#tears on a withered flower x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeonginsleftcheek · 13 days ago

Text

With you, always

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader (implied fem)

genre: fluff, suggestive, pinch of angst

wc: 5.5k

synopsis: you ask your best friend to help you win over your crush.

warnings: college!au, fake dating, best friends to lovers trope, crying, a few kissing scenes and one make out scene

a/n: wanted to try my hand out at a fake dating scenario, hope you like this one🥹🫶🏻

(i also needed something cute and fluffy bcs i had the shittiest week😭)

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

masterlist

Maybe it was an exaggeration, but for Hyunjin today was the most important day of his life.

It had been more than a month since he started gathering the courage to finally confess to his best friend, you.

He was more than nervous, tossing and turning in his bed the night prior, imagining all the scenarios, every single possibility from you falling into his arms to you slapping him and walking away forever.

He couldn't stand the thought of the last option, hoping that even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, maybe you'd still be his best friend cause he really would suck it up for you, just so he can stay by your side.

But Hyunjin was 99% sure you felt the same, and that the 1% was just his own doubts creating negative outcomes in his mind.

You've been best friends for almost five years now, meeting through your mutual friend Changbin who you lived close to and hung out with, inevitably becoming close to Hyunjin too.

Changbin moved away but still kept in touch, leaving Hyunjin and you to bond with each other; going as far as attending the same university.

You've been inseparable since then, there was rarely any moment you didn't spend together.

There was no way you spent so much time with him and didn't come to love him the way he loved you; that's what Hyunjin kept telling himself.

Anyways, you were always so good to him, it must mean something right?

Hyunjin's palms were clammy as he wiped them on his jeans for the nth time today, giving himself the ick for a moment.

He was on the edge, jittery as he kept shifting from foot to foot, waiting for you to arrive so you can go to your classes together.

He had it all planned.

After class he would ask you to meet up in your 'secret place', a bench under a tree near the campus where you two would sit and spend time together, and there he would gift you the painting he had carefully created for you, the beautiful everlasting bouquet of flowers that would never wither just like his love for you.

Then he would tell you how much you mean to him, how he has loved you this whole time... And he didn't know how you'd react, maybe your eyes would tear up, maybe you'd hug him instantly... But he knew it would end with a sweet kiss and Hyunjin asking you to be his.

He got lost in the scenarios he's been making up for weeks, not even noticing that you appeared before him.

"Earth to Hyunjin?" you wave your hand in front of his face and he snaps out of his thoughts, hoping he didn't say anything out loud and accidentally revealed his plan.

"Oh, sorry I'm still asleep." Hyunjin chuckles, his cheeks rosy.

"That's why I got you this." you give him a cup of coffee, holding another cup in your other hand.

"See now, this is why I hang out with you." Hyunjin nods, grabbing the cup from your hand.

Your fingers touch for a moment and he feels electricity run through his body.

"Glad to know you're just using me for coffee." you act annoyed even though you know he's just teasing you.

"And your notes. You're way better at taking them than I am." he says after taking a sip of his beverage, a smug smile spreading on his face.

"That's cause you daydream 24/7, you dork." you nudge him with your shoulder as you start making your way across the campus.

"I do not." Hyunjin pouts.

"Yes, you do. You were literally doing it just now when I came up to you." you poke his side and he jumps a little, letting out a squeak.

"I was just... nevermind. Listen-" Hyunjin starts, swallowing a big lump that's forming in his throat.

You look up at him, your eyes big and curious as you stare into his, making him melt into the ground.

"There's something I want to tell you. Today. I mean, later. Yeah. We can meet up at our spot?"

You notice his voice trembling a little, hoping it's not some bad news.

"Really? I have something I wanna tell you too." you smile wide and Hyunjin's heart starts pounding against his chest.

Did you think of confessing to him too?

"What?" he laughs in disbelief. "About what?"

"Well... Should I just say it? I'm impatient, you know that." your eyes sparkle as you keep looking at Hyunjin, your smile wide and cheeks dusted in pink.

"Yeah." Hyunjin's throat constricts. This is it.

"Okay. Well. Remember Minho? We have a few classes with him?"

Hyunjin frowns. What does Minho have to do with anything?

"Yeah, vaguely. What about him?" he gulps.

"I think I have a crush on him."

And just like that, Hyunjin's ears start ringing as he stands there, feeling like someone just dumped icy water all over him and also smacked him with the bucket for good measure.

"What?" he doesn't want to believe that you just said that.

"Minho, I have a crush on him. Like- it's been there for some time but it was just a little one, I didn't pay attention to it but last weekend I ran into him and we talked, and he was really sweet."

"Is that all that it took for you to develop a crush on him?" Hyunjin's scowl is evident, annoyance written all over his face.

"Hyunjin!" you were taken aback by his tone. "No. It's just- we had a brief conversation and I felt like we had so much in common. I thought you'd be happy for me, you always tease me that I'll die alone if I don't find someone."

Hyunjin can see the confusion and insecurities reflecting in your eyes and his face softens.

He can't be cruel to you, never.

"I- I am happy for you. I just... Need to process."

"Are you jealous?" you smirk. "You'll always be my best friend, Jinnie, you know I'll never replace you."

"Best friend, huh?" Hyunjin scoffs. "Great. I just remembered I gotta go do something." he turns around, muttering under his breath.

"What? Class is about to start, where are you going?" you look at him confusedly as Hyunjin stares at the floor, walking away from you.

"Hyunjin, watch out!" you try to warn him, but it's already too late, his head collides with one of the trees growing in front of the building, the force of it making him fall back down on his butt as he wails loudly, grabbing at his forehead, his coffee spilled by his side.

"This is what I get." he mumbles, his bottom lip trembling as his eyes water.

"You dumbass." you appear by his side in mere seconds. "Let me see."

Hyunjin puts his hands down as you inspect his forehead.

"I think it's gonna be okay." you say, leaning so close to him so he can feel your warmth and smell your shampoo.

"Since when is this tree here?" Hyunjin grunts.

"Since like 60 years ago." you giggle.

Before he can compute what's happening, you grab Hyunjin's face and lean in, pressing your lips on his forehead gently.

How could you do this and not love him?

His eyes water again.

"Oh, don't cry you drama queen. This is like the third time this week that you ran into something with that thick head of yours. By now, I think the tree took more damage than you." you joke, trying to lift the mood up.

Hyunjin chuckles a little, not being able to stay mad at you even though you were driving him crazy in this moment.

"Come on, let's go to class now." you help pull him up, throwing the spilled cup in the trash.

"Here, we can share my coffee." you give him your cup, and Hyunjin shakes his head.

"It's okay."

"Also, what were you going to tell me?" you beam at him and Hyunjin feels like someone has squeezed his heart and lungs.

"Nothing. It's not important." he forces a smile, finding it harder to breathe suddenly.

"Really? Sounded important to me."

"It's not. Forget about it." he says as you walk through the front door.

"Alright, if you say so."

The two of you sit in one of the back rows as always, your eyes immediately searching for Minho, who always sits up front.

It's one of the classes you share with him and you await eagerly to see him, hoping he'd look up and wave at you.

Hyunjin takes out his notebook and pen, trying to act normal even though he feels as if he's been shot right in the chest and his heart is now bleeding out slowly.

He hears you gasp quietly and looks up.

Minho just walked in, dressed in a sleek black shirt and some jeans, looking effortlessly perfect and Hyunjin can see you visibly perk up as you stare at the man with a smile.

You should be looking at Hyunjin like that.

No, Hyunjin shakes his head. He shouldn't be thinking like this, he should be happy for you, he should support you.

After all, that's what best friends do.

You're getting ready to wave, but Minho doesn't even spare a glance your way, his face unreadable as he sits down, talking to some guy that's sitting next to him.

You visibly deflate and Hyunjin feels bad, putting his hand on your shoulder to reassure you.

"I'm sure he'll say hello to you later." Hyunjin says and you nod at him with a sigh.

During the entire lecture, your eyes kept wandering over to Minho while Hyunjin kept his eyes on you, his heart breaking as he watched you falling for someone else right before his eyes.

Why the hell did he wait for so long to tell you how he feels?

Now, he's lost his chance.

Hyunjin slumps back in his seat and decides to actually start taking notes even though he knows he'll end up stealing yours like he always does.

For the last three days you've been gushing about Minho nonstop.

Minho did this, Minho did that, Minho said this, Minho said that. Minho, Minho, Minho.

Hyunjin was already sick of it and imagining that guy actually reciprocating your feelings and becoming your boyfriend was making Hyunjin's stomach churn.

Minho seemed to take some kind of interest in you, at least that's what you thought from the brief conversations you'd have with him in the halls while Hyunjin watched you interact with him, your eyes sparkly and cheeks rosy.

He wanted to smack his own forehead against the wall until it hurts enough so he can forget about the pain he feels on the inside.

But the more Hyunjin observed Minho, it seemed to him that the guy was just being polite to you, answering your questions with a small smile on his face, nodding here and there as you talked.

That was not the face of a man in love, at least that's what Hyunjin believed.

"Minho told me that this shirt really matches my eye color." you're almost jumping around Hyunjin and he rolls his eyes.

"It's ugly."

"Hyunjin!" you smack your best friend's arm and he winces, acting like you just broke his bones.

"What?" he looks at you, his brows furrowed.

"You're jealous, Hyun. Admit it." you smirk, poking his side.

"Am not. Let's just go to class."

"Did you know that Minho's a dancer?" you quip suddenly as the two of you sit down.

"So what? I dance too." Hyunjin answers, taking his notebook out and not sparing you a glance.

He can't bring himself to look at your face while you talk about your crush.

"I know you dance but I didn't know he does too. He told me I could come watch him practice some time." you smile and Hyunjin almost chokes on his breath.

"He w-what?"

"I'm gonna watch him dance." you smirk and Hyunjin shakes his head.

"Whatever. Enjoy."

"Come with me." you grab at his arm and he tries to swat you away.

"I don't want to."

"Come on, pleaseeeeee." you whine, pouting at your best friend as you lean your cheek on his shoulder.

Hyunjin melts when he looks down at you.

"Fine." he sighs.

"Yay!" you quickly kiss his cheek and Hyunjin dies on the inside a little. "You're the best, Jinnie."

"Yeah, yeah, I know I am." he smirks at you while shaking his head.

Hoping somewhere deep inside that this is just a phase.

The very same day, Minho has dance practice and you drag Hyunjin to the dance room to watch.

There are some other dancers there, and some people sitting and watching so the two of you sit down next to them.

Hyunjin takes out his phone and you frown at him.

"Aren't you gonna watch with me?" you ask.

"I don't really care about his dancing. But you go ahead and enjoy." he shrugs.

"Sure." you look at Hyunjin for a few more moments as he concentrates on scrolling, a little sigh escaping your lips.

You're a bit worried since Hyunjin has never acted like this before and you kept wracking your brain, trying to figure out what is going on with him.

The music starts soon and you look up, your eyes falling on Minho.

His dance moves are sharp and on time, executed so smoothly, you've never seen someone dance so perfectly before.

You stare in awe and Hyunjin looks up with an annoyed face, his eyes traveling between the two of you and how flabbergasted you look.

When Minho finishes dancing, you're ready for him to come up to you and talk but instead a guy skips towards him and starts talking with a big smile on his face, his arms flailing around in excitement.

Minho smiles wide, eyes all sparkly and cheeks all rosy, you've never seen him react like that.

"So, what did you think?" you ask Hyunjin, hoping Minho won't just ignore you.

"He's too stiff." Hyunjin mutters, still looking at his phone.

"He totally isn't." you squint your eyes at him before standing up.

Sadly for you, Minho doesn't spare you a glance, quickly leaving the room with the guy who joined him.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" Hyunjin laughs in disbelief.

"Keep your voice down." you pinch his thigh.

"Ow!" he swats your hand away. "There is no way, y/n. I'm not gonna pretend to be your boyfriend."

"Please, Hyun! Who else will I ask? You want me to go to some stranger?!" you almost yell yourself and Hyunjin shushes you.

"What's in it for me?" Hyunjin crosses his arms and leans back.

"Mm, you're helping your lovely best friend?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

"This is crazy." he shakes his head.

"Is that a yes or no?" you beam at him.

"Fine. Fine, I'll be your fake boyfriend." Hyunjin feels like crying and laughing at the same time, the absurdity of his reality was really something.

"Yes! Thank you, Jinnie!" you throw your arms around him and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close, his heart fluttering in his chest.

"I owe you." you mutter into him.

"Damn right you do." he exhales, trying to calm his fast beating heart down.

For some reason, in your mind it made perfect sense.

Minho needed a nudge to make a move on you, and what better way to nudge him than making him jealous?

Hyunjin thought it was the dumbest idea he had ever heard but at this point, he was hoping that through your fake relationship you'd come to realize that he would be the perfect boyfriend for you, not some random guy you talked to a few times.

While he was trying to fall asleep in his bed that night, Hyunjin wondered just how far are you willing to take the lie.

The next morning, while Hyunjin waited for you to arrive like he always did, his heart was beating fast.

He was so nervous about the whole ordeal, not knowing how you'll approach him.

"Jinnie!" you waved slightly with a cup of coffee as soon as you spotted him.

He waved back a bit reluctantly as you beamed at him.

"Morning. Coffee for my handsome boyfriend." you smirked as you gave him his cup.

What the actual fuck?

His legs trembled for a moment and Hyunjin felt like the ground was crumling underneath his feet and pretty soon he'll be joining it.

"Don't say it like that." he freaked out on the inside, hoping he wasn't blushing too hard.

"What? We need to get into character." you smiled, hooking your arm with his and practically dragging him towards the campus.

Oh, you are so going to be the end of him.

"Why can't we just act like we normally do?" Hyunjin whined as you approached the building.

"Because it won't be believeable. We have to act sweet like... like imagine if we were actually dating what would you do?"

You must be crazy, Hyunjin thinks as his lips fall open in shock.

"I'd probably kiss you." he says, half joking and knowing you'd never say yes to something so ludicrous.

"Okay, let's do it." you stand close to him, your hand slipping down to his as you interlace your fingers.

"What?!" Hyunjin yells and you squeeze his hand as a few people look your way.

"Hyunjin. Make it believeable. Come on, kiss me." you nod quickly.

Hyunjin's lips open and close a few times as he searches your face.

"In front of everyone? Shouldn't our first kiss be more intimate?" Hyunjin swallows and that's when your cheeks become rosy.

"They don't know it's our first kiss. Plus it's just pretend so let's do it." you don't know how much your words hurt him but Hyunjin is a fool for you so he nods.

"Okay." he lets go of your hand only to cup your cheek, and for some reason your heartbeat picks up speed.

You chalk it up to not kissing anyone for so long.

It's definitely not because of Hyunjin, right?

His eyes soften as he leans in and you meet him halfway, hearing his breath hitch before your lips finally make contact.

Hyunjin doesn't care why you're kissing him, because in this moment nothing really exists except you and him, the world around you melting away.

His lips are soft against yours, he tastes of coffee and the chocolate croissant he had for breakfast and just so Hyunjin.

It's exactly what you imagined he'd taste like.

Not that you ever thought about kissing your best friend.

You lean back before thoughts consume you and before the kiss can escalate.

Hyunjin feels like you just took his breath away.

"See? It went good." you say, but your voice trembles and your face is red.

"I think that was better than good." Hyunjin pouts but before you can retaliate someone calls out to you.

The two of you turn towards the voice and see Chan, one of your acquaintances from class as he approaches you with a smirk.

"Did you two finally get together?" he asks and Hyunjin coughs as your eyes widen.

"I- yes we did." you answer quickly as Hyunjin tranforms into a frozen tomato next to you.

"Gosh, I'm so happy for you guys. I always knew you were into each other, it was so obvious. Good luck!" Chan throws finger guns your way before running off to class.

His words echo in your mind. You were obvious? What the heck does that mean?

"Let's go to class." you grip Hyunjin's hand and he nods, still stunned by the kiss you shared and what Chan had said.

You sit in your usual spot in the back, Minho arriving a few minutes later and you visibly perk up.

"Quick, put your arm around me!" you startle Hyunjin who was doodling in his notebook but he does exactly what you asked.

His arm wraps around your shoulder and he brings you closer to his body just as Minho looks up your way.

You wave at him and Minho waves back with a smile, his eyes moving to Hyunjin shortly before he turns around and sits down.

"Did you see that? Do you think he looked jealous?" you whisper to your best friend.

