onlylyyy if your comfortable with it !!!!!!! then bllk x reader with old sh scars ^_^
𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐥’ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
୨୧ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - you never knew they loved your scars, often finding them kissing them, or smoothing them, or even sometimes comforting you. saying they were beautiful as much as you.
୨୧ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - mentions of sh, mentions of a rough past, emotional, comforting, sorta fluff?, kisses, and that’s it!
୨୧ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - ego jinpachi ৴ michael kaiser ৴ sae itoshi ৴ rin itoshi ৴ isagi yoichi ৴ bachira meguru ৴ nagi seishiro ৴ shidou ryusei ৴ don lorenzo ৴ bunny iglesias ৴ snuffy marc
ego wasn’t the type to easily show affection.
he wasn’t soft with his words. he wasn’t gentle with his tone. he didn’t give hugs, and he definitely didn’t say sweet things out loud. to most people, he looked cold. sharp. hard to read.
but that didn’t mean he didn’t see you.
he saw the way you tugged your sleeves down even when it was warm. he saw the faint lines on your skin when your sleeve slipped up by accident. thin, pale marks that told a story you never said out loud.
he knew because ego noticed everything. he studied people like they were puzzles. and you? you were the only one he looked at without trying to solve.
one night, you were sitting on the floor of his room, quiet, your knees pulled close to your chest. you thought he was too focused on his screen to notice how distant you looked.
he noticed, he always noticed.
“you’re quieter than usual,” he said, not looking at you.
“i’m fine,” you answered quickly.
he hummed, a low sound. he didn’t push. he never forced answers out of you.
a few minutes passed. then you shifted, and your sleeve slid up a little.
then back to the screen. but his jaw tightened.
he didn’t say, why did you do that? he didn’t say, stop, he didn’t say, that’s stupid.
instead, he reached over without looking and handed you his hoodie.
“it’s cold,” he muttered, but it wasn’t. you stared at him. “…it’s not.”
“it is,” he replied flatly. “wear it.”
slowly, you slipped it on. it was too big. the sleeves covered your hands completely.
ego leaned back in his chair.
“your body,” he said after a long pause, voice lower now, “isn’t something you should treat like it’s disposable.”
he still wasn’t looking at you.
“you think i don’t know?” he continued quietly. “i know.”
your chest tightened. you felt embarrassed, exposed. “…i had a rough time,” you whispered.
his voice wasn’t angry. it wasn’t cold either, it was calm.
“pain makes people do irrational things,” he said. “but you’re still here. that means you didn’t actually want to disappear.”
you didn’t answer. your eyes burned.
ego finally turned his head slightly, just enough to see you from the corner of his eye.
“if you were truly weak,” he said softly, “you wouldn’t have survived it.”
that was the closest he would ever come to calling you strong. you wiped your eyes quickly, trying not to cry in front of him.
“don’t cry like that. it’s inefficient.” but he stood up, he walked over. and for a moment, he hesitated.
ego wasn’t the type to touch without reason.
but this was reason enough. he rested his hand on top of your head. awkward, stiff, unfamiliar.
his fingers barely moved, but they stayed there.
“next time,” he said quietly, “when it gets that bad… you come sit in here. you don’t hurt yourself. you sit.”
“you don’t have to say anything,” he added. “just sit.”
his hand slid down slightly, brushing your hair away from your face.
“i don’t tolerate losing valuable things,” he muttered. “and that includes you.”
michael knew what it was like to feel that way. because he also had a similar mind like yours
he didn’t talk about it much. actually, he never did. he walked like he owned every room, like nothing could ever reach him. but deep down, his thoughts used to be cruel, useless, emotional.
so when he noticed the marks on your skin, he didn’t react with shock. he didn’t look disgusted. he didn’t even look surprised.
it happened one evening when you were sitting beside him, your hand resting on his thigh while he scrolled through his phone.
your sleeve had slipped up without you noticing. the faint lines on your wrist caught his attention immediately.
you froze, embarrassed already. “i know, sorry.”
his brows pulled together. “sorry?” he repeated quietly.
he slowly pushed your sleeve up again, his fingers careful, almost reverent. he traced near the scars without pressing on them, like he was memorizing them instead of judging them.
