#better sunrises than anywhere else in the states

[teethrotter]

the midwest is kind of worthless in terms of scenery value but ( as of yet ) i will give it 2 things: sunrises + southern illinois in the winter

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

Ever since the Upside-down and Vecna and the world going to shit, Steve’s spent a lot of time roaming the bars inside and out of Hawkins. Once he’d finished with his dad’s liquor cabinet and the only liquor store in town stopped selling to him, he started being a regular at multiple establishments.

It was hard, after losing Max and El and Will and others Steve couldn’t think about without ripping open the wounds again. The portals were all closed, but at what cost? The world was technically saved, but Steve’s was a wreck. The metaphorical wounds were still ripped up and bleeding, fresh holes that would never quite stitch themselves over and heal.

His parents never came back, and he couldn’t even blame them, it’s not like he expected to be worth it to them. He was an adult now, on his own, there was no need for them to come back and pick him up. Honestly, he never wanted to see them again, didn’t really even know who they were. Steve had lived with practical strangers his whole life, made a semblance of family from skin and bone, and had it all ripped away from him.

Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

So he drank, went back to King Steve’s routes, used the alcohol to ground him while his mind drifted away to heaven or hell or wherever. It didn’t matter, because Steve never remembered the night before. The nightmares melted with the sunrise, the tremors and gasps, and flooding eyes gave way to cotton mouth and hunger in the daylight, and the blinding sun made it easier to forget all the bad things. Easier, but altogether impossible none the less.

So Steve didn’t quite remember how he ended up in the woods behind his house, dead leaves tangled in his hair and a particularly sharp twig shoved into his spine. He groaned against the sunlight blinding him through the branches and dug the stick out from under him, standing up on wobbling legs to trudge back inside. It wasn’t uncommon to find himself on his porch or lying in an old and tattered lounge chair, or even on a park bench some times. He wandered a lot. There was nothing else to do.

He still had money in his trust fund, still had his parents house to stay in, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on his door to put him back together. Eddie was somewhere, in another state or wherever he ran off to. Again, Steve couldn’t blame him, either. Wayne wasn’t here anymore, there was no reason for Eddie to stay after everything. There wasn’t any reason for Steve to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, either.

So he stayed. So he drank. So he blacked out and woke up outside sometimes.

He rested against a tree for a minute, trying to gain his bearings and see past the blinding sunlight, rubbing circles into his eyes until he saw sparks of white behind his eyelids. He was probably a mess, probably looked half dead, hadn’t been able to look into a mirror in months.

Blinking out into his backyard, he could see a bit better now but the world still wobbled on its axis just a bit. It would probably be another half hour until he was sober enough to see straight, but he wasn’t going to stay in the burning sun for that. He trekked across the dead grass of his yard, using passing lawn chairs and tables as crutches to make the distance more bearable, ignored the memories pressing at the edges of his mind and embraced the pain in his head to push the thoughts away.

The house seemed a bit cleaner on the inside than he last remembered, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned, but he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. That was the point, after all.

Steve rounded the hallway into the open arch of the kitchen entry — hoping he had some cereal left in the pantry somewhere, not brave enough to handle the stares and whispers he’d get at the diner or grocery store — when he was roughly slammed against the kitchen wall. His head swam with the abrupt movement, stomach churning uncomfortably. He blinked against the sudden impact, feeling one of his own kitchen knives at his throat; pressing, but not digging, a warning. The knife wobbled slightly before the grip righted, pressing just a bit stronger than before, a threat.

Steve opened his eyes, trying to get his brain back online in his hazy state. Putting the pieces together slowly. Brown hair. Curly. Angry eyes. A set grimace on his lips. Eddie Munson. The last time Eddie Munson had a sharp object to his neck, Steve was pinned to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boat house. Now, pinned to the wall of his own kitchen, Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t fathom what Eddie would be doing here, either.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He asked, pushing through the uncomfortable cotton mouth and stale alcohol taste on his tongue.

Eddie just stared at him, the hand fisted into Steve’s shirt tightening. He winced.

“Seriously dude, what are you doing?” Was he still asleep outside? Was he ever outside? What the hell did he drink last night?

Eddie kept staring, glaring, like Steve did something wrong again. Steve always did something wrong, he just couldn’t figure out what. The grip on his shirt tightened again, pinching Steve’s chest and clearing his head just a bit more. Definitely not a dream.

“Who are you?” Eddie growled out, shoving Steve harder into the wall.

Steve blinked. What? That was not the question Steve was expecting. Not that he was expecting any of this, really.

“Who. Are. You?” Eddie repeated.

“Steve. Harring-ton?” Steve replied, following the other man’s cadence, words dripping with confusion.

Eddie’s glare tightened like his grip, knife digging into his throat just a bit more. He was sure his brain should be screaming danger, danger, danger, but the fact that it was Eddie standing in front of him was throwing him way off kilter.

“Seriously, Eddie, what’s going on?” Steve begged, unsure if the confusion muddling his brain was because of the alcohol, lack of any decent nutrition for the past few months, or something else. Did he seriously miss something so big that had Eddie up in arms like this? He couldn’t possibly look so bad he was unrecognizable.

“Is this some kind of trick from Vecna? Hm? What are you?”

“Eddie, man, I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about!” Steve’s voice was gaining a more hysterical edge at this point, but it had no effect on Eddie what-so-ever. “I am so not sober enough for this, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Steve Harrington is dead!” Eddie yelled in his face, “Steve Harrington is dead, so what the fuck are you?”

—

If y’all have world building questions pls ask in the replies because maybe it’ll get me somewhere near a plot. Anyway, please enjoy sad lonely Steve

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"The Vichy regime incorporated the forest into its ‘back-to-the-land’ programme constructing the forest as a traditional, stable site in which to morally regenerate France. Jacques Chevalier, conservative philosopher and minister for public instruction between December 1940 and February 1941, considered that ‘life in the forest is the most healthy there is for the body and the soul, freeing us from the artifices of modern society’. He suggested that ‘eternal’ France resides in the forest. The forest constituted:

A living symbol of tradition, perpetuating history; old France is preserved better here than anywhere else; the present unites effortlessly with the past. In the silence and depth of the forest centuries replace one another, slowly, continuously, in the same way that the oak’s sapwood binds a new layer to those of springs and autumns past.

For Chevalier, trees represented a link between France’s past and present and acted as a guarantor of French traditions. Chevalier’s musings on trees and tradition are by no means uncharacteristic of the symbolic appropriation of trees. In the words of Douglas Davies, the tree is ‘a living entity, spanning many human generations. As such it avails itself as a historical marker and social focus of events’.

Forestry associations strove to incorporate the forest within the ‘National Revolution’. Just after the defeat, J. Jagerschmidt, the general secretary of the Comité des forêts argued that the forest was a ‘refuge of [the] old principles’ of Work, Family, Homeland. For Jagerschmidt, the forest epitomised the virtues of labour because ‘woodcutters and charcoal burners laughed at the paid holidays and forty hour week that the [Third Republic] wanted to impose on them’. Forest workers did not need to be told to work ‘from sunrise to sunset’. Family and forest also went together, according to Jagerschmidt, because the latter was a

symbol of tradition . . . of which the evolutionary rhythm exceeds several times the length of human life, [so] chimes perfectly well with the notion of the family, the linking of successive generations.

