one a bit to change the ml . . .

You were surrounded by an enormous amount of cuddly plushies and breakable action figures. Everywhere you looked, your eyes would land on a face you grew up watching. Every single character played an important role in your childhood, whether you admired them or not. As far as your younger self was concerned, you were in heaven.

But then . . . you weren’t.

In the flood came — strong, unwavering, and without any warning.

All you could see was smoky quartz. Dark and light all at once. Akin to whiskey and honey whenever there was an eternal sun shining upon them, addicting and melting you right in. You could hardly believe that there was a time when they were utterly comforting to you, instead of just reminding you of a seemingly endless pain.

You had always appreciated the color brown. It was the color of soil — where life always had a chance to begin. It was the color of cocoa, too — a main ingredient in making the world sweeter. For you specifically, it symbolized a never-ending list of possibilities and opportunities.

Then, there came a time when the color itself signified something else entirely. It promised a happily ever after you never purposely sought, but was granted by the heavens anyway. It promised to cherish and to love you always. It promised you forever, lasting until the end of time. With the hopeless romantic ideologies that surrounded you as you grow, you willingly believed in those promises.

Yet, apparently, forever only last for seven years.

Brown, as rich and magical as it would remain, had its enchantments fade. Promises were broken. Smiles were rare and deceptive. A home gradually turned into a mere flat. A shadow eventually turned into a ghost. Life, once full of animation, had become utterly silent and still. From that moment on, dark crystals signified neglect, abandonment, and . . . regret.

You did not think you would be able to forgive those morions, much less forget. Yet, with time, they began to symbolize hope; a new beginning.

You never meant for it to. But these new dark crystals were so pure . . . so innocent . . . and so full of life. They were everything you thought it would be, if that shade was given humane features. Rather instinctively, just as soon as you caught a glimpse of them for the very first time, you knew you must protect those gorgeous hues from any evil — and so you tried your best.

Despite being an exact replica of the former, you instantly loved the new smoky quartz with all your heart — even more than your own life.

Once the flood had calmed, you found yourself in a situation that you had been dreading for the past few years. You did not expect the inevitable encounter for at least several more years, thus not even the comfort of childhood assisted in composing your racing heart.

"Seungjae." You found it quite difficult to act indifferent around a presence you used to know so well. "Why don’t you explore the princesses’ section? Your Uncle Jonghyeon told me Sarang likes Mulan." It was not like you could blatantly ignore him, either. All you could do was get Seungjae as far away as possible in case a confrontation spark ablaze.

"Okay!" Seungjae was enthusiastic as always, just like any other toddler who never seemed to run out energy. They turned to the man next to them, an appreciative smile on their face, "Bye-bye now, Mr. Seungcheol, thank you!" They then turned back to you, holding out their hand, "Let’s go?"

"I’ll follow you in a minute, love, okay?"

"Okay!" Seungjae remained oblivious on the thickening tension between the two adults. They walked away while dragging a plushie behind them by the ear — somewhat ecstatic to leave and explore on their own.

By the time the toddler was out of earshot, but still within your watchful eyes, you had finally settled on the best way to approach your current situation. "Thank you for helping Seungjae reach that plushie. Heaven knows what stunt they would’ve pulled just to reach it."

"[Nickname]," Seungcheol dismissed your gratitude, almost out of breath, "it’s been four years."

You did not quite appreciate how he easily dismissed your effort to keep your conversation civil, so you decided to quickly put him in his place. "Call me [First name], you lost the right to call me that when we—" You suddenly stopped yourself, realizing that it might catalyze something you were not mentally ready for. So, instead, you opted to redirect your chat in a more civil route, "How’s life treating you, Seungcheol?"

"How old are they?" Once again, he flat-out ignored you. As it seemed, while you were determined not to discuss what happened four years prior, that was the only topic he was interested in. "How— how old is Seungjae?"

You were left with no choice. If you answered, he would know, naturally. If you did not answer, he would still know, anyway. "They’re turning three this summer."

As confident his stance might have been, you watched it crumble in a millisecond after reality hit him with full force. "You should’ve— I should’ve—" When he regained enough of his senses, he seemed to realize that it was not a conversation you should be having in a children’s store. "We should probably talk elsewhere."

However stunned you were in seeing him so broken (something you had not witness in your seven years together), you were quick to dismiss him. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"[Nickname]—" Seungcheol instinctively grabbed onto your wrist when you began to walk away, but quickly dropped his hold when he realized that he might have crossed the line. "[First name]. Please."

You sighed. You did not plan on letting him off the hook easily (not that you thought of anything beforehand, anyway), but the fact that he did not even question the truthfulness of your words — like he still trusted you with all his heart . . . like he just knew that Seungjae could only be half of him — made you second guess your initial decisions.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . you would spare him from knowing your main reason for departing without a goodbye.

"I already forgave you."

#choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seventeen x reader #choi seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen imagines #choi seungcheol scenarios #scoups scenarios #seventeen scenarios #choi seungcheol oneshots #scoups oneshots #seventeen oneshots #secret baby!au #post-break up!au #choi seungcheol #scoups #seventeen

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egnidres · 1 year

Text

So that's the birthday present for @zu-is-here. Happy birthday again (๑•́ ω •̀๑)

✾❦

"Please," Cross pleaded.

His lavender tears flowed in torrents, unable to resist the urge to come out of their hiding place. They crashed into a part of his lover's shoulder, which was shaking with pain. Or maybe it was only the tremors of the former guard who was unable to calm his growing anxiety.

For his part, Dream was covered with apple blossoms, appearing at the ends of his gloves and long dark sleeves, like a cruel light in infinite darkness or a vain hope in total despair, which would eventually fade and break, taking everything with it. His eye sockets were not spared from these parasites, his left eye being destroyed by the liquid of the negative feelings that covered it and his right eye being devoured by the budding buds.

None of this should have worried or frightened Killer. Yet, his feelings were all about fear. He had always not cared about Dream or Cross, being only adversaries or shipmates before they became traitors. But strangely, without even being able to explain it, he was afraid of what would happen next, which he guessed would be worse than the twins' curse.

" I can't help you. You should leave now. "

Lying did not displease the skeleton, who always preferred to hide his true intentions, reasons and emotions. If they let them through, what would happen to Nightmare? Surely they would do nothing to destroy him at the time, so they could save the broken dream. But once done, they could very well eliminate the negative, being one of Dream's basic goals since his transformation. He was the only one who had taken him under his wing, who had never betrayed him, and who had always stood by him. He couldn't abandon him after all that had happened.

" Please let us through. We need to see Nightmare, we won't do anything against you, I promise. I'll do anything you want if you save him. "

The tearful man suppressed a grimace. Cross begging for their help, to the point of offering to do anything to get him... even in his wildest dreams he would never have thought it possible. Strangely, and without even knowing why, he felt bad to see him like this; going from a powerful and proud opponent, to a mere skeleton shaking and crying like a poor terrified little child.

"Let them pass, Killer," a voice behind him intervened.

He saw the former guardian moving toward his brother, and though he longed to hold him back, he did not. He had already made his decision, and despite all of Killer's arguments, he would not change his mind. He looked away, bending to his will.

"You remember where the rooms are, I guess. Take him to one of them. I'll go see him when he wakes up. "

The monochrome thanked his former boss, before leaving quickly. The one-eyed skeleton sighed before turning back to Killer, crossing his arms, his hands clutching the purple cloth.

" I already told you to let them pass."

" I didn't want you to be in danger, we didn't know if they would kill you as soon as they saw you."

" This story has been going on for over 500 years. It has to end, no matter what. Especially since I'm the one who started it all. "

Killer tucked his knife into his jacket pocket, before inhaling painfully, his throat tight. He knew that his boss was right, everything had to end now, but he didn't want it to be the way he wanted it, not with his sacrifice. So he proposed an idea that a part of his mind strangely repulsed:

"What if we end it differently than your idea. If you don't sacrifice yourself, it could very well be Dream who does. I mean, he's suffering because of the flowers growing on him, it would just be a favour to finish him off. And as far as I know he always wanted to save you, even if it meant putting himself in danger. "

" I'm disappointed in you for thinking that it can and should end like this. "

Nightmare seemed offended by his former subordinate's words, and decided to leave the room, walking away from him.

"To me, it's just as shocking as your idea of sacrificing yourself like that," he whispered into the now empty room.

Dream began to emerge from sleep, moving his head slightly. He knew he was no longer at home, and he could tell by his brother's feelings that he was in his brother's mansion. He tried to sit up when he felt something in his hand. Even though he couldn't see, he knew it was Cross' hand, which must have fallen asleep from all the stress of the last few days.

He waited quietly for his lover to wake up, enjoying the calmness of the monochrome's feelings, which had long since stopped being so peaceful. He moved his ring with his thumb, making it gently strike his knuckles, before changing direction. Cross began to wake up in turn, rising from the bed with a soft yawn. When he noticed that the other was up, he asked hastily:

" Are you comfortable? Do you want some more pillows or to sit up maybe? Or something else?"

"No, I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"Are you feeling better? Are you feeling less pain?"

" It's better. It's less painful than before."

The pain was there, throbbing, like someone having fun burning his bones in places while staying on them for a long time to make it worse. He wasn't desperately wanting and trying to tear them out like before, but it wasn't going away either. He took advantage of this moment of respite, if it could be called that, and talked about everything and nothing with his lover.

The latter reluctantly decided to leave him alone and get something to eat when his stomach and that of his lover protested. As he began to close the door, he saw Nightmare arrive silently, quietly asking if his brother was still asleep, lest he wake him by barging into the room. The monochrome smiled at him before answering in the negative, leaving the door open again, and leaving more serenely. The elder brother hesitated for a few moments before taking a deep breath and taking the first step into the room.

"Hello, Dream," he began.

"Relax a little," his brother reassured him.

" I'm perfectly relaxed."

The positive man seemed to look at him before smiling broadly and adding:

" I bet you have your arms crossed. You cross them all the time when you're uncomfortable or have too many feelings that bother you, as if you wanted to protect yourself with your arms as armour. I'm surprised you never use your tentacles like that."

"That's not true."

When he said this in an indignant voice, he uncrossed his arms and let them fall down his body, letting a discreet noise of moving clothes be heard. This action made his brother laugh, as he had heard and guessed his posture without any difficulty. Nightmare, for his part, moved closer to the bed before sitting down on the edge, beginning to knead his hands nervously.

"Is that all of Killer left? The others are gone," his brother asked.

" They've decided that their home worlds are probably not as bad as the end of this story is likely to be. I understand them, it's better, it ends well in some way for them. "

"And for you?"

"... It's better for everyone."

It didn't matter how he felt, not when he had been so horrible and manipulative to them. He'd been lucky that none of them had tried to kill him, and that Killer had decided to stay. He'd felt the latter's feelings; fear at seeing his boss's partly cracked face, incomprehension at the other skeletons' choice, only to end in a more neutral, deeper feeling. He wasn't so stupid as to not know what that feeling was, let alone to know that it wasn't like when he controlled his soul like a pawn.

He was not in control of anything, and that terrified him. But was he in control of anything at all? Before his transformation, he was just a victim unable to protect himself, mistreated by the villagers and the fate that was bearing down on him. When he had eaten most of the apples on the tree, he had promised himself that he would never be a victim of that fate again. He would destroy anyone who dared to take him back to that state or who knew nothing of the pain he had felt and continued to feel.

His brother was the first to try to " recover " him. It was at this point that he was most angry with him. He didn't understand, he couldn't understand, and that made him mad as hell. He had wanted to break that hope, not his brother. But he hadn't noticed that it was the other feelings of positivity that he had destroyed without any consideration.

He didn't notice his unhappiness, or rather he didn't want to notice it. He just wanted to control everything so he would never be the victim again. But instead, he had let his brother eat the black apple, he had let him suffer to his breaking point without any consideration for him, and he had given up and decided to run away when he had changed. Just as he had tried to escape this situation 500 years ago with the ebony apples.

"Night, calm down!"

His brother tentatively grabbed his wrist, pulling his hands away from each other. He hadn't noticed that his breathing had become more and more laboured, nor that he had scratched his palms and the backs of his hands to blood. It took him a long time to regain a steady breath, his hands shaking helplessly. When he managed to calm down, he stammered:

" I'm sorry for everything. It's my fault you're in this state. I'm the one who ate the first apple, I'm the one who destroyed your feelings and convictions without any remorse. It's my fault that you felt the need to see what I was feeling so that you could understand and help me. I don't even know how to save you from what's happening to you. I really am the worst big brother."

" Don't blame yourself for this, it's not your fault. I'm the one who made the choice and did it. And we were just kids at the time, you can't blame yourself for trying to change things. Especially since I should have seen your discomfort too. The main thing is not all the bad things we did, but how we try to change things for the better."

" ...These flowers are connected to your positive and negative feelings," Nightmare reminded, trying to change the conversation. "Both of them are trying to regain control in some way, so in order to stop all that, you have to stop their war of dominance. My negative feelings can decrease your negative feelings or increase them depending on what you want or need, until you can process them normally. I will take care of the excess negative feelings, but we have to find a way to destroy the negative effects of the black apple."

" We'll do it, don't worry."

The ex guard went into the kitchen, trying to think of what would be good for his lover, hesitating between a hot meal, or a lighter one. Both had their advantages, but he couldn't put a simple decision on it.