“don’t say that,” he murmured.
you couldn’t look at him. your chest felt tight. “they’re not nice to look at.”
he tilted his head slightly, studying your arm with an expression that wasn’t pity. it wasn’t disgust. it was something else, something protective.
“i think they’re pretty,” he said.
“they’re part of you,” he continued calmly. “and everything that’s part of you is pretty to me.”
your throat closed up. “michael…”
“listen to me,” he said gently, lifting your chin so you had to look at him. his eyes weren’t teasing or arrogant like usual, they were soft, and serious.
“those marks mean you survived something that tried to break you. that’s not shameful. that’s strength.”
a tear slipped down before you could stop it. “i didn’t feel strong.”
“i know,” he whispered. “i didn’t either when i was in that place.”
his thumb brushed lightly over one of the faded lines.
“when your mind gets dark, it lies to you. it tells you that hurting yourself will make it quiet. that you deserve it. i understand that voice.” his jaw tightened for a second. “but it was wrong about me. and it’s wrong about you.”
you were shaking now, overwhelmed. “people think it’s weird.”
“people are stupid,” he replied flatly, but his tone was still soft. “they don’t know what it takes to keep breathing when your own head is fighting you.”
he leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss just above your scars.
“never be ashamed of this,” he whispered against your skin. “these are proof you made it through. and you’re still here. with me.”
your fingers clenched lightly in his shirt. “you really don’t think they’re bad?”
he looked at you like the question offended him. “no. i think they’re part of the person i love.”
the word slipped out naturally.
he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly but carefully, like he was holding something precious.
his hand slid up and down your back in slow, soothing movements.
“if the thoughts ever come back,” he murmured into your hair, “you come to me. you show me. you don’t hide.”
he pressed another soft kiss to your temple. “your body is yours. it’s not something to punish. it’s something that carried you this far.”
his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing gently.
“and i’m proud of you,” he added quietly. “for surviving. for staying. for being here.”
sae wasn’t good with soft words
he definitely didn’t know how to ask about something so personal without making it feel awkward. but he noticed.
the first time he saw the faint scars on your arm, he didn’t react. his expression didn’t change. but his eyes stayed there a second longer than usual.
you caught it and immediately tried to hide them, tugging your sleeve down.
he reached out and stopped your hand.
you looked at him nervously. “don’t.”
instead, he gently pushed your sleeve back up. slow. careful. like he was handling something fragile. his thumb hovered over the lines on your skin, not pressing, just tracing the air above them.
you expected questions. you expected judgment.
he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss directly over one of the scars.
another kiss, then another, like he was sealing something broken back together.
“sae…” your voice trembled. “they’re not nice.”
he finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “don’t say that.”
you swallowed. “they’re ugly.”
his hand tightened slightly around your wrist, not hurting, just grounding you. he lifted his head and looked at you with that calm, unreadable gaze.
“they’re yours,” he said simply.
that was it. there wasn’t no long speech.
“i love you,” he added quietly.
your eyes widened. he didn’t say that often, not casually.
he brushed his lips over another scar. “and i love these as much as i love you.”
your throat tightened. “why?”
“because they’re part of you,” he answered without hesitation. “they tell me you survived.”
his thumb finally traced lightly over the marks, slow and gentle. “whatever tried to take you away didn’t win.”
you felt tears gather in your eyes. “i wasn’t strong.”
he leaned his forehead against yours. “you’re still here.”
his hand slid from your wrist to your cheek, brushing away a tear before it fell. “that’s enough.”
he didn’t overthink it. he didn’t analyze it. he just pulled you into his chest and held you there, one hand resting protectively over the arm you tried to hide.
“don’t hide from me,” he murmured softly into your hair. “not this.”
another small kiss pressed to your scars, then to your temple.
the way he treated every mark like something precious said everything.
rin didn’t talk about it the first time he noticed.
he was observant, he saw the way you tugged your sleeves down. he saw the faint lines on your skin when you forgot for a second.
one afternoon you were sitting across from him, sunlight coming through the window, and your arm was bare without you realizing it. his eyes dropped to the scars. he didn’t look disgusted. he looked focused.
you quickly moved to cover them. “don’t stare.”
he reached forward and caught your wrist. “stop hiding.”
you hesitated. “…they look bad.”
rin frowned slightly. “no, they don’t.”
you looked at him like you didn’t believe it.
he stood up without another word and grabbed a pen from his desk. you blinked in confusion as he came back and sat close to you.