Furthermore, it was in the depths of the forest that the country’s ‘heart’ belonged. It is unclear whether such rhetoric represents deeply held beliefs or lip service to the newly installed regime. Either way, the forest’s politicisation is evident. The irony was, however, that such ‘back-to-the-land’ rhetoric simultaneously politicised the forest and constructed it as a space of ‘natural’ (and therefore apolitical) values and traditions

In a similar way to the peasant, the bûcheron (or woodcutter) was transformed into a patriotic figure labouring to regenerate France. Working in the forest helped strengthen male bodies and remake masculinity in post-defeat France. Two state foresters, Roger Blais and Gérard Luzu, published a guide to the ‘tough school’ of the forest, which presented forestry work as the most ‘radical’ return to the land and ‘an integral part of rural reconstruction’. They highlighted the ‘physical and moral enrichment’ the forester gleaned from the forest, ‘contributing to the affirmation of values and personal autonomy within the framework of nature’s laws and collective life’. In contrast to the ease of city living, life in the forest was ‘hard and healthy’ and woodcutting a ‘noble and free occupation’. Blais and Luzu also called for the forestry profession to conform to the principles of ‘social spirit and true hierarchy as outlined by the head of state’. Similarly, a 1943 article in Revue des Eaux et Forêts argued that ‘living in nature’ is the ‘best school’ and working in forestry teams countered individualism and selfishness because it cultivated the qualities of ‘sacrifice and charity’. These visions of forest life chimed with Vichy’s assumption that hard work was redemptive and served a national purpose.

Likewise, the forestry work of the Chantiers de la Jeunesse was supposed to contribute to male moral and physical regeneration. The Chantiers leadership viewed the forest as a safe and wholesome place, distant from the supposed immorality and decadence of modern society that reached its zenith in the city. From the outset, the Chantiers strove to remove its recruits from the ‘deleterious influence of the towns’ by making them camp out ‘in the great outdoors (en pleine nature), in the middle of the forest, hidden from all forms of trouble or agitation’.

The forest supposedly held important lessons for these young men, as it did for the rest of society. At Tronçais, Group One of the Chantiers dedicated a tree to their leader, Commissaire Furioux. In his speech during the ceremony, Forestry Inspector Desjeux pronounced that

it is through the living example of the forest, an example of tradition, continuity, and grandeur that [Furioux] wanted to impress on all those who had the honour of obeying [his] orders.

In a similar vein, Forestry Conservator Pascaud used his speech to identify the forest’s exemplary demonstration of ‘solidarity’. In particular, the oak tree towering serenely above surrounding trees protects them so that they grow to share the ‘light in which he bathes’. Addressing the Chantiers, Pascaud continued:

This solidarity of all plants, is it not the image of the best of societies where the leader must dominate in his pre-eminence while feeling himself surrounded, supported, [and] aided [by his followers]? If his entourage fails him, he succumbs, whatever his qualities. Let us remember this example at a moment when divisions lie in wait for us.

There was, however, some discrepancy between the regime’s rhetoric and the reality of forest life. The Chantiers’ leaders were well aware of the young men’s indifference, even outright hostility, to their new role as woodcutters. A 1943 report lamented that the Chantiers’ early enthusiasm and their ‘mentality of explorers out to discover new lands’ had since dissipated. Instead, the men no longer recognised the ‘usefulness of their work’ and the leadership itself admitted that ‘forestry work, interesting at first, quickly becomes monotonous, [and] tedious. Their hearts are not in the felling. Boredom is the dominant characteristic’. The joys of being a woodcutter were lost on those forced to work in the forests.

Nonetheless, the image of a stately oak leading and protecting his followers was a popular one. Yvonne Estienne’s illustrated children’s story La belle histoire d’un chêne (1943) compared France to a forest that had just been struck by a fierce storm. During the storm, trees swayed alarmingly in the wind and petrified birds and animals rushed to find shelter 'all the forest is unhappy. It looks for help’. Help came from the forest’s leader, a ‘tall, solid, upright tree’ who fears nothing and protects its charges. In case her young readers had missed the analogy, Estienne moved the story onto contemporary events: during the military defeat the French had fled from the enemy and its bombs ‘like the rabbits of the wood’. But luckily for France there was hope:

there existed, as well, in the forest of France – because men [sic] resemble trees – a tall, beautiful oak, already old but so valiant that he stood strong to protect everybody. And this tall, beautiful oak was called Marshal Pétain.

Helpfully, the Pétain oak tree carefully explained where the forest had gone wrong and how it should reform itself.

Vichy’s ideological appropriation of the forest reached its high point in Tronçais where an oak tree was named after Pétain on the initiative of Chevalier (his godson) and in the presence of forestry officials. Like the supposedly exceptional qualities of Pétain, the oak tree chosen to bear his name stood out from the rest: it stood 35 m high, was 260 years old and boasted good foliage. During the naming ceremony, Pétain unveiled a plaque bearing the words ‘Chêne Maréchal Pétain’ and made three marks on the tree with a Forestry Administration hammer. On one level, this event can be interpreted within the framework of the cult of personality created around Pétain, who admitted that he hoped that he would be able to ‘remain as upright as this tree in order to be able to devote [himself] to the service of the country’. The ceremony also implied that Pétain, like his oak tree, embodied the latest in a vulnerable line of strong, upright men devoted to France. As Chevalier asked during the ceremony; ‘who could doubt a country which produces such trees and such men?’

But beyond the construction of Pétain’s cult of personality, it is not too fanciful to see this marking of the tree as a performative device to reinforce the importance of the forest and the state’s claim to govern it. The occasion also served as a reminder of the forest’s historical role as ‘saviour’ of France. During the ceremony, Chevalier reminded his audience that this ancient forest provided wood for the Navy in 1793 and timber for the Army in 1917. Caziot, in a speech prepared for the ceremony, also emphasised the forest’s role as a productive space of ‘exceptional value for the material reconstruction of the country’. Now that France had crumbled under German invasion, forests would enable the nation to recover its former glory.

The ceremony suggested that Tronçais, which the state had replanted in the late seventeenth century, was physical evidence that France could rebuild itself under Vichy’s guidance. Caziot called for a contemporary display of determination equal to that of foresters who had replanted Tronçais:

The state of the Tronçais forest in 1670, was it not the image of France today, of the ravaged France, morally demolished by more than half a century of hideous demagogy? The war then added its own disasters. Today, everything must be remade, morally and materially. It is a fearsome task and one which demands long and patient effort as the rot runs deep. But the base has remained healthy and solid and allows for hope . . . On this solid base, which is the foundation of France, we can, in the image of Tronçais, remake a vigorous and healthy France. The oak which bears [Pétain’s] name must be a lesson and a symbol for everyone.

In this speech, Caziot compared the Third Republic with the damaged pre-1670 forest, but suggested that all was not lost because the forest’s essential nature (like France’s) had remained intact. There is also a sense that the forest’s and France’s ‘true’ essence lay beneath the surface of democracy and modernity, waiting to be recovered and restored. This speech was a manifestation of the right-wing idealisation of ‘True France’, which, as Herman Lebovics suggests, relied on a ‘discourse [that] employs the essentialist determinist language of a lost hidden authenticity that, once uncovered, yields a single, immutable national identity’.