"Maybe." Hyunjin shrugs, retracting his arm.

"Maybe?" you whine. "I need a yes not a maybe."

"Give it some time, y/n." Hyunjin is back to doodling.

How is he gonna endure this torture?

As it always was on the weekends, Hyunjin came to your place to hang out.

Usually your roommate was staying with her boyfriend every weekend so you had the apartment all to yourself.

After a good old gossip session and a movie marathon with snacks, Hyunjin and you were still snuggled up in your bed.

You were barely awake now, trying to focus on the third movie in a row while Hyunjin was keeping his eyes only on you.

A small smile danced on his lips as he observed your pouty face, your eyes fighting to stay open as you blinked tiredly, your face illuminated only by the tv.

He scooted closer to you, putting his arm around you and that jolted you from your half asleep state.

"What are you doing?" you asked and he chuckled, leaning his head on your shoulder.

"Getting my cuddles." Hyunjin smirks.

"Who gave you cuddle privileges?" you smirk back, deciding to tease him a little.

"I'm your best friend, of course I get cuddle privileges. Plus, consider it your payment for making me fake-date you." Hyunjin nuzzles into you, making you shiver a little.

"So it's that horrible to date me, hm?" you giggle, some kind of tension washing over you.

"Oh yeah, the absolute worst." Hyunjin jokes and you smack his arm immediately.

"Hey!" you protest and he laughs.

It's quiet for some time, and you close your eyes, your body is suddenly aware of everything.

You're aware of Hyunjin's warmth, his familiar and comforting scent, the way his breath hits your neck, his fluffy hair tickling your cheek, the heaviness of his arm and leg thrown over you and your heart starts beating faster.

You wonder why since this is not the first time Hyunjin and you cuddled, you started this tradition a year ago, it became normal to cuddle every weekend he stayed over.

You suddenly also wondered if that was normal; to cuddle your guy best friend.

You also thought about the kiss the two of you shared, what mostly replayed in your mind wasn't the actual kiss, it was the way Hyunjin looked at you when you parted.

His eyes seemed full of love and affection, he seemed soft and putty in that moment like he really wanted to kiss you, like it meant so much to him.

"Hyunjin?"

"Hm?"

"Can we practice kissing?" your brain just always comes up with great ideas.

Hyunjin freezes, his body stiff against yours.

"What?" he looks up at you with a nervous chuckle.

"So that it's more believeable in public."

He smirks.

"Are you sure it's not because you liked kissing me?" Hyunjin jokes, though on the inside he hopes you'll say yes.

"Shut up!" you whine. "This is just pretend, okay?"

"Sure, if you say so." he stares at you with a grin and you don't know if you would rather slap him or kiss him.

"Go on then." you whisper.

Hyunjin chuckles at your impatience, throwing his head back for a moment as his laughter jostles you.

When he looks back at you, something shifts in his eyes and you swallow the lump in your throat.

He slowly leans in and why are you nervous suddenly?

Hyunjin's lips press against yours and this time you melt as he hovers above you, kissing you gently, his fingers caressing your cheek and tracing your skin.

Your hand comes up to hold the back of his neck and play with his hair which makes Hyunjin press against your lips harder, kissing you with more passion than before.

Your mind is dizzy suddenly, this is nothing like the innocent kiss you shared in public, and something starts stirring up inside you as you drown out the noise of the movie, focusing only on your best friend.

Oh my god, you're making out with your best friend!

That thought crosses your mind just when Hyunjin's big hand ends up on your waist, squeezing a little as his tongue swipes your lip and you hear it in his heavy breathing, how worked up he's getting.

Something inside you ignites when you part your lips, letting him push his tongue inside as he starts gently playing with yours.

You almost quit thinking, your brain feeling foggy as your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull just a little.

It's enough to make Hyunjin groan into you and that snaps you back into reality.

You gasp, suddenly backing away as Hyunjin slowly blinks his eyes open, his face filled with lust and confusion of the sudden stop, his plump lips even more swollen and red after kissing you.

You can't believe he looks so attractive.

"I think we should stop now." you gulp.

"Was it too much?" Hyunjin's voice is raspy and something throbs inside you.

"Yeah."

"You wanted to practice." he adds, his eyes glued to your lips.

You didn't know what to say. Suddenly, you felt so confused about your feelings.

It's not like you never imagined kissing your best friend or being in a relationship with him but it always seemed to you like you would never be able to cross that barrier.

Being Hyunjin's best friend was familiar, comfortable, you didn't want to spoil that.

"What's wrong?" Hyunjin asks, seeing the cogs turning in your head.

"Hyunjin, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Pretending to be my boyfriend." you sit up so he follows.

"Because you asked me to? I wanted to help you." Hyunjin lies through his teeth and you can read it now. It's like everything became clear to you.

"Would you really be happy if I got together with Minho?"

Hyunjin's stomach churns and anything good he felt just moments ago when he was kissing you disappears and is replaced by a feeling of nausea.

He averts his eyes from you, nervously biting on his lip.

"Hyunjin?"

"No. No, I wouldn't be happy." he admits quietly, his eyes trained on his lap, unable to look at you.

"Why?" you ask.

"Why? Why? Is it not obvious, y/n?" he says and your eyes meet.

"I love you, that's why." Hyunjin feels the weight of his hidden feelings finally lifting from his heart.

Your lips tremble as you stare at him in shock.

"Since when?"

"Since forever."

You suddenly get up, the reality of the situation dawning on you.

"You've loved me this whole time? And I never realized? And I asked you to fake date me to make another guy jealous and you- you went with it." your eyes well up with tears. "Oh my god, I am so stupid and insensitive!"

Hyunjin gets up too, quickly wanting to comfort you.

"No, y/n it's okay, I wanted to help you! I mean, if you're happy, I'm happy too even if it's not with me." you can hear the pain in his voice when he says that and your chest hurts.

"I... I don't know what to say."

"It's okay if you don't love me like I love you, I can't force you to feel the same." Hyunjin shakes his head.

"It's not like that... It's just; I need to process all of this." you back away from him as he looks at you, sadness in his eyes.

You can't look at him in that moment.

"Do you want me to leave?" his voice is quiet and small when he asks that.

"Yeah, I need to be alone."

Hyunjin doesn't say anything at first, only grabs his things as you stare at the wall, your brain on overdrive.

"Call me when you're ready to talk." he says and you nod, watching his back as he leaves your room.

As soon as you hear the apartment door close, you break into tears.

How could you've been so blind? Hyunjin was always right next to you, he was your person, your comfort, your best friend.

He did everything to make you happy, even indulging you in dumb requests like this one and now that he told you how he feels, everything started flooding in.

The way he'd hold you, the way he looked at you, the way he blushed when you touched his hand, how he seemed annoyed when you told him about Minho.

You were beating yourself up for being so stupid and hurting him when deep inside you always knew you loved him too.

But now, you were afraid that you'd also hurt Minho if he liked you.

So you decided to test that.

The next morning, Hyunjin was already awake when his alarm rang, a sleepless night behind him filled with tears and scenarios of you not being a part of his life anymore.

He screwed up, confessing like that, in the heat of the moment.

He can't forget your face, how shocked and sad you looked and how you didn't even wanna look at his face.

Hyunjin still waits for you at your meeting spot, hoping you'll arrive with a smile and a cup of coffee like you always do.

But as minutes pass, with a heavy heart, Hyunjin realizes you're not coming so he reluctantly makes his way to class alone.

His heart freezes when he walks into the building and sees you talking to Minho.

Unable to look at that, he quickly walks into class, sitting at his usual spot.

This is a disaster, he thinks.

If he just kept his mouth shut, you'd be here sitting next to him now, joking around and laughing like you always do.

If he'd kept it all in, maybe he'd have just a glimpse of how it would feel to be yours.

Maybe you'd have that sleepover you always do, when you fall asleep in his arms and Hyunjin can pretend you're his.

But you never come into class, even after Minho did, sitting up front at his usual spot, smiling at the boy next to him.

Hyunjin frowns and stands up, quickly making his way out before the class started as he searches for you.

He finds you sitting on one of the benches outside, looking exhausted and sad.

He wants to run to you but instead he decides to approach you slowly.

"Y/n?" he leans down to look at you and you scoff.

"Minho has a boyfriend."

"What?" Hyunjin asks.

"Minho. He's gay. Or whatever. He's dating Jisung. And I'm just so stupid." you frown as Hyunjin takes in the information.

You can hear the laughter bubbling up inside him.

"Go ahead, laugh at my embarassment, I know you want to." you look at him and he does just that.

Hyunjin starts laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation and as you see his cute face becoming red from the laughter, you can't stay serious.

Breaking into giggles yourself, the two of you probably end up looking like a pair of maniacs as you keep laughing.

"You were really barking up the wrong tree." he sits next to you and you smack his arm, making him whine.

"Stop it, at least let some time pass before you start making jokes about this." you pout and he chuckles at you, finding you so endearing at that moment.

Without thinking, Hyunjin tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and you feel your face warm up.

"I'm sorry for dumping all my feelings on you. I didn't wanna make anything awkward and that is not the way I wanted to confess. Actually... I wanted to confess to you that day when you told me about Minho." Hyunjin says.

"Oh my god! When you asked me to meet up? I am double stupid." you groan, smacking your forehead with your palm.

"It's fine. We can be friends, I'll just try to-"

"Hyunjin." you stop him.

"Hm?"

"I love you too. And I'm sorry for not realizing that before and hurting you."

"Oh. Oh!" Hyunjin's eyes are wide. "You feel the same?"

You chuckle at his surprised expression, needing him close so you wrap your arms around his waist, scooting closer to him, your face buried in his chest.

Hyunjin feels relief wash over him as he wraps his arms around you, his hand caressing your head.

"Does this mean you want to be mine?" he asks breathlessly.

"Oh, I always was." you look up at him with a smile and he giggles, his heart beating fast.

"I'm gonna kiss you now." he leans in.

"Please do." you chuckle and he cradles your head in his hand as his lips press gently into yours.

This kiss feels even more special, the confession between you melting through your lips as you taste each other.

"Wanna ditch classes and get some coffee?" you ask when you part.

"With you, always."

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun

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fulloflambing · 1 month ago

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࣪ . ִֶָ๋ KINICH: boyfriend headcanons ♡

pairing: kinich x gn!reader/you banner artist: @/Lion_2929 on twitter/x !! warnings: some hcs apply to canon!au and some in modern!au, nothing all sappy cutie stuff cho's note: triple posting tonight cause i miss him dearly:( this is just yap centered about kinich. might make an nsfw version .. also feel free to tell me other characters you guys want to see wtih this! happy reads :)

his nicknames for you would definitely be: baby, love, princess/prince, angel, pretty/handsome

kinich's love language would definitely be acts of service, and subtle physical touch.

often writes and leaves you love letters, to make up for his struggle in giving you verbal affections :)

big homebody. if he could, he just wants to stay at home with you cuddling, and taking care of the house with you forever ㅠㅠ.

possessive to a certain degree. like he likes to stand behind you when your talking to someone he doesnt know or like until you introduce him or end your conversation

a very composed and gentleman most of the time, but deep inside just wants to be babied by you

when your crying, he would definitely gently cup your face and kiss your eyes and tears away while whispering comforting words to your skin (will write about this. stay tuned hihi)

his kisses are very delicate, but likes to give plenty!!

his favorite spots to kiss you on is your lips, cheek, temples, and hands

finds mundane but spontaneous trips/errands fun! like he'll randomly wake you up at 2am and invite you to drink a quick slushie in 7/11

more of a listener than a speaker

since he's quiet a lot of the time, hes also super observant.

really likes it when you ask for his help or opinion on something

has you keep a vase of flowers he's given you at home, and when he notices that they are slowly withering he'll immediately buy you a new bouquet to replace them with!

ipad kid. he definitely wants to watch 1 hour long documentaries on youtube with you while the both of you eat together

gets jealous easily. you'll know when he suddenly falls quiet during a public setting, or hes suddenly showing more pda

wears a chained necklace with a pendant on him at all times, but usually hidden underneath his shirt. the pendant has a picture of you in it, and he kisses the pendant for goodluck during sports tournaments, busy days, or any other morning!

loves to match discreet accessories/items with you! like matching keychains, shoes, social media bios, or even matching plushies

during arguments, he's the type of person who wants to have their own space for awhile. but! he won't overstay his leave, and he'll tell you when he's going to be okay and when you both can talk it out properly.

will never make you think he hates you or hes planning to break up with you because of a fight. even during misunderstandings, you'll know he still loves you with the way he stays consistent on the way he treats you

loves to get coffee/drinks with you ^^ one of his favorite pass times to do with you

definitely a gamer, and he'll try and teach you how to play his favorite games. if your a gamer, hes more into fighting other people with you than trying to win against you

has trouble being emotionally open to you, but he tries his best

the type to want to isolate and resolve his personal problems on his own, so it means a lot to him if you check up on him

prefers crafting, making and building personalized gifts for you over being you expensive ones (wouldnt deny you if you asked for something expensive! just likes everything made just for you ^^)

when hes busy out, he updates you on the phone with a picture or video and a simple caption. prefers that rather than long text messages

when he has bad days, he likes to come home and just hug you infront of the door for awhile to remind him your still there for him and thats what matters

overall, the type of boyfriend that shows his overwhelming love for you in small, mundane ways.

#genshin impact #kinich x reader #genshin impact kinich #kinich malipo #genshin impact x reader #kinich headcanons #malipo kinich #kinich x you #genshin impact x you

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milkbobatyun · 1 month ago

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a ghost of his past

pairing: dan heng x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: even in his dreams, his past haunts him.

word count: 630

a/n: which clown pulled for dan heng IL just because his design was really pretty? totally not me !! n e ways take this attempt at a dan heng fic.

the gentle, quiet melody of the CD was seeping into the sleeping quarters of the astral express. its inhabitants were deep in sleep. suddenly, with a horrid screech, it halts. an unnerving silence settled over the sleeping quarters. when the disk starts revolving again, a haunting xiaozhou melody sings from the player.

dan heng lies asleep in his bed, where he finds himself in his own dreamscape. a ghost of a figure haunts his, no, dan feng’s dreams.

they stare into his soul with lifeless eyes, silent in their approach.

even without the memories of his past lives, he knew who you were. his lover. or rather, dan feng’s. his gentle, beautiful lover, who offered him unconditional affection, who was always so understanding of him.

you, whose soft hands brushed at his tears when they fell, massaged away the headaches that accompanied the arduous role of being a high elder.

your love story was spread far and wide in the xianzhou. many children and young couples aspired to have such a fantastical and romantic love. the two of you were the envies of all lovers. the citizens watched as their high elder, always so cold and judicial in his mannerisms, would soften and gaze at you with the warmest look in his eyes, how the fearsome dragon elder became but a mere puppy in your presence.

in danheng’s fragmented dreams, short films of your love played before him, reminding him of every tender moment. times where you were his sole supporter and believer. the seconds of eternity where you would sneak into his office, a boxed lunch, fresh from the stove, cradled in your hands.

the dreams were bright and warm, like the soft touch of spring, flowers booming in his chest.

the fragile flowers, their buds just beginning to bloom, are swallowed by the cold touch of frost, the lively blooms blackening and withering.

in danheng’s fragmented nightmares, he caught glimpses of your demise. your warped screams echo in his mind, bloody hands clawing at the hem of his coat. he hears your voice, begging for mercy.

the nightmares were cold and lonely, like ice seeping into his veins, cutting into his soul and heart.

as he dreams, blade’s voice echoes in his mind.

“you always knew the price better than any of us.” he hissed, his voice a serpent’s hiss, slithering in his thoughts. “that’s why you sacrificed her.”

“you killed her, for the sake of your planet.” blade taunted, his laugh grating in danheng’s ear. “YOU KILLED HER, WITH YOUR OWN TWO HANDS.”

dan heng squeezed his eyes shut, the blackness of his dreamscape pressing in on him, suffocating him. he covered his ears with his hands, tugging and clawing at his hair, to get your echoing screams out of his mind.

he felt a warm liquid running between his fingers. dan heng held his trembling hands in front of him, watching as blood stained his hands, the bloody spear gripped with shaking fingers.

kneeling by his feet was your lifeless body, a bloody hole where your heart should be. your eyes are fixed ahead, mouth contorting into words that cut his heart deeper than any sword.