"So, have you finally decided to come here? Or maybe he ordered you to leave because he was tired of seeing you around."

The razor-sharp words and Killer's dark smile effectively hit their target: Cross. The latter seemed to tense up, his jaw tensing and his knuckles digging into his palms.

"Why won't you leave me alone? I didn't do anything to you."

"You didn't do anything? You're starting to have the same memory as Ink. Or maybe you're so stupid that even she decided to leave."

" What are you after? Always provoking you will eventually get the backlash. And for what? Just to piss off the world, to reach the limit, and to see the anger in the eyes of those you piss off. The Killer I knew knew where to stop at least."

Killer's sadistic laughter echoed around the room, before calming down, leaving only a sneer stretching his lips.

" The Killer you knew? But you never knew him. You never knew me. And do you know why? Because all you've ever cared about is yourself. Only YOU, only YOUR emotions, only YOUR wishes are important to you. No one is ever interesting enough for you to care about. You're just selfish."

Tears appeared in the corners of Cross's eye sockets, unobtrusive, but glistening slightly in the light of the sunny day. The skeleton with the ringed soul drew closer before adding:

"Aww, the guard who considered himself powerful and able to solve all problems by himself is crying. Do you want a handkerchief maybe? Such a shame I don't have one, don't you think? You know what they call people like you? Self-centred. Just like Error, you're no better than him. But if I understand correctly you inherited it from your Gaster. We can't expect you to be different, after all, like father like son."

The monochrome slammed him hard against the wall, his forearm latching onto the other skeleton's windpipe, exerting a pressure that was oddly mild compared to his anger. His pupils were now just two red balls, and his cheeks were covered in the same dark tears as the tearful one. The latter was not the least bit frightened or impressed, his smile stretching even further.

"What are you waiting for ? You want to hit me, I can see it a mile away. Come on punch, you know it feels good, you've felt it before when slaughtering people from other universes. Eh. And then it's self-proclaimed guard. So pathetic.

"All you want to do is destroy the people closest to you, opposed Cross. You say I'm self-centred, but you're no better. All you care about is the pleasure you get from the pain you cause them. You just need to hurt them to feel like you don't care and that your actions mattered to someone for once. You just need to feel like you exist because of all the new words and actions you do, regardless of anyone else. You just need-"

"I just needed you. I just needed you to stay or tell me to my face why you decided to leave. I needed to understand what had gone so wrong."

Killer's scream echoed around the room, startling them both. He didn't want to give him that confession, he didn't want to show how weak he'd been for giving Cross his trust. He didn't want to show how hurt he had been by his abandonment. Yet his aching soul had decided otherwise, as if the other skeleton's words had cut him thin and deep, when he wasn't supposed to care about his opinion. Why hadn't he managed to make fun of it as usual?

" Killer," Cross tried.

His interlocutor pushed him with all his strength, making him almost lose his balance, having to step back to avoid falling. Taking advantage of his distance, he left quickly, not wanting to face him anymore. He was tired of his feelings taking over. He was tired of not being able to not care about everything around him like he used to. He was tired of not understanding the mess that was his feelings.

He went into his room, closing the door as quickly as possible as if he was afraid the other had followed him. He moved towards the door of his bathroom, only to stop when one of his two cats came towards him, already demanding to be petted. At his cat's silent command, he sat quietly cross-legged on the floor, letting it settle comfortably on his legs.

His soul was deformed, so much so that one could hardly differentiate white from red. He hadn't even noticed that his black tears had started to flow when he was in the kitchen, and had remained even now, though they created a much smaller wake. He tried to find the other cat with his eyes, and saw it on his bed, sleeping peacefully.

Soft sounds were heard against the door, and thinking it was Cross, he decided not to answer, not wanting to see him at all. He knew that Cross would try to talk to him about what he had said, wanting to understand and help him. But he was not yet ready to show that part of himself. Not with him. The door opened quietly, revealing Nightmare. He sat down next to the other cat, making it move in its sleep.

" I told him to go back to my brother and give him his food. "

He knew who he was talking about, suspecting that Cross had discussed it with him, probably for fear of having done something wrong that he already regretted. A spike of pain struck his soul, which aware of the pain he had done to the monochrome suddenly twisted more than it had before. He didn't want to hurt him or make him regret his decision. After all, he had seen him with Dream before his corruption. He'd seen him happy and even though it had hurt him to not be the source of his happiness, he'd been glad to see him like this.

Nightmare sighed before moving closer to him and crouching down in front of him. He wiped away his former subordinate's tears with his sleeve, staining it black, before gently declaring:

"You don't need to feel so much guilt. If you really regret what you tell to him, you just have to talk to him, but you also have to stop repressing your emotions. Your soul will always hurt you because of it. Talk to him and talk to Dream, things that stay on your heart are not good things. "

Then he left, leaving him to think about it quietly. He went to his brother's room, before entering it and asking to speak to the monochrome, who reluctantly accepted, following him into the living room, which was one of the closest rooms.

Killer walked out of his room, before heading to the room where the positive was. He entered the room, surprised at the absence of the monochrome, before slumping down on the seat the latter had set up. He began to play with his knife, occupying his hands and trying not to feel all the feelings that were flooding into him, trying to annihilate them as much as possible.

" Hi Killer."

Dream's calm voice rose, deeper than before his transformation and filled with hidden pain. The maudlin man smiled his usual fake smile, before standing up and pointing his weapon at the other skeleton, touching the latter's throat but making no move to hurt him. He looked at it, feeling as calm as if he were standing in front of a fire in a fireplace, listening to the sound of the crackling flames and watching their controlled dance. Strangely, the knife began to tremble and slowly lower. Sadness was the first feeling he felt at that moment. Then anger and resentment. It was not directed at the gardian, but at himself. He didn't understand why, but for the first time in years, he felt pity for him and was unable to do what he wanted to do. He just wanted it all to change, but part of his soul was looking forward to it. Part of his soul didn't want to kill him.

" Why do I hesitate? Why didn't I dare do this? We haven't found a way to save you yet. It would just be doing you a favor. You wouldn't suffer anymore, and yet I can't. "

" Sometimes it's the choices that feel right that hurt the most. You've changed, Killer. You are able to feel compassion again, you are able to feel emotions again. You may not be able to understand or process them all yet, but you will one day. "

" What makes you think I won't kill you? I hesitated to kill my brother once, and yet I did it. What makes you think I won't do the same to you? "

" Your feelings tell me. I'm glad at least I could see the change in you. I know that one day you'll be able to heal all your wounds, even if it takes time. "

The blind man's sincere and radiant smile finally got the better of his interlocutor. The latter lowered his weapon completely, his tears flowed abundantly, black in his right eye socket, and translucent on the left, where his white pupil was visible. He added in a broken voice:

" I don't want to kill you, but I don't want to see you suffer either. I'm just an idiot."

" It's okay. Everything is going to be okay. "

As he said these words, the positive took the other skeleton's hand. The latter sat down on the bed and hugged him, unable to control his sobs. Dream returned his embrace, his flower-covered eye socket flooded with tears.

The other two skeletons, Cross and Nightmare, looked on, their throats tight. As complicated as it had been for both of them, especially for the monochrome, they had let Killer do as he pleased, not entirely sure if he would decide to spare him.

Several days passed, the twins tried to calm the growth of the flowers with the negativity of the elder, taking as much as possible from his brother. At first, the result was inconclusive, if not the opposite. The flowers didn't grow anymore, but the ones already there burned even more Dream, to the point that Cross begged the negative to stop in the face of his lover's screams of pain, starting to threaten him when he didn't stop. Killer had reacted at this point, quickly pulling him away.

When he had finished, Dream had noticed that the pain had dropped drastically, as if it had returned to where it had started, as if it were a slight burn. Then after a few days, they noticed that no more plants were growing. The ones that were left gradually began to wither, and one by one they began to fall off, taking the pain with them.

The negativity flowed away as well, due to the guardian now being able to deal with his negative feelings better, leaving his left eye socket cracked and visible. His right eye socket was cleared of parasites, his pupil no longer able to see properly from a distance.

Killer avoided Cross as much as possible, not wanting to talk about what was on his mind. Or rather, not being able to put words to it. But his friend's efforts to reassure him gradually began to bear fruit. He wasn't yet at the point where he could trust him with his soul like he had with Nightmare, but he was getting better at not trying to hurt him with his words whenever he tried to find out how he was or wanted time with him.

Even though Nightmare was trying to keep everyone away from him at times, probably because of his negative feelings or because of his remorse, he was glad that the people most important to him had decided to stay close to him.

✾❦

— Pitié, implora Cross.

Ses larmes lavandes coulaient à torrent, incapable de résister à cette envie de sortir de leur cachette. Elles se fracassèrent sur une partie de l’épaule de son amant, qui tremblait de douleur. Ou peut-être était-ce seulement les tremblements de l’ancien garde qui était incapable de calmer son anxiété croissante.

Dream quant à lui, était recouvert de fleurs de pommier, apparaissant aux extrémités de ses gants et ses longues manches sombres, comme une cruelle lumière dans des ténèbres infinies ou un espoir vain dans le désespoir le plus total, qui finirait par s’éteindre et se briser, emportant tout dans son fracas. Ses orbites n’étaient pas épargnées de ces parasites, son œil gauche étant détruit par le liquide des sentiments négatifs qui le recouvrer et son œil droit dévoré par les bourgeons naissants.

Rien de tout ça aurait dû inquiéter ou effrayer Killer. Pourtant, ses sentiments n’étaient tournés que sur la peur. Il s’était toujours moquer de Dream ou Cross, n’étant que des adversaires ou des compagnons de bord avant de devenir des traîtres. Mais bizarrement, sans même pouvoir l’expliquer, il avait peur de la suite qu’il devinait être pire que la malédiction des jumeaux.

— Je ne peux pas vous aider. Vous devriez partir maintenant.

Mentir ne déplaisait pas au squelette, qui préférait toujours cacher ses véritables intentions, raisons et émotions. S’ils les laissaient passer, qu’adviendra-t-il de Nightmare ? Ils ne feront sûrement rien pour le détruire sur le moment, pour pouvoir sauver le rêve brisé. Mais une fois fait, ils pourraient très bien éliminer le négatif, étant l’un des objectifs de base de Dream depuis sa transformation. Il était le seul à l’avoir pris sous son aile, à ne l’avoir jamais trahi, et à être toujours rester à ses côtés. Il ne pouvait pas l’abandonner à son tour après tout ce qui s’était passer.

— S’il te plaît laisse-nous passer. On a besoin de voir Nightmare, on ne fera rien contre vous, je te le promets. Je ferais tout ce que vous désirez si vous le sauver.

Le larmoyant réprima une grimace. Cross qui implorait leur aide, au point de proposer de faire n’importe quoi pour l’avoir… même dans ses rêves les plus fous il n’aurait jamais pensé ça possible. Bizarrement, et sans même pouvoir savoir pourquoi, il se sentait mal de le voir comme ça ; passer d’un adversaire puissant et fier, à un simple squelette tremblant et pleurant comme un pauvre petit enfant terrifié.

— Laisse-les passer Killer, intervint une voix derrière lui.

Il vit l’ancien gardien se dirigeait vers son frère, et même s’il désirait ardemment le retenir, il n’en fis rien. Il avait déjà pris sa décision, et malgré tout les arguments de Killer, il ne changeait pas d’avis. Il détourna son regard, se pliant à sa volonté.

— Tu te souviens où sont les chambres je suppose. Emmène le dans l’une d’elle. J’irai le voir lorsqu’il sera réveiller.

Le monochrome remercia son ancien boss, avant de partir rapidement. Le squelette borgne quant à lui soupira avant de se retourner vers Killer, croisant ses bras, ses mains serrant le tissu violet.

— Je t’avais déjà dit de les laissait passer.

— Je ne voulais pas que tu soit en danger, on ne savait pas s’ils n’allaient pas te tuer dès qu’ils te verraient.

— Cette histoire dure depuis plus de 500 ans. Il faut qu’elle se termine, peu importe comment. D’autant plus que c’est par ma faute que tout cela a commencé.

Killer rangea son couteau dans la poche de son blouson, avant d’inspirer douloureusement, sa gorge serré. Il savait que son boss avait raison, tout devait se terminer maintenant, mais il ne voulait pas que se soit comme il le voulait, pas avec son sacrifice. Alors il proposa une idée qu’une partie de son esprit répugnait étrangement :

— Et si on la terminait autrement que ton idée. Si tu ne te sacrifie pas, ça pourrait très bien être Dream qui le fais. Je veux dire, il souffre à cause de ses fleurs qui pousse sur lui, ce serait juste lui rendre service de l’achever. Et à ce que je sache il a toujours voulu te sauver, quitte à se mettre en danger pour ça.

— Tu me déçois de penser que ça peux et dois se terminer comme ça.

Nightmare sembla offusqué par les paroles de son ancien subordonné, et décida de partir de la pièce, s’éloignant de lui.

— Pour moi, c’est tout aussi choquant que ton idée de te sacrifier comme ça, chuchota-t-il dans la pièce dorénavant vide.

Dream commença à émerger du sommeil, bougeant légèrement la tête. Il savait qu’il n’était plus chez lui, et il pouvait savoir grâce aux sentiments de son frère qu’il était dans le manoir de ce dernier. Il tenta de se redresser quand il senti qu’il tenait quelque chose dans la main. Même s’il ne pouvait pas voir, il savait que c’était la main de Cross, qui avait dû s’assoupir à cause de tout le stress des derniers jours accumulé.