“what are you doing?” you asked softly.
he gently turned your arm over, resting it on his thigh. his fingers were surprisingly warm. careful. he started drawing small lines around the scars. tiny stars. little shapes. a thin vine wrapping softly around your wrist.
you stared at him. “rin…”
“if you’re going to look at them,” he muttered, concentrating, “then look at them like this.”
he finished one small star right over a faded line and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to it.
he kissed another one. then another. every time he moved to a different scar, he would press his lips there like it was routine. like it was natural.
“you did well,” he murmured quietly.
“you survived,” he said, still not looking at you, still drawing. “good job.”
it sounded awkward. almost strange. but it was sincere.
he traced a small heart beside one of the thinner marks. then he kissed it.
“this one’s strong,” he added randomly.
you let out a small, shaky laugh. “that doesn’t make sense.”
he glanced up at you, serious as ever. “it does to me.”
his thumb brushed lightly over your skin. “you’re stubborn. even when your head was bad, you stayed.”
he leaned down again, kissing another scar gently. “that’s impressive.”
your eyes watered. “impressive?”
“yeah.” his tone was simple, honest. “most people would’ve given up.”
he put the pen down and brought your wrist closer to his face, studying his drawings mixed with your scars. he kissed the center of your arm one more time.
“they’re not ugly,” he said quietly. “they’re proof.”
you looked at the tiny stars and vines surrounding the lines. they didn’t look so harsh anymore. not with his messy little drawings decorating them.
rin rested his forehead lightly against your arm. “next time you feel like hurting yourself,” he murmured, “come here instead.”
he pressed another kiss there, softer than the rest.
“i’ll draw over them again,” he added quietly. “and i’ll keep telling you good job until you believe it.”
he saw the way your fingers lingered near your sleeves. he saw the faint lines on your skin one evening when your arm brushed against his.
he didn’t stare, or he didn’t react loudly. he just gently reached for your hand.
you immediately tried to pull away, embarrassed. “it’s nothing.”
he tightened his grip just a little, not forcing you, just grounding you. “it’s not nothing.”
you looked down. “they’re old.”
“i know,” he replied quietly.
there was a small pause. he shifted closer to you on the couch until your shoulders were touching. “did it hurt?” he asked gently.
not accusing, not demanding.
you shrugged, trying to act small. “i don’t know. i guess i wasn’t thinking.”
his chest tightened at that. he carefully lifted your arm, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted. when you didn’t, he brushed his thumb lightly near the scars, barely touching.
“i’m really sorry you felt like that,” he whispered.
your throat closed up. “it was a long time ago.”
“even so,” he said softly. “you shouldn’t have had to go through it alone.”
his hand slid down to intertwine your fingers with his. he brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there.
“i’m glad you’re still here,” he murmured.
you looked at him, eyes glossy. “it’s not a big deal.”
it made him frown a little. “it is to me.”
he shifted so he was fully facing you now, one hand cupping your cheek. “when things get that heavy in your head, it can feel like there’s no other way, right?”
“then next time,” he said, voice steady but soft, “let me be another option.”
your lips trembled slightly.
he pulled you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. he held you tight but gentle, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“you don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered into your hair. “you don’t have to pretend it didn’t hurt.”
his chin rested on top of your head. his breathing was calm, steady, like he was trying to lend you some of it.
“i care about you a lot,” he admitted quietly. “and i don’t ever want you to feel like you have to hurt yourself to cope.”
his fingers brushed lightly over your sleeve, right where you had tried to hide.
“you’re important to me,” he said softly. “more than you realize.”
and he just stayed there, holding you, letting you feel that he wasn’t going anywhere.
he always noticed when your energy shifted, when your smile didn’t reach your eyes, when your hands moved like you were trying to hide something.
he saw the faint scars on your arm one day when you were laughing and your sleeve slipped down.
he didn’t go quiet like others might.
he tilted his head, studying them with curious, soft eyes. not judging, just seeing.
you quickly pulled your sleeve back up. “don’t look.”