Yet the forest’s political symbolism need not be reactionary. Vichy’s appropriation of the oak tree echoed previous state manipulation of this species. Ironically, given Vichy’s hostility to the French Republic, in the years following the French Revolution oaks were moulded into ‘Liberty Trees’. Like Vichy, revolutionary governments elevated the oak to the status of a ‘beacon tree’ controlling and sheltering surrounding trees. Moreover, French resistance units occupied the forest’s physical and symbolic space, transforming it into a site of resistance.

As the Occupation dragged on, resistance fighters identified the forest as a place to seek refuge and a base from which to oppose the Vichy regime and the German occupier. In places this development manifested itself symbolically. At Tronçais in February 1943, a resister reportedly scaled Pétain’s oak, replacing the plaque bearing the Marshall’s name with the following:

Chêne Gabriel Peri French Patriot Shot by the Nazis

Consequently, Pétain’s oak is now officially known as the ‘Oak of the Resistance’. But beyond this symbolic act, the resistance reclaimed the forest in more material ways." - Chris Pearson, Scarred Landscapes: War and Nature in Vichy France. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2008. p. 56-61.

[wpinsurances]

What Is Long Term Care Insurance?

If you’re interested in learning more about long term care insurance, you’ve come to the right place! There are plenty of articles out there that tell you how to get it and why you need it, but most of them talk about the same thing; what long term care insurance is, and how much it costs. What if you already know those two things? Don’t worry! Here are five helpful tips on what to do if you have long term care insurance and are thinking about using it!

1-What is long term care insurance?

Long term care insurance is a type of health insurance that covers part of your health care costs if you are unable to perform certain everyday tasks, such as dressing yourself or bathing. It also helps pay for hospice care and assisted living facilities. When you’re insured, your policy will pay a percentage of long-term care costs so you don’t have to bear all the costs alone. It’s very important to understand what sort of coverage you need to select an appropriate policy.

2-Why do you need long-term care?

If you suffer from a debilitating injury or disease and aren’t able to live on your own, long-term care insurance California can provide financial assistance. In-home care can be expensive, and as you get older, it might become difficult to find affordable housing that offers assistance with daily tasks such as bathing and dressing. By purchasing long-term care insurance now, you could save tens of thousands of dollars for medical treatments down the road. Find out if long-term care insurance in California is right for you by contacting an agent today. One phone call can give you a better understanding of how much coverage would cost.

3-How does it work

Long term care insurance provides seniors with the financial security of knowing that if they ever need to pay for long-term care, they can. If you’re wondering how it works and whether or not you should get long term care insurance, here’s what you need to know.

What Does Long Term Care Insurance Cover?

In general, all long term care policies provide three kinds of benefits: nursing home coverage, assisted living coverage, and in-home services coverage. Some policies may offer optional extra coverage such as home health aid services and adult daycare. In addition to covering necessary medical costs like physical therapy and prescription drugs (as opposed to discretionary cosmetic surgery), long term care policies also cover a portion of your living expenses while receiving institutionalized care—commonly 70 percent up to a certain daily maximum benefit amount. This means you would only have to come up with 30 percent of your covered stay yourself. The average daily cost at a nursing home varies by state but tends to range from $100-$200 per day depending on where you live and what kind of care you need. A typical policy will cost anywhere from 2-3x monthly rent so plan accordingly if you think using long term care services is in your future.

4-When should you buy it?

The idea of needing long-term care can be a frightening one. So, it makes sense that most people have a lot of questions when it comes to long-term care insurance. A good time to consider purchasing long-term care insurance would be when you’re reviewing your health and life insurance coverage. But don’t wait too long or else you may be stuck with fewer options and higher costs.

5-Who are the insurers

Once you’ve narrowed down your needs and wants, it’s time to select a provider. This should be based on your personal preferences for coverage levels and price. Remember, there are plenty of plans out there that will offer more coverage than you need at a higher cost than you can afford. The key is finding something that fits into your budget—and still gives you peace of mind.

Contact Us:

Address: 70 East Sunrise Highway Suite 500 Valley Stream, New York 11581

Email: wpamph@gmail.com

Phone: (516) 323-8558

Website: Pamphile Insurance Brokerage, LLC

Blog: What Is Long Term Care Insurance?

[genshin-no-simp]

Diluc x Reader (Smut)

Pairing: Diluc x You/Reader (Female Reader)

Sexual content below the cut.

Warnings: reader is horny.

----------------------

Softs pants escaped your lips as you rubbed your bare pussy against Diluc's clothed leg. Diluc's right arm rested on the top of the couch that he was sitting on, his left resting at his side as he watched you, his eyes dipped to your bare chest as he watched as played with your own breast, pinching and rubbing your nipple. But it wasn't good enough, you wanted his hand on you, touching you, playing with you.

"D-Diluc, please touch me." You moaned out as the friction of his pants edged you on, as you pinched your nipple harder. Diluc hummed in response.

"I don't think that's necessary, I don't want to interrupt. Besides I'd much watch you touch yourself." He smirked. You whined softly.

"T-then let me suck your fingers." You bit your lip. You were enjoying this a bit too much, the feeling of his pants against your slick, throbbing pussy. His trousers long since stained with your juices. But Diluc didn't mind, in fact he found it really erotic. Just like the faces you were making just from humping his leg and playing with your own tit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to push you down and fuck you till sunrise, but he wanted to test your limits, he wanted to know how needy he could make you. He wanted to make you cry and beg him to fuck you, to fill up with his dick. His dick that you craved all the time.

Diluc obliged to your request lifting his gloved hand that was resting by his side. You licked your lips as you held his wrist pulling his hand closer. You opened your mouth and softly bit on one of his gloved fingers slowly pulling it off. Diluc watched you very closely. Taking in every feature, every breath you took. You did this to all his fingers until you held the glove in your mouth. You dropped it to the side, your stomach began to flutter as you licked between his forefinger and middle finger. Diluc's breath caught in his throat despite his calm demeanor. He watched as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his forefinger before taking it into your mouth. His pants were becoming unbearably tight, but he knew you weren't going to last much longer. You sucked on his finger as you looked at him. Your gaze dark with lust and want. Want for him and only him. He knew you would never look at any other person like this. He let out a soft hum of approval. You pulled his finger from your mouth only to take it back in along with his middle finger. You sucked on both his fingers, gliding your tongue between his fingers, thoroughly coating them with your saliva. Diluc felt his dick twitch, it wanted the same attention. He wanted you to coat his dick with your saliva as you choked on his thick girth. He wanted to fill your mouth with his seed, watch as you struggled to swallow it all. He swore if he continued to think about it, it would make him cum so he focused his attention back to you. He noticed that you had stopped grinding against his leg. He lifted his leg up reminding you of the state you were in. You moaned around his fingers your eyes widening slightly.

"Keep going baby girl, if you can cum from humping my leg, I'll give you something better to suck." His deep voice reverberated through your body to your core, as he shoved his fingers deeper into your mouth. You moaned as your eyes lidded slightly as you continued to look into his eyes. You knew what he meant and you wanted it, badly. You picked up where you left off. You lifted your hips slightly, before bringing them back down onto his leg. You let out other moan around his fingers. You rubbed your pussy harder and faster against his leg, letting out continuous moans. Diluc added his ring finger into your mouth. You immediately began giving it the same treatment as the others. You sucked in deeply, your saliva dripping down the corners of your lips. Diluc could tell you were close, really close.