“dan feng. how could you.” you breathed, eyes swimming with hurt. “i thought you loved me.”

with a start, dan heng woke from his dreams. the xianzhou lullaby ceases.

drawing his knees up to his chest, dan heng presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“spare me, please,” dan heng pleads to the empty room. “let me forget my past.”

no one responds, but in the depths of his mind, he seems to hear a soft whisper.

“i’m sorry…please don’t forget me.”

the room was silent, but the weight of his past lay burdened on dan heng’s mind.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

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shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

Text

Living In Color

Azriel x Reader

based on this ask

Summary: After losing everything in the war, you struggle to find the joy in life - until you start having dreams of scarred hands that inspire you to pursue art again.

Warnings: mentions of war, death, trauma/depression

Days blurred together, the dim sunlight that dared to show through the cracks in your window curtains the only sign that time was passing in the outside world. The faelights never turned on in your apartment, food turning stale as you willed your body to shut down, just as your mind had ever since the war.

Everyone was gone. Your mother, father, brother, friends. All were lost to battle - innocent people, gone from this world, and you were left alone to pick up the pieces.

You were once an artist, your favorite subjects to paint being your family and friends. The paintings of their joyful faces surrounded you in your home before you tore them all down, hiding them away in the dark as you did yourself.

You stared at your hands. Hands that were once consistently covered in the bright colors of your paints, now dry and cracked from lack of care. Hands that once created beautiful art and brought joy to yourself and others, now withering away with your heart.

Tears soaked your pillow as you cried yourself to sleep, as you had every night for months. You braced yourself for your usual dreams, the nightmares that haunted you of your mother’s lifeless eyes, your brother’s last words - but they didn’t come.

That night, you dreamt of hands. They were damaged hands, like your own, but they were covered in scars. You didn’t see who they belonged to, but the hands held yours in their own, a soft, gentle touch despite their appearance.

It was the first night you had slept through in weeks, and you managed that day to take a bath. You looked at your own hands in the tub, holding one in the other as gently as the ones from your dreams held you. It was shocking, to feel that you were still capable of such tenderness. That night, you found oils to rub on your hands, soothing the dry cracks before you fell asleep.

Your dreams were, again, filled with those beautiful scarred hands. Tonight, they offered you a flower - a bright yellow daffodil, vibrant like your favorite sweater.

The dreams continued - those hands sometimes bringing you flowers, holding your hands, brushing softly against your cheek. One night, they handed you a paint brush. You jerked awake, tears streaming down your face as you ran through your apartment, turning on every faelight as you opened the door to your closet. You pulled out every painting, the bright faces of people you loved and missed smiling at you through your memories of them.

Something snapped inside of you as you looked at the picture of your mother. You had missed her face so dearly, having only seen it through your nightmares. By hiding the joyful moments, you had only remembered those that haunted you.

As the sun rose that day, you opened up the curtains and let the light in. Pulling on your favorite yellow sweater, you set off towards the art studio that had opened down the road, ready to live in color.

Thanking the woman at the front counter, you borrowed paints and took a spot at an easel. As you stared at the blank canvas, it occurred to you that the idea of painting the people you missed was much easier in thought. You stared down at your yellow sweater, tears threatening to spill as you felt more and more like an imposter. Someone trying to be who you once were, and as much as you wished to be that person again, you knew you never could. Letting out a shaky sigh, you looked for your bag, ready to leave the studio when a voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Having trouble with inspiration?” a sweet voice, like silver bells sounded from behind you. You turned over your shoulder to see the High Lady of the Night Court behind you. Eyes wide, you fumbled for an answer while she smiled softly at you. “My name is Feyre,” she greeted, a tattooed hand reaching for yours.

You took her hand, feeling its softness against your own as you introduced yourself, and it clicked. “Actually, I think I’ve just found my inspiration.”

You eagerly reached for your paints, mixing the colors together in a vibrant yellow, a golden brown, cobalt blue - and painted the hand that gave you the daffodil.

You returned to the studio, day after day painting the hands from your dreams. Your inspiration. The hands that brought color back into your life. These were hands that were scarred, the hands of someone who had been hurt like you had, yet still reached out, still brought light and softness to the world.

Slowly, you began feeling like yourself again. You saw the bright colors of the rainbow, the twinkle of the stars against the night sky. When a child accidentally flicked paint on your favorite blue dress while you painted, you laughed for the first time in ages.

The small boy apologized, his tiny wings tucking in behind him as he gaped at the paint that covered your dress. Feyre ran up behind him, swooping the little tike into her arms as she took in your appearance. “Oh gods, I am so sorry. Nyx, did you apologize to the nice lady?”

You waved her off, giggling as you stood and twirled in your dress. “Actually, Nyx, I think this dress looks even more beautiful now with this extra splash of color.”

The boy giggled, his mother ruffling his onyx locks as she set him down to run back to his painting station. “I really am sorry. I can fix that for you, or replace the dress,” Feyre insisted.

You smiled at her, a true smile at her kindness - something you hadn’t realized how desperately you needed. Adjusting the ribbon in your hair, you shook your head. “Really, I like the splash of purple against the blue. I could use more color in my life,” you promised.

Feyre seemed genuinely surprised and pleased by your reaction, her gaze flicking to your easel, where the latest portrait of those scarred hands rested. She looked around your station, taking in all of the paintings. Dozens of them were set around, and you suddenly found yourself bashful.

“May I ask about your paintings? They’re beautiful. You seem quite inspired by hands.” She spoke in a casual tone, but you had the sense that there was something more to her question.

Nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you shifted your weight from one foot to another. “I struggled, for a long time... after the war.” You swallowed, a pregnant pause filling the air as she waited for you to continue. “I used to paint a lot, but I couldn’t bring myself to for a long time. Until a few weeks ago, I started dreaming of these hands.”

Your gaze flicked to Feyre’s expecting confusion or judgment, but her gray-blue eyes sparkled as she nodded in understanding. You smiled slightly, continuing. “I felt as though I was too damaged to create like I used to, but these hands... It felt like a message from the Mother, or some other force, maybe. That even though I’ve experienced such darkness, I can still create light. That my darkness might even make my colors brighter.”

A small yelp escaped your lips as the High Lady pulled you in for a hug. “Thank you for sharing your story with me,” she murmured, her head dipped into your shoulder. Shakily, you dared your hands to move, reciprocating Feyre’s hug, and a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “How would you like to join me for some tea?”

You nodded, willing back the tears that threatened at the simple kindness. Feyre led the way out of the studio, Nyx taking your hand as he tugged you towards the tea shop, babbling about the hot chocolate he wanted. You giggled at the little boy, a loose curl falling in your eyes as he pulled you into a chair outside the cafe. “Uncle Azzy!” the child shouted, and you brushed the hair out of your eyes to find the most striking hazel ones staring back at you.

Something tightened in your chest at the sight of the striking Illyrian male in front of you, his golden-brown skin and dark features somehow familiar to you. His eyes fluttered for a moment, seemingly shocked by something before he caught his breath.

“Um, pleased to meet you. I’m Azriel,” the name spilling like a song as he reached out to you in greeting. You looked down at the outstretched hand, a spark flaring in your chest at the sight of his scars.

You gasped, grabbing his hand like a lifeline as you flipped it over, running your fingertips along the beautiful scars. Azriel was frozen in shock, unmoving as you gaped at his beauty, never releasing his hand as a tear fell down your cheek. Your eyes locked with his as you whispered, “you are so beautiful.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, an adorable blush creeping over his cheeks at your comment. A bell sounded from the side, drawing the two of you out of your moment. Eyes flicked to the door where Feyre stood with your drinks, a smirk on her face as she handed Nyx his hot chocolate.

“I thought you two might hit it off,” the High Lady said through a bright smile. “Here, Az. I got you a tea too. Oh, and I forgot - Nyx, we have to go home. But the two of you should enjoy your drinks together!” With that, Feyre winnowed away and left you with the literal male of your dreams in front of you.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Azriel ran a hand through his wavy black hair as he looked down at your bright, paint-splattered dress. “So, you paint?”

You laughed, that golden thread between you pulled taught at the sound. “I used to a lot more.” Glancing down at his hands, you smiled. “I’m just getting back into it.”

No, you would never be the person you were before. But as you stared at the shadows that swirled your mate - the darkness who brought you back to the light - you were proud of the person you were becoming.

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aliidarling · 4 months ago

Note

I'm inlove with your writingg!😭

Danny with a fem!reader that cries very easily? Sfw and Nsfw please!

crybaby

DANNY JOHNSON x fem!reader

nsfw content — pls scroll if uncomfortable

summary; danny is very rough during naughty time… but he always makes sure to patch you up afterwards!

warnings; mean danny, rough sex, lil bit of feelings, confusing danny, aftercare, lil bit of blood, steve slander as always

i’m so sorry this took like a month i’ve been dying this past summer

danny doesn’t like hurting you. he doesn’t like to see blood splattered across your porcelain skin or see your face scrunched up in pain. it hurts him more then anything, even if he’s the supposed psychopath in this relationship.

but that doesn’t stop him from having his playtime with you. even if he claims he hates to see you crying, he eats those words each time he fucks you. fucking you was one of his favorite hobbies other then chasing down survivors and making their lives a hell.

pinning you down underneath him while shoving your face into a pillow was routine at this point, pulling down your pants and delivering a few quick swats to your heat. your sharp whimpers and squirms were always amusing to him, how you thought you could make him baby you with your puppy eyes and little cries..

well, you were right half the time. his heart melts each time you let out one of your infamous mewls, squirming as he pushes his cock impossibly deeper, rubbing his fat tip against your inner walls. the groan that leaves his throat is guttural, barely audible with how loud your moans were. you were definitely a crybaby, he notes. but he’s used to it at this point, he’s even starting to find it more arousing then anything.

“shhh,” he shushes meanly as he pushes forward again, his hands gripping the bed sheets by your side, his chest pressing against your back firmly. your skin is warm against his. so soft and delicate, he thinks, he can’t afford to hurt you more then he already has.

with a soft hum he bucks another harsh thrust into your pussy, your body jolting in response. you press your face down into the pillow more, eyes rolling back with tears welling at the sensation overwhelming your shaking body.

“what’s wrong?” he chuckles darkly as you shake beneath him, delicate like a flower, tainted and withering from his corruption. he swore you weren’t as much of a crybaby before you met him. did he ruin you? crack you open? you’re different now.

“d-danny, s’too— aah! ga— d—danny!” you stammer over your words like an idiot, words tumbling off your tongue in every way other then smoothly. you could taste your salty tears in your mouth now, reminding you how pathetic you were as he kept holding you down. like a toy. was that all you were to him? a stress reliever? he was so mean to you at times you questioned if he thought of you as anything more valuable then a cheap toy.

“stop crying, jeez.” he huffs lowly. he groans into your ear and batters your insides for a few more minutes before he eventually releases his seed inside you, painting your insides white, a not so gentle reminder on who you belong to. he keeps your hole nice and stuffed, you keep him nice and happy, it’s a fair deal.

“alright, alright.” a small grumble leaves him as he pulls his cock out from you with a small his, his seed leaking from your hole. he glances down and cringes subtly at the sight of your puffy lips and a tiny bit of blood mixing in with the white essence. did he really go that hard on you? he knew you were delicate but didn’t know *this* delicate.

“augh, doll, m’sorry.” he mutters quietly, his scarred hands gently turning you over onto your back. he uses these hands to stab and kill, yet he’s trying so hard to be gentle with you. he doesn’t know why, you’re nothing more then a body for him.

his movements are hesitant and careful as he cleans you up, small praises and sweet nothings slipping out of his mouth as easily as the curses and threats he tells his victims. hes so used to screaming and threatening others it feels unnatural to comfort you. unnatural but not unwelcome.

“see, there we go.” he coos. warm palms press against your cheeks and give them a small pat. you feel a tiny kiss to your forehead as you doze off, little sniffles still escaping you. “sweet dreams, my lil’ crybaby.” his tone is almost sickeningly sweet.

he’d never admit how much he actually cares for you.

#ghostface #danny johnson x reader #ghostface smut #dead by daylight #ghost face x reader #danny johnson

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jungaji · 9 days ago

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calla ❀˖°

boyfriend!jisung x composer gn!reader ♡

genre: comfort

calla, someone said that your time will be over soon

jisung watches silently as you flip through your music sheets again, your eyes distant, and fingers trembling. the weight of the notes scribbled across the pages being too much to bear, too heavy to carry.

"i can't do this anymore, sung," you murmur, voice brittle and fragile, much like a withering flower.

he doesn't respond immediately, letting your words hang in the quiet studio. his heart aches as he takes in the sight of your broken form—hair a chaotic mess, your favorite sweater wrinkled from days of wear, and dark shadows under your eyes from sleepless nights and tears that never seemed to end.

he's never seen you like this before, and it scares him.

it hurts him.

but calla, you can always grow back, oh

"my love," he says softly, hands reaching up to soothe your head, gently combing through your hair, smoothing the unruly strands that stick out.

you lean into his touch instinctively, finding comfort in the warmth of his hands, but your eyes remain fixed on the crumpled sheets in your lap. the music notes and lyrics blurring together, a cruel reminder of everything you think you've failed at.

he kneels beside you, gaze never leaving your fragile form and gently pries the crumpled pages from your hands.

you make a weak attempt to snatch them back, but jisung's grip is firm as his eyes meet yours—soft and filled with an unwavering warmth that cracks open the walls you've built around yourself.

"these notes aren't failures," he starts, his tone steady. "you're not a failure."

"but what if i am?" you whisper, voice cracking as tears start to well up in your eyes again.

"what if i'll never be able to write a song again?"

at your words, jisung's heart clenches, the weight of your pain pressing down on him. it frustrates him to see you like this—struggling and unsure, as if the spark that once burned so brightly in your heart has been put out.

if you don't have enough sunlight,

you used to live for composing. music called out to you in a way no one could understand. it was the love of your life—something jisung used to complain about, how you seemed to love your music more than you loved him.

but despite his endless complaints, jisung never resented it. he always supported you, loved seeing your passion for music, even if it meant he had to lose you to the studio sometimes.

gently, he pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as his voice softens, "don't say that," he murmurs against your hair. "you have so much to give, my love. you don't have to see it all right now. you're not meant to have everything figured out at once."

hearing his words, you bury your face in his chest, trembling as your emotions flood through you. the ache in your chest feels endless, and the doubts eat away at you like an unforgiving tide.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, cupping your face in his hands. "i'm here," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "c'mon, we'll get through this. one note at a time."

i'll blow the clouds away, calla

jisung keeps you close, his steady warmth grounding you, and only when your sobs quiet into soft hiccups does he speaks again, his voice low and soothing. "do you trust me?"

you hesitate for awhile, thoughts still clouded with uncertainty, but you eventually nod against him.

he smiles softly, brushing away the tear-streaked hair from your face before reaching for the forgotten music sheets, picking up a pen and scribbling something in big block letters across the page.

curious, you sneak a glance at the page, reading the sentence: MARK'S HAD BAD DAYS TOO.

you blink a few times, re-reading the sentence and processing the absurdity, before bursting out into a fit of giggles. jisung joins, both your laughters filling the studio and pulling you back from the edge of your despair.

"what?!" he teases, grin widening as he watches you giggle. "it's true! mark's had bad days and he still wrote, like, 200 songs."

"you and your admiration for mark..." you tease, wiping the last of your tears away.

he watches you adoringly, gaze soft with nothing but affection in his eyes. "but i admire you the most. you know that right?" the sincerity in his voice settling deep in your heart, almost like a soft embrace that promises everything will be okay.

"i know," you whisper, squeezing his hand softly. "thank you for being here, sung."

authors note: dedicated to anybody who has been struggling/overwhelmed with their work! we can get through this together, ily <3 also happy belated birthday to my lele pie (i will write for you soon... one day...)

taglist ♡: @ldh0000 @haechyuckan

#nct #nct dream #nct jisung #park jisung #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #park jisung imagines #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #park jisung fluff #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles #park jisung drabbles #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #park jisung scenarios #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #park jisung x reader

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

Text

Is It Over Now? | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader ; (hinted) Frank Castle x Reader ; Elektra Natchios x Matt Murdock

Summary: Matt cheated on you, and you are trying to navigate through it.