“why not?” he asked gently.
“because they’re something..”
his expression changed immediately. not into pity. into determination. he scooted closer until your knees were touching.
“hey,” he said softly, poking your cheek. “don’t say mean things about someone i like.”
“you were,” he interrupted lightly, but his voice stayed warm. “those are part of you, right? so if you call them ugly, you’re calling you ugly.”
you looked away, embarrassed. “it was a bad time.”
bachira’s smile softened. “i know.”
that surprised you. “you do?”
he nodded. “sometimes the monster in your head gets loud. it tells you silly lies. like you’re not enough. or that hurting yourself will make it quieter.” he tapped his temple. “mine used to talk a lot too.”
he gently reached for your wrist. “can i?”
you hesitated, then slowly nodded.
he carefully pushed your sleeve up. instead of flinching, he leaned closer, examining the scars like they were delicate artwork.
“they’re kinda cool,” he murmured thoughtfully.
you stared at him. “cool?”
“yeah,” he grinned softly. “they show you fought something and didn’t lose.”
you felt your eyes sting.
before you could hide your face, he leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to one of the faded lines.
he kissed another one. lighter this time. “this one’s brave.”
another kiss. “this one’s stubborn.”
you let out a shaky laugh through your tears. “that doesn’t even make sense.”
“it does to me,” he said simply.
he looked up at you, eyes bright but serious in a way he didn’t show often. “i’m really glad you’re still here.”
his thumb brushed gently over your skin. “next time the monster gets loud, okay? you tell me. we’ll gang up on it together.”
he pressed one more lingering kiss across your scars, slower this time.
“you’re not broken,” he whispered. “you’re you. and i really, really like you.”
then he wrapped his arms around you suddenly, squeezing you tight.
“and if you forget that,” he added against your shoulder, “i’ll just keep reminding you. with kisses if i have to.”
he saw the way you pulled your sleeves down. he saw the faint lines on your skin when you stretched beside him.
he didn’t react dramatically. he didn’t sit up straight or ask a million questions.
he just rolled onto his side so he was facing you.
“what’s that?” he asked quietly, nudging your wrist with his fingers.
you quickly tried to hide it. “nothing.”
“mhm,” he hummed lazily. “doesn’t look like nothing.”
before you could protest, he gently tugged your sleeve back up. his movements were slow, unhurried, like everything he did. he stared at the scars for a long moment.
“you hurt yourself?” he asked, not accusing. just stating it.
you nodded faintly, embarrassed. “it was a long time ago.”
he blinked once. twice. then he leaned down without saying anything and pressed a soft, lazy kiss over one of the faded lines.
he kissed another one. slower this time. “don’t hide them.”
“they’re not nice,” you whispered.
he rested his cheek against your arm, still holding it loosely. “they’re yours.”
he started placing small, absent kisses along your wrist, then your forearm, moving without rush. like he had all the time in the world.
“you’re warm,” he murmured sleepily. “i like that.”
you felt your face heat up. “i’m serious.”
“so am i,” he replied, finally lifting his head to look at you. his eyes were soft, not teasing. “don’t be mean to your body. it carried you this far.”
he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you down so you were lying with him. his lips brushed over your shoulder.
then your collarbone, it was slow, gentle. not demanding. just… appreciating.
“you’re really pretty,” he mumbled against your skin.
his kisses trailed lazily across your arms, over your hands, your knuckles. he treated every part of you the same way, like it all deserved attention.
when he reached your scars again, he lingered there.
“these too,” he whispered softly, pressing another kiss over them. “they’re part of you. so i like them.”
your eyes filled with tears. “why?”
he looked at you like the answer was obvious. “because i like you.”
he brushed his thumb lightly over your arm. “all of you. even the parts you don’t like.”
then he pulled you fully against his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he pressed one last lazy kiss there.