"Keep going baby girl, you're nearly there," he coaxed you on, "let it all out," he thrust his fingers deeper into your mouth, which sent you over the edge. Your back arched as you let out a gargled moan as you came heavily on Diluc's trousers. Diluc removed his fingers from your mouth a thick string of saliva connecting your tongue to his fingers as your body shook from your first orgasm for the night.

"I don't think you need me to fuck you, do you? You did a good job all by yourself." He smirked to himself, licking his fingers that you had previous sucked on, lapping up the saliva that was left. You shook your head.

"No, no, I-I need you, just because I came from that doesn't mean I don't want you to fuck me. I need you inside me." You panted, your eyes welling up slightly. Diluc smirked hearing your honest feelings.

"Is that so? Well I did promise you something didn't I?" He tilted his head to the side with a lustful look in his eyes. He was waiting for this part, and he was going to enjoy it. You licked your lips in anticipation as you looked down to see the large bulge in his pants. Slowly you slide down his leg, your pussy rubbing against his knee as you went down, a sultry moan escaped your mouth. Diluc held back a moan himself. He's never seen you so horny before, but he loved it, but he hasn't seen anything yet. Finally on your knees, you moved between his legs, you slid your hands up his legs, rubbing the inside of his thighs. Leaning in you placed a kiss on his clothed erection. Diluc let out a heavy breath, sticking your tongue out you pressed it against his bulge, you could taste his precum.

"Its seems you enjoyed me riding your leg more than you let on." You purred wrapping your mouth around him. Diluc groaned as his arm that was resting on the couch finally moving, his hand tangled into your hair. You sucked on him while looking up at him innocently, as if you weren't giving him a blowjob through his trousers. He looked down at you with dark red eyes. Shivers went down your spine as you looked into his eyes, you could feel your juices dripping down your thigh and onto the carpet. His chest heaved as his mind was swimming. He couldn't believe you had the audacity to look at him so innocently while you did what were you doing. He was going to have to punish you, but first he would let you have this moment. He'll let you have your way....for now. Diluc let out a shaky moan he could feel the knot in his stomach forming. You lifted your head away from him.

"I don't want you cumming anywhere except my mouth." You swiftly undid his belt and unzipped his pants. You pulled his pants and boxers down taking them fully off dropping it behind you and out the way. Diluc groaned with relief, tilting his head back. In the next instant he threw his head forward moaning as his grip tightened in your hair. You had taken him into your mouth, pressing your tongue against his vein, sucking on the tip.

"Fuck." Diluc usually never swore, he had an image to keep up after all. But when he was alone with you, while you were getting down and dirty, he would let his inner beast out. Despite being a pyro user he found himself becoming hot, with his free hand he loosened his tie and undid the buttons on his dress shirt, the cool air hit his chest, and he hummed in approval. You watched everything as your pussy throbbed so badly. You wanted him to touch you so fucking badly, you squeezed your thighs together tightly as you bobbed your head lower. Even though his mind was hazy with pleasure he noticed how you squeezed your legs shut. He wanted you to open them so he moved his foot between your legs rubbing it against you.

"Your only sucking me off, yet look how wet you are." You moaned against his dick as he rubbed his foot against your pussy. You couldn't help but grind against his foot. You didn't have a foot fetist or anything but you craved to be touched. He chucked deeply, rubbing his foot in time with your grinding. You moaned around him bobbing your head quicker. Hollowing out your cheeks you sucked deeply, you felt Diluc's dick twitch your mouth, he let out a deep throaty moan as he came in your mouth, he pressed his foot harder against you and you choked on a moan as you were swallowing his seed, as you came for the second time, this time on his foot. You removed your mouth from him and licked your lips clean while looking up at you.

"What a dirty girl you are, first my leg, now my foot, where else are you going to cum?" He chuckled, watching your face go red.

"On your dick hopefully." You breathed out. Diluc smirked.

"Then get up here baby girl." He said as he motioned you to him with his finger. As if in a trance you stood up shakily and sat on his lap, feeling him pushing against you. You moaned and brought yourself down onto him.

"O-oh~ Diluc~" you moaned out quite loudly, sensitive from your previous two orgasms. Diluc groaned at the feeling of your tight pussy around him.

"You're so tight baby." His hands rested on your hips holding you tightly.

"No-ooh. You're just-ah so b-ig~" you moaned between words, wrapping your arms around his neck. Diluc couldn't stop the grin that appeared on his face.

"Is that so?" He thrust his hips upwards into you. You felt him rub against that spot that drove you crazy. You could only nod in response. His grip on your hips tightened as he lifted your hips up and pushing you back down, pushing all the way inside you, pressing against your g-spot. You threw your head back, letting out one of the loudest moans tonight. Your fingers dove into his hair as you undid the tie that was keeping it up.

"Oooh~ T-there." You brought your hips down to meet his thrusts. His dick hitting your spot harder. You couldn't help but cry out. You could feel the familiar knot bubble in your stomach. Your walls clenched around him, and Diluc knew you were close. And so was he. He bounced you quicker, his fingers digging deeply into your hips, definitely going to leave marks. He latched his mouth against your throat just above your collar bone, your weak spot. Your moans echoed in the room as you came once again. Feeling your walls convulse around him, he let out a low growl as he came inside you. You moaned feeling his hot seed fill you up.

He removed his mouth from your neck looking up at your flushed hazy face. You looked back at him and smiled softly resting your forehead against his. Diluc returned your smile in kind and wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you closer to his body, though he did not pull out of you. Your breasts pushed against his half exposed his chest. He felt your hardened nipples against his chest. Diluc licked the corner of his lip, reaching up to cup your cheek. You leaned your head into his touch. Slowly he brought you closer kissing you gently on the lips. You happily kissed him back. You wouldn't expect it but his lips were softer than they looked. His hand that was on your cheek slid to the back on your neck pulling you in deeper, your mouth parted slightly as his tongue slid into your mouth. Your tongues danced and played with each other. Slowly the kiss got more and more heated. His other hand rested on your butt, groping and squeezing it. You hummed softly your hips bucking slightly and you realized Diluc was still inside you. You were so used to the feeling of being full you had forgotten that it wasn't normal. Slowly you began to rock your hips back and forth. Diluc let out a soft moan into the kiss, his hips rocking into yours. Breaking the kiss he looked into your eyes.

"It seems your still not satisfied baby." His hand on your ass travelled further down, teasing your other hole. You shuddered.

"Well that's okay, because I wasn't done with you anyway." He smirked, his eyes lightening up dangerously. And you realized this was going to be a long, long night.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You panted heavily as you laid on your back, arms above your head, legs spread wide, Diluc's cum leaking out of both your holes. Not to mention how it covered your thighs and stomach. Love bites and finger prints littered your entire body. Tears of pure pleasure stained your cheeks. He had thoroughly wrecked you.

"Ah, baby you look so good like this. Completely fucked out." He cooed lifting your leg up to kiss your knee. He gently rubbed it as kissed your leg, he slipped his free hand into your swollen cum drenched pussy. You throat hoarse and dry from your screams of pleasure, you let out a strangled moan.