Il attendit tranquillement que son amant se réveille, profitant du calme des sentiments du monochrome, qui avait depuis longtemps arrêté d’être aussi apaisé. Il bougea sa bague avec son pouce, la faisant doucement heurter ses phalanges, avant de changer de sens. Cross commença à se réveiller à son tour, se relevant du lit en bayant doucement. Lorsqu’il remarqua que l’autre était debout, il demanda précipitamment :

— Est-ce que tu es bien installé ? Tu veux un peu plus d’oreillers ou te redresser peut-être ? Ou quelque chose d’autre ?

— Non, ça va ne t’en fais pas.

— Est-ce que tu vas mieux ? Tu as moins mal ?

— Ça va mieux. C’est moins douloureux que tout à l’heure.

La douleur était là, lancinante, comme quelqu’un s’amusant à brûler ses os par endroit tout en restant longtemps dessus pour aggraver son ressenti. Il n’en était pas à vouloir et essayer absolument de les arracher comme tout à l’heure, mais elle ne partait pas non plus. Il profitait de ce moment de répit, si on pouvait l’appeler ainsi, et parla de tout et de rien avec son amant.

Ce dernier décida à contre-coeur de le laisser seul et de chercher à manger lorsque son estomac et celui de son amant protestèrent. Lorsqu’il commença à fermer la porte, il vit Nightmare arriver silencieusement, demandant doucement si son frère dormait encore, de peur de le réveiller en faisant irruption dans la chambre. Le monochrome lui sourit avant de lui répondre à la négative, laissant de nouveau la porte ouverte, et de partir plus serein. L’aîné, quant à lui, hésita quelques instants avant de prendre une grande inspiration en faisant le premier pas dans la pièce.

— Bonjour Dream, commença-t-il.

— Détend-toi un peu, le rassura son frère.

— Je suis parfaitement détendu.

Le positif sembla le regarder avant de sourire de toutes ses dents en ajoutant :

— Tu as les bras croisés je pari. Tu les croises tout le temps quand tu es mal à l’aise ou que tu ressens trop de sentiments qui te dérange, comme si tu voulais te protéger avec tes bras comme armure. Ça m’étonne d’ailleurs que tu n’es jamais utilisé tes tentacules de cet manière.

— C’est pas vrai.

Lorsqu’il prononça ses paroles d’une voix offensée, il décroisa les bras les laissant retomber le long de son corps, laissant entendre un discret bruit de vêtement en mouvement. Cet action fit rigoler son frère, qui avait très bien entendu et deviné sa posture sans aucune difficulté. Nightmare, quant à lui, se rapprocha du lit avant de s’assoir sur le bord, commençant à malaxait nerveusement ses mains.

— Il ne reste plus que Killer ? Les autres sont partis, demanda son frère.

— Ils ont décidé que leurs univers de base était sûrement moins pire que ce que risquait d’être la fin de cette histoire. Je les comprends, c’est mieux, ça se termine bien d’une certaine manière pour eux.

— Et pour toi ?

— … C’est mieux pour tout le monde.

Son ressenti n’avait pas d’importance, pas quand il avait été aussi horrible et manipulateur envers eux. Il avait été chanceux qu’aucun d’eux n’essaye de le tuer, et que Killer décide de rester. Il avait ressenti les sentiments de ce dernier ; de la peur en voyant le visage en parti fissuré de son boss, l’incompréhension du choix des autres squelettes, pour ensuite se terminer en un sentiment plus neutre, plus profond. Il n’était pas idiot au point de ne pas savoir ce que ce sentiment était, et encore moins pour savoir que se n’était pas comme quand il contrôlait son âme comme un pion.

Il ne contrôlait plus rien, et cela le terrifiait. Mais est-ce qu’il contrôlait quelque chose de base ? Avant sa transformation, il étais juste une victime incapable de se protéger, maltraiter par les villageois et le destin qui s’acharner sur lui. Quand il avait mangé presque toutes les pommes de l’arbre, il s’était juré ne plus jamais être la victime de ce destin. Il allait détruire toutes les personnes qui oserait le ramener à cet état ou qui ne connaissais rien à la douleur qui avait ressenti et continuait de ressentir.

Son frère fut le premier à essayer de le « retrouver ». C’est à ce moment-là qu’il lui en avait le plus voulu. Il ne comprenait pas, il ne pouvait pas comprendre, et ça l’énervait au plus haut point. Il avait voulu briser cet espoir, pas son frère. Mais il n’avait pas remarquer que c’était les autres sentiments du positif qu’il avait détruit sans aucune considération.

Il n’avait pas remarquer son mal-être, ou plutôt il n’avait pas voulu le remarquer. Il voulait juste tout contrôler pour ne plus jamais être la victime. Mais au lieu de ça, il avait laisser son frère manger la pomme noire, il l’avait laisser souffrir jusqu’à son point de rupture sans aucune considération pour lui, et il avait laisser tomber en décidant de fuir quand il avait changé. Exactement comme il avait essayer de fuir cet situation il y a de 500 ans avec les pommes ébènes.

— Night calme-toi !

Son frère lui pris à tâtons le poignet, éloignant ses mains l’une de l’autre. Il n’avait pas remarquer que sa respiration était devenue de plus en plus saccadée, ni qu’il s’était griffait à sang ses paumes et le dos de ses mains. Il prit un temps considérable à reprendre une respiration stable, ses mains tremblantes sans qu’il puisse les calmer. Lorsqu’il arriva à se calmer, il bredouilla :

— Je suis désolé pour tout. C’est de ma faute si tu es dans cet état. C’est moi qui ai mangé la première pomme, c’est moi qui ai détruit tes sentiments et convictions sans aucun remord. C’est de ma faute si tu as ressenti le besoin de voir ce que je ressentais pour pouvoir me comprendre et m’aider. Je ne sais même pas comment faire pour te sauver de ce qui t’arrives. Je suis vraiment le pire des grands frères.

— Ne te blâme pas pour ça, ce n’est pas de ta faute. C’est moi qui est pris ce choix et qui l’ai fais. Et nous étions que des enfants à l’époque tu ne peux pas t’en vouloir d’avoir essayer de changer les choses. D’autant plus que j’aurais aussi dû voir ton mal-être. Le principal ce n’est pas toutes les mauvaises actions qu’on a fait, mais comment nous essayons de changer les choses pour le mieux.

— …Ses fleurs sont reliés à tes sentiments positifs et négatifs, rappela Nightmare en essayant de changer de conversation. Les deux essaient de reprendre le contrôle d’une certaine manière, alors pour pouvoir arrêter tous cela, il faut pouvoir arrêter leur guerre de dominance. Mes sentiments négatifs peuvent diminuer tes sentiments négatifs ou les augmenter selon ce que tu désires ou selon ce que tu as besoin, jusqu’à ce que tu puisse les assimiler normalement. Je m’occuperai du surplus de sentiments négatifs, mais il faut qu’on trouve un moyen détruire les effets néfastes de la pomme noire.

— On y arrivera, ne t’en fais pas.

L’ancien garde rentra dans la cuisine, essayant de réfléchir à ce qui pourrait être bien pour son amant, hésitant entre un repas chaud, ou un repas plus léger. Les deux avait des avantages, mais il ne n’arrivait pas à mettre une simple décision dessus.

— Alors, tu as enfin décider de venir ici ? Ou alors il t’as peut-être ordonner de partir parce qu’il en avait marre de te voir autour de lui.

Les mots aussi tranchants qu’un rasoir accompagné du sourire sombre de Killer frappèrent avec efficacité sa cible : Cross. Ce dernier semblait se tendre, sa mâchoire se crispant, de même que ses phalanges qui se plantèrent dans ses paumes.

— Pourquoi tu ne me laisse pas tranquille. Je ne t’ai rien fais.

— Tu n’as rien fais ? Tu commence à avoir la même mémoire qu’Ink dis donc. Ou peut-être que tu es tellement stupide que même elle a décider de se barrer.

— Tu cherche quoi ? À toujours provoquer tu vas finir par avoir le retour du bâton. Et tout ça pour quoi ? Juste pour faire chier le monde, atteindre les limites, et voir la colère dans les yeux de ceux que tu emmerde. Le Killer que je connaissais savait où s’arrêter au moins.

Le rire sadique de Killer s’éleva dans la pièce, avant de se calmer, ne laissant qu’un rictus étiré ses lèvres.

— Le Killer que tu connaissais ? Mais tu ne l’a jamais connu. Tu ne m’as jamais connu. Et tu sais pourquoi ? Parce que ce qui t’as toujours intéressé est ta petite personne. Seulement TOI, seulement TES émotions, seulement TES souhaits ont de l’importance à tes yeux. Personne n’est jamais assez intéressant pour que tu puisse t’y intéresser. Tu n’es qu’un égoïste.

Des larmes apparaissaient aux coins des orbites de Cross, discrètes, mais brillant légèrement à la lumière de la journée ensoleillée. Le squelette à l’âme cerclée se rapprocha avant d’ajouter :

— Aww, le garde qui se considérait comme puissant et capable de résoudre tout les problèmes par lui-même pleure. Tu veux un mouchoir peut-être ? Tellement dommage que j’en ai pas, tu ne trouve pas ? Tu sais comment on appelle les personnes comme toi ? Des égocentriques. Juste comme Error, tu vaux pas mieux que lui. Mais si j’ai bien compris tu l’as hérité de ton Gaster. On peut pas te demander d’être différent, après tout, tel père tel fils.

Le monochrome le plaqua violemment contre le mur, son avant-bras se logeant contre la trachée de l’autre squelette, exerçant une pression bizarrement assez légère par rapport à sa colère. Ses pupilles n’étais plus que deux billes rouges, et ses joues étaient recouvert des mêmes larmes sombres que le larmoyant. Ce dernier n’était pas le moins du monde effrayé ou impressionné, son sourire s’étirant encore plus.

— Qu’est-ce que tu attends, tu as envie de me frapper, ça se voit à des kilomètres. Allez frappe, tu sais que ça fais du bien, tu l’as déjà ressenti en massacrant les personnes d’autres univers. Hé. Et après ça s’auto-proclame garde. Tellement pathétique.

— Tout ce que tu cherche, c’est de détruire les personnes proche de toi, contra Cross. Tu dis que je suis égocentrique, mais tu n’es pas mieux. Tout ce qui t’intéresse est le plaisir que te procure la souffrance que tu leur causes. Tu as juste besoin de les blesser pour avoir l’impression que tu te fiche de tout et que tes actions ont eu de l’importance sur quelqu’un pour une fois. Tu as juste besoin de te sentir exister grâce à toutes ces paroles et ces actions nouvelles que tu fais, sans considération pour quiconque. Tu as juste besoin-

— J’avais juste besoin de toi. J’avais juste besoin que tu reste ou tu me dises en face pourquoi tu avais décidé de partir. J’avais besoin de comprendre ce qui avait aussi mal tourné.

Le cri de Killer s’éleva dans toute la pièce, les surprenant tout les deux. Il ne voulais pas lui faire ses aveux-là, il ne voulais pas montrer à quelle point il avais été faible d’avoir donner sa confiance à Cross. Il ne voulait pas montrer à quel point il avait été blesser par son abandon. Pourtant son âme douloureuse en avait décidé autrement, comme si les paroles de l’autre squelette l’avais finement et profondément coupée, alors qu’il étais supposé se ficher de son avis. Pourquoi n’avait-il pas réussi à s’en moquer comme à son habitude ?

— Killer, tenta Cross.

Son interlocuteur le poussa de toute ses forces, le faisant presque perdre l’équilibre, devant reculer pour ne pas tomber. Profitant de sa distance, il partit rapidement, ne voulant plus lui faire face. Il en avait marre de ses sentiments qui prenait le dessus. Il en avait marre de ne plus réussir à se moquer de tout ce qui l’entourait comme avant. Il en avait marre de ne pas comprendre tout ce bordel qu’était ses sentiments.

Killer rentra dans sa chambre, fermant la porte le plus rapidement possible comme s’il avait peur que l’autre l’aies suivi. Il se rapprocha de la porte de sa salle de bain, avant de s’arrêter lorsque l’un de ses deux chats arriva vers lui, réclamant déjà des caresses. Devant l’ordre silencieux de son animal, il s’assit tranquillement en tailleur au sol, le laissant s’installer confortablement sur ses jambes.

Son âme était difforme, à telle point que l’on ne pouvait presque plus distinguer le blanc du rouge. Il n’avais même remarquer que ses larmes noires avaient commencé à couler lorsqu’il était dans la cuisine, et qu’elles étaient restées encore maintenant, même si elles créaient un sillage beaucoup moins important. Il essaya de trouver l’autre chat du regard, et le vit sur son lit, en train de dormir paisiblement.

Des sons discrets se fis entendre contre la porte, et croyant que c’était Cross, il décida de ne pas répondre, le voulant plus du tout le voir. Il savait que ce dernier essayerait de lui parler de se qu’il avait dit, voulant le comprendre et l’aider. Mais lui n’était pas encore prêt à montrer cette partie de lui-même. Pas avec lui. La porte s’ouvrît discrètement, révélant Nightmare. Il s’assit à côté de l’autre chat, le faisant bouger dans son sommeil.

— Je lui ai dit de retourner voir mon frère et de lui donner son repas.