Warnings: Angst, no happy ending, break-up, mention of cheating, song references (Taylor Swift), inspired by 'Is It Over Now?', (some) Matt "slander", (somewhat) suicidal thoughts, alcohol consumptions, hint at smut

Word Count: 1.7k

A/n: 1989 TV came out and I am losing my shit. Is It Over Now? Is my new favorite song and I just had a brain fart that made this. You can read this if you're a Swiftie and catch the references or just read it without listening to the song. It works either way.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

To be fair, there was a time when you thought it would never end. The thought of ever having a last kiss with him would have killed you back then.

He told you that you were the love of his life. You believed him. He was yours, certainly. You can’t deny that.

You were happy, you laughed and cried together, and part of you figured that if you ever broke up, you would find a way to work through it somehow.

Maybe in another universe, you are still together. Maybe in another universe, you two are still friends. Maybe in another universe, you never had to lose each other.

In this reality though—in this brutal, unforgivable reality—everything changed in a matter of a day. And there is nothing you can do about it now.

Your flower was withering in secret, and you didn’t realize what it was doing to you. Every time you woke up alone, every canceled date, every time he called you and told you he wouldn’t make it home tonight, it was sure to build up to this.

But this, whatever the hell this is, it hurts beyond compare.

He said you were a rose, but now that you look in the mirror, you only see a rotten mess.

The past few months have done this to you. He has done this to you. The paper airplanes crashed and burned. There is nothing left but pure bitterness and this hatred you have toward yourself and him; you just want to land your fist in his face, and then maybe your own because how could he hurt you like that after making you love him so very much?

You loved him so much, but now you doubt he ever loved you back.

Date after date, coffee after coffee, nights spent together on his couch and in his bed, sharing laughter, sharing tears, it all feels like a hoax now.

You held him when he was unconscious, stitched him up and told him he was going to be okay. Where was he when you were bleeding out from your own battles? You wonder.

His smile used to be your safe haven, the epitome of innocence and strength, but now it only makes you angry. It makes you resent him. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, but you still do.

So much has changed, and all it took was one day.

One day.

Three hundred days, all wasted in one.

If you think about it, you spent almost an entire year attached to each other’s side. You moved in together. You kissed, you had sex, you shared secrets you wouldn’t have told anyone else. You helped him hide away from the world, from his enemies, made the world go quiet, and comforted him while he cried. You waited up, you worried, and you almost lost him more times than you can count, and you still stayed.

When no one else would take a chance on him, when he felt everyone was against him and going to leave him, you acted as his rock. You stayed.

You thought he was the one.

And then it just… ended.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt when you found her in his dress shirt on his leather couch. The very same couch you two often shared passionate nights on, but at the same time it used to be a symbol of so much more than that.

You let him explain. He explained that she got seriously hurt after showing up out of nowhere, and he just wanted to help without putting you at risk. You believed him because that is the kind of man he was in your head. He was going through some things, things you couldn’t possibly understand, and she was the connection. You tried to understand. In the process of understanding him though, you lost yourself.

That is something you will never forgive him for. Making you care, making you love him, and unintentionally making you give up on yourself while he continued to break your heart.

You never wanted this to end, never wanted him to go, but in the end, it was the only way. Sticking around wasn’t an option anymore, you have to remind yourself.

He did the one thing he promised he would never do. He broke your heart and your trust into a million pieces that you are now left to pick up on your own.

You didn’t want to see it before. You were too in love to open your eyes.

He wouldn’t do such a thing, right? You remember repeating that to yourself, to your friends, to Foggy and Karen, but Karen saw him with her, too, and she gave you little hope.

Still, you believed in him. You believed in his morale and his faith. You had faith in him, not even in God but in him and the man he pretended to be—and somehow, he still picked up the knife when you weren’t looking and buried it in your back.

There were so many signs, but you were blind. So many flashing lights. Red flags. Screaming voices in the back of your head begging you to think. You were in a forest full of trees, yet you saw nothing.

When you came home to find his lips on hers, that’s when you knew. Too little, too late.

He called your name. He told you, “This isn’t what it looks like!” But you lost count of the times he used the same line in relation to her.

To anything, really. He always knew how to talk his way out of something when you were together, although back then, it was mostly harmless.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. “And you turned right back around and fucked her!”

“It was just a kiss,” he argued.

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No,” Matt was adamant because he could hear your heart breaking.

The way you spoke to him was so eerily quiet. That was how he knew he lost you, and he tried to fix it with nothing but his hands.

But that is not how you fix a broken vase. That’s how you make it worse and hurt yourself in the process.

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No. Fuck you, Matt!”

You tore the necklace with his initial off your neck and tossed it at his feet. You couldn’t even look at it. You wonder what happened to it after he picked it up.

“I trusted you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I was there when no one else was, and this is how you repay me?” you said.

You should have never let him fool you.

At least you had the decency to keep your lonely nights to yourself.

“Sweetheart, please,” Matt tried to beg again.

You wouldn’t let him. Thank God you were strong enough to withstand the tears in his eyes.

“You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock,” was one of the last things you said to him. “I wish we’d never met.”

Three hundred days. You fell in love. You finally knew what love felt like, and then…then he turned around and fucked it all up.

“We’re done.”

Some days, you still regret it, but if it was so easy for him to toss all this time together down the drain, he probably wasn’t worth it.

But God, you were so in love.

Sweet nothings whispered in your ear are gone now. You’re all alone in your bed. No one to cuddle, no one to touch. It has been a while since you heard someone say, “I love you,” and mean it. You felt loved until you didn’t. Until the life he led ate him up.

Instead of talking, instead of fighting with you, he drove you into a tree. A car that didn’t need sight, and still he crashed. It was winter then, the snow painted red by the blood of your broken heart. Your favorite dress torn up as you tried to escape. He reached for you the same way you reached for him, but you weren’t there. And he wasn’t there when you needed him most.

Part of you feels bad. You could have worked through this if he hadn’t kissed her. Or maybe you wouldn’t have. In the end, it killed you. It killed him.

You killed each other.

Though there are still days when you think about jumping off of very high somethings just to get his attention. Just for him to see you. To come to rescue you. It is a hurtful and selfish thought. Yet, you can’t help it.

He was your first true love.

Your mind keeps repeating the same sentence: It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he told you once.

He searched for something greater in the bed of someone he loved before. You weren’t his first love. You should have known he would say that and not mean it.

But when exactly did you go wrong?

Was it over when he stopped coming home at night? Was it over when he forgot your anniversary? Was it over when he canceled your birthday dinner? Or was it over when he shoved his throat down his ex-girlfriend’s throat in front of you and acted as if it didn’t matter? Was it over then?

“Another one for the lady,” a voice pipes up beside you.

Your empty glass of tequila disappears, now replaced by a full one. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger.

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He sits down next to you. “You look miserable.”

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand with a mention of your name.

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

Broken people make bad decisions, but whether it was over when he took her right there on his couch, or it was over when you told him it was doesn’t matter.

It is over now, and all you want to do is forget.

You need to forget Matt Murdock.

And if this stranger called Frank needs to unbutton your blouse to help you do so, you will gladly follow him home.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @ravenclaw617

(also, I keep tagging you in stuff, but I also think you might like this @blackshadowswriter)

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #daredevil x reader #daredevil angst #angst #no happy ending #songfic #is it over now by taylor swift #elektra natchios #frank castle #frank castle x reader #x gender neutral reader #elektra natchios x matt murdock #cheating trope #lizzi writes #charlie cox #matt murdock imagines

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prythianpages · 3 months ago

Text

Into the Dark | Eris

Eris x Chaos Witch Reader | Summary: You have a vow to uphold but time is clicking. The darkness that lurks within threatens to take over you but Eris uses the magic of your bargain and bond to bring you back to him.

Day 1 of @erisweekofficial for bargains/bonds

warnings: brief mentions of small injuries (cuts) and death

a/n: This was originally supposed to be posted along with my other witch series but 3K words is too long to be considered a drabble so I decided to post it on its own. I had hoped to post an intro/prologue for this series first but I really wanted to post something for Eris week so I hope this makes sense. If not, then I'm so sorry and hope this can be read as a stand alone for now.

Whispers in the wind stir violently among the Autumn trees, sending leaves spiraling to their fated downfall. A shiver runs up your spine as the wind’s cold fingers grip you, goosebumps rising in a wave over your skin, threatening to burrow into your very bones. The whispers are not just furious—they are vengeful.

A storm of voices lashing at you.

Your heart hammers madly against your chest as your legs move on their own, driven by those whispers. The moon casts its silver light upon you but tonight, it offers no comfort. There’s something dark, something wicked awakening from somewhere deep inside.

Branches claw at your exposed arms and ankles, tearing into your flesh. But your feet keep moving. Relentless, unstoppable. Even as your vision blurs and your mind drowns in the chilling darkness. You don’t need to see where you’re going—you can feel it.

It’s like a pull deep within. You can feel the gloom looming ahead. The despair, the anguish. With each step, that pull grows stronger, the wind grows colder. It brushes against your skin, tangling in your hair. The trouble stirring in your chest harmonizes with the whispers carried in the howling wind, threatening to pull you down with them.

“Please.” You find yourself whispering–begging.

“We need you.” The wind whispers in protest.

Your steps falter, and as you blink to clear your vision, a cold dread settles in your chest.

The sight before you is almost unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the place that once thrived with life and vibrant energy. Now, it lies shrouded in darkness, a harrowing shadow of its former self. The autumn flowers, once bright and full of life, wither on their stems, their colors drained. The trees nearby are twisted and gnarled, their ashen branches sagging under the weight of despair.

There were no fireflies fluttering about, no chirping of cricket or night birds. No sign of life. Only death.

It’s eerily silent for a moment until the wind picks up again and the mournful wail of the wind reaches your ears. It sings a song of fury, of vengeful mourning. A lament for what has been lost–what has been wrongfully taken.

At the heart of it all, where a great and magnificent tree once stood proudly, there is now only a void. This was no ordinary tree.

It was the tree of wisdom–the Mnemosyne. It bore magical apples that glowed softly, their surfaces a mesmerizing blend of ruby and gold. Your father had told you stories of it growing up and when you began to practice witchcraft, Deirdre showed it to you.

Deirdre had been your mentor. For many centuries, she had guarded the tree. Sworn to protect it with her life and she took that vow gravely, upheld it until her last breath…

And now, by a wicked strum of fate, it was your turn to protect the Mnemosyne.

But you found yourself in a more precarious situation than your predecessors. High Lord Beron, in a ruthless display of his power, had uprooted the tree and taken it from its sacred grove. Its roots, once intertwined with the ancient magics of the forest, had been severed. Where Beron had taken it, and what he planned to do with the Mnemosyne, was still unknown to you, but by the lengths he had gone to take it, you could only assume his intentions were far from pure.

Returning the Mnemosyne to its rightful home was of the utmost importance. The longer it remained away from the forest, the greater the risk that its memories, and the history it held, would wither and fade. Entire centuries of knowledge could be lost—forgotten forever. The thought chilled your blood, filling you with an overwhelming unease.

You had to bring this tree back and restore peace to this forest. Even if it cost you the same price it cost Deirdre. Death was a stranger but not one you feared. It was oblivion you feared. To lose the very essence of yourself. It’s why you refused to let the wicked darkness that lives in you take over. You feared it’d consume you whole.

So Eris Vanserra it was.

Desperate times had called for desperate measures. You found yourself striking a bargain with Eris Vanserra, Beron’s eldest son. Eris, with his sharp eyes and sharper tongue, had always been a figure of suspicion and intrigue. His loyalty to Beron was unclear, but his cunning and ambition were undeniable.

Never had you imagined seeking his help. Caught in a delicate dance of mistrust and shared ambition, the bargain was the only way to ensure your safety. That was, until fate played a merciless hand and those strings of fate tethered your soul to his…

A mating bond.

It snapped into place like a steel trap, the golden threads appearing the moment your life teetered on the edge of danger. There had been no warning. Only a sudden, fierce tug that anchored your soul to his. One heartbeat you were fighting for survival, and in the next, you felt the bond latch onto you. Irrevocable and final.

You should thank The Cauldron—it did save your life, after all—but at what cost?

You’d worry about it later. At the very least, the invisible chain that bound your fates together strengthened the bargain you made. A mutual safety net. If you died, a part of him died too. Any loophole of betrayal the two of you had planned had been immediately forfeited the moment the bond snapped.

Because yes, he had promised to help you with the Mnemosyne tree and you had promised to help rid Autumn of Beron. A win-win situation for you both. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t coax him with one of your potions, poison his mind as you’ve done with his brothers to encourage him to do more of your bidding…

However, now it did. There were some things uncertain to you about mating bonds and you worried about potential consequences if you were to sneak one of your potions into his food.

Tears pricked your eyes as the whispers increased with the howling wind, a distant echo of sorrowful cries and anguished screams. It brought you back to the dire situation at hand. The very reason for your deal with Eris.

The forest wanted you to feel what it did. To feel the overwhelming grief, the melancholic heartache. It stirred the shadows sleeping in the pendant you wore around your neck–the ones that harmonize with the darkness that lives inside you now.

“It’s a burden you must carry.”

“No,” you cried, dropping to your knees, fingers clenching around the ruby pendant. It was a futile attempt to soothe the shadows kept inside back to sleep. “I can do it. I just need more time. Please.”

But it’s not the whispers carried by the wind that respond this time.

It’s that wicked darkness that has been lurking within you.

The forest grows angry. If you do not answer its call, we will.

That darkness writhes further into your chest. Your breath hitches as you feel it wrap itself around your heart, your body hunching forward.

You cannot keep us away. You are us now and we are you.

“No.” You repeat again but your voice is losing its resolve.

Let us out!

As if hearing that dark voice within, the wind picks up, whirling around you like the beginning of a storm. The whispers in the wind grow louder and so do the voices in your head until you can no longer discern which is which. With a pained cry, you clutch your pulsing and aching head.

You squeeze your eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you try to push the looming darkness away. It’s another futile attempt. The darkness has a firm grip on you, awakened by the howling wind and strengthened by its screaming pleas…

Eris found you in the forest.

One glance at you and he knew what was happening. Your body was hunched over, trembling hands pressed tightly against your ears as the wind whirled around you violently, rustling through your hair. The three hounds he brought with him tensed and let out low growls, their keen eyes on the glowing pendant wrapped around your neck.

The hour was late and he had been about to succumb to the sleep his eyes had begged for when he felt a strange stirring in his chest. Until he recognized that it was coming from the bond–from you. The two of you often shut each other out. He did not want to project his emotions to you and he sensed you felt the same.

So for him to feel a tug against his ribcage from you…he knew something was wrong or about to be.

Eris turns to his hounds, the sharpest of his pack. He now realized why they had been insistent on coming with him. The others had tucked themselves into their beds after a goodnight pat on their heads. “Stay,” he says firmly and though their instincts sense danger, they heed his command. Albeit, reluctantly.

He approaches you with slow and cautious steps, despite the urge to run to you. He tells himself it’s the bond. As he gets closer, he can hear you murmuring something but it doesn’t sound like you. Your voice carries a venomous undertone, dripping with malice and ancient wisdom.

“You are us now and we are you.” The voice repeats over and over again like a serpent hissing in the dark.

A lump forms in his throat but he wills himself to call out your name, hoping you hear him among the many voices swirling around you.

He watches with bated breath as your hands, still trembling, fall from where they had clutched at your ears. Slowly, your head lifts upwards. Your gaze meets his and he finds himself held captive.

Your eyes are glowing red, the way they always do when you call upon your magic. But it’s not that crimson gaze that had startled him. It’s the veins surrounding your eyes that do–they have darkened, giving you a more sinister appearance.

“Son of Autumn. Have you come to play?”

The hounds, who remained feet away, release another growl.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” Eris asks, his heart racing as his amber eyes search your face for any sign of you.

Something flickers in those crimson eyes of yours, a brief hesitation that makes the darkness falter. Eris noticed it instantly, his heart tightening with a sudden urgency that compels him to step closer. He can feel you now—the sharp chill emanating from your body, a coldness that bites at his cheeks. It sends a shiver down his spine as the breeze rustles through his hair.

His body instinctively warms in response, the fire in his veins flaring brighter as if to combat the icy dread that clings to you. You were trembling, and Eris kneels before you, his eyes never straying from yours. He reaches out tentatively to that bond but is met with a steel wall.

So he reaches out physically. You flinch at the warmth coming from him before he can actually touch you and fall back onto your hands. It seems the darkness within you is desperate to put distance between you both.

“She needs us. She can’t do this alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” Eris says softly, ignoring the darkness and speaking directly to you. He knew better than to acknowledge the voice, fearing it would only give it more power. “You have me.”