“don’t hurt yourself again,” he murmured, voice quiet and drowsy. “if it gets hard… just lay here instead.”
his fingers traced slow, absent patterns on your back as he held you close, kissing your shoulder once more like a silent promise.
when he noticed the marks on your skin, he reacted the same way.
you were trying to hide them, tugging your sleeve down, acting like nothing was there.
he grabbed your wrist before you could.
“oi,” he said, eyes sharp but not angry. “why’re you hiding something that’s part of you?”
you looked away. “i don’t like them.”
he stared at you like you had just insulted him personally. “who told you that?”
he clicked his tongue and pulled your arm closer, inspecting the scars openly. there was no hesitation in him. no awkwardness. just intensity.
“these?” he scoffed lightly. “these are badass.”
“you went through hell and you’re still standing,” he said firmly. “that’s hot.”
your face burned. “shidou!”
“i’m serious,” he insisted, his voice lowering but staying fierce. “you survived something that tried to crush you. that’s strength.”
he leaned down suddenly and pressed a firm kiss right over one of the scars.
another kiss, slower this time. deliberate.
“this one? means you fought,” he murmured. “this one? means you didn’t quit.”
your chest tightened. “i wasn’t fighting. i was struggling.”
“same thing,” he shot back instantly. “you’re still here, aren’t you?”
he lifted your chin so you had to look at him. his eyes were intense, but there was something softer underneath.
“don’t ever call yourself weak for surviving,” he said. “that mindset? trash. throw it out.”
he pulled you suddenly into his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly, almost crushing but not hurting.
“you’re strong as hell,” he continued, voice right by your ear. “and if your head tries to tell you otherwise, i’ll yell louder.”
you let out a shaky laugh through your tears.
he pulled back just enough to look at you again. “you think those scars make you less? they make you real. they make you someone who’s been through something.”
his thumb brushed over your arm, surprisingly gentle for someone like him.
“i like strong people,” he added quietly. “and you? you’re ridiculously strong.”
he leaned down and kissed your scars again, slower now, more tender.
“next time that dark thought creeps in,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “you come to me. i’ll drag you out of it myself.”
his hands rested firmly on your waist, grounding you.
“you’re not broken,” he murmured. “you’re powerful. and don’t you dare forget that.”
when your sleeve slipped down one day and the faint scars showed, his grin didn’t fade. it just softened.
you quickly tried to hide them. “don’t look.”
he gently caught your wrist before you could pull away. his fingers were cool against your skin.
“why?” he asked lightly. “they’re pretty.”
you stared at him. “don’t joke.”
“i’m not,” he replied, voice unusually calm.
he slowly pushed your sleeve back up, turning your arm slightly in the light like he was admiring something rare. his thumb smoothed over the scars carefully, not pressing hard, just tracing the shape of them.
“they’re beautiful,” he murmured. “like you.”
your chest tightened. “they’re just mistakes.”
he shook his head immediately. “no. they’re proof.”
“that you survived something ugly and still turned out pretty,” he said simply.
his touch stayed gentle, smoothing over your skin again and again, like he was trying to erase the shame instead of the scars. his thumb moved in slow circles, soothing, steady.
“you shouldn’t hide things that make you you,” he continued softly. “these lines? they’re part of your story.”
you felt tears sting your eyes. “most people don’t think they’re nice.”
“most people don’t matter,” he replied without hesitation.
he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss over one of the faded marks. then another. each one slow and careful, like he was sealing them with something warm.
“see?” he murmured against your skin. “beautiful.”
you let out a shaky breath. “you really think that?”
he looked up at you with that familiar grin, but softer, less teasing. “you’re pretty. everything attached to you automatically qualifies.”
his fingers smoothed over your arm again, brushing lightly from wrist to elbow. “don’t punish your body for surviving. it carried you through it.”
he leaned closer, resting his forehead gently against your arm before placing one last kiss there.
“next time you look at them,” he said quietly, “i want you to think beautiful. because that’s what i see.”
then he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him like you belonged there.
the second your mood dipped or your fingers started tugging at your sleeves — bunny noticed it, he noticed everything. he tilted his head slightly.
when he finally saw the faint scars, his expression didn’t twist in pity.
you tried to hide them immediately. “hey! don’t look.”
he gently caught your wrist and brought it closer to his face. “why?” he asked softly.