Il savait de qui il parlait, se doutant que Cross en aies discuter avec lui, sûrement de peur d’avoir fait quelque chose de mal qu’il regrettait déjà. Un pic de douleur frappa son âme, qui consciente du mal qu’il avait fait au monochrome s’était soudain tordu plus qu’elle ne l’était avant. Il ne voulait pas le blesser ou lui faire regretter sa décision. Après tout, il l’avait déjà vu avec Dream avant sa corruption. Il l’avait vu heureux et même si ça l’avait blesser de ne pas être la source de son bonheur, il avait été réjouis de le voir comme ça.

Nightmare soupira avant de se rapprocher de lui et de s’accroupir en face de lui. Il enleva les larmes de son ancien subordonné avec sa manche, la tâchant de noir, avant de doucement déclarer :

— Tu n’as pas besoin de ressentir autant de culpabilité. Si tu regrettes vraiment ce que tu lui as, tu as juste à lui en parler, mais tu dois aussi arrêter de refouler tes émotions. Ton âme te fera toujours souffrir à cause de ça. Parle-lui et parle à Dream, les choses qui reste sur le cœur ne sont pas de bonnes choses.

Puis il partit, le laissant réfléchir à tout cela tranquillement. Il se dirigea vers la chambre de son frère, avant d’y rentrait et de demander à parler au monochrome, qui accepta à contre cœur, le suivant dans le salon qui était une des pièce les plus proches.

Killer sortit de sa chambre, avant de se diriger vers la pièce où se trouvait le positif. Il entra dans la pièce, surpris par l'absence du monochrome, avant de s'affaler sur le siège que ce dernier avait installé. Il commença à jouer avec son couteau, occupant ses mains et essayer de ne pas ressentir tous les sentiments qui le submerger, essayant de les annihilés le plus possible.

— Bonjour Killer.

La voix calme de Dream s’éleva, plus grave qu’avant sa transformation et empli de douleur dissimulé. Le larmoyant souris avec son même sourire de façade habituelle, avant de se lever et de pointer son arme vers l’autre squelette, touchant la gorge de ce dernier mais ne faisant aucun mouvement pour le blesser. Il le regardait, avec cette impression qu’il était aussi calme que s’il restait devant le feu d’une cheminée, écoutant le bruit du crépitement des flammes et regardant leurs danses contrôlés. Étrangement, le couteau commença à trembler et à se baisser doucement.

La tristesse fus le premier sentiment qu’il ressentis à cet instant. Puis la colère et la rancoeur. Ce n’était pas tourné vers le gardien, mais envers lui-même. Il ne comprenait pas pourquoi, mais pour la première fois depuis des années, il ressentais de la pitié pour lui et était incapable de faire cet action qu’il désirait. Il voulait juste que tout ça change, mais une partie de son âme se réjouissait de ça. Une partie de son âme ne voulait pas tuer le gardien.

— Pourquoi j’hésite ? Pourquoi je n’ose pas faire ça ? On a trouvé aucun moyen de te sauver pour l’instant. Ce serait juste te rendre service. Tu ne souffrirais plus, et pourtant je n’y arrives pas.

— Parfois c’est les choix qui nous semble les plus juste qui nous font le plus mal. Tu as changé, Killer. Tu es capable de nouveau de ressentir de la compassion, tu es capable de nouveau de ressentir à nouveau des émotions. Tu as du mal à toutes les comprendre ou les assimiler pour l'instant, mais tu y arriveras un jour.

— Qu’est ce qui te fais dire que je ne vais pas te tuer ? J’ai déjà hésité pour tuer mon frère et pourtant je l’ai fais. Qu’est-ce qui te dis que je ne vais pas faire pareil avec toi ?

— Tes sentiments me le disent. Je suis heureux au moins d’avoir pus voir ce changement en toi. Je sais qu’un jour tu arriveras à panser toutes tes plaies, même si ça prendra du temps.

Le sourire sincère et radieux de l’aveugle finit par avoir raison de son interlocuteur. Ce dernier baissa entièrement son arme, ses larmes coulèrent abondamment, noires sur son orbite droite, et translucide à gauche, là où sa pupille blanche était visible. Il ajouta d’une voix brisée :

— Je ne veux pas te tuer, mais je ne veux pas te voir souffrir non plus. Je suis qu’un idiot.

— Ça va aller. Tout va bien se passer.

En disant ses mots, le positif pris la main de l’autre squelette. Ce dernier s’assit sur le lit, tout en le prenant dans les bras, incapable de contrôler ses sanglots. Dream lui rendit son étreinte, son orbite recouverte de fleurs étant inondée de larmes.

Les deux autres squelettes, Cross et Nightmare les regardaient, la gorge serrée. Même si cela avait été compliquer pour les deux, surtout pour le monochrome, ils avaient laisser Killer agir à sa guise, ne sachant pas totalement s’il déciderait de l’épargner.

Plusieurs jours passèrent, les jumeaux essayèrent de calmer la croissance des fleurs avec la négativité de l’ainé, prenant le plus possible celle de son frère. Au début, le résultat était peu concluant, pour ne pas dire l’inverse. Les fleurs ne poussait plus, mais celles déjà présentent brûlèrent encore plus Dream, au point que Cross supplie le négatif d’arrêter face aux cris de douleur de son amant, commençant à le menacer en voyant qu’il n’arrêtait pas. Killer avait réagis à ce moment, l’éloignant rapidement.

Lorsqu’il avait fini, Dream avait remarquer que la douleur avait drastiquement baissé, comme si elle était revenu au point de départ, comme de légères brûlures. Puis après quelques jours, ils avaient remarqué que plus aucune plantes ne pousser. Celles qui rester commencèrent petit à petit à flétrir, et à se détacher une par une, emportant la douleur avec elles.

Les écoulements de négativité partirent aussi, dû au gardien qui arrivait dorénavant à mieux gérer ses sentiments négatifs, laissant son orbite gauche fissurée visible. Son orbite droite, quand à elle fut débarrassée de ses parasites, sa pupille ne pouvant plus voir correctement de loin.

Killer évitait le plus possible Cross, ne voulant pas lui parler de qu’il avait sur le cœur. Ou plutôt n’arrivant pas à poser des mots dessus. Mais les efforts de son ami pour le rassurer commencèrent peu à peu à porter leur fruits. Il n’était pas encore au point de lui confier son âme comme avec Nightmare, mais il réussissait de plus en plus à ne plus essayer de le blesser avec ses paroles dès qu’il essayait de savoir comment il allait ou de vouloir du temps avec lui.

Même si Nightmare essayait par moment d’éloigner tout le monde de lui, sûrement à cause de ses sentiments négatifs ou à cause de ses remords, il était heureux que les personnes les plus importantes à ses yeux aient décidé de rester près de lui.

#undertale #nightmare #au #ua #cross #killer #dream #flowerfell dream #writing #ecriture

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mqverick · 5 months

Text

Walking On Air || chapter 7

Tom Kazansky was many things according to his flight mates; an arrogant pilot, a determined man who did not like being bossed around by people like Maverick, a passionate fighter and a gentle lover, despite his tough stance. While he couldn’t deny any of those characteristics, he drew the line when people thought of him as foolish. Thus to why he knew — had known from the very first day, the very first moment he caught you laying an eye on Maverick — that he’d been slowly, but with a steady pace, losing you.

Though it might not have been crystal clear to you in the beginning, Tom was very aware of the fact that Pete Mitchell was intrigued by your presence and eventually would get you to feel the same way about him. He didn’t know Maverick well nor cared to befriend him, in fact it was quite the opposite. Call him prejudiced, but he believed in the power of first impressions, which the freshly transferred pilot had made into a disastrous impact upon his name in the Navy.

There were countless nights when, even though you were tucked in bed, cuddling against Tom’s chest, his brain would betray him with nerve wrecking thoughts of you calling quits on him. He’d been preparing himself for that moment ever since the two of you began dating, knowing you were and would always be too good for him, notice all his flaws, grow bored of his routine.

At some point, your relationship had been a dream. It was steady without any distractions, doubts, fears or problems and Tom had shortly forgotten about the worries gnawing at his head. He was planning to tell you how he felt; that he loved you and could see a future with you, his only future — but then Maverick crept his way into the picture, drawing you apart.

It wasn’t even intentional on either sides, that’s what bothered him the most. If Tom knew one thing, it was that falling in love rolled naturally, all it took was a good glance on that one person to realize they were made for you, that they were the fundament of your existence. During dogfights, discussing tactics — hell — even during lunch, he watched you fall in love with Maverick a little bit more day by day. Unspoken words, guilty gazes, forbidden touches. He had been genuinely hurt the day he found out that you had secret plans with the pilot, refusing to believe that his overthinking was actually a piece of reality.

He knew he’d overreacted and had hurt you too along the way. You were distraught, distancing yourself from him, building up walls that he thought had collapsed somewhere along your relationship. Watching you fade him out of the picture was painful, but (and that might sound weird) he’d never seen you look happier than when you were with Maverick. It was all natural, your heartwarming smile, your dilated pupils, your nervous hand movements. It was exactly how he’d felt when he first asked you out.

You, on the other hand, were completely in the dark about how deep Tom’s knowledge was in your relationship with Maverick. You thought of him as the innocent, trusting boyfriend which he’d proved to you he was, making your heart burn the minute you walked into the same room as Pete, instantly getting washed with guilt.

After babysitting Bradley with Maverick while Goose and Carole were away, feelings had gotten even more confused and complicated if possible, twisting the gut inside you painfully. The more time you spent around him, the less you trusted yourself not to engage in anything foolish that could ruin everything you’d worked so hard to build. But the heart wants what it wants, as Carole had put it. You were going through a hard time and it showed, but at least your temporary grounding at Top Gun had served its time.

Being able to fly again was like a drug, made you not ever want to see the ground again, let alone touch it. You wondered what the impact would be if you just left everything behind and went on a different route, get lost somewhere mysterious, explore new paths, new people. Leave Maverick.

You couldn’t, a little voice rang in your head, almost mockingly. You found a quiet spot at the hangar and walked there while the others spoke loudly in the background while waiting for Viper. You leaned against a railing, sighing in exhaustion as you supported your chin against your palm and stared off into the distance.

“Not feeling well?”

You looked over your shoulder to realize that Maverick had been towering above you, cheeky smile on his face as he fought off the need to run his fingers across your arms.

“Go back with Goose, Pete,” you replied cheerlessly. Your morose approach had him take a few steps away from you, nodding at your state. He didn’t push it for once, which brought you at ease. You made your way along with him a couple of seconds later, seeing as Viper had finally come.

Sitting with your head lazily laid on your boyfriend’s shoulder, you glanced at the sky, watching Maverick’s plane fly, wishing you were up there instead of him. Iceman was discussing something with his RIO, Slider, to which you paid no attention. Hadn’t Viper been there and you would’ve drifted off; your eyes felt too heavy with burdens of the brain to keep open.

Out of the blue, you heard someone yelling in annoyance, snapping you back to reality. You realized Maverick had probably proceeded to go for a bloody show-off, such as buzzing the tower. Of course, you thought, trembling at the idea of baring Iceman ramble on and on about how irresponsible the pilot was and how little appropriation he showed for his own work.

You found yourself discreetly following Maverick and Goose inside, hiding behind the slides that covered Viper’s office as he was telling them off. Goose was side-eyeing his friend the entire time, blowing air and sighing in defeat as Maverick still managed to look like a fun sized dwarf next to him, even though his spine was straightened up.

When they walked out, Goose was pulling at his hair in dread, which earned a small chuckle from you. You’d been a fan of his over dramatic stance for as long as you could recall.

“I’m pretty sure Goose hates me,” Maverick suddenly spoke, looking towards your direction. You blushed in embarrassment, not expecting to get caught. “Love the fact that our misery amuses you, by the way.”

“You did this to yourself,” you replied coldly while every cell of your body tried to hold back a grin.

“I did this for you.”

His reply threw you off, causing your eyebrow to cock in question. “What are you talking about? Why would you buzz the tower for me, what kind of benefit could that possibly provide for either one of us?”

Maverick sighed, opening his mouth to say something but regretting the action shortly after. Your facial expressions pushed him to choke up a messy reply that took you a few seconds to process.

“You were smiling a moment ago, weren’t you?”

As much as you hated Tom’s preaches, you wished he could’ve been there when the sentence fell out of Maverick’s mouth, just to put him in his place for risking his career to see you smile. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest, face frozen as you stared at him giving you a shy not at your lack of response and walking away. As per usual, your mind was racing through impossible dimensions and suddenly no aspirin was suitable for relieving the aching sensation.

You returned to Iceman, letting him take you back to his place in order to forget, kissing him senseless the moment he closed the door and pushing his body against it as if he weighed the quantity of a feather. It had felt like ages since you had become so passionate around him, yet ignited zero spark for you, excluding the short moment when you pulled away from his lips to take a look at him and saw Maverick’s face instead. It freaked you out and you stepped back rather abruptly, which caught Tom off guard.

He was worried, asking you what was wrong. You managed to play it off by calling it a rough day, suggesting the idea of cuddling in the bedroom to heal your migraine and exhaustion. Moonlight rays reflected from the half-curtain-covered window as you kept your eyes squeezed shut, pushing yourself to fall asleep, but even Tom’s breath against your neck was putting you in a frenzy. Silently unpeeling out of the covers, you throw a robe over you and wandered in the darkness, looking for your shoes. When you got outside, you let your feet walk you back to the gorgeous spot Maverick had taken you that one time you met up outside of the academy.