“The forest wants its beloved back.” The voice hisses and your head tilts slightly, gaze narrowing at him. “It grows more restless every night. Fear makes you hesitate but not us. We can do what you cannot bring yourself to do.”

“Y/n.” Eris calls your name again. This time, when he reaches for you, his hands find their mark, cupping your face with a tenderness that surprises even him. Your skin is frighteningly cold. It fills him with a deep unease, a desperate need to bring warmth back to you.

Your trembling begins to subside, and the wind that had howled around you starts to calm. Eris remains cautious but feels a glimmer of hope. He could do this. He could bring you back. “We made a bargain, remember?” he continued.

“A bargain…”

That glimmer of hope flares up as you sound like you again. Something he’d never thought he’d feel as he often complained about your voice–how it could grate on his nerves. But now, it was the only sound he longed to hear.

The mark of your bargain appears–a ring of fire around your wrist–at the mention of it. It burns faintly with embers like a delicate bracelet, reminding you of the promise you made. That very same ring of fire appears on his left wrist, reflecting in your eyes. It fades away after a moment but the burn of it lingers.

“Yes.” Eris almost smiles. “Y/n, are you with me?”

Your body gives a shudder, wanting to escape from him. His hold on you tightens. The red glow to your eyes slowly gives out, the veins that had darkened around your eyes disappearing. Color returns to your cheeks, coaxed back by the warmth Eris is pouring into you.

“I’m with you,” you breath, your eyes wide with lingering apprehension. Eris’s hands remain firm on your face, holding you steady as you eyes wander. When you look back at him, your eyes seem distant, unfocused.

His brows draw together in concern, casting shadows over his troubled eyes. But before he can say anything, you do, a trace of your usual scorn creeping into your voice. “Why are you looking at me as if I’ve grown two heads?”

There you are.

Relief washes over him, so warm and overwhelming that it brings back that tightness in his chest, strumming those golden threads. The urge to pull you into his arms, to hold you close and never let go, is almost overpowering. But Eris ignores it, instead leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You were no longer cold. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding—a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh. A mixture of relief and something else he wasn’t ready to name.

“Have you gone mad?”

“No,” Eris replies, reluctantly releasing his hold on you. The warmth of his touch lingering on your skin as he straightens up. He brushes at the leaves clinging to his pants, an attempt to regain his usual composure. “But you almost did.”

He extends his hand out to you and you stare at it for a moment, your gaze heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. “It happened again…” Your voice was barely a whisper, more to yourself than to him. Realization settled over you and your shoulders slump.

“Come on,” Eris says, motioning for you to take his hand. The sound of familiar whines catch your attention, and you look up to see three hounds, waiting anxiously a few feet away. “The hour is late and I’m already dreading dealing with a sleep-deprived version of you. Your usual self is enough of a bane in my existence.”

You shoot him a glare and he waits, watching you. He wonders if you’ll bite back. With a resigned sigh, you take his hand, allowing him to help you up. His gaze flickers to your arms, noticing the scratches that marred your skin and the bond in his chest rages with protectiveness.

“We can stop by the infirmary first.”

“I’ll be fine,” you huff out but that distant look on your face remains, betraying your words.

The hounds approach you with soft whines. They’re careful not to brush against the cuts on your arms, their noses nudging softly against your legs instead. Your hand remains in Eris’s and he takes a step forward, prompting you to let him guide you out of the forest.

A light breeze brushes against you, carrying with it the lingering chill of the mourning forest. You turn your head, your gaze falling on that vacant spot where the sacred tree once stood. Your features soften, a wave of sympathy washing over you. Your heart aches to fill the void, to restore what had been unjustly taken and bring life back to this part of the forest.

But you were running out of time.

The darkness within you was growing stronger with each passing day. If you didn’t return the sacred tree soon, the darkness would come for you again, more relentless, more determined…

“Eris?"

There’s a slight vulnerability to your voice that unsettles him. It has his body tensing. He can only muster a hum in response.

“What if–” Your throat seizes and you’re grateful your head is turned away from Eris so he can’t see the fear that flashes in your eyes. “What if one day I don’t come back?”

Eris’s hand tightens around yours and a shaky breath escapes from you. His hand is strong and warm and for just this once, you allow the simple touch to ground you. When you finally turn to face him, you find his gaze was already on you, something strange and vulnerable swirling in those amber depths.

That look in his eyes was enough to chase away the cold that had settled in your bones, kindling a warmth to your chest and tugging those golden threads that now reside there.

“Then, I’ll follow you into the dark.”

His words hung in the air, but a question arose. Would he still follow if it weren’t for the bond?

The thought hovered, restless, at the edge of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But you swallowed it down, unwilling to risk hearing an answer you already believed to be true.

You didn’t think you could bear it if you were right.

[eris x chaos witch masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

#erisweek2024 #eris x reader #eris x you #eris fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #acotar x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris acotar #eris x witch reader #chaos!eris #eris x y/n

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reminiscingtonight · 4 months ago

Text

Promises

Alessia Russo x Reader

Word Count: 555

A/N: Song of the day -- Suffocate by Hayd

[WOSO Masterlist]

“I’ll be back.”

Three words burned so deeply into your brain you couldn’t forget even if you wanted to.

Three words holding onto a promise that seemed to be slipping away as each day went by.

Three words that are all you have left to remember Alessia by.

---

North Carolina was only ever a moment in time for her.

You knew exactly what you were getting into when the two of you got involved.

Young love, fueled by constant contact and close proximity. A love that only blossomed as her time at UNC went on.

It was a good couple years. You won trophies together. You won championships. Your relationship off the field flourished as your on pitch relationship soared.

College was good to you both.

College was good to you until it wasn’t.

School shuts down and Alessia makes the decision to leave for Manchester.

It’s the most logical decision. With everything coming to a stop in the states, she’d also get more eyes from national team scouts if she was playing for a professional club.

“What if I tried finding a club in England too?”

It was a last ditch effort to keep you together. You both knew it.

And as much as Alessia wanted to say yes, it was something she would never make you do. Your family was your rock, and as much as you loved her, leaving your family behind would kill you.

“You should stay.” Her crystal blue eyes shimmered with tears when she kissed you one last time. Her duffle packed with clothes mixed with yours and hers was already sitting by your door, ready to be brought on the long flight overseas.

Your arms tighten around her, wishing this moment could last forever.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

Alessia leaves for England and she takes your heart with her.

In the beginning the effort is there. Phone calls, video dates, care packages galore. You stay up late talking to one another, wake early to catch each other’s games. You love Alessia and Alessia loves you so you make it work.

But then as the reality of becoming professional footballers actually starts sinking in, everything teeters off until it just… ends.

Calls are left unanswered. Texts left unread.

You’re not sure what happened. What you did wrong.

And so the seasons change and you grow older apart. Flowers wither and fall and bloom over and over again, and yet you wait.

Though calls became sporadic and few in between, you never give up hope that she’ll return.

---

Three years after Alessia leaves it finally happens.

Manchester announces the departure of their star striker.

You sit by the phone, waiting for the call to come. Waiting to hear her tell you she’s coming home to you.

Alessia signs for Arsenal.

---

The seasons change but you stay the same.

Always waiting patiently by the phone.

Always hoping Alessia will make good of her promise.

“I’ll be back.”

It’s what she said when she left you.

It’s what you choose to still believe.

And so you stay.

And you wait.

And every day Alessia doesn’t call, every day she doesn’t come back, every day she moves even further away from those promises she made, you can feel yourself growing colder, air thinning out until there’s nothing left to do but suffocate.

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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jeonginsleftcheek · 3 months ago

Text

The sun to me

Chapter I. The Seed. Part II.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 1.2k

chapter summary: a glimpse into the world of y/n, the florist and the dreamer.

warnings: tw for brief description of terminal illness and death of reader's mother

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

💐 Daffodil - rebirth and new beginnings.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Your alarm sounds off and you grunt, hand searching blindly for your phone to turn off the shrill sound.

"Shut up."- you mutter as it rings annoyingly and loudly next to your head before you crack one eye open and finally locate the culprit.

You manage to turn off the alarm, blinking a few times before your eyes travel to your window. Warm sunlight barely peeks through your curtains, casting a glow on your face, reflecting the sparkle in your eyes.

You turn your head away, it's too early to stare into so much light and you stretch your limbs, letting out a little noise of satisfaction.

It's going to be a slow morning at your flower shop, you know it because no one has birthdays, weddings, funerals or anniversaries today.

You know Barbara will probably arrive at 9:00 am sharp to buy a new bouquet for her cats even though they could care less but it makes her happy, and making people happy is what makes you happy.

You've always loved flowers, ever since you were a little child, your mother was always in her garden, her gentle hands careful with the stems, careful with the seed, always dirtied with the precious soil.

Always on her knees, working and working away around her flowers, that most of the time you were sure she loved them more than she loved you.

She taught you everything, the symbolism of every flower was etched in your mind, as you would lay your head on your pillow, she'd sit next to you and tell you stories about flowers before you'd drift off into dreamland.

You kept a little flower diary, complete with dried flowers from the garden and the ones you'd find outside, their symbolism written next to them with the most beautiful calligraphy your little hands could come up with.

As you grew taller, the collection of dried flowers grew bigger, your mother grew older and fell sick, too weak to spend time working her life away in her garden.

The flowers withered and so did she, there was nothing you could do as you watched her being lowered into the soil she loved so much, a flower bed made just for her frail body to decompose under.

You didn't cry that day, not even the next day or that week.

You cried when you stepped into the garden, seeing half of the flowers she so carefully nurtured withering away. You were mad, mad at her for leaving you, mad at the universe taking her away from you.

You were mad at the stupid flowers for getting so much of her attention and love.

But you knew nothing else except them, wanting to honor your mother's existence, you got on your knees and worked away in your garden, your hands gentle with the stems, careful with the seed, dirtied with the precious soil stained with your tears.

You opened up a flower shop on the island, the first and only one, making it also a great investement as it became your livelihood.

The flowers were all you knew, but in a way, you felt like they knew you too. Like they spoke to you with some intricate secret language that only you understood.

The bell on the door chimes just as you were spraying your yellow roses with water, humming along to the music playing lightly in the background, lost in thought.

"Good morning, y/n!"- Barbara chirps happily as she walked into your flower shop, 9 am sharp as she always does.

She smiles brightly, her red dress flowing around her chubby frame, patterned with sunflowers, the symbolism of happiness.

That's what she always was to you and everyone else, at least on the outside. Always smiling, her eyes big and sparkly as she talked about all seven of her cats.

Today, it's Muffin's turn, cat number five, he made a mess in her kitchen today, knocking over one of Barbara's potted plants. She even had pictures to show you as proof. You chuckle along as she shows the video of said cat, staring at her like there was nothing wrong, after completely messing up her marble counter.

She asks for a new bouquet, this time it's orange and purple zinnias, of course on your recommendation since you took the time to always do research, even when it comes to flowers that might be poisonous to pets.

Your hands are careful and gentle as you arrange the zinnias together, as Barbara keeps talking your ear off.

"Oh, did you hear?"- the tone of her voice shifts suddenly, becoming eager and suggestive.

Here comes the gossip part, Barbara knows everyone's business on this island, and she butts into it but no one holds it against her, knowing that for a 50 year old woman with seven cats, she's probably just a lonely soul.

"Hear what?"- you ask absentmindedly, grabbing some orange paper to wrap the flowers with it.

"Apparently some celebrity is coming to stay on the island."- she says as if that's somehow gonna save her from her loneliness.

"Oh yeah?"- you feign interest, celebrity culture was not something you cared about, you always thought all of that bling and flashes of the camera were a fake world, set up by soul-sucking people who only exist to make money.

In the eye of the public, celebrities were just puppets on strings, but any other time they were just normal human beings like everyone else.

"Yes, I don't know who it is yet, but oh, I hope it's some handsome actor!"- Barbara swoons and you chuckle, reaching the polished bouquet to her.

"I'm sure you'll find out soon."- you say as she gives you a 10, a special discount for her since she's a regular, but she always adds a few more coins.

"Oh, I'll let you know when I do."- she winks, thanking you before she leaves the shop.

You could care less about some stuck up celebrity.

Right now what needs your attention is your yellow roses so you concentrate on that, tossing out thoughts of Barbara, her cats and the mysterious celebrity.

The wind. It can be a gentle breeze, caressing your skin like a tender lover that brings comfort to your soul, it can be refreshing as it cools you down on a hot summer night, bringing some air into your parched lungs or it can be cold, cold as ice that prickles on your skin, like frostbite, chilling you deep to your very bones.

But in this case, the wind blowing through Hyunjin's hair, as he leans his hands on the railing of the ship, feels like pure and unaldulterated freedom.

The smell of the salty sea fills up his nostrils, the sunlight kisses his cheeks, he listens to the sound of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship like a passionate lover and Hyunjin wants to laugh like a maniac.

No Charlie anywhere in sight, no crooked faces, no baggies of white, no green dollar bills, no beautiful models, no emptiness.

It feels like a new beginning, a rebirth for him.

He has no plans, no deadlines, no itineraries, no maps, nothing but one suitcase and his will to recover.

Recover from the ugly cycle he threw himself in, from all the things that poison his brain, his body and his heart.

As he finally sets foot on land, dragging his suitcase behind him, he no longer feels like Hwang Hyunjin, the artist. Hwang Hyunjin, the celebrity. Hwang Hyunjin, the empty shell of a person.

He feels like someone else, someone he can't wait to discover.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus

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velvetchrry · 7 months ago

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grim reaper!simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

He wasn’t quite sure why but he didn’t want to take your soul.

Fragile little thing, still clinging to life. Sickly. Withering. But you had a fire inside of you, he could feel it. Burning brightly enough that it might even char him.

He wondered the last time your bare feet had touched the grass. The last time you filled your lungs with summer air. The last time you left this tiny little prison keeping your mortal body alive with tubes and drains.

You smile at him. It sends a chill down his spine — something he hadn’t felt since the before. Before he was this. Before he was death. When he was still a man. He can barely remember his old name anymore. Why are you smiling at him?

“I’ve been expecting you.”

Your voice was a melody. Expecting him? You couldn’t be.

“Do I have a few minutes or is it time now?”

He’s taken thousands of souls. More than he can count. Ferried them to the afterlife. Nothing but a blip on his radar, long forgotten. The ones that were still conscious enough to see him begged to live. Begged to be spared. But never this. Never waiting for him.

“Would you like a few minutes?” The words coming out of his mouth surprise even him. He hasn’t heard the sound of his voice in a long while. Hasn’t had the need to speak. It startles even him — a distortion of his human voice.

“I would… I would like to say goodbye to my mom.” He wants to wipe away the tear trickling down your face. He wants to tell you it’s going to be okay.

He nods and hovers to the corner of the room. You don’t seem to mind that he’s waiting there while you call in your mother. She doesn't accept what you have to tell her. It’s not your time, how could it be? You’re young, you have so much life left to live. You’re going to live, she won’t hear anymore of it otherwise. You say okay, another tear falls. You ask her to go get you something to eat.

When she leaves, you look back over to him. A shaky breath releases from your chest. You quickly wipe the backs of your delicate fingertips on your waterline.

“I’m ready.”

But he’s not. Oh no. He’s not.

He doesn’t want to take your soul. Doesn’t want it to incinerate that last little piece of him that’s still human. The piece that wriggles its way up to the surface every so often. He knows if he helps your soul to the afterlife, he’ll never remember his name again. Never remember the touch of a woman’s skin, the feeling of a hot breath against him. Never feel the ache in his chest where his heart used to be. The phantom pain that reminds him who he was. Simon.

He’s at your bedside before you can even blink. You’re not phased, not one bit. He sits, and reaches to take your tiny hand in his. You furrow your brow gently but give it to him.

He sees a flash of the man he was again. The black robe slips down his arm. A sliver of skin reveals his tattoos back at him, tattoos he hasn’t thought about in decades. You study him in silence while he does the same.

Why does your soul sing to him? Why does it remind him of the things he’s forgotten? Why you? Why not the other thousands upon thousands of souls?

“Will it hurt?” your tiny voice squeaks out.

They don’t deserve you — the gods that rule the afterlife. They’ll waste you, they won’t cherish you like he would. Like he could. You deserve so much more, delicate flower that you are.

“No, darling girl, it is as easy as dreaming.”

They have millions of souls. Billions. Surely they won’t miss yours. He can steal one soul for his own. It’s just one. One soul. The most precious soul he’s come across.

