Thinking About Reader With An Insane Football Skills, Like They Came From A Really Really Good Club In

even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise—scaramouche/wanderer

a knock. comes with another one. and another. and as if sensing the urgency between those tired yet soft knocks on your door, you open it.

"wha—" your breath was knocked out of you when suddenly, someone had let themself fall into your chest and hugs you tightly. so tight that you can feel your spine going to snap at any moment.

"kuni...?" you look down, eyes boring through his indigo tresses.

"i..." oh, you heard a sob.

carefully lifting you arm, you raised your hand above his head and gingerly caress his dark locks. the soft pads of your fingers scratching his scalp that almost makes him melt on the spot.

"(name)," he whispered your name.

"yes?"

"can i—" his breathing is ragged and shaky, you can tell by the way his body tremble under your touch. "can i sleep with you tonight?"

the question almost made you want to coo over him, "of course." although you hate how much he's being bratty by the days, you were not merciless enough to let the poor boy standing in your front door so you guided him to your bed.

with you sitting on the edge of your bed, him wrapping his arms around your neck, sitting on your lap as you adjust him in a more comfortable position, you let him cry. his never ending tears already dampening your shoulder.

rubbing circles on his back, whispering sweet nothings to his ear and a hum of a traditional lullaby from your homeland leaving your lips. with this, you allowed him to be vulnerable around you. to let his cocky demeanor break and flow his emotions out.

it's another nightmare, you guesses. but you didn't ask, you never do, afraid of being too straightforward. it's alright, you tell yourself. he will tell you about it when the time comes.

for now though, you'll settle for comforting the dear wanderer on your lap, hugging him gently and reassuring him that you'll never leave. that you'll stay by his side.

"(name)..." the stiffled mumble of your name causes you to hum. "can i—can i call you mother/father?"

you can't see it, but you can swear his ears are burning red right now. "you can always, dearest."

"mother/father.." he called out.

"yes, son?" oh! the mere mention of the word "son" sent some euphoric shiver down his spine.

"mother/father..." he said once again, as if trying to familiarize himself with the foreign word.

"yes, my son?"

"i love you"

"i love you too, sweetheart."

that night, and the following night, and the night after, and so on, the nightmares never came back.

...oh!