The calming sounds of the sea, waves splashing against the rocks, crickets chirping inside bushes — god, the place was magical. You sat by the end of the cliff, letting your legs dangle around and breathed in while letting your mind come at peace. Unexpectedly enough (or not), you snapped your neck around when the sound of footsteps approaching echoed through your ears.

Of course it would be Maverick.

“Pete?” you asked in surprise, running a hand through your messed up by the wind hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m just here because I needed to think.”

“Crazy how my thinking spot provided enough inspiration to become your thinking spot,” he commented sarcastically, earning an eye roll from you as he crouched down a few centimetres away from where you’d been sitting. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You sighed, shivering a little. Maverick shook off his jacket and put it around your shoulders for what was — what, the millionth time? You accepted and embraced the warmth of it nevertheless, wrapping it further into your arms.

“You’re such a scumbag, Pete.”

“Pardon?” he chuckled slightly in confusion.

“Being a reckless pilot won’t magically amuse me enough to fall for you. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” Maverick realized, wincing dramatically in pain when you shoved him with a nudge of your shoulder.

“I’m already impressed by you, okay? Whenever you’re up there, it’s like you own the sky. I’m both incredibly intrigued and envious,” you admitted in a low voice, not daring to meet his eyes.

“I can’t believe you just said that, I need to record it for proof when Goose hears about it tomorrow,” Maverick joked, making you scoff at how unserious he was being.

“See? I told you; scumbag.”

“Hey,” he called defensively, easing back with the nonsense. “In all seriousness, and you know I’m one hundred percent truthful right now, I would do anything to see you smile. I don’t care in how much trouble it’ll get me into, because cause in the end it’s worth it. I hate seeing you so upset.”

You felt a jolt deep in the pit of your stomach, breath coming in short as your heartbeat picked up space, threatening to break free from the prison of your ribs. “Don’t do that, Maverick.”

“How can I not when you say my name like that?”

Your eyes finally captured his, holding a blissful and secret glow you yet had to figure out how to make go away. You couldn’t stand Maverick; not because of how much of an impossible douche he was, but because it was difficult to tell whether he meant the things he said to you or was just too fucking good at getting what his mind was set on.

The more you pushed him away, the more he clung to you, just like magnetic force. The mere thought of giving him a shot almost crossed your mind. Your love would be a tumultuous symphony— full of passionate crescendos, heartbreaking solos, and soft, tender interludes. It wouldn’t perfect, but it could be real, it could be yours.

You carefully scooted closer to him and leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling him shudder under the contact. It was a bizarre, funny feeling to watch a man who makes every woman in his way faint dramatically, like in a 40s movie, get nervous around little old insignificant you.

It was dark, and the night sky was picturesque. A black to navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the night sky so clear you could almost see every crater. The moon, a glowing bluish white, loomed large, surrounded by an ethereal glow, which shone brightly against Maverick’s facial features, casting him even more mesmerizing.

The ocean waves lapped lazily, a jumble of royal blue that glistened in the night. White foam crested the top of the waves as they approached, spilling onto the sand like a net being cast. The two of you were sat in silence, but this time it had escaped the awkwardness, having embraced something the intimate.

“Can I ask you something?” you spoke softly.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you always so hotheaded?”

A long, pained exhale through the nose, then silence all over again. “Have I ever talked to you about my dad?” You shook your head, burying it deeper against the side of his neck. “He disappeared in an F-4, November 5th, 1965. Everyone believes he died because he screwed up, but there’s no way. My old man was the best fighter pilot.”

“That’s why you rush to be the best as well. You want to be like him,” you realized out loud, gently wrapping an arm around his and giving it a little comforting squeeze. You felt him nod against the top of your hair. “Nobody knows what happened to him?”

“Someone must. But to hell with it, it’s all classified. I never got to enjoy the feeling of having a family. I watched my mother die. Cancer. She had a long time to think about it. They say you reach an agreement with death. Come to accept the fact that pretty soon you won't be here. She was very brave, braver than I am. You go up there, there isn't time to think. If you make a mistake, you're just a smudge on the ground.”

“Bloody hell, Mav,” you sighed, daring to look up at his glistening eyes. You could tell they were burning with hot tears, which he struggled to contain. Your free arm tugged his at the side of his head, laying down on top of yours as you held him. You weren’t accustomed to that side of him, yet found it incredibly beautiful; how sweet and courageous he was with all the miseries that had tortured and deprived him of a childhood.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for the atmosphere to get so gloomy,” he chocked with a sniffle.

“Don’t you apologize. I wish I could help you find out about your dad, though. I’m sure I can pull some strings and—”

“I don’t want you to get in any trouble, Roger. You’re already so much more than I could ever ask for and I know I don’t mention it a lot, but I appreciate having you, even as a friend, more than you actually think.”

You awed, untangling yourself to him except from moving your head away from his shoulder in the slightest inch. You stared ahead at the starry sky, until the warm feeling of his fingers touched your own, silently asking for permission to hold you. You granted him the favor, clutching tight against the little gaps. That was it. Everything you’d dreamt of as a child, finding your soulmate, the only person in the whole universe that was made just to be yours. You’d found him.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Pete?” you asked intrusively, regretting the words the moment they left your mouth.

“Do you?”

Yes. Yes, I do, your inner voice replied confidently, but your brain never let you express the opinion out loud. Not when nothing was supposed to happen between the two of you. Not when you were such a coward, afraid to admit the things you mutely screamed at him.

“Touché, douche,” you opted for instead.

“You’re always so direct.”

“You’re always so irritating.”

“That I am.”

You both chuckled, aware of the true feelings expressed through mildly sarcastic and mean remarks about one another.

“I need to go,” you muttered with a broken heart.

“You go every time it gets like that,” Maverick complained, pouting slightly. He could almost feel the sadness bleeding from his heart whenever he just stood there, watching you get lost in the road, walking away from him. It killed him.

“I’m sorry, Mav,” you whispered back apologetically, trying not to show that you felt the same way he did when you left him. “It’s better if I don’t stay, for both of us. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with a faint goodnight and the ghost of your lips against his cheek, you were once again one with the shadows of the night, just like always.

chapter 8

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

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t3a-tan · 8 months

Note

In the size-shifter AU it makes you wonder how many friends James lost where his immediate first reaction to Oliver finding out is to expect to have to avoid him completely and never talk to him again.

Bro I'm so sorry I forgot to post this it's been in my drafts for a while—

---

James stared down at Oliver, frozen in shock at what he was hearing and seeing. It must be a trick. There was no way that Oliver, someone he honestly hadn't known that long in the big scheme of things, wasn't scared of him.

Even his ex-wife, the only person to accept his sizeshifting before, was scared when he first grew in front of her. As long as he stayed human-sized she came around, but things got heated again.

His size always caused problems. James tried his best to keep them under wraps and just be normal, but god did it feel tiring having to keep himself from growing all the time. Eventually it became too much for Emily to handle and they separated.

So why on Earth was this human man standing at his feet, as calm as could be?

It couldn't be real.

"Why….why aren't you running?"

The sounds of screaming shook the forest. James really hadn't meant it— he went to the woods to hide away and wait for his size to go back to normal only to stumble upon a campsite. He didn't get too close and he tried to calm down the panicking people but they simply wouldn't listen to reason.

Oliver's smile faded as his expression returned to it's usual relaxed neutral. He continued to look up at James, making eye contact that felt so…accepting. So warm.. But James knew better than that.

He probably thinks I'll hurt him if he runs or shows discomfort… I'm sorry Oliver, I shouldn't have let us become friends. This is my fault, James thought to himself.

"Why should I run from a friend?" Oliver asked— as if he was actually confused. As the man took a step towards James the sizeshifter couldn't help but move back in turn, startled by the gesture. Oliver's expression softened from its initial confusion, but as he opened his mouth to probably continue lying, James's voice boomed instead.

"Aren't you scared?" He asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, trying to seem intimidating. Did Oliver think he was stupid or something? No one could accept this form of his. No one.

Oliver reacted very little, not even so much as leaning back the closer James's billboard-size face crept inward.

"Am I supposed to be? You already told me not to be, and said you won't hurt me. I would've understood without directions, but then why is it so surprising that I'm directly listening to your very own words?" Oliver pointed out, humming slightly.

"M-monster..!"

"Get away!"

"You've been tricking us this whole time!!"

James flinched at the memory of all that yelling… friends from the past. He had tried to give up on it— his only companion for a while had been whiskey and rum every night… He rarely worked; his electric bill was never payed and he took cold showers with cheap soaps, trying to wash his feelings down the drain with the dirt.

Oliver had made his life better in many ways. After finding out he had no heating during the winter he paid the bill for him. He helped him get his drinking back under control. He was a genuinely nice guy and James couldn't help but trust him.

It was a mistake. He knew that. He had stopped making connections with humans for a reason…

"Maybe you should be… I could kill you right here and now if I wanted to. It wouldn't take any effort." It slipped out, but James couldn't help but try to get Oliver to leave just to avoid the pain of hoping and getting betrayed…that was what would ultimately happen after all.

Oliver stared up at him, eyebrow raised.

"I see. A defence mechanism… I suppose it makes sense given how I would presume most people tend to react to such a sudden increase in size." He sighed, shaking his head before looking up at James and seemingly contemplating something.

"I knew about you being able to switch sizes since November. You shot up a few inches. I noticed you continued to grow considering whilst you left the room you had to crouch under the door. I was going to ask, but considering you locked yourself in the bathroom I figured I should wait until you confronted me yourself." He explained.

James blinked in confusion. That long ago? That was months… he hadn't noticed a single difference in how Oliver treated him during all that time. He didn't even know Oliver knew.

The shock must've showed on his face, as Oliver smiled, reaching up and gently patting his cheek.

"You're a good man, James. I'm happy to call you my friend… giant or not, it doesn't change a thing." He spoke with a gentle and reassuring tone. James couldn't believe what he was hearing or seeing. Sure, Oliver had always come across as accepting but…

He would accept him as his friend? Even when he was a monster…?

Oliver saw the conflicted expression of James's face and he tilted his head, smile still apparent.

"Should we continue our walk then?" He offered.

Despite the fact that everything in James's mind was telling him he couldn't trust this….in his heart he understood this was real. The look in Oliver's eyes was genuine. His words were truthful. James couldn't help but smile back.

"Yeah. I'd like that…"

#g/t community #g/t #ocs #g/t artist #giant/tiny #g/t au #ask box #g/t writer #g/t writing #giant/tiny writing #size shifter #g/t angst #g/t fluff

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wanderersbell · 1 year

Note

Hi can you write something for scara and his s/o growing old? Well scara can't age but his s/o can! I would prefer it to be kinda cute but also sad.

until death do us part

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst, hurt no comfort

warnings: major character death, very sad ending

word count: 2491

✧.* a/n: took me a while to get to this bc i kept crying thinking about it but here it is! i am so sorry in advance this is really sad, but enjoy!

nothing would make him regret getting to spend your life with you, not even the day he’d inevitably lose you.

no amount of wishing or praying would stop you from returning to the soil of the earth one day and becoming nothing but another memory. the wanderer knew that eventually, he’d lose you too. just like everyone else he had once loved, you were no exception to the passages of time that sow life and death within the fate of humanity.

the first time he met you, this thought passed through his mind in a fleeting whisper when your magnetic pull started to reel him in against his will. the soothing trill of your laughter and the kindness in your eyes reminded him so much of a time before pain was all he knew, that he could already picture the way the light would fade out of your eyes if he let his guard down and flew too close to the sun again.

but no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, every path he went down lead him right back to you in the end. you who insisted with utmost sincerity that he come over for tea since he so graciously helped your grandpa harvest crops the other week. you who would pour him a cup, strong and bitter just the way he liked it, and sit across from him to tell all of the wild stories and legends you heard from the elders in town growing up, never bothered in the slightest when he didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation.

you who slowly crept into every one of his thoughts until he could no longer fight the urge to see you, even though he truly did try to put up a fight. his feet would unconsciously bring him all the way to your doorstep after a long day, the only thing on his mind being the rush of warmth he gets whenever you look into his eyes and smile.

he remembers when you’d open the door to the sight of him with tousled hair and dirt streaked on his skin and pull him inside without a second thought. he’d lean against your kitchen counter as you dabbed a soft damp cloth against his skin, your touch gentle but steady. you’d frown all the while as you cleaned him up, shushing and chastising him for never being careful.

the wanderer was never actually hurt, and he could’ve easily dealt with the issue without so much as a scratch reaching him, but he loved the way you fussed over him. the stubborn crease between your brows, the jut of your lower lip, the brush of your featherlight fingertips—though nothing compared to the unfiltered and honest look of concern and worry in your eyes.