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath, waiting for the end to reach you. Death’s sure kiss.

He leans in slow, like he’s approaching a scared animal. Your eyes don't open. No — you trust him.

His lips meet your pillowy soft ones. He almost forgets how to do it, but your lips remind him. They help him. You kiss him.

He feels your soul like a lump in his throat. His large hand — the one not holding your wrist — wraps around your neck. It burns him, this kiss. He knew it would. Sizzles the very bones in his body.

An electrifying feeling takes hold of the both of you. Your skin is covered in goose flesh (his would be too, if it still could be). Your nipples harden, a wetness trails down your panties. You don’t break from him or his kiss. He wonders if it burns you a little too.

When the lump in his throat settles he finally feels it. He’s whole. For the first time in… maybe ever. He’s done it. He’s really done it. He breaks away from you.

Color has returned to your cheeks, the blood rushing beneath your skin. Already you look better than you did before he entered the room.

You don't understand it, he knows you don’t. Someday he’ll explain. Someday. But not yet.

The gods of the afterlife will never find you, and if they do, they’ll never have you. You’re his now. He’s done it.

He’s melded your souls together.

#call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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calehenituse-brainrot · 12 days ago

Text

Mors

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

A meeting with a transcendental being.

content warning: blood, cannibalism

Sitting on your haunches, you look at the withered flower inside the ripped heart in your palms. You recalled how your chest was a gaping hole, devoid of a heart as well. Your hands trembled as you cradled the heart, wrenched straight from the chest of a god.

It was still in your hands, bathed in blood and eerily similar to a human’s. Similar to yours. If he was a god, why was he so identical to you? Why does he retain the human traits of his previous life after reaching godhood? Was it his way to be tied still to his roots? Was it his way to honor his previous life? Or was he doing this to be like the god you knew, wanting to be closer in image to the people that worshipped him, so they would feel closer to him?

You let out a small laugh at your questions. ‘God works in mysterious ways, I suppose.’

The flower within, a dianthus, was withering. You remember how that god had opened his mouth and swallowed your heart full. Was there something in your heart that he needed? Could his replace yours…?

You stilled for a moment, realizing that you couldn’t even hear your breathing. The withered flower inside his heart seemed to whisper to you, and you felt the temptation to open your mouth. Murmurs began to fill your senses, overwhelming you. The withering flower seemed to speak to you, promising a forgotten power, its decay a testament to the once-mighty deity's fall from grace.

You opened your mouth, your mind flashing to the memories of your struggles; the raw, visceral moment when you forcibly tore the heart out of the god’s chest. You felt pure rage then and now it lingered as a hollow echo. You felt… empty. That man had once been your father -- a bad one, and you had the satisfaction of beating him to the ground and killing his image.

What now?

With a deep breath, you lifted the heart to your mouth, the withered petals coated in blood touching your lips.

“Will you be able to carry that power?”

You snapped, looking up in shock. The space had turned dark and when you looked up, your eyes glimmered with the sight of the universe before you, surrounding you. You felt a pull, the silent summons that drew you towards it all. Where is all?

A force pulled you to look up, and you seem to be looking into the edge of the universe. There was something that bears no form and defied mortal comprehension, an unyielding force that transcended all understanding. Whatever it was, it was an ungraspable enigma, woven into the fabric of the universe. You felt a presence, its weight palpable and its depth seemed to be pressing against your soul. You feel heavy.

Overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat and your eyes teared up. It was as if the universe had stilled and you held your breath at the weight of it all in a moment of profound reverence.

The God of Death was neither seen nor heard, but felt—an all-encompassing awareness that filled the space around a person, a shadow that danced at the edge of perception.

He was the very essence of the end, the silence that followed the final breath each dying person takes.

You realize how small you are, and how your erratic breathing compares to the calmness He embodied. You were a mere spark in His infinite expanse of time. You smiled through your tears. “You’re here.”

His vastness tilted, and though He had no eyes, you felt its attention fixed on you. His voice was not a voice but a cacophony of sensations: waves crashing, a fire roaring, the soft crackle of ice breaking apart.

“I am,” He said to you. His voice seemed to ring in your ears, vibrating through your very bones, carrying with it the faint echoes of all the lives He had claimed as his.

“You’re not like how I expected you to appear,” you murmured, gently lowering your hands as you looked up at the cosmos. He was everything and everywhere all around you at once.

“Do you expect me to appear like in your little books?” He asked, His tone amused and it disturbs you to know such a great being was capable of understanding you so intimately.

You nodded. “Yes.”

The galaxies glimmered as He laughed and you watched it all, mesmerized. “You’re… beautiful.”

This god was not like the one you knew. You knew what Death would look like through the novels, but your idea of an ethereal being that greets you in the afterlife never had a face. You imagined Him to have a figure of kindness cloaked in the despair of the end, a ferryman to guide your soul or a looming, austere angel wrapped in glowing robes. But He was none of that. He was not the gentle shepherd you knew nor was he an angel. There was no humanoid form for you to grasp, to hold for comfort at the end of your life.

He has no voice. He needed none. His presence filled the endless expanse of this space, towering like a mountain, shifting like stormy clouds of a night, the edges fraying into a blinding mix of light and shadows. His body -- can you even call it one? -- was composed of dark clouds, flashing as if a storm was brewing deep within. It swirled in front of you, like the beginning of a hurricane.

You recalled the cold waters, the tilting ship, and the piercing ache in your chest. The stinging pain of slamming and breaking the water surface before you lost your consciousness. “Is it my time? Is that why you’re here?”

He did not reply for a moment, and you felt the universe vibrate. The heart was lifted from your palms and floated in front of you.

“A God is dying,” He said. “These petals were once radiant with celestial light. Because of you, now they are brittle and dark. His divinity is dying.”

“Is it a sin?” You asked him. “Have I sinned?”

“I am not one of your wrathful gods,” He said. “There is no sin for a child who simply wants to live.”

“Take this heart,” He said. “Eat it whole and consume the flower within. You’ll be able to come back to your family. They wait for you.”

You cupped your palms, and the heart slowly fell back to your hold. You look into the withered flower and then back to the universe. You felt the essence of Death, the profound stillness He was able to provide that calmed the storm in your head. You closed your eyes. “You feel so… peaceful. Heavy, but peaceful.”

“Because this is the edge of your existence,” He told you. However it sounded, it sounded so gentle. Forgiving. The universe warped again and an hourglass appeared, the sand being stardust. It was running out of it. This was your lifespan. “There is no judgment that awaits you here. Nothing awaits you here.”

“Will I stay here if I choose not to consume this heart?” You asked.

The God of Death let out a sound similar to a surprised hum. “No. This is not death. It will be painful and a glorious sight to see your death. You will feel the pain. At this moment, I am being merciful to you.”

You gulped. “I… I don’t want that. Can’t I die peacefully?

“No,” He answered, quiet and still.

“Why not?” You asked, feeling a lump form on your throat. Deep down, you crave for His approval, for His attention. You wanted comfort from the being that will take your soul, and you’d never admit it, but you were devastated. “If I stay… You will be the one to take me. You take everything… At the very least, make it painless--”

The air stilled as He seemed to focus on you. “Do you think of me as a cruel god?”

“So much,” you whispered. “You take everything away and we all suffered from it.”

The dark clouds surround you and you feel the way they wrap around you close, forcing your chin up to face Death. “You mistake necessity for cruelty. My followers think I must love or hate, guide or punish. But I am neither shepherd nor tyrant. I am the ending of things, as natural as the fall of night. I owe you nothing.”

The sheer indifference in His tone—or His essence—shattered something inside you. You had hoped for solace, for answers, for meaning. Instead, you found yourself face to face with the vast, uncaring truth of mortality. You were a speck of dust in the presence of a cosmic storm. You must understand that you are nothing in front of these Gods.

“All things must end. The cycle cannot hold without me. Your grief is yours to bear. It has never been mine.”

You sat in silence, the heavy truth within His words pressing down on you like the weight of the world. For a moment, you felt like screaming your heart out. This is unfair! I did my best to be a good person and I will die a painful death at the end!

This was callous -- the final moments of your life would be raw, scathing pain that you’ll feel until you die. Death was easy to face, but dying was not something you wanted, much less in pain. Staring at the mass of dark clouds, the fire in your chest flickered and then immediately dimmed.

Whatever you do, it will be futile. Your rage will be futile, your pleas unheard. You are mortal.

You rose to your feet slowly, panting. The God of Death said nothing, watching—or perhaps not—as you grasped for the heart.

The hourglass slowed.

“Consume the divinity,” He said. “Consume it and let it take you.”

You opened your mouth and lifted the heart to your lips. Your teeth sank onto the bloodied, lifeless flesh and a surge of a cold and ancient energy coursed through you. The taste was something you could never have tasted in your living days. It tasted of iron and stardust, horribly bitter with the remnants of a dying divinity. You gripped at the flesh with your teeth and ripped it away, swallowing the chunks whole and each swallow was a step further into the abyss, your soul intertwining with the fading essence of a dying god.

The withered dianthus crumbled in your mouth, its divine energy dissolving on your tongue and it left you with sorrow and tears.

You swallowed the final piece and your gaping chest began to close itself. Your chest burns with the dying embers of divinity that now reside in your soul. You sat there, looking up at the universe with your bloodied mouth, the weight of your action settling into your bones.

It was slow at first. A burn on your tongue, and then around your throat that had dared to consume such a sacred thing. You gasped, grasping at your throat and then your chest. You let out a pained wail as your chest seemed to have something slithering inside it, moving inside your flesh and skin and causing you to scream in pain.

“I-I can’t--!” You stammered out through pained gasps. “I-I can’t t-take it! Please!”

“Be calm,” Death whispered to you. “Accept your end. I’m here to take you.”

You slumped to the ground, panting as you began to feel faint, the universe warping around you.

The inevitability of His embrace filled you with a strange, bittersweet peace, a release from the burdens of mortal toil. In the overwhelming quiet, you found a deep acceptance, a surrender to the inevitable cycle of existence. The God of Death, unseen and formless, held you in a silent embrace, a guardian of the boundary between life and the infinite unknown.

And in that sacred moment, where time and space dissolved into the eternal twilight, you understood the profound peace of surrender, the quiet grace of the end, as you were gently carried into the vastness beyond.

Ron sat in the ship, looking up at the starry skies as Archie swam back to the continent. The ship’s gentle motion cradled the two people who lay unconscious on its wooden floorboards, the soft creaking of its timbers mingling with the sounds of the whales swimming. His eyes, weathered by years of witnessing death, gazed upward. Ron could never think he would seek solace within stars, but here he was.

They always felt so cold to him. They were an ancient, eternal beauty, so indifferent to the troubles that Earth and its inhabitants faced. To think something like that was a small part of a vast existence and Ron felt conflicted about whether or not he should feel glad that his sorrows were so small within that existence. He came to the conclusion that he didn’t care.

The night breeze, cool and salt-tinged, whispered through his silver hair, carrying with it the scent of the open sea. He inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the air, his weathered hand resting gently on your hand. Ohn was tucked under your chin, herself paranoid that in the middle of their way home, your pulse would stop beating and she’d lose you again.

Rosalyn was sitting on her haunches, your head placed on her lap as she was nodding off.

Your skin was cool beneath their touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of their love, a love that burned with the fierce intensity of a dying star.

The ship moved steadily, its course unwavering, slicing through the dark waters toward their home. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the minutes stretching out as if time itself were reluctant to move forward. The stars above shimmered with a light that seemed to pulse with ancient wisdom.

He turned his gaze from the stars to you, his heart aching with a deep, primal fear. One that he had not felt in a long time.

“Stay with me,” he implored quietly as if he was praying to himself. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars flickering in silent sympathy.

Ron paused when he saw something move under the coat he had laid on your front as a blanket. Ohn’s ears twitched and she looked up groggily, only to be met with the grotesque sight of your flesh seemingly moving and writhing underneath the coat.

As if possessed, your back arched violently and dozens of thorns burst off your gaping chest, sprouting like tendrils as it moved wildly around.

Choi Han immediately stood behind Cale’s unconscious body, his sword already out as he stared at your body with a guarded gaze. “W-what the--?”

Rosalyn immediately woke up, stepping away from you and watching as your body convulsed even though you were still unconscious. “[N-name]?!”

Your body convulsed wildly, the thorns growing longer as it seemed to be reaching for the skies. Choi Han looked at them all cautiously and turned to Rosalyn. “Should we cut it down?”

“We don’t know what it will do to her if we do,” Rosalyn said. “We should try to contain her--”

Before Rosalyn could finish her sentence, the thorns slowly began to slow their convulsions and retract back to your gaping chest. Its thorns retracted and grew softer, taking the form of ordinary vines as it draped along your body similar to a tapestry, the prettiest hyacinths growing around you like the most beautiful blanket.

Rosalyn hesitantly touched the flowers, checking for any abnormalities to see if they posed any danger. Once she had confirmed that the flowers were safe, she went ahead to check your chest, trying to see if you were bleeding out from what had just happened. She separated the blankets of flowers to see your once gaping chest was now plugged with dozens of vines knotted together. They started from your flesh as if they were your veins, becoming more prominent as they reached your chest and became all knotted together to plug your wound.

“How fascinating,” Rosalyn murmured, her eyes glimmering. She leaned forward, gently running her fingertips along the green vines, seeing how they faded from red as they came from your veins to green like a typical plant.

You were peaceful within your slumber, unaware of the chaos that you had created in the world of the conscious.

The world was hazy when Cale slowly opened his eyes, the soft glow of sunlight spilling into the room like liquid gold. The rays struck his pale face, painting him in ethereal light as the weight of sleep still clung to his limbs. The sound of the curtains being drawn filled the air, the faint rustle of fabric accompanying the light's advance. Cale winced, raising a trembling hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.

A low groan escaped his lips, barely audible, but enough to make Ron turn. The ever-composed butler approached swiftly, his steps as quiet as a shadow.

“Young Master-nim,” Ron’s voice was calm, a steady anchor in the waking haze. “You’re awake…”

Cale sat up slowly, every movement deliberate as though he was piecing himself back together. He barely had a moment to breathe before warmth crashed into him.

“Huummannnnn! Stupid, stupid human!”

Raon’s tear-filled cries filled the room as the dragon clung to him, his small body trembling with relief. Ohn and Hong quickly joined, their soft, furred forms pressing close to Cale, their cries mingling with Raon’s as they buried themselves against him. Their tears soaked into his clothes, their overwhelming relief a storm that engulfed him.

Cale blinked, disoriented, his hands instinctively reaching out to comfort them. He clumsily patted Raon’s head, his fingers trembling as they ruffled the dragon’s dark mane.

“Hey now,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak. “I’m fine. I’m here.”

His words did little to stem their tears, but they clung to him as though they feared he might vanish again. Raon sniffled loudly, his round eyes peering up at Cale with a mix of relief and scolding.

Ron stood nearby, watching the scene with quiet detachment, though a faint glimmer of something softer lingered in his eyes. “Five days,” he said at last, his voice cutting through the cacophony.

Cale glanced up at him, his own exhaustion still clinging to his features. “How long…?”

“It’s been five days since we rescued Miss [Name],” Ron replied.

Cale’s brow furrowed, his voice dipping into concern. “Is she—?”

Ron’s frown was subtle but heavy. He shook his head. “She’s still unconscious. We’ve done all we can, called every advanced healer there is, but nothing seems to work.”

Hong pressed his small head to Cale’s stomach, his voice a whisper tinged with worry. “She wouldn’t wake up at all… We’ve tried so hard…”

Cale’s hand moved to Ohn, gently stroking her soft fur. Her wide eyes shimmered with tears as she rested her head on his lap, her quiet sniffles breaking his heart.

“I missed you…” she murmured, her voice fragile.

“I never left,” Cale muttered in reply, his hand lingering on her head as a frown tugged at his lips.

Ron, ever the vigilant butler, stepped forward, his sharp gaze raking over Cale’s form. “How are you feeling, Young Master-nim? Any pain?”

“I’m fine,” Cale replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

Ron’s hands were quick, professional as they checked his injuries, his touch brushing lightly against the faint scar over Cale’s chest—the spot where nature itself had torn into him. The wound was sealed now, but it carried the weight of the battle etched into his very being.

“I would call that impossible,” Ron muttered, his tone flat yet pointed. “But considering it’s you, Young Master-nim, I will simply choose to believe you… and forbid you from overexerting yourself.”