"D-Diluc," you whimpered, "n-no more." Your eyes welled up quickly from being over sensitive and over stimulated.

"Then say the safe word." He spread his fingers inside you, stretching you wide. You bit your lip keeping quiet.

"Then I'll continue."

[mapsontheweb]

With lightning killing hundreds of people in Bangladesh and Nepal each year, researchers think space-based observations could help reduce risks.

Assessing Lightning Risk in South Asia

In August 2021, a wedding in northwestern Bangladesh took a tragic turn when lightning struck and killed 17 guests along the Padma River during a downpour. Though such mass casualty incidents are rare, fatal lightning strikes in Bangladesh and nearby Nepal are not.

Hundreds of people lose their lives to lightning in these two countries each year, and hundreds more are injured. Due to sharp increases in lightning deaths and injuries in Bangladesh and Nepal in recent years compared to the past few decades, the problem is getting more attention from both scientists and government officials. As awareness of lightning dangers grow, satellite observations and ground-based lightning networks are playing key roles in sizing up the extent of the problem and helping people formulate strategies to minimize the risks.

The number of reported lightning deaths and injuries in Bangladesh has increased from dozens of deaths per year in the 1990s to more than 300 per year now. Trends are more difficult to determine in Nepal due to a lack of long-term data, but one recent study estimated about 100 people are killed by lightning there each year. For comparison, lightning kills about 17 people per year in the United States, a country with more than 10 times as many people as Nepal. The photograph below, taken by an astronaut on the International Space Station, shows lightning flashing over Nepal in 2021.

Lightning experts cite a variety of reasons for the apparent increases in deadly strikes, including population growth, better reporting, and increasing storminess due to climate change. Though the cause is not clear, the timing is quite clear.

“The frequency of lightning is highest in Bangladesh during the pre-monsoon period from mid-April to June,” said Ashraf Dewan, a remote sensing scientist at Curtin University. Using observations from NASA’s Lightning Imaging Sensor (LIS), he found that 69 percent of the lightning strikes in Bangladesh occur during the period before the heaviest seasonal rains set in. And lightning flashes were particularly common in the morning. The LIS instrument flew on NASA’s Tropical Rainfall Measuring Mission (TRMM) satellite from 1997 to 2015, and a duplicate sensor has operated on the International Space Station since 2017.

“Bangladesh has more lightning from sunrise to midday than anywhere else in the world,” added Ron Holle, a meteorologist with the National Lightning Safety Council. “Unfortunately, that is when people are farming in huge numbers across the country.” Holle and Dewan worked together on a study of ground-based lightning data from the Global Lightning Detection Network that documented a large number of lightning deaths among Bangladeshi farmworkers.

Dewan and other colleagues have been analyzing decades of satellite observations from LIS as well as data from ground-based lightning networks to map lightning patterns in Bangladesh. Other researchers have done similar mapping for Nepal.

One team of researchers in the DEVELOP program at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center worked to turn LIS data into a product tailored to save lives. The team integrated maps of lightning flash density together with data on land elevation, population density, and socioeconomic vulnerability to lightning (including housing conditions and employment type). One of their lightning risk maps is shown at the top of the page; areas with the highest risk are depicted in yellow.

“Our goal was to map where lightning posed the highest risk to people—not just where the most lightning flashes occur,” explained Essence Raphael, a member of the DEVELOP team and a research associate at the University of Alabama in Huntsville. “That’s the kind of information people who develop safety interventions and educational campaigns can use to target their efforts most effectively.”

Flash density relative to population density was critical for defining the high-risk areas, explained Patrick Galtin, a lightning researcher at NASA Marshall. Though the number of lightning strikes in both countries is similar, the risk is higher in Bangladesh due to its higher population density.

Terrain also plays an important role in defining high-risk areas. Dry air in the higher elevations of northern Nepal prevents storms from forming. However, in lower-elevation areas along the country's southern border, warm, moist winds from the Bay of Bengal collide with cool air from the north to produce towering cumulonimbus clouds and extreme lightning.

Likewise in Bangladesh, the northeastern part of the country has a higher risk because the area is buffeted by moisture-laden winds that run into hilly terrain, which promotes convection and storm development. It is also an area with large numbers of farm and other outdoor workers in harm’s way.

After creating the maps, the DEVELOP team shared them with meteorologists at the Bangladesh Meteorological Agency and Nepal’s Department of Hydrology and Meteorology. Targeted information about lightning risk could be used to help advance ongoing lightning safety initiatives, noted Raphael. Such efforts include building early warning systems, constructing lightning shelters, and conducting public education campaigns.

Given the increasing risks, Dewan has some practical advice for people in the two countries. “If you can, get inside a large building with grounded wiring and plumbing or a fully-enclosed, metal-topped vehicle during thunderstorms. Don’t shelter under isolated trees or on high ground if you are stuck outside,” he urged. “Stay away from water and open spaces.”

[leia505]

The Sunrise and Your Sins | Chapter 2 (NSFW)

!!!! Link to Chapter 1 !!!!

AAAHHH thank you to everyone who read my first chapter!!! I’m sorry for the super long delay on chapter 2, I’ve been recovering from a car accident so this fanfic kind of lost it’s priority bc I’ve been in pain lol. But I’m feeling better now so new chapters should be coming out faster! 

From this chapter forward, there will be explicit sexual content meant for audiences 18+ so minors please do not engage! or engage and just don’t tell me idk 

All links to car visuals and playlists and art and tags and all that jazz can be found in chapter 1 :) 

Word Count: 14k

New Tags: consensual sex, oral sex(giving and receiving), brat and dom, choking, breeding kink, face sitting 

‘You free this weekend?’ you read the text off of your phone. You groggily glance at the time, which read 3:33 AM. 

‘Depends.’ you respond back to Kuroo.  Two and a half weeks had passed since the last job he worked, meaning it had been two and half weeks since you had seen him and discussed your suspicions about your father. 

‘Friend of mine is throwing a party. Karasuno Killers are gonna be there.’ Kuroo replies. Your pulse quickens, remembering the conversation you and Kuroo had about your brother and his racing team. 

‘I’ll be there.’ you pause before hitting send, questioning if the action you were tempted to make was a good idea. ‘Are you free rn?’ you type, pressing send and locking your phone, setting it down next to you as you stared up at the ceiling. Your heart raced at even the thought of Kuroo, of the idea of being in his presence alone again.

Your phone lit up seconds later. ‘Be there in 15.’ You can feel yourself blushing, and you can’t stop the grin that spread across your face. 

You practically jump out of bed, changing into something casual. A flash of red catches your eye, and you grab Kuroo’s jacket, draping it over your shoulders. You sit back down in bed, impatiently waiting for Kuroo to text you. 

After what felt like an eternity, you finally got a text from him. ‘Here princess.’ You smirk at the use of the nickname, you were starting to get used to hearing him call you princess, and you couldn’t deny the fact that you liked it. 

Moving quietly through the house, you quickly peer over to your father’s office to see if the lights were on. Long work nights were common with him, the only downside being that the computer with access to the security cameras was in that office. Lucky for you, he seemed to be asleep upstairs, so that was one less thing to worry about. 