It had been a long, long time since someone had looked at him in such a way. him, just as he was, with no purpose or usefulness to hide behind. a part of him felt annoyed by your insistence to care for him, and by the fact that he allowed you to perceive him as weak. but the other, louder part of him craved and so deeply desired the way you made him feel like he mattered.

and even still, you would never pry. you’d never pester him about why he would show up in such a state in the first place. in the months you had known him, he hadn’t told you anything. not even his name. you knew him only as a wanderer with no destination, and for this he was thankful. he was sure that if you know who he was, the things he had done, the lives he had taken—you would never look at him the same again.

he made no move to hide anything about himself from you, but he also didn’t go out of his way to tell you either. if someone were to tell you, he would make no move to stop them.

but nobody knew him.

nobody until you.

long ago the wanderer swore he would never find companionship again, but by the time he noticed the way he had grown attached to you, it was already too late to turn back.

the existence of his past that had once felt like an eternity became nothing but a ghost in the back of his mind as you became a part of his present. he should’ve known he was in too deep the day he finally agreed to start taking you with him on his travels, but he was too distracted by the hope and excitement on your face as you proposed the idea to him.

he knew it was risky. you couldn’t fight, didn’t know how to lie with a straight face, and refused to butcher and eat an animal even if it meant life or death; but he didn’t have it in himself to say no to you. you, who truly had no bad intentions or motives. you, who listened to every word he had to say with an open mind and no judgment in your heart. you, who reminded him why he had once been so fond of humans.

how foolish he was, to get caught up in the fragile web of a mortal life again. but there was no stopping when he started falling for you.

the first time he had ever snapped at you, raised his voice and said cruel things born from the anguish in his chest, you barely reacted. even as insults left his lips and he told you to get lost, you gazed at him with steady, understanding eyes and waited until he ran out of hurtful things to say.

as his chest heaved with anger and his fingernails dig into his palms where they were clenched into fists, you waited patiently. when he came back to himself and saw the wetness of unshed tears in your eyes, the guilt and regret that followed nearly knocked him off of his feet.

it was cowardly of him, but in that moment all he could do was turn on his foot and flee. he couldn’t bear to see that look on your face, knowing it was all his own doing. he spent until the sun began to set dragging his feet around, picturing the way you would regard him like the monster he was from this point onward.

when he returned to you, he expected to find you upset and disgusted with him. but instead, when he tentatively stepped into your home, he found you sitting half asleep at your kitchen table with a pot of his favorite tea that had long gone cold waiting for him.

you sat up quickly when you saw him cross the threshold, suddenly alert and awake. he could tell you were hesitant to say something, unsure of what state of mind the wanderer might be in right then, so he put extra effort into moving calmly as he approached the table and sat down as not to scare you.

that night, he told you everything. you held his hands tightly between yours and listened from beginning to end, letting him retell the devastating tale of the life he’d lived as a heartless puppet. you cried for him. you told him how sorry you were that he had to experience all of that, how sad you were that it’d been so long since he’d felt wanted. you accepted him, his sins, his selfishness and greed.

no matter how far he jumped, you always met him halfway. he was undeniably, pathetically in love with you.

eventually, almost like it was always meant to happen, the two of you fell into each others arms as seamlessly as a stream flows. it had been a little over a year since the day he met you that you leaned in and kissed him for the first time. the wanderer was only shocked for a moment before he melted into it and realized that there was nothing more he wanted in this world than to be with you.

he was happy, happier than he could remember being in centuries. there was nothing he had to hide around you, nobody he had to pretend to be that he wasn’t. it was as easy as ever to fall into a natural rhythm with you, wandering around teyvat and experiencing everything together. even the things he had already done before felt new and memorable with you.

everywhere you went, it was together. the wanderer had been given a chance to see the world through a clear lens again, though it had become rose tinted over time from the intensity of your affection.

the many sights he saw with you were indescribable, but his eyes always returned to you no matter how breathtaking it was. home was wherever you were, and so the two of you found home everywhere.

but there came a day when he was forced to face reality yet again. many years passed by your side, and even though it was only a short amount of time to him, it was a huge chunk of your lifetime. when your skin began to show wrinkles and people began to mistake him for your son, the terrifying thought crossed his mind.

you wouldn’t be around forever, your time was running out, and it rooted a deep seed of dread into his chest that threatened to bloom into something worse. it dug up old feelings that the wanderer hadn’t felt in years, ones that gripped their icy claws into his head until they were impossible to ignore.

just like everyone else, you would leave him too.

why? why did he only find happiness and belonging in the things that wouldn’t last? he didn’t want to be alone again. it was unfair, and never more than in that moment had he longed to be a normal human.

did it bother you that he would never be able to grow old with you? that people would assume him your grandson and pass judgment if they knew the truth? things would soon begin to grow complicated and people who had known you both would notice that he didn’t age.

you knew this as well as he did, and after a long and painful conversation about it, you insisted it didn’t bother you and made him promise to move forward even when you were gone. you knew he was afraid and that he had already lost so much, that there was a huge possibility that he would lose himself when you left. you feared that he had become too reliant on you.

that in itself was what had him making an oath to himself that he wouldn’t let you leave this world feeling worried about him. and he didn’t have it in him to break a promise to you.

when walking up steps became a difficult task for you, he’d wrap an arm around you and help you make it to the top. when you got worn out more easily and couldn’t keep up with traveling around anymore, he suggested the two of you finally settle down and return to your old house.

as you grew weaker every year and had to rely on him more, the wanderer never once complained or treated it like an inconvenience. he was there for you, just as he had promised he always would be. you never stopped being beautiful in his eyes, even when your hair turned gray and your joints achy. you still had the same sweet smile, the same captivating eyes, the same comforting smell. you were still you, and you were his.

eventually, when your skin had become pale and sallow and your hands too shaky and weak to hold anything, you had slowly reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes with a sad smile.

“i will come back to you,” you promised weakly, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his face. “no matter how many times, no matter what form i take, my soul will always return to you.”

even as his heart got caught in his throat and tears spilled over his cheeks, the wanderer nodded weakly at your words.

“okay.”

during your final days, it took everything in him to hold it together. he spoon fed you as often as you’d let him, breath hitching every time you struggled to swallow. he stayed by your side and held your frail hands in his steady ones, planting soft kisses against your knuckles and whispering his love for you into your skin.

by the final evening, he wasn’t even sure if you could hear him anymore. still, he laid next to you the bed you shared and retold the old stories he remembers from the very beginning of your time together. it was hard to talk without breaking down when he knew you wouldn’t respond. only the sound of your shallow breathing filled the silence, growing slower and slower by the hour.

losing you was something he had long since been preparing for, but was never truly ready to experience. he had felt grief many times in the past, but it had never hurt this deeply. it was like a sheet of anguish clinging to him, weighing him down and piercing him with nails.

quiet, lonely, and cold, there was a giant gaping hole in his chest that you had once filled. a void that your existence managed to soothe, but it was there again. loud, unforgiving, and so, so unbearably painful.

he cried more than he ever thought himself capable of in the weeks that followed. everywhere he looked, he could only see where you should’ve been. the wind was lonely without the sound of your voice, and the sky dull. maybe it was just his imagination, but even the birds and bugs seemed less lively without you.

there was a suffocating stillness clouding his perception of reality. he didn’t want to acknowledge that time was passing without you, or that he would never feel your warmth next to him anymore, but he knew you were gone. there was nothing he could do.

it hurt. it hurt so badly that he could still hear his own guttural sobs even over the deafening downpour of rain as it soaked him to the bone where he sat hunched over in front of where you had been buried not long before.

he missed you so much. even though he had gone so long being alone before he met you, it was as if he was experiencing it all for the first time again. his lungs burned and his chest ached as he choked on humid air, wishing you were still there to comfort him like you always had been.

“please,” he called softly into the wind, willing himself to hold on to even the smallest shard of hope. “keep your promise.”

there was no response.

he was alone again.

#yaepublishinghouse #requests! ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #wanderer #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #my writing

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iamqueenpotato · 1 year

Text

Hurts Like Hell- Azriel's POV

Azriel x Reader

A/N- Hi so writer's block has been a bitch these past two weeks. I got a promotion at work so that's cool, but then I got sick so it's been fun. I hope you guys enjoy this! Your support means the world to me. I don't deserve you guys 💜 Enjoy!

⚠️: None just angsty

Word Count: 2.5k

You had left. Leaving Azriel empty in the townhome you had once brought so much life to. But now it felt like an empty shell, a place where dreams were left to be forgotten. But maybe that is how you felt. How he made you feel. And it only made the guilt grow within him. It was all his fault. And now you were gone.

He stared at your side of the room from where he sat on the floor, there was some bottle of liquor in his hand, yet he doesn’t remember grabbing it, all he knew is it numbed the pain that sat in his chest. Seeing you cry broke him, it wasn’t until then that the events of the last few months caught up to him. He left you behind, forgetting the one thing that made him happy. And you were hurt because of it.

Many nights had passed since you left and each night Azriel found himself on your side of the bed, your pillow clutched to his chest, it was the only thing that still had your scent lingering on it. And it was the only way sleep would find him, the little bit of comfort it brought him in the night kept the nightmares away. The ones that were filled with the broken expression on your face when you stared at him, the one he caused.

But eventually, your scent faded from the bed, and your essence disappeared from the townhome entirely. There were days he thought it was all dream, that he would still find you sitting in your chair by the fire with a book, waiting for him to get home, the bright smile that made even his worst days better. His body ached for one of your hugs after the long day. But he ruined it. And he realized it far too late.

Walking around the city he once loved became painful, each little spot made him think of you, the bookstore you loved so much, the smile you gave him when he bought your favorite books, and how grateful you were for his kindness. But it was only because he loved you, and seeing you smile drowned out that darkness within him, seeing you happy was all he ever wanted. And now without you, he didn’t know who he was. There was nothing to keep that darkness at bay, and now it felt like he was drowning, all alone in the dark abyss he called a soul.

He didn’t know what day it was when he heard the knock at the door, he didn’t know how long he had been staring at the burning fire. The days seemed to melt together, life didn’t feel real without you. Azriel was content ignoring whoever was on the other side, but the knocking never ceased so he slowly moved towards the door, finding Cassian on the other side. “Where the hell have you been Azriel?” Cassian pushed himself into the townhome, Azriel didn’t say a word, only moving back to his seat in front of the fire. “Why did you do it? Why did you push her away?” Cassian stood off to the side but Azriel only glared at him, he didn’t know why, he never meant to do that to you. “Look at me Az.” Cassian had more annoyance in his command, but Azriel didn’t listen.

Azriel didn’t lift a finger as Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him out of his seat. “Fuck off Cas.” Were the only words he could say, he knew Cassian wanted an explanation but he didn’t have one.

Cassian’s fist collided with his jaw, and it was the first thing he had felt in the past couple of months, Azriel shoved his brother back, tackling him to the ground. He didn’t know why he was fighting back, but as Cassian landed a few more hits on him, he figured it was something he deserved. As Cassian stood over him, his fist clenched, landing more hits across Azriel’s face, he let it happen, he felt the blood dripping down onto his shirt, his arms dropping to his sides, he gave no effort to fight back, but then Cassian stopped, staring at the broken male that was his brother “Hit me again.” Azriel choked out, Cassian looked at him with wide eyes, his fist slowly unclenching. “Do it, I deserve it. I fucked up Cassian. I drove her away, I hurt Y/N. I watched her walk away and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it because she was right, I put her second. I caused her pain. And I hate myself, so hit me again.”

Cassian shook his head, releasing his hold on his brother. “I think you’ve beat yourself enough on your own. Az, you are my brother. But I would have never thought you would be stupid enough to neglect your mate. She was struggling, we all saw it, she denied it but we knew. Yet you were so busy with someone else, you became blind to the one thing that matters the most. Y/N was right to leave, who would stay with someone who didn’t care for them.”

Azriel's body shook, the sobs that were so familiar escaped his lips, and soon they became uncontrollable, he stared up at his brother, his eyes glossy with tears.“Is that what she thought?” He asked, his voice cracking. Cassian nodded, kneeling on the ground in front of him. “I love her so much Cas, how do I fix this, how do I get her back.”

Cassian placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “I don’t know. But you need to give her time. Let her come back when she’s ready.”

“What if she never comes back Cassian. What if I lose my mate?” Azriel’s voice barely broke through his sobs. He stared down at his hands, the way they shook in his lap.

“I don’t know. And if that happens, then you’ll have to live with it.” Cassian stood, walking towards the door to leave.

“Is she doing okay?” Azriel asked. If he couldn’t see you, he had to know that you were okay.

“As okay as she can be, Lucien is helping her. She’s in good hands.” Cassian spoke, but a sudden realization crossed his face like he said something he shouldn’t have. But before Azriel could ask any more questions Cassian left.

He sat there, anger creeping up, melding with the sadness within him. The thought of you with another male consumed him. He knew he shouldn’t be mad but you are his. You two shared that bond. You aren’t supposed to be taken care of by anyone but him. But then he remembered he hadn’t been around when you needed him, and that’s why you left. Azriel tried focusing on the bond, the one that he realized he had pushed aside, he found it empty, and that sudden burst of anger was gone as quick as a leaf in a gust of wind. The emptiness was painfully numb, it was as though you weren’t a part of him anymore. And he cursed himself for letting you feel that for such a time. Hatred wasn’t a strong enough word to explain what he felt for himself.

The weeks had come and gone, he hadn’t been to training, not once stepped into the house of wind since you left. Rhys came by only to give him assignments, Azriel accepted them, hoping they would distract him from the heartache that permanently sat in his chest. He went through each one as a mindless soldier, it took the pain away for a short time but the second he was back in Velaris the pain came rushing back.