“because they’re.. i don’t know.”
his nose brushed lightly over your skin before he pressed the tiniest, softest kiss to one of the faded lines. quick, warm, almost ticklish.
another small kiss. then another. little pecks, light and repetitive, like a bunny nudging for attention.
you let out a surprised laugh. “what are you doing?”
“kissing them,” he said simply, placing another quick peck. “like this.”
he dotted tiny kisses across your scars, barely lingering, just soft and playful and affectionate. not intense. not heavy. just sweet.
“they’re not ‘i don’t know’,” he murmured between kisses. “they’re yours.”
you felt your chest tighten. “it was a bad time.”
he nodded against your arm. “i know.”
another kiss. softer now.
“but you’re here now,” he added gently. “and i like that.”
he lifted his head and looked at you, eyes warm and steady. then he pressed a slightly longer kiss over the center of your wrist.
“you don’t get to be mean to yourself,” he said lightly. “that’s my job. and i’m not doing it.”
you huffed a small laugh through watery eyes.
he suddenly stood up and tugged your hand. “come on.”
“outside,” he said. “or we can bake. or watch something dumb. or go on a walk. or i’ll race you to the kitchen.”
“we’re not sitting here letting your brain spiral,” he replied gently but firmly. “when your head gets loud, we move. we do stuff. we make noise back.”
he leaned down and gave your scars one more soft, rapid series of little bunny-like kisses, making you giggle despite yourself.
“see?” he smiled. “you’re smiling.”
he intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed. “your mind doesn’t get to trap you. i won’t let it.”
then he bumped his forehead lightly against yours. “you survived something hard. that’s strong.”
another tiny kiss to your wrist.
“and if the thoughts come back,” he added quietly, “i’ll just keep kissing them away. over and over.”
he tugged you toward the door with a small grin. “now come on. let’s do something loud enough to drown out the bad stuff.”
he had lived long enough to recognize pain when he saw it, even when it was hidden behind a small smile. when your sleeve shifted and the faint scars showed, his expression didn’t change much, but his eyes softened immediately.
you tried to pull your arm back. “it’s nothing.”
he gently caught your hand. “may i?” he asked quietly.
his voice was calm, respectful, never forcing. you hesitated, then nodded.
he carefully pushed your sleeve up, exposing the faded lines. he didn’t flinch. he didn’t look away. instead, his fingers slowly traced along them, light and warm, like he was memorizing every part of you.
“you’ve been through more than you let on,” he murmured.
your throat tightened. “it was a long time ago.”
“pain doesn’t disappear just because time passes,” he replied softly.
his fingertips smoothed over your skin, slow and soothing, following each scar with care. there was no rush in him. no discomfort. only tenderness.
“these don’t make you weak,” he said. “they show that you survived something difficult.”
you blinked back tears. “they’re not pretty.”
he looked at you then, steady and certain. “they’re part of the woman i love. so to me, they are.”
his thumb traced one of the longer marks before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to it. not hurried. not dramatic. just warm and sincere.
another kiss followed. then another. each one lingering for a second, like he was replacing old pain with something softer.
“you don’t have to be ashamed with me,” he whispered against your skin.
his hands moved up your arm, smoothing slowly over your shoulders, your back, grounding you.
he treated your body with a kind of quiet reverence, tracing and calming, reminding you without words that you were safe.
“whatever made you feel like this was your only option,” he continued softly, “it lied to you.”
he kissed your wrist again, then your knuckles, then your temple.
“i love you,” he said clearly.
he pulled you gently into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. one hand rested over the arm you used to hide, thumb drawing slow circles there.
you could feel his heartbeat steady against your cheek.
“i love every part of you,” he murmured into your hair. “the bright parts. the tired parts. even the parts you struggle to accept.”
his fingers continued smoothing over your skin, slow and reassuring.
“you are not worthless,” he added quietly. “you are someone who endured.”
then he tightened his hold just slightly, protective but warm.
“and you don’t ever have to endure alone again.”
he pressed one last soft kiss to your forehead before settling back, keeping you close.
holding you like something precious, whispering small reminders of how much he loved you until your breathing finally matched his.
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