“Hey there.” Kuroo’s deep voice practically echoed through the quiet night, and you quickly shush him as you lock the front door. He laughs, holding the car door open for you. He shuts it behind you and goes around to his side, climbing in and starting the car. 

“So, where to?” He asks, turning to you, his elbow resting against the center console, a huge grin spread across his face. 

“Anywhere.” You say, anxious to get away from your house, away from your father. It gave you chills thinking about your brother and the connections that were beginning to form, with your father only a few feet away at times. You tried your hardest to act as normal as possible around him, but you knew that eventually he would catch on to your sudden change in behavior. 

“Are you hungry?” Kuroo asks, pulling out his phone and unlocking it. You take a peek at his lock screen, and see a photo of a black cat staring back at you. 

You shrug. “I could eat.” You say, causing Kuroo to chuckle. 

“I know the perfect place.” He says, calling someone. “Hey Haiba, you guys still open?” He pauses as the person named Haiba responds. “Perfect. I’ll be there in 20. Save a table for two.” He pauses yet again. “No you ass, not for Kenma. I’m bringing a girl.” He says, hanging up the phone. 

You laugh at the interaction between them, looking over at Kuroo as he pulls out of the driveway and through the neighborhood. Kuroo glances over at you, smirking when he realizes you were already looking. You quickly look away, staring ahead intensely. 

“You look cute in my jacket.” He says. 

“Does that mean I get to keep it?” You ask playfully, smiling sweetly at him. He laughs, a big grin on his face. 

“I’ll tell you what. You can keep it, but I will need to borrow it from time to time for races. Fair?” He says, holding a hand out for you to shake as he keeps the other on the wheel. 

“Sounds good to me.” You say, grabbing his hand and shaking it. Your fingers graze over the callouses and scars on his knuckles, and you turn his hand over to examine them. 

“Just some work related injuries.” He jokes, squeezing your hand.

“These are from working for my dad?” You ask, your voice quiet, almost out of shame. 

“Yeah.” He responds. You couldn’t hide the painful expression on your face and Kuroo quickly took notice of it. “Nothing to worry about though, princess. I’m tougher than I look, I promise.” He says, winking. Kuroo brings your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss, making your heart skip a beat and your cheeks glow red. 

He lets go of your hand to switch gears as you enter the city. There are no shops that appear to be open and no one on the street. Kuroo slows down, pulling into a parking lot. 

“It doesn’t look like anything’s open.” You state as Kuroo gets out of the car. 

“Looks can be deceiving.” He says, shutting his car door. You let yourself out, closing the door behind you and turning towards him. He takes your hand and leads you to a small shop with a sign that reads “Haiba Ramen”. From the outside it had looked as though it was closed, but as soon as Kuroo swung the door open, you realized it was anything but.  

There were plenty of people in there, almost all of them wearing racing jackets of different colors, the style similar to Kuroo’s. The smell of ramen was strong and welcoming, your hunger growing as you entered the shop. 

“DK!” You hear someone call out. The patrons of the ramen shop all turn their heads to look at the both of you, and you were met by a chorus of greetings. 

“Someone’s popular.” You quietly comment to him as he leads you to a table away from the crowds. 

“Haiba’s part of Nekoma Crew, part time mechanic, part time ramen shop owner. He’s better at cooking than fixing cars though.” Kuroo motions towards the other patrons in the shop. “These are all racers. The store is closed to the public at 10, but stays open for friends and racers until 5. Me and the team usually have our meetings and get togethers here.” 

“Well who else would let you fuckers in this late at night?” A tall guy with silver hair says, placing two waters on the table. Kuroo gets up to greet him. 

“We’re eternally grateful Lev.” Kuroo jokes, giving Lev a half hug. Lev rolls his eyes as Kuroo sits back down.

“Hi.” You say shyly, giving a small wave to Lev, who smiled down at you. 

“You must be…(y/n).” Lev says holding a hand out for you to shake. 

You scrunch your eyebrows together, shaking his hand. “Uh, how do you know my name?” You ask skeptically, curious as to how he already knew you. 

“DK won’t stop talking about you at the shop. Sometimes it’s like he can’t shut up about you.” Lev smirks, looking over at Kuroo. You look at Kuroo with a face of fake shock, grinning from ear to ear. You see his ears growing red as he avoids your gaze. 

“Your tip is rapidly decreasing the longer this conversation goes on for.” Kuroo says, making you laugh. Lev scoffs, mockingly putting his hands up. 

“Alright, alright. I wouldn’t want to third wheel on your date any longer anyways. Now, what would you two love birds like to eat?” 

Kuroo sighs, putting his face in his hands in distress. The entire exchange made you laugh, getting to see Kuroo as a normal guy instead of a mob henchman was refreshing. Friends, not colleagues. Race cars, not drugs. Not to mention, it gives you butterflies thinking about the fact he talks about you to his crew. 

“Surprise me.” You say, catching Lev’s attention. “Make me whatever you think I’d like. Or whatever you feel like making. I promise I’ll eat anything.” Lev grins brightly, turning towards Kuroo. 

“I like her. Don’t screw this up!” Lev calls out to Kuroo as he walks away to the kitchen to start on whatever it was he would choose to serve you. 

“So you talk about me, huh?” You say, smirking at Kuroo. 

“Maybe.” He says, cheekily grinning at you. “You don’t talk about me to your friends?” 

“I...don’t have friends.” You say, shrugging. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really leave the house much.” 

“You don’t have any friends?” Kuroo asks, a puzzled expression on his face. 

“Nope.” You say, taking a sip of your water. “I mean, I had friends in high school. But I sort of drifted away from them after graduation and after my brother died.” 

Kuroo nods, knowing that your brother’s death was a touchy topic. “Well, you have to have someone to talk to. Someone you consider a friend.” He says, diverting the conversation away from the dark and depressing stuff. 

You thought to yourself for a second, trying to think of a person you found yourself spending time with and talking to, or even someone that you enjoy being around. “You.” You answer, smiling at Kuroo. “You’re kinda the only person I ever talk to.” 

Kuroo smiles back at you, letting out a small chuckle. “I’m honored, princess.” Kuroo takes your hand in his, planting another gentle kiss on the top of your hand, making you blush. 

“Are you usually up this late?” You ask, getting curious about Kuroo and his life away from you and your family. 

He shrugs, rubbing small circles along your knuckles. “Some nights, if I have a job or if I’m working on something with Kenma. Tonight I just happened to get a text from a friend about the party this weekend, I thought it’d be a good way for you to get in contact with Karasuno.”

“Who’s party is it?” 

“A good friend of mine, Kotarou Bokuto. He’s the leader of Fukurodani Squad, his racing name is Blackjack.” Kuroo answers. 

“Is he…” You pause, wondering the best way to ask if Bokuto’s a criminal. 

“No.” Kuroo says before you can finish your sentence. “He’s just a racer. Him and his crew are pretty well known internationally, so all his income comes from his shop. He’s...just a really good guy. Not a bad bone in his body.” 

“Oh, so you do have normal friends.” You say sarcastically. 

“Well, Fukurodani and Karasuno are the normal teams. They don’t do the shady stuff. Seijoh Brawlers and Nekoma Crew are pretty similar, since only me and Oikawa do the jobs. Kenma gets involved every once and awhile, but it's rare. Inarizaki though, they’re literally all drug dealers. Drug dealers who happen to also be racers.” Kuroo explains. 