Cale arched a brow, his lips quirking faintly. “So you don’t believe me.”

Ron’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Oh, I would never distrust your words,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with faint sarcasm as he finished inspecting the scar.

“Everything looks good,” Ron concluded, stepping back.

Cale sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He glanced at Raon, Ohn, and Hong, their tear-streaked faces now calmer but still clinging to him like shadows. A faint smile played on his lips, though weariness hung heavy in his eyes.

“Looks like you all didn’t miss me at all,” he murmured softly, his words betraying the comfort he found in their presence.

Raon’s tail flicked, his voice firm despite the lingering tremor. “Stupid human. Of course we missed you! Don’t say stupid things!”

Cale chuckled faintly, the sound low and hoarse, but genuine. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’m not going anywhere.”

And though the room was still tinged with the weight of worry, for a brief moment, there was peace. It wasn’t long before he had to wash up and get ready for breakfast, so he reluctantly got out of bed -- the first time he was voluntarily getting up early -- and walked to the en-suite bathroom attached to his bed chambers.

The warmth of the morning lingered as Cale stood at the washbasin, splashing water onto his face. The coolness jolted his senses awake, washing away the haze of sleep and the remnants of the days spent unconscious. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him—pale, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, a silent testament to his overuse of powers.

Behind him, the soft patter of paws and the faint swish of a tail broke the quiet. Raon, Ohn, and Hong hovered near the doorway, watching his every move as though afraid he might collapse again.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Cale asked, his tone light but teasing as he toweled off his face.

Raon puffed out his chest. “I’m supervising! A mighty dragon never leaves his human unattended after such a reckless stunt.”

Cale chuckled softly, his breath fogging the mirror for a moment. “And what about you two?” He glanced at Ohn and Hong, who stood quietly behind Raon.

Ohn shuffled her paws, her ears flicking nervously. “We’re just… making sure you’re okay.”

Hong nodded, his tail swaying faintly. “You scared us, you know.”

Cale sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to face them. “I’m fine, see? Now, let’s go eat before Ron starts lecturing me about skipping meals.”

Raon trotted ahead, his wings fluttering slightly as he led the way to the dining area, while Ohn and Hong stayed close to Cale’s sides, their small forms a comforting presence.

The dining room was bathed in soft light, the table already set with a simple but hearty breakfast. Ron stood by, his ever-present smile as calm as the morning air. He stepped forward as soon as Cale sat down, pouring a cup of tea and placing it within arm’s reach.

“Young Master-nim, the tea will help replenish your energy. Please, enjoy the meal.”

Cale eyed the tea warily. “If this is one of your concoctions, I’ll pass.”

Ron’s smile didn’t falter. “It is merely a blend to aid recovery. Nothing more.”

“Hmm.” Cale picked up the cup but didn’t drink just yet, focusing instead on the plate of food in front of him.

Raon was already settled beside him, his tail thumping against the chair as he reached for a piece of bread. “Human, eat lots! You need to get your strength back.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Cale muttered as he took a bite, the warm flavors spreading across his tongue.

Ohn and Hong sat across from him, quietly nibbling on their own portions. Every so often, Ohn would glance up at Cale, her large eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief and lingering concern. Hong, meanwhile, focused on his food but kept sneaking looks at his brother and sister, as though ensuring they were also eating properly.

Ron moved silently around the room, refilling tea and occasionally adjusting a plate, his movements so seamless they barely registered.

“So,” Cale began after a few bites, breaking the gentle rhythm of the meal. “What’s the plan for today?”

Ron paused briefly, his gaze meeting Cale’s. “Today, you rest, Young Master-nim.”

Cale raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

“Your body would disagree,” Ron replied smoothly. “And so would those who were left worrying over you.” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward the children.

Raon, mid-chew, nodded emphatically. “You are resting, human. Don’t even think about using that scary power again. I won’t let you!”

Hong chimed in, “We’ll make sure you don’t.”

Cale let out a small sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll rest. But I need to go see [Name] first.”

“Of course, Young Master-nim,” Ron replied immediately, nodding his head.

“Who’s with her right now?” Cale asked, watching Raon happily stuff his mouth with another roll and Ohn and Hong share a quiet exchange.

“Choi Han,” Raon answered with a cheer, smiling widely. “He said there was someone else like him now.”

Cale blinked. Right. Him, Rosalyn, and Cale himself practically walked down your memory lane after being connected by the powers within that island. Choi Han must be happy and even curious about you now that he knew you were someone from another world like he and Cale was.

He must be eager to talk with you.

“I see,” Cale murmured between bites. “I’ll see her after breakfast.”

“I’ll go too,” Hong said with a smile. “I want to see her too.”

“We all do,” Cale replied softly, caressing Hong’s head.

For now, things were calm. And Cale would take that small mercy, even if he knew it wouldn’t last. Your room constantly haunted his mind throughout the breakfast, but he didn’t rush himself to it. He let himself rest for a moment with he children after breakfast before they all headed there together.

He figured that Choi Han must have left for breakfast when he got there, because the moment he entered your room, he saw Cage standing by your bed. He approached the woman slowly, seeing the anxious expression on her face. “Miss Cage. How are you?”

“Cale-nim!” Cage greeted, her eyes widening. “How are you? Is everything okay? I heard you woke up today but didn’t think I’d see you.”

“I’m fine,” Cale said, unconsciously placing his hand on top of his chest where his heart resides, feeling the bumps of the ugly scar there through his clothing. He looked down to where you were, seeing you lay on the bed, hair spread out on the crisp, white pillows. Your face was sunken and pale, your body hidden away by the neat sheets which proved that you hadn’t moved at all ever since you were laid down there.

There was a dip on the foot of the bed, similar to the one he had on his where the kids would sleep. He silently wondered how many times the kids had stayed here with you instead of with him. He looked up, back to Cage. “I suppose you’re here to visit [Name]?”

Cage stared at him, her expression grim. “Y-yes… I had a vision, of some sort.”

She glanced back at you. “I saw Miss [Name] and the God of Death. He took her.”

Cale’s heart felt like it missed a beat, his stomach suddenly aching from the anxiety. “What?”

“He took her,” Cage repeated. “H-he gave her something and she took it and then she just… disappeared. She ended up with him.”

“I’m afraid you’re not being very clear,” Cale said with a frown. “Ended up with him?”

“She’s with the God of Death now, Cale-nim,” Cage said. “She’s dying.”

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound breaking the silence. Cale sat motionless, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped on his hand. Raon was curled up on his lap, his small body radiating warmth against Cale’s exhaustion. The dragon’s tail flicked occasionally, a restless movement betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

Cale’s gaze remained fixed on your face, pale and serene, like a marble statue. The delicate rise and fall of your chest was both a comfort and a torment—proof you were still here, yet unmoving, locked in some place Cale couldn’t reach.

Cage’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain: “She’s with the God of Death now. She’s dying.”

It has been a full week since then. They tried to gather priests and even the Saint, but nothing seemed to help.

His hand absently moved to Raon’s head, stroking between the dragon’s small horns. Raon let out a soft hum, pressing closer to him.

“Human,” the dragon murmured, his voice barely audible. “She will wake up. I believe it.”

Cale didn’t respond, his fingers halting for a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. Raon’s faith was unshakable, but Cage’s vision gnawed at him, a dark weight pressing against his chest.

Ohn stirred slightly near your shoulder, her soft fur brushing against your skin as she stretched her small legs and resettled herself, her tiny breaths mingling with yours. On your stomach, Hong kneaded gently, his rhythmic purring a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence.

‘Cage said the God of Death took her,’ Cale thought, his frown deepening. ‘What does that even mean?’

The God of Death was no stranger to him—a force that lingered on the edges of mortal comprehension, powerful and merciless. If you were truly in His hands, what could he possibly do? The thought of someone so close to him caught in the grasp of that enigmatic being churned his stomach.

“I can’t just sit here,” he muttered, breaking the silence.

Raon lifted his head, blinking up at him. “Then what will you do, human? You’re supposed to rest.”

Cale didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on your face, searching for any sign of life, any flicker of movement, but you remained still. His hand moved from Raon’s head to his chest, pressing against the scar there, as though willing himself to focus.

“I’ll find a way,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “There’s always a way.”

Raon’s round eyes studied him, filled with worry but also trust. “Then I’ll help. We’ll all help. Ohn, Hong, and I—we’ll do whatever you need.”

Cale’s lips quirked into a faint, fleeting smile. “Of course you will.”

But even as he spoke, his mind raced. If the God of Death truly had you, he needed answers—and fast. Few beings in the world could meddle with something as enigmatic as the God of Death, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He never did.

“Human.” Raon’s voice was stronger this time, pulling Cale from his thoughts. “She will wake up. We’ll make sure of it.”

Cale didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his hand returning to Raon’s head. “You’re right, Raon. She will.”

“Will you wait for her?”

Cale snapped his head up, heart lurching in his chest. The voice was cold, unyielding, and familiar—one he’d never thought he would hear so close again. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the figure standing by the foot of your bed.

There He was, the God of Death.

His presence filled the room like a thick, oppressive fog. The air grew colder, and even Raon stirred on Cale’s lap, his small body suddenly rigid with unease. Cale didn’t even notice, too consumed by the figure before him.

The God of Death stood as He always did—humanoid in form, His features barely human, his tall, shadowed silhouette more an embodiment of the unknown than a mortal being. His face, though not quite like a person’s, was lined with a calm, otherworldly beauty, a mask of serene inevitability. His eyes were voids, endless and fathomless, where time and space seemed to converge, swirling like an endless abyss. Yet His gaze was not unkind—merely detached. He was beyond any emotion Cale could comprehend.

Cale’s chest tightened, but he refused to flinch. He had met the God of Death before, had bargained with Him, but now? Now, with you lying so still and silent on the bed, now with the knowledge that He was planning to take something precious from him? The chill of His presence felt like it was crawling under Cale’s skin, settling into his bones.

"She is not dead," Cale said, his voice low, more a statement than a question. His fingers tightened around the arm of the chair, his pulse quickening despite himself. "So why are you here?"

The God of Death tilted His head slightly, the faintest movement, but it spoke volumes. His voice came again, like the wind itself—a whisper that reverberated in the back of Cale’s mind.

"She is dying. Whether you accept it or not, the moment I took her, it was sealed."��

Cale’s heart twisted painfully. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in his voice. "She’s not dying. I won’t let her. You can’t take her from me."

The God of Death’s gaze shifted from Cale to you, still and pale beneath the sheets. There was no pity in His expression—just an infinite calm, a certainty that made Cale feel small in comparison.

"She has already given herself to me. She will join me and others," He said, His words floating in the air like an inevitable conclusion. "There is no changing this. She will not wake on her own."

Cale’s chest constricted, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable, but Cale’s focus never wavered from the God of Death.

"Is that it, then?" Cale’s voice cracked but he held His gaze. "You’re here to tell me there’s nothing I can do? That she’s already gone?"

The God of Death did not respond right away. He simply regarded Cale with an almost imperceptible tilt of His head, as if studying him, contemplating the answer.

"Nothing you can do," He repeated slowly, each word wrapped in finality.

"But..." The God of Death paused, and for the first time, Cale felt an uneasy shift in the air, as if something far darker was behind those words. "Will you wait for her? Will you stand by her side as she fades from this world and into my domain?"

Cale’s hand clenched into a fist. He could feel the warmth of Raon’s scales against his skin, the steady thrum of his heart, and the weight of the room pressing in on him.

"I’ll wait," Cale said firmly, his voice quieter now but steady. "But I will not stop looking for a way. I’ll find a way to bring her back."

The God of Death was silent for a long moment, as though considering Cale’s defiance. His eyes, though hollow, seemed to glimmer for just an instant—an unreadable emotion flickering in the depths.

"Your persistence will not change what is inevitable. But..." His voice trailed off, the weight of His words hanging heavy in the air. "You may stand beside her if you so wish. But know this—she will never belong to you in the way you desire."

Cale’s eyes hardened. “She belongs to no one but herself. And if she wakes... I’ll make sure of that."

The God of Death gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, His presence pulling back just a fraction, but never quite leaving. He tilted His head again, the faintest trace of something almost like curiosity in His eyes.

“Then I will leave you to your vigil. But remember, Cale Henituse—she cannot escape this.”

And with that, the God of Death faded, His figure dissolving like smoke, leaving Cale alone with the weight of the room and the heavy stillness of your slumber.

The cold remained, lingering in the air, but something inside Cale hardened. He would wait. He would stand beside you, and even if the God of Death’s words held some truth, Cale would make sure you never felt alone.

He would not let you fade into the void without a fight.

Suddenly, Ohn and Hong sat up, their fur bristling and tails standing stiff in shock, their wide eyes fixated on you.

Cale’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the slight movement, the slow twitch of your fingers beneath the sheets, a faint flutter of your eyelids. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it, the hope stirring within him like a flicker of light in the darkness. But then you shifted again, your breath hitching as your chest rose just a little more sharply.

Raon leaped off Cale’s lap in an instant, his wings flaring as he shot toward your bedside.

"H-human?" Raon’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and hope, his small body quivering with excitement. "Is she...?"

Cale’s breath caught, and without thinking, he moved closer, his eyes never leaving your form as he knelt at the side of the bed. His hand hovered over your own, as if unsure whether to touch you or let you come back to him on your terms. The room seemed to hold its breath as the seconds stretched into eternity.

Then, a soft gasp—your body stirred again, and for the first time, your eyes fluttered open. Not fully, but enough for a sliver of light to break through the veil that had enveloped you. The warmth in Cale’s chest was overwhelming, and he felt his hand tremble as he finally reached for yours, gently cupping it with his own.

“[Name]?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from the weight of his anxiety. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breath, shallow but steady. Then, you blinked, slowly focusing on him, your eyes still clouded with confusion, but they were alive.

"…Cale?" Your voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make his heart soar.

Cale’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know if he should smile or cry. Instead, he simply squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur of relief. "I’m here."

Ohn, who had been watching from the side of the bed, let out a relieved whine, nuzzling into your side. Hong, still curled on your stomach, tilted his head and purred softly, rubbing his face against yours in a quiet greeting. The children were no longer anxious, their soft breaths matching the rhythm of yours as they instinctively sought comfort in your revival.

Raon hovered just above the bed, wings flapping lightly in a tiny victory. "Told you, human! She will wake up!"

You blinked again, more clearly this time, and your gaze drifted over to the three of them—Ohn, Hong, and Raon—before finally focusing on Cale. The confusion in your eyes slowly morphed into recognition, but there was something more in them too—a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something even Cale couldn’t quite read.

"What… happened?" Your voice was still weak, barely more than a breath. "Why am I…? I thought…"

Cale’s heart twinged at the memory of Cage’s words. He fought to steady his voice, to keep his composure as he gently stroked your hand. “You’ve been unconscious for a while, but you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.”

He hesitated for a moment, casting a glance toward the door as if expecting the God of Death to reappear. But there was nothing—only the quiet hum of life in the room.

"You’re safe now," Cale continued softly, bending down slightly to be closer to you. "You don’t need to worry."

The air was thick with unsaid things, but right now, there was no need for explanations. No need to dwell on what had been—only on the fact that you were awake, breathing, here with him.

The children settled beside you, their presence a comforting weight on the bed, and Raon perched on the edge, eyes full of determination. "I’ll protect you, little [Name]! I won’t let anyone take you again!"

Cale couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned his attention back to you, watching you slowly blink in and out of focus as you tried to make sense of the world around you. He was patient, as patient as he could be in that moment, his hand never leaving yours.

"Rest," he whispered, his voice softer now. "You’re safe. You’re here."

And for the first time in days, Cale let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. You had come back, against all odds. And as long as you were here, he would find a way to keep you from ever slipping away again.

You looked up at him, gaze tender and apologetic as tears well up in the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry… For leaving.”

“It’s okay,” Cale murmured. “You were… blindsided.”

“I was an idiot,” you murmured with a soft sigh, closing your eyes as the tears slowly fell.

“Sleep,” Cale murmured, hesitantly pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ll be here. We’re all here.”