He found himself sitting in front of the fire one weekend when a note appeared in front of him. Rhys was ordering him to a meeting, and as much as he didn’t want to go, he knew his brother would drag him in there if he didn’t show. Azriel didn’t bother fixing his appearance, he left the townhome, opting to walk around Velaris until the meeting started. He didn’t know which way he was going, his gaze stayed on the ground most of the time, he could hear the people he passed curse under their breath as he bumped into them. It was when a familiar scent brushed past him that he stopped walking. Realizing he led himself to your favorite bakery. He remembered those times when he would bring you a pastry in the morning, you would always look so peaceful when you slept, and he was content watching you as dreamed. But the look you had when you saw him always made his heart flutter. It was time he had long forgotten, and now the only thing he can’t forget is that he was the reason why things changed.

He didn’t know why he walked through the bakery door, or why he bought your favorite pastry, maybe it was because it reminded him of his favorite memories, reminded him of you. He found himself outside once more, a green pastry bag in hand.

Azriel made his way to the meeting and when he arrived he didn’t speak to anyone, not even his brothers. He noticed Lucien was in attendance, and when he passed by him your scent slightly radiated off of him. The anger that formed was indescribable. He could see the shadows that swarmed around him, turning him into some sort of dark entity, but when he heard the orders to back down in his head, he reluctantly obeyed, slamming his mental walls back up, staring directly at his brother who sat down across from him.

The meeting went by slowly, but each minute Azriel could only think of you. When people began to leave, that is when he paid attention once more, walking past everyone as he made his way towards Lucien. He could feel the eyes watching him, especially his brothers. He wouldn’t fight the male, he needed to know for sure that you were staying with him.

“Lucien.” He called out. Clenching the bag tighter.

“Azriel. What can I do for you?” Lucien questioned, trying his best to keep his distance from him.

Azriel brought the bag in front of him, pushing it towards Lucien for him to take. “Give these to Y/N please. They’re her favorite.” He paused, trying to keep his emotions from showing. “It was part of a weekend tradition between the two of us.” Azriel’s voice was quiet, and Lucien softly took the bag from his grip.

“Okay. See you around Azriel.” Lucien turned away, disappearing through the doors. Azriel knew where you were, and he knew deep down he should leave you alone, but these past few months he hasn’t been able to think straight, so he made his way to you.

His shadows found the cabin before he even landed, finding Lucien was no where near the building, his shadows only spotting you, and they darted towards you, he pulled them back, stopping them from alerting you of his presence.

He watched you in the garden for just a moment, admiring the beauty that you are. His breath hitched, he had missed you dearly, the way your brow furrowed when you were focused, who you were was a sight to behold, and seeing you here only reminded him of how much he fucked up. He was stuck in his head when he realized his shadows found themselves by your side. He froze as you walked by him. Though he wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you how sorry he was, he couldn’t move his body. Your scent brushed past him, but he called out to you, making you turn to face him.

“What are you doing here Azriel?” You asked, your voice was cold, sharp. It cut through his demeanor like a knife.

“I needed to see you, Y/N. My world has fallen apart without you. I don’t know who I am anymore.” He attempted to move closer to you, but with each step forward that he took, you took one back. And it made his body ache to watch you step away from him. Like you couldn’t stand being touched by him anymore.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to shut me out.” Your voice was calm, he didn’t know why but a part of him wanted you to fight harder. To yell at him “Please leave.” You added.

“Y/N please, don’t push me away.”

“Don’t push you away?” He flinched as your voice was suddenly louder. “I spent months trying to understand why. Wondering if maybe it was my fault you pushed me aside. I always asked myself if I was deserving of love. And maybe I’m not because I lost you. I wasn’t enough to keep myself from being forgotten.”

Azriel was crying now, frantically wiping his tears away, he released a shuddering breath as he inched closer to you. He never meant to make you feel that way, he knows how it feels to be left behind, to be forgotten. Never once did he think he would ever make someone else feel that way. Especially you. “You are deserving of love more than anyone I know, you have always had my heart.”

“Did I though?” Azriel stared at you, his empty eyes searching your face for some sort of answer. “Cause I’m starting to think that I never actually had you at all.”

If the area around him went silent he swore he would be able to hear his heart as it broke. The pain burned through him like a wildfire, but every inch of him felt numb. He dropped to his knees, the strength he once had completely dissipated from his body. He knew you didn’t mean those words to hurt as much as they did, he could see it on your face, but the more they replayed in his head the more he understood how you felt. These last few months he wasn't there, he wasn’t the male you needed. So even though the words you spoke were like a weapon, he deserved it.

He watched as you began crying, Azriel wanted to reach for you, to tell you it was okay. But he couldn’t move, his willpower was reduced to nothing and he truly felt as if he lost you. And when Lucien came rushing over to your side, forced to watch as he touched your cheeks, comforting you in the way he should be, it turned his heart to dust. He should’ve fought, he felt like screaming, but he did nothing except let the tears flow freely down his cheeks as his eyes followed you. Until your figure was hidden behind the door.

He winnowed himself away. Arriving back into the townhome he couldn’t even call home anymore. It was just a building. Without you it was no home.

You had shown him love that he never once thought he would experience, and he took it for granted. Now you were gone and that love the two of you shared, the one he treasured, was becoming a memory. He had lost you, and it hurt like hell.

But yet he could only blame himself.

Taglist: @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @bigcreatorwombatdreamer

#azriel #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #reader insert #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses

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fredwkong · 9 months

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Hey man , I’m your typical good guy , with a good engineering job etc . I’m so tired of it . Can you help me live more of a dangerous thug life ??

"I wish I lived a more dangerous life."

You’re heading out the front door to go to work when the genie walks by. He’s a thuggish guy with a sneer on his face, covered in tattoos. With a flick of his hand, the spell is cast. You feel a sharp pain on your lower belly, and when you pull up your shirt to see, there’s a tattoo there, faded like you got it months ago.

Well, you think to yourself, you never specified how much more dangerous your life would become. You tuck your shirt back in, a bit disappointed.

As you sit down on the bus, you feel another stinging sensation rise up to the base of your pecs. As it does, the fabric of your shirt seems to dissolve until you’re wearing a high crop top. It reveals a tattoo of butterfly wings growing over your chest. As it rises higher, the fabric of your shirt parts and eventually dissolves into nothing.

Some young guy in a suit sitting next to you frowns at your shirtlessness, and you bare your teeth at him. He backs down immediately. Yeah, you can be fucking threatening when you wanna be. Still, he’s kinda cute…

As tattoos of a nebula stretch down your arm, you slowly reach out and put your arm around the guy’s shoulders. At first, he seems confused and disturbed, but he calms at your touch, giving you a goofy grin as his suit dissolves. Tats bloom across his body, and his hair frizzes up with streaks of bright pink through the dark locks. His tongue piercing looks so hot as he lolls his tongue out at you, you just gotta kiss him.

When you step off the bus with your new buddy, the two of you have complementary sets of tattoos and matching shorts. He follows you into the nearest alley and gets on his knees. Like your tattoo says, it won’t suck itself. After you drop a load, the two of you step onto your skateboards and head off to find some more members for the gayest new gang in town.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for.

#answered ask #wish granted #male transformation #mental change #reality change #tattoos tf #infectious tf #male tf #all fwkong

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trigunwritings · 1 year

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hello helloo!! can i request for wolfwood x fem/gender neutral reader please? maybe they both grew up in the same orphanage or knew each other from somewhere and they had a reunion? can be fluffy or smutty or maybe angsty (but with a happy ending please because im a coward 😀). thank you! 🙌

It’s hard not to wince as the cloth is pulled tight around your thigh—still, the moment of pain is worth not losing so much blood and passing out across the floor of this long-forgotten building. Deft hands are quick to tie a knot and keep the makeshift bandages in place, but the motion is not without a soft chuckle of amusement coming from your savior beside you.

“I see you’re not so much of a crybaby anymore,” he says, tone gentle yet prodding in a way you hadn’t heard for a long time. It almost makes your chest hurt a little. “You’d be sobbing at so much as a scratch back then.”

“Well,” you huff, unsure whether to be annoyed or grateful, but eventually deciding on a soft sense of regret. “Everyone has to grow up eventually. After you left the orphanage, it…”

The words trail off. Neither of you try to pick them back up.

Instead, Nicholas simply leans back against the wall, eyes gazing across the dusty room that the two of you had taken shelter within. A sandstorm whipped outside, with winds so strong it made the door rattle and shake.

“…At least the windows are properly sealed,” he murmurs, halfway to himself. You nod silently in agreement and stare down at the bandage wrapped around your leg. Though the bullet missed major arteries and the caliber wasn’t that large, it still hurt like a fire twisting itself around your bones.

Eventually, you lean back against the wall beside him, idly watching as he tugs out a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lights it in one quick motion. The man takes a long, slow drag from it, then pulls it from his lips and holds it in front of you with a smirk.

The urge to swipe at his hand is almost innate, but so is Nicholas’ motion to pull the cigarette back towards him.

“That is a horrible habit to have.”

“And so is breathing in lungfuls of sand every time there’s a wind,” he flicks soft ashes to the floor, “so honestly I think smoking is the least of my worries right now. Everyone’s got a vice.”

“That’s not true!”

The man’s eyes flick towards you from behind his glasses with a lazy gaze amidst a cocky smile that, for a moment, mirrored the memory of a young boy who likened to smoke raw witflax from hollowed out bones and try to hide it from the caretakers.

“Oh, so you mean to tell me that you never hoarded every stuffed toy you came across?”

You narrow your eyes and restrain the need to shove him.

“That’s not the same at all.”

“A vice doesn’t have to be drugs, you know,” he shrugs and flicks the ashes from the end of his cigarette again. “Just something that makes someone a little less miserable on this hellhole. Alcohol, wealth, sex—or exactly twenty-two toys and trinkets kept beneath a loose board under your bed.”

There’s a moment of shock that passes through your mind, but it quickly fades into reluctant acceptance. “Of course you knew about that,” you murmur, heat gently building up across your cheeks. “Listen, we were kids and I just… enjoyed having things I didn’t need to share with anyone.”

“I’m not judging you,” Nicholas says, tone surprisingly stern and soft. “Just pointing out the similarity is all.”

“There is still no similarity between collecting trinkets as a child and chain-smoking through an entire pack of cigarettes in less than a day. It’s already making you look older—you’re gonna start getting wrinkles soon, you know.”

As if to spite you, the man tosses away the stub he’d smoked through and grabs a second from his jacket pocket, then lights it without pause. He takes another long drag from the cigarette and turns his head to offer you a smirk.

“Well lets just see what kills me first; the desert or the smoking.”

It’s meant as a joke. You know that it’s meant as a joke, a jest, just something to prod you like how he would when the two of you were kids. But there’s just something about the notion of losing Nicholas for a second time that just….

You reach out and grab his sleeve before you can stop your mind from asserting the motion. Like a scared child, clutching onto his jacket with an expression that must have looked dire.

“Please don’t say things like that,” you murmur, barely able to meet his eyes. “It’s not funny.”

He’s silent for a few moments. At first you wonder if he’s going to push your hand away—after all, it’s been so long since the two of you had last seen one another, he could have been a different person entirely than the one you once knew. But instead of pushing you away, he slowly reaches his free arm around your shoulders and tugs you against his side.

“I’m not gonna die,” Wolfwood murmurs, breathing in one last puff of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and watching the embers slowly die away.

“…You promise?”

There’s a few seconds of silence. Then two soft, unsure words.

“I promise.”

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood #nicholas d wolfwood #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood #wolfwood drabble #drabble #sfw #sfw drabble #writing #the true secret of any writer for a series completely going off the script from established content: making shit up

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natasha-in-space · 1 year

Text

Safe and Sound

GE!Saeran/gn!reader:

Saeran's love for you was unconditional, just like the promise of happiness you've made to each other in the blooming garden of discord. However, learning to accept that kind of love was not as easy as you thought it would be. While, undeniably, some days were bright and happy... on days like this one, you couldn't help but struggle with your insecurities concerning your relationship.

TW for: feelings of severe insecurity, low self-esteem, depressive thoughts.

There was no doubt in your heart regarding Saeran's feelings for you. No, his love for you was undeniable and unwavering in its affection, even as the warm summer sun would inevitably flow into cold autumn winds and merciless winter storms. After all, after even the harshest of winter comes the comforting warmth of Spring. Such is the rule of all four seasons. And, each new passing season that you've spent by each other's side would only lead to new happy memories for you to look back on and smile as you flip through Saeran's diary whenever he wanted to share his new colorful scribbles with you. The promise of happiness that you two have made to each other all those years ago never faded away with time: it only grew stronger with the soil you've provided through your shared love and patience toward one another even in the darkest of times. Much like nourishing a flower, your love was growing and changing with time.

But... it wasn't Saeran's love that bothered you so much that you barely left the bed throughout the day. The source of your distress was a much more complicated enemy to beat since it was your own mind trying its damnest to make your life as miserable as possible. Some days were better than others. In fact, there were even some days when you felt like you were truly happy: like you could finally see the world for what it truly is, instead of focusing solely on depressing things that would only bring you down. And some days felt like you were living a nightmare. So, like the aftermath of any nightmare, all you could really do was hide yourself away inside of your comfy bed, tucked away in a bundle of blankets and pillows, and hope that it would all pass you soon enough.

You made an effort to shut out and ignore the insecurities and doubts that buzzed inside your head like a swarm of angry wasps, and were determined to destroy the enemy that dares to oppose them. Why did your own brain view its rightful owner as a foe to be tortured like this, you had no idea. But, you had no choice but to deal with it one way or another. Not like you could turn off your own thoughts, even if you wanted to.