“That would explain why Kita doesn’t have a fancy jacket.” You say, remembering the plain black hoodie he wore the last time you saw him. “So it’s just you, Oikawa, and Kita doing the shady stuff?” 

“Yeah, mainly just us. I promise not all racers are big bad guys.” Kuroo jokes to you. 

“You’re not a bad guy.” You say, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re just...someone who works for a bad guy. Bad guy adjacent.” You smile at him, knowing that one of the things that held Kuroo back from pursuing anything with you was the fact he saw himself as the villain. The truth was, maybe the both of you were just bad guy adjacent — not necessarily the villains, but stuck being attached to the bad. 

Kuroo gives you a sad smile, squeezing your hand back. “I guess that’s better than being the evil genius.” You knew exactly who he was talking about, who the evil genius was in this morbid epic that is your life. The mastermind, the puppeteer, the dark hand behind the curtain. Your father. It was a hard pill to swallow, but it was one that you had to, which you and Kuroo both knew. An unspoken acknowledgement of the fact that sooner or later, you would have to face your demons — that regardless of what, or who, they are — Kuroo would be right there beside you. 

Your moment with Kuroo was interrupted by Lev, walking out of the kitchen carrying a plate and a bowl. “Bon appetit love birds.” He says, placing a bowl of ramen in front of Kuroo and a plate of chicken wings in front of you. 

“Thanks Lev. Put it on the shop’s tab.” Kuroo says, digging into his ramen. 

“Thanks Lev.” You say, smiling and picking up a chicken wing. It was still steaming, hot and fresh from the fryer. 

“I hope you two enjoy. DK, you gonna be at Blackjack’s party this Saturday?” Lev asks, turning towards Kuroo. 

“Yeah, we’ll be there. Do you know who the party’s for?” Kuroo asks, picking up a soft boiled egg from his ramen and eating it. 

Lev shrugs, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “No clue. That guy just throws parties for the hell of it. I’ll see you both there!” He says, walking back towards the kitchen. 

You take a bite of the chicken wing, and you instantly understand why Kuroo said he was a great cook. “Holy shit.” You say, looking over at Kuroo. 

Kuroo peers over at you with a mouth full of noodles. “I know.” He says, mouth stuffed to the brim. He finishes chewing and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “A guy on my crew named Yamamoto always gets them. Same with Bokuto.” 

“It seems like you know everyone in Tokyo.” You say, digging into your big plate of wings. Lev also left you a small bowl of rice as well as a cup of miso soup, which you also began digging into. 

Kuroo laughs, picking up more noodles from his bowl. “If they race, I know them.” 

“It also seems like everyone knows you.” You say, thinking back to when you first entered the shop, and all the greetings Kuroo was met with. 

“Well, everyone kinda does. Y’know a title like Drift King isn’t just given to anyone.” He says, smirking at you. You roll your eyes at his arrogance. 

“How lucky am I to be sharing a meal with the great Drift King.” You say jokingly. Kuroo places his chopsticks down, looking across the table at you. 

“Is this not a date?” He asks seriously, eyebrows furrowed. You practically choke on your chicken, which you place down on the table. After wiping your hands on a napkin, you look at Kuroo, who was still staring at you intensely. 

“Was it supposed to be?” You ask shyly, unsure if the miscommunication was on your end or his. 

“Well, I kind of assumed, you asked if I was free. Now we’re eating a meal together. You never really fight it when people talk to us like a couple.” Kuroo says, fidgeting with his spoon that laid in the broth of his ramen. 

You pause for a second, thinking over what he just said. You avert his gaze, staring into your miso soup which had begun to settle and separate. “Did you...want this to be a date?” You ask, looking up at him skeptically. 

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to it being a date.” He answers carefully, but with a tone of confidence. “But, if you don’t want it to be, that’s fine.” He says quickly, trying to avoid a bad mood shift between the two of you. 

You pondered again over what he said, and what it would mean for the two of you. Is a relationship the right thing to get into with everything going on? Would it even be appropriate for the two of you to be together? 

“This is a date.” You say, your heart pounding away anxiously as you look into Kuroo’s hypnotizing hazel eyes. He grins proudly at you, all feelings of anxiety going away as soon as you confirmed that this was, in fact, a date. “But, it is just a date. It doesn’t mean anything...specific.” 

He shrugs, picking his chopsticks up to continue eating. “That’s fair. No worries, princess. I’m in no rush here.” 

You smile to yourself, content with the conclusion that you and Kuroo came to. “Thanks. I just don’t think I’m ready for anything serious right now. With everything going on with my dad.” You say, knowing that this was something Kuroo already knew. 

“Yeah, I get it. Bigger fish to fry right now. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He says, winking at you. 

The two of you had continued to eat in silence, occupied with the delicious food in front of you. At one point, Kuroo had placed a small bundle of noodles into a spoon of broth, holding it out for you. 

“Aw, for me?” You say, leaning over to take the bite. The ramen was perfect, apparently everything Lev made was incredible. 

“What kind of guy doesn’t share his food with his beautiful date?” He says, making you smile. 

“I guess that means you deserve a chicken wing.” You say playfully, placing a wing in the empty bowl that once held your miso soup. “You should feel special, I really don’t share my food.” 

The two of you had finished your meals in silence, simply enjoying one another’s company. It feels as though this small outing was a break from the reality you both dread — rather than playing detective or operating within a gang, you were just a couple out on a date. 

“We better come back here one of these days.” You say, stacking your empty dishes up. You and Kuroo had finished everything, full and happy, now starting to get sleepy. The other racers in the shop had already left, and you could hear Lev cleaning in the kitchen. 

“Fine by me. As long as you still consider it a date.” Kuroo says, getting up from his seat and stretching. You get up as well, and Kuroo holds out a hand for you to take, which you do. Walking alongside him with his hand in yours, you grab onto his arm with your other hand, feeling especially affectionate towards him. 

“See you later Haiba!” Kuroo calls out as the two of you exit the shop, the cool night air breezing past your face, waking you up. 

You let go of Kuroo’s hand to open up your car door, and Kuroo walks around to his side and climbs in. As he turns on the car, the clock reads 5:05 AM. 

“It’s pretty late.” You comment, realizing how tired you had gotten. You lay your head against the car seat, turning your head to look at Kuroo. 

“Yeah, I know. Do you wanna go home now?” He asks, turning towards you to see your drooping eyelids. 

“Hmmm… not just yet. How about you drop me off when the sun comes up?” You ask sleepily. 

“Whatever you want princess.” Kuroo says quietly, starting the car. You rest your eyes as Kuroo begins driving off, feeling content as you drift off to the sound of Kuroo switching gears. You never thought that you’d ever be comfortable enough to fall asleep in someone’s car, given how paranoid your brother’s death had made you. But with Kuroo, you were just so at home, so trusting of him. You almost couldn’t believe that before your first job with Kuroo,  you just saw him as the hot guy who worked for your dad. 

Before you knew it, you were being gently awoken by Kuroo, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. You didn’t recognize your surroundings, but you weren’t at all worried. There was never anything to worry about if Kuroo was with you. 