#trash of the count's family #cale henituse #cale henituse x reader #lout of count's family #kim rok soo #totcf #tcf cale

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ladythornofrivia · 6 months ago

Text

SING FOR ME (part one) | REVISED

dark!aemond x septa!tyrell!reader 🌹

summary: a once princess from a noble house took sworn oath for the Faith of the Seven blossomed into a septa with immaculate reputation due to her gift and preserving her virtue until the fate encounters with the one-eyed prince. (Also inspired by Phantom of the Opera).

warning: stalking, r*pe, unprotected sex, non-con, dubcon, dark aemond, manipulation, obsessive, kidnapping, aemond being delulu

a/n: I'm so sorry--I had to revise this. I didn't think it's good enough, so I had to make some changes, even the title--it feels off. Please forgive me.

Chapter One

The Pious Rose

The most beautiful rose was hidden away from the gardens.

The rose meant to blossom, not wither. She wasn’t meant to be tucked in the rest of her life. (Y/n) wasn’t meant to be tucked in the shadows. She belonged in the golden daylight, surrounded with flowers and her companions, her servitude in the Faith of the Seven, a lady with a driven purpose for the greater good to the Gods in the Sept. Her fate is supposed to be hers and hers alone.

Her dignity, her honor, her virtue and morals, one that inspires love and peace.

Within this darkness, how will the bask of sun shine her with comfort—living in suffocation. How will she live?

Rigid walls greeted her when her eyes were open. Where is she? Her stomach ached with a sharp jab. What has transpired for your fate to be trapped in a lonesome room with no sunlight, no candles, no sound and touch of breeze gliding through the windows? The windows were shut—no, you were confined.

Like the light, her hope has dimmed, and the shadows of her qualms and debate within her outlive. In this darkness, no one was present to succor her distress. The tattered clothing on your sleeves dampened from tears she shed.

No mother or father or sisters to guide her back home.

No servant or subject would come to her aid.

No guard to escort her out of the darkened room that has confined her to flee.

No sound of laughter, or talk amongst folks and lively music she had grown accustomed to.

The air is vacant. No one is to hear the voice but hers and the walls. And the door is locked. No way of escape.

The world felt so small and cramped, you weren’t sure if your life has been meaningful. Surely the Gods were testing you in this challenge.

The peace didn’t last when a heavy oak door boomed with long croak shattered the silence, flames pierced onto your sleepy eyes, until you met the eye of a certain shadow looming over her.

Several Months Ago….

It is said that the Gods had given grace to someone holy and pious. But you were the most holy and pious of all.

But it wasn't pious and holiest reputation.

With a gift you possessed, you managed to capture everyone's hearts, even the look of your beauty. But a song is what entranced every noble and ladies and children alike--at every occasion--namesdays, feasts and tourneys, and at every private and bond between families. Lords and ladies in every kingdom requested for you to commemorate on their special day.

Your song was a gift of light. A song in your voice is a gift of your heart and feast for the soul. A heart so pure and ethereal, that even men would swoon with tears.

You sang an eternal hymn, a hymn of love. A stellar performance like yours is not like any other--light and airy and amongst the heavens.

Since the days of wisdom, you are the most beautiful princess in all of Westeros, titled as ‘Golden Rose—the Rose In Winter and Sun’, ‘A Rose Never Wilted’—as you were born under a chilled winter under a golden sun, hence the given title. You’re the youngest of all Tyrell daughters.

Guests and family members of the court showered you with gifts, jewels, dresses and dolls that is twice as heavy and shiny with importance. Since when you were a child, you are cheery and bright; cheeks flush with health, as you grew older, your mind is constant with wit and daydream.

You have it all.

A gifted wit such as you shouldn’t be cast aside for a nobleman—whether handsome or hideous, young or old, sick or healthy—and to decay as a mother and a widow. And with your wit, you were also pious. Pious and cautious. For a young woman such as yourself, you’re wiser than others.

With every letter the suitors have sent have been casted into the hearth. Sometimes when suitors visited the kingdom, they would often asked of your presence, which you turned a blind eye.

Men.

Men are close to define as a unhinged beast.

Men are vile—filthy as if men are created from Seven Hells. Men are creatures that are made of fire and lust. Marriage is the death sentence to women as men being dutiful as killers and swordsmen at Night’s Watch, with their cocks gelded and their flesh smeared in sin. A woman’s body is as holy as the Sept, must be preserved and clean and mustn’t be driven with temporary hunger. The thought of your virtue being soiled by a man disgusts you, almost a phantom pain summoned between your legs, jab like a sharp knife. You shall never be clean again—overripe and tainted.

Undesirable, one which you can’t undo, with a child born in a mother’s belly was a monstrous and vile thing to give from an unmarried and unfaithful man—a beast hungered and scorched, burnt into the ashes of regret, unable to reverse the damage has been done. Frightened of a soiled reputation, as to avoid death, you must remain healthy with vigor.

You witness to all noble ladies, to whoever they consummate or shared pleasure with they’ve spent in secret upon a high nightfall, with their pleasurable sighs and moans, coming on their high, neglecting their noble duties, or how they gave a painful birth, you tend to avoid converse your peers and stayed inside, wandering in the gardens with flowers blooming just for you, as the canary birds chirped you’ve found yourself with reading or sewing or tending the birds in your pass time.

Most noble folks mistook you as shy, but in your heart, its grimace and resentment. At this rate, the noble ladies will likely to gain bastards than those with natural birthright.

No, it was never your destiny to tarnish.

You must remain pure.

With a life like yours, it’s perfect.

Almost.

House Tyrell has thrived since the dawn of time—the Age of Heroes and survived through fiery battles and clashing swords and broken oaths, traitor after traitor. Vows reformed and ruined by the likes of men’s lusty thoughts from their lusty cocks. House Tyrell went through all. How Tyrells became resilience is all thanks to lessons from experience—had been passed down generations to newcomers that breathed their first air.

Through beauty, through grace. Tyrells are clever and winsome and sly. Flower among flowers. But with flower with thorns are all the more dangerous.

It is said that your beauty is the fairest of all fairs. The day when you’re born, it is said you are bestowed by the Gods of Old and New. Since you were a child, all families brought together in peace. With you as a babe in a cradle, you are precious that when you were a child, you tend with animals and planted seed in the garden for flowers to blossom, for the grass become greener and brighter and clearer in the air. Sometimes you even sang hymns to the injured--animals, more particularly, to ease the frantic emotion that has been emulating.

But those are the days of past.

For years, you have not experienced duty, but all is thrive with a command with a snap of your fingers or whines in your voice to command. For someone young, courtship and marriage is not your intention. Your intentions are made clear to all with prying ears: you would never soil yourself to be bind by dutiful marriage and loveless vows.

But you, as of now, you are made to forge your own destiny. With beauty and grace, you remained to use cleverness for greater good. When you have been informed of the lords’ son wanted your hand, you declined his offer—an offer of negligence and ignorant bliss. That is when your mother resented you.

"Selfish," they all said.

"Cold and calculating," others concluded.

"A conceited bitch," the other men--who have once looked at you with admiration, muttered in between gossip.

Like flowers, beauty and life of love never lasts.

"She mustn't do this," your mother objected. "A young girl like her doesn't know what she wants. She preserve her status as a princess until she gives birth to children and cherish--remain loyal to her husband. That is her future accomplishment. Her reputation amongst men will be tarnish for eternity if she does this. Some men are turning away from her. There's still a chance to remedy this! We must remedy, we must!"

"We have other daughters, my love," your father said with a tender smile. "They have potential to be married off to the suitors. All of our daughters are kind and diligent."

"But all are not as pretty and useful at their talents as she," your mother remarked, as the father's smile died. "She can't be spending her days in the Sept for the rest of her life. I have confiscated all of the books, locked them away so she wouldn't suggest or spark an idea. A woman's mind is as clear as a man's mind. One must give as a future mother and wife. What good are the other daughters for, if they cannot be as achievable as she?"

"This is the fate I choose," you reasoned your father, in determinable rage. "I must do this."

And so, you cast aside the crown, the future prospects of awaiting suitors, who constantly want your hand in marriage of great alliances, and transformed as a septa. Like your mother, few other members of the Tyrell family objected, but your father had the last say and committed to a subjugation of your apply for a challenging task. Although your father and older sisters and brothers shared their support, your mother's intentions are quite clear as it did everyone else's.

As the matter has settled, your mother stopped you midway. "You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail," she hissed.

She's no rose, but a serpent that leeches the flesh.

"I always knew that you're an insipid witch who inspires no love but resentment, as of others. I must remain clean and pious, ever virtuous and benign. I hope you remain bitter and ugly, so that you die alone in your bed, no one to love you. You have killed the love from my father and my siblings, for I want no part with the likes of you," you told her, and barged out at the doors.

Perhaps your thorns are sharper than theirs.

And so, the raven sent a word from the capital, and by dawn—days later—your status is disposed and born anew as Septa (Y/N), and said your farewells and head off, afar from Highgarden with a single tear dropped on your face, as you recalled your grandmother’s words.

Growing strong.

"Farewell, my family, my home, my life, my garden, my comfort..." is all you uttered.

~*~

In King’s Landing, the capital since the dawn of time—has reconstructed and instructed under Aegon I, the most well-known infamous dragonlord that one day overshadow Westeros with a dragon and fury, as well as Visenya with her stubborn grit, and Rhaenys with her peace and wit. Once upon a time, King’s Landing used to be called Aegon’s Fort, but before Aegon’s Fort, it simply used to be a giant forest. Until all three of the dragonlords’ combination of their superb qualities and giant beasts, they’re unstoppable. Therefore, it’d be wise to bow down and surrender, if not, you’d be burn with dragon flame.

Rumor has it when living in King’s Landing, you can afford all the things and wealth and status you desire, even for being a prostitute in one of the inns at Street of Silk, but you intended to avoid filthy things altogether.

Other whispers you’ve heard is the Green Queen, Alicent Hightower, often visited in the Sept. Queen Alicent shed her blood through heretics on praying to her gods for salvation, whatever it may be, prayers to Gods are as sacred as a woman’s maidenhead. Somehow you felt it was out of duty to remain clean, or rebuke the filth to remain clean.

Since the days you have resided in a newfound residence within a glorified kingdom, you immersed your time on tending the orphans and the sick, you tend to your prayers and studies, sometimes tutoring the commoners and bastards and nobles alike—sunrise until sunset. Sometimes the children liked it when you sang them to keep them distract in daytime, or when you sang to them in sleep, for they have no parents to guide them in the land of sin.

In your private quarters, you summoned the belongings you treasured in your luggage—several books, a ring and a doll. There are times where you have missed your family dearly in your heart. Dresses exchanged with robes, your shining hair draped and tucked by veil.

Every once in a while, in your sleep, when an overwhelmed perception intruded in your blank state of mind, you pressed the porcelain glass doll in between your breasts, stroking it’s stringed hair and embraced it tightly.

Somehow, you felt the doll is alive each time you spoke to it, sometimes sang, pretending to be as your family member. You are alone in the capital, but you will outlive the loneliness. But that feeling of loneliness spread, tears dropped, your heart hitched and clenched as if someone’s fingers pressured onto the bleeding organ in your chest after ripping your ribcage open.

"Please stay close to me, stay close to me, my beloved, for the garden has grown cold without you," as you sang to the doll.

Each time your heart beats, the bell tolled in your ears and head on a slumbering nocturnal hour. In an otherworldly place, on the vast side afar from your former homeland, the bells reminded that King’s Landing is your new home.

Every now and then, you sent letters to your family. Every letter they sent gave you a sense of pride and joy--mostly your father, but only to be address as "Your Lord" instead of "Your Father". And every letter, there was a trinket of love that your father shared. And each time you lay on your bedside, you read their letters repeatedly until you lulled to slumber.

But as of late, you gained no response from them. For whatever reason, you kept on writing letters to them.

To think of a good and peaceful life, think of prosperity and glory to your prayers, guidance to a fulfilled wisdom and grace and flourish as the purest soul to fly within Seven Heavens above is the only way after passing on from a life of blood and lust and wretched souls that are beyond saving.

Days had been busied, and days had been hectic and tedious. Shutting your eyes in prayer in front of a grand statue, mouthing prayers in your mouth that you knew by heart. Each time you utter another thought, tears threatened to spill once more.

But you hardened your consciousness and pressed on.

~*~

One day, when dismissed from duties, you ought to find time a seclusion away from books and scriptures—lessons you have dealt with rambunctious children and spiteful elderly on the other side of city. You attended there, tending needs and care for animals, as well. Tending to endless hours seems forever, no way of escape for isolation.

But alas, you found solace under a spare time on a new night--and you have done this several times in several night previously. The area is empty but the walls adorned in fresh red roses and outgrown vines, reminded you of your garden. It was perfect. Surrounded in a garden, light of moonlight pooled behind the tree. On a marbled bench you sat, you resumed with your stitching of a canary, and sang a song from a book you've last read.

The birds chirped alongside yours, as it remain peace, but melancholy. But with the company of feathered friends, you remain your heart steady and true. You have chosen this life.

But as of late, you grew self-conscious, wondering if anyone was spying on you, in case you didn't do your duty to serve the Gods. Therefore, the passing hour has grown dark and departed from a secluded area.

~*~

The underground tunnels of King's Landing was all but darkness. But with a torch placed upon the walls stirred a bit ease to your liking. You ought to company other sisters back to the main ground.

As of now, you didn't like walking alone, as your thoughts remained at the last converse with your mother.

"You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail."

Immediately snapping out of your dreary thoughts, you marched onward with a sewing fabric clutched to your chest. Tunnels rumbled and echoed from your footsteps, as you saw a glimpse of small light above you.

You were almost there.

The air in your breath held in as you felt a large hand grasp your mouth and waist, dragging you back in the dark part of the tunnel. Struggle you as fought your way out, your needlework dropped, dragging and trapping you, wedged between the rustic bars. Biting off his fingers, you scurried off, but caught in between his hands again. You bit again and again until he yanked the veil back, released a sharp wail as the scalp on your golden brown hair has tugged in brute force.

As you attempted to turn around, but a lithe and large retaliated by you turning back around. Behind you, the shadow of someone's trousers dropped, and bent you forward. With large hands gripped tight on your waist, felt a hot tip, his hips grinding you, and plunged it all the way in, blood trailing down on your legs.

You cried aloud as the cock jabbing in your slick cunt.

No, no--not my virtue. Anything but my virtue.

A man groaned in satisfaction as he plunged into you, positioned your wrists behind you, hearing the wet splat as his hips snapped harshly to your entrance.

"Please...no..." you begged, cried.

But the man ignored you, a guttural moan pressed onto your ear, a man’s breath panted.

As he reached his high, hot semen spilled, leaving you breathless and beaten. Bruises on your skin swollen with numbness and your hair--the veil undone, your tucked hair loosened with tangle. Leaning forward with your shaken hands support from fall, you didn't spare a moment to shed your tears, as your final thoughts head straight to the culprit. Your eyes dazed in confusion and hurt. Why would someone hurt the person who was trying to heal the weak, and to preserve a restoring peace?

In your last moments of awake, your eyes glimpsed of a shadow strutting down at your direction, and passed out before a chance for you glimpse and run away.

Heavy footsteps caved in.

And the breath withhold loosened as a pair of hands reached you.

Like every flower, they wither.

~*~

In the next hour, you woke up, surrounded by darkness on cold bedside. You trudged at the door, finding out it was locked. Your fists banged against the door, screaming, "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"

Each time you screamed, your tears formed and stuck between your lashes. The tight, cold air caved into your chest, breathing harshly as your hands reached its exhaustion.

Then a pain between your legs had swollen each time you stride vastly back and forth, unsure to grasp the circumstances. It was then you realized one conclusion. Therefore, you tried to find another path, but how could you when you don't know its secrets to where you're standing now? Everything is dark and you're buried with stoned walls, nowhere to run to, or to hide or to tell someone to help you escape and flee from a wretched prison.

Leaning upon the wall, relying on a dimmest light of candle flame, you rested as your back slid downward, pressed against the wall, cuddled your knees to your chest and wept.

Weeping went on, but your hope wasn't lost.

But months went by, as the consciousness in your heart was trying to cooperate, to survive at least for tomorrow and the upcoming of days. You've been fed and clothed and sheltered. But it's not to your content; you yearned for more. There are times where you have sang to yourself, but still ended in tears with no one to hear but your own.

Oh the Gods have been cruel, but the god in your heart sets alight of hope for freedom, finding its way, but you must find a way within a perfect time.

Until one day, in your confined chambers, the dark room lit up until you faced the tall shadow casted before you with a sapphire glinted under the heavy cloak.

A shiver ran down on your neck, knowing who it was.

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