It's possible that lying to Saeran was a bad idea rather than relying on him for support during this challenging time. No, it was definitely a bad idea for you to isolate yourself like this, but you did it anyway. You were slowly learning to accept your own shortcomings, to stop punishing yourself for messing up every once in a while, but... today, it seems like all you could do was make one stupid mistake after another. So, you refused to reach out for help, your own isolation serving as a twisted form of self-punishment you were inflicting onto yourself for being so weak-minded. It wasn't healthy, and it wasn't helping you in the slightest.

As you lay there, listening to the clock tick by, you slowly but surely fell into the self-doubt pit that you knew all too well. It was no surprise to you to find Saeran in the center of it all. You hated your mind for twisting the truth like that. However hard you tried to fight it, eventually, you were simply in too deep to get out. These hateful thoughts of yours were like a swamp full of thick tar that would never let you leave unscathed, once you were unlucky enough to fall in. Picking apart every kind word he ever said to you, trying to expose the lies that weren't even there to begin with, convincing yourself that he was just confused... It was painful. You didn't want to do that. You didn't want to do that to Saeran and you didn't want to do that to yourself, either. But, you couldn't help but question this newfound happiness you've found with him by your side.

Did you really... deserve someone as warm and loving as Saeran in your life? Maybe he would have been better off without you and your depressive episodes. After all, he wanted to see the world, to be happy and free... and you were only holding him back from achieving that. What is he getting out of babying you, as if you weren't a full-functioning adult who should be able to take care of themselves just fine? Sure, maybe you did help him sometimes... but, it was all overshadowed by your worst days that he had to withstand by your side.

As you immerse yourself further in the messy blankets, you shut your eyes tightly, helplessly hoping that this pathetic attempt to hide from your cruel thoughts would finally be successful. You hated being confined to your own bed like this, but you hated the idea of getting up even more. On days like these, you tended to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror or... looking at yourself overall, really. Your choices weren't ideal, but you'd much rather spend your day hating your character, rather than your body. So, burying yourself into the blankets up to your nose until you couldn't see much of yourself was the only option that worked best.

It felt like every single thing about you was wrong, both in and out.

But, Saeran viewed you differently. You were his love, his angel, and his promise of happiness. And, even despite your worst traits being at play here, just the thought of his tender smile and soft voice made your chest ache in a much different way than before. You missed him. It felt so silly. You isolated yourself like this on purpose, but here you were, already desperately hoping for him to come in and chase all of your demons away with his warm touch like he always did.

So, so stupid...

As you were about to shed a few tears, the bedroom door swung open, causing you to almost fall out of your bed from shock. Maybe getting so tangled up inside of your blankets wasn't as functional as you initially thought after all. Either way, you were way too embarrassed to show your face, since you didn't have to guess on the identity of this bold intruder of yours. There was only one person in the entire world who could come barging in into your room like this whenever you were having a hard time. Knowing full well how stupid you were behaving, you hid your head under the blanket regardless, staying quiet as the soft pitter-patter of footsteps hurriedly moved closer and closer to you.

Well, 'be careful what you wish for', as they say. Still, if you said you weren't happy to see Saeran close by, you'd be lying. Just knowing he was right there was enough to dull your negative thoughts, albeit slightly. If it wasn't for your inner shame for hiding yourself away from him like this, you would have already nuzzled up close to his chest, seeking the comfort that his closeness would bring you. But... truth is, you felt guilty.

You made a promise to each other that you wouldn't lie about things like that. That you would trust each other to lend a helping hand whenever one of you needed it. And yet, you did exactly the opposite of that. You knew Saeran wouldn't get upset with you for this, but that did not take away your own shame on the matter. Maybe you were being way too harsh on yourself for something terribly small, but you didn't care. It didn't feel right to throw yourself at him for comfort when you were the one who let things get this bad in the first place. It felt fairly selfish even.

You could hear a slight shaky breath from him as he carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, the warm sensation of his palm touching the top of your head that was hidden beneath the blanket making you shiver. Really, you felt even more silly for tearing up at something so insignificant. It wasn't like you to be such a huge crybaby over a small thing like that. It's not like his kindness is something new to you... so why is your chest aching this much?

Caressing your head, Saeran was the first to break the silence between you, not a single hint of anger or disappointment present in his soft voice. "I knew something was wrong... My love, why didn't you tell me?"

You bit your lip, feeling your tears slowly forming an ugly, damp spot on the pillow that you buried your face in. "I told you I was just tired... How did you even know something was wrong? I thought you wanted to plant those tulips you showed me today."

Idiot, what are you saying-?

"I had a feeling that you needed me, and I couldn't stay still, so I rushed to check on you. I'm happy I didn't ignore this bad feeling of mine. I'd hate to know you were suffering all alone like this."

"That sounds like you, haha." You chuckled softly, imagining him dropping everything to run straight to you. It was such a strange phenomenon, this special connection of yours. While you'd like to say you were annoyed by it, it really wasn't true at all. Somehow, by some weird force of nature, you just knew whenever one of you needed someone by their side. It is how you found him by the lake right before his father could do the unthinkable, against all odds stacked against you. And, it's really no surprise to you that it worked in the opposite direction just as much. Truly, it was such a bizarre thing.

But... did you deserve to share such a special connection with someone? This all felt... too good to be true. Too good for someone so dark and bland like you. If you told Saeran this, he wouldn't take it seriously. You didn't know who was right between the two of you. It's hard to figure out the truth when your brain is playing all kinds of cruel tricks to keep you distressed and anxious at all times of the day. And, try as you might to shut out all your emotions in favor of staying rational... It didn't work all the time.

Well... no reason to hold back now. Saeran was already aware that something was wrong, and he would remain by your side until he was confident that you were fine. And, it's not like you wanted him to leave anyway. Call it weakness or clinginess on your part, but you couldn't possibly let go of him now that he was right there for you hold onto.

"I just... I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm fine, you're fine, and everyone else is fine. So... I should be happy, right? I should be bright and cheerful, exploring the world with you. But I... can't. I have no reason to feel so horrible and disgusting, but I still do. And I can't do anything about it! I don't... I don't want to hold you back from your happiness just because I can't even function properly, so... I decided that I should just wait it out on my own this time around. But, heh, as you can see, I can't even do that right." Bitter laughter left your lips in a suffocating burst, being accompanied by a series of hiccups and a new wave of tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. You were glad he couldn't see your face right now. You probably looked really gross, considering that you didn't even leave your bed to freshen up or brush your teeth today. God, you were such a mess. "I don't know what I did to deserve someone so kind and patient like you, but I... I feel like I'm just using you to feel better about myself, and I hate it. I shouldn't be crying like this over nothing and making you pity me. Not when I'm the only one who's at fault here. I don't want to feel like this, Saeran. I... I hate feeling like this. I want to be normal and just- Live my life peacefully. With you. But- But why can't I stop thinking all of these bad things? It's driving me crazy..."

After you released all of this negativity into cohesive words, instead of holding it in until it swallowed you whole, you felt relieved. But, another part of you felt guilty for burdening Saeran with all this pessimistic talk like this. You didn't need to look at him to know that he had a deeply troubled expression on his delicate face. Either way, you didn't try to push him away or deflect what you just said. There was no reason to. His hand momentarily stopped its movement, and you swallowed, feeling the bedsheets shift ever so slightly, as he hunched over you.

The next time he spoke, his voice sounded much closer, making your heart inadvertently skip a beat. "Can I... Can I see you, Y/N? Please. If you don't want to, that's okay, but... you need some fresh air to help you breathe better."

Pursing your lips together, you nodded, clutching the pillow to your chest. You didn't resist as he carefully found his way around the blanket that was wrapped so tightly all around you, you wondered how you even got this tangled up in it in the first place. Finally, after a few awkward movements of your numb limbs, you could feel the weight slipping off of you and fresh air rushing into your lungs.

Wow. He was right. It was definitely way too stuffy in there for you.

Saeran didn't hurry you to get up, but instead sat beside you quietly and gently caressed your back without saying a word while you cried into your pillow. You knew he wanted to say something. The only reason he was so silent is to avoid overwhelming you with his words. As always, he was way too patient with a crumpled mess like you. Either way, his tenderness did motivate you to eventually lift your head up from your scrunched up pillow, sniffling and wiping away at your damp cheeks.

"Do you feel better, my love?" He quietly asked, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. There was nothing but worry in his bright mint eyes.

Your voice was too shakey for your liking from crying, so you nodded again and leant into his warm touch. You did indeed feel better after getting all of this negativity off your chest, as well as getting some fresh air for you to breathe. But... of course, this didn't mean you were feeling okay in any way. You still felt embarrassed and upset about this whole breakdown, and these heavy feelings wouldn't just disappear any time soon.

Saeran gave you a small smile and now fully cupped your cheek, but he didn't go any further than that. So respectful, as always. He sounded so calm and composed amidst your raging emotions that you automatically hang onto his every word, like he was your lifeline. In a way, he truly was. "Good. I'm sure it was painful to keep everything bottled up like that... Do you want us to talk about these feelings you're dealing with right now?"

"I think... I might be too tired for that. But... We can talk about this tomorrow morning. Maybe." You mumbled awkwardly, feeling a bit self-conscious about the prospect of discussing this incident any time soon. Saeran was right, though. You two needed to talk about it, or things would only get worse, not just for you, but for him as well. It was unusual. Accepting someone's love and care like that, as well as being so open with your inner struggles. But, you did want to try. If not for yourself, then for Saeran.

Sniffling the last of your tears away, you did your best to keep your focus on the young man beside you instead of any insecurities still buzzing around inside of your head. "And... I'm sorry. For not telling you anything right away. I should've-"

Before you could finish your thought, he gently kissed your forehead and now his other hand was also cupping your other cheek. All you could do was gasp, feeling your heart pick up the pace from such a lovely gesture. Leaning back, he rested his forehead against your own, steering all of your attention back onto him and him alone. You could see how much he wanted to say: it was all written so clearly on his features in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"There's nothing to apologize for, flower. I know you're not ready for us to talk about this now, but... It's okay to not be okay sometimes. My love for you does not require you to be someone else or do anything you don't want to do. We can figure it out. Not because we have to, but because we want to. I love you as you are, just like you love me as I am. I know it can be hard to believe in that sometimes, especially when all love you've experienced before was conditional... But, we can take it at one step at a time. Together. We have all the time in the world now to love each other and ourselves as we are. And, I'll be by your side on every step of this journey, holding onto your hand tightly whenever you need me. That's what we promised to each other, right?"

You had faith in him in your heart. He wasn’t saying this out of mere pity or any sense of obligation to you... No, those were his earnest thoughts and feelings he decided to share with you on his own accord. It was okay to mess up sometimes, and it was okay to have bad days. Saeran had his low moments just as much as you did, you knew that fact all too well. You never judged him for that. You never judged anyone out of the RFA for having bad days of their own. So, why should he do that to you?

Maybe... you let your inner demons get the better of you today. It's not a good idea to punish yourself for that, though. After all... the thought of you being a burden unworthy of love wasn't planted into your head on its own. It was simply easier to justify the hurt you were given by believing that you deserved it, even if it didn't make any sense in hindsight. It was hard to accept that all the bad things you had to endure happened without any grand reason to them. It didn't feel fair.

"...Thank you. I was in great need of hearing something that." You acknowledged, letting out some of the tension that was still in your system with a deep sigh. It wasn't easy. Some part of you still protested and squirmed deep within your mind: demanding to be heard, urging you to throw away his hopeful reassurance and interpret it as nothing but a lie. But, you did your best to ignore it. Thankfully, now Saeran was right here to hold you in his arms, and he was a hundred times better than even your most favorite blanket.

He appeared to appreciate your response, his smile widening ever so slightly before ultimately pulling away. Although, it wasn't long before his hands took hold of your shaky palms, his fingers interlocking with yours in such a simple, yet lovely way. "I'm happy I could help, my love. Now... why don't I help you take a warm bath? I'm sure you feel exhausted. And, it'll be good for you to eat something."

"That would be lovely, Saeran." You said, slowly but surely gaining some of your former confidence back.

Maybe you'll never get the picture-perfect happy ending you've envisioned for yourself in your daydreams. Maybe you'll never be that ideal version of yourself you were striving so hard to be. Maybe you'll never know for sure whether or not you were on the right path in life at all. But, perhaps, your reality didn't have to be ideal for you to find solace in it. This moment in time wasn't perfect or pretty at all, not from a traditional standpoint. And yet, your chest swelled with a warm, ticklish sensation as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for the water to fill the space and listening to Saeran talk about his day.

Maybe, you didn't need to be perfect to find solace in the little things life offered you, even in the darkest of times.

Even though you had heavy limbs, burning eyes, and a pounding headache to deal with, you found peace, a tired smile slowly appeared on your face. The feeling of Saeran's hands in yours, the sound of his voice, the view of his warm eyes gazing into yours with nothing but care and affection swimming within them... It all felt so imperfectly soothing to you.

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #saeran choi #ge saeran #saeran x reader #ge saeran x reader #tw insecurity #tw low self esteem #tw depressing thoughts #a comfort fic but i really really like how it turned out so decided to post it <3 #also listening to 'safe and sound' made me emotional jftjftht #no thoughts just saeran cupping your face into his hands like you're the most precious thing in the universe

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