“Where are we?” You ask, looking around. It appeared as though Kuroo took you to a park, a bit away from the city. 

“We had some time to kill, I figured you’d want to see the sunrise.” He says, unbuckling his seat belt and turning to look out to the horizon. You do the same, sitting up in your seat and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

After a few moments, you recognize the park Kuroo took you to. “When I was younger, my mom would take me and my brother here.” You say, memories coming back to you. You thought it was strange, how everything seemed to be leading back to your brother lately. It almost felt like a sign. 

“I used to come here a lot too, with Kenma. Maybe we ran into each other once.” Kuroo says, leaning against the armrest. You gently lay your head against his shoulder, wrapping both of your arms around his. 

“What a coincidence that we ended up here.” You say softly, relishing the moment between the two of you. The sun’s rays were barely peeking over the horizon, giving the sky an orange glow. There was a decent amount of overcast, so it gave the sun a softness to it. It was as though the sky was still drowsy, unprepared to make its first appearance for the day. 

“No place I’d rather be.” Kuroo says, barely louder than a whisper. He tenderly places a kiss on the top of your head, staying there for a second longer than expected. 

You slowly move your head up to look at him, your faces closer than they have ever been before. At this distance, you could really study the features on his beautiful face, the dark bags under his eyes from one too many late nights, the small scar on his cheek that was most likely from a job gone wrong, his dark lashes that framed the striking hazel eyes that now stared directly into your own. 

You thought about all the other people that had stared into the same set of eyes you were now gazing into — all the women who knew him intimately, the friends who saw the good in him, the enemies who saw the evil, those whose last moments were spent looking down the barrel of a gun into these hazel eyes. To them, it probably felt like staring into the gates of hell, but for you, it felt like home. Kuroo felt like home. 

His lips slowly graze against yours, almost tentative, trying to read the situation as it happens in real time. A simple ask, a gentle whisper of a question against your lips, inquiring if this was okay. 

In a surge of confidence, your lips crash against his, urgency in your kiss, borderline desperation. Had you been pining for Kuroo all this time? More importantly, was he? 

His hand gently made its way up to your face, as yours snaked behind his neck, pulling him closer. His other hand moved underneath his jacket that you wore, wrapping around your waist. You felt the calluses on his fingertips, rough against the smooth skin of your lower back. 

The sun began beaming into the car, bringing the both of you into the light. It felt euphoric, being bathed in morning sun as you kissed Kuroo. Your heart raced in excitement as you felt Kuroo smile against your lips, and you gently sigh as he pulls away to look into your eyes. 

He grins at you, his eyes studying every detail of your face. You smile back at him, feeling pure bliss. 

“You kinda taste like chicken wings.” Kuroo says, chuckling softly. He gently runs his thumb against your cheek, admiring your face. 

You close your eyes, shaking your head at his stupid comment. You laugh, realizing that the goofiness, the silly jokes and banter that you and Kuroo share is the reason why there were never any doubts in your mind with him. Kuroo could make you laugh despite all the darkness in your life, and that is what made you feel the way you felt. Maybe it was love, but maybe it was too soon to tell. Maybe being the girl in the passenger seat was enough for you at this time. 

“Well you taste like ramen.” You say, your voice hoarse. 

“What a pair we make.” Kuroo says, placing one last tender kiss on your lips. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Sweetheart, come here for a moment.” You hear your father call out to you from the hallway. You let yourself into his office, and find Kuroo sitting in the chair in front of his desk. 

“What’s going on?” You ask tentatively, sitting next to Kuroo. 

“Your dad has some questions. About us.” Kuroo says. 

“Us?” You question, looking at Kuroo. He wore a poker face perfectly, staring directly at your father with an unwavering gaze. 

“I know you two are getting close. And (y/n), sweetheart, you know I trust you. And Tetsurou, you have earned my trust over the years with your loyalty to this family. I just need to know what exactly is happening with you two.” Your father says. 

“We’re friends.” You say quickly, crossing your arms defensively. 

“Friends?” Kuroo asks, breaking his cool demeanor to look over at you. Your father raises an eyebrow, looking between you and Kuroo curiously as you try to figure out what this relationship is. 

“Maybe more than friends. Someday. Not right this moment. But a strong maybe.” You answer shortly, fumbling over your words. 

“I see.” Your father sees, nodding his head. “Are you two...being safe?” 

“Dad!” You say, embarrassed by this interrogation. 

“Yes, sir. Well, there hasn’t been anything that requires...safety, but when it does — IF! If it does, we will be safe. You have my word.” Kuroo says. You could hear his nerves getting the best of him, and you couldn’t help but find it entertaining how scared he sounds as he practically word vomits to your father. 

“Good.” Your father says shortly, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. “Now, for business...I don’t know if I’m okay with (y/n) being seen with you.” 

“What?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“Our family is a moving target for a lot of people, especially the Nohebi Clan. I don’t know if it’s the best idea for the two of you to be going out in public.” 

“I understand, sir.” Kuroo says, in his eyes you could see his disappointment. 

“Dad, that’s ridiculous.” You say, getting fed up with the passivity of the conversation. “I’m going to be leading the Sakanoshita family one day. I’m a target no matter what. But no one will take me seriously when I do take over if I’m locked away all the time. People need to know me. They need to know who’s going to be the next King of Tokyo.” 

“But you just had your first job. You’re jumping into this too quickly.” Your father argues. 

“Keishin had years of training. I’m playing a game of catch up here, and I think the more experience I have, the better. I can’t run an empire from the confines of this house, dad.” Again, playing the dead brother card. It’s a tricky one to play, but it always works. 

Your father sighs, folding his hands in front of him. “You sure know how to argue.” 

“I learned from the best.” You say, smirking. 

“I’ll make a deal with you.” Your father turns toward Kuroo. “You’re getting a promotion. You’re now (y/n)’s bodyguard. She goes somewhere, you follow. If she wants to go somewhere that is potentially dangerous, don’t allow it. And you.” He turns back towards you once more. “You don’t go anywhere without him. You can go out, be social, earn your place here as a Sakanoshita. Let people learn who’s the next King of Tokyo.” 

You grin, knowing that you would be able to reach an agreement with your father. “Sounds like a deal. Kuroo and I will be going to a party this Saturday.” 

As you proudly saunter out of your father’s office, he calls out a question. “What party?” 

“Racer party. Gotta make sure everyone knows the new Sakanoshita boss.” You call out, walking out the door and down the hallway, leaving Kuroo and your father to their business meeting. 

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You could hear the party before you could see it, the music blasting so loud it could be heard from down the street. Even this far from the house, there were already cars parked along the side, all shiny and suped up like Kuroo’s. A lot of time had passed since your last real social outing, but you were at ease knowing Kuroo would be there with you. 

“Just a fair warning, Bokuto is...very loud.” Kuroo says, slowly driving past all the cars and making his way to the driveway of the house. The house was very modern, with a long driveway leading up to a white home with a balcony in the front, huge windows letting you peek in to see all the people inside. The music continued to grow louder and louder as you drew closer to the house, and the cars got nicer as well. Apparently only the people with fancy cars got the good parking spots. 

“How loud are we talking?” You ask Kuroo as he puts the car in park and turns the engine off. 

“Like...imagine the exact polar opposite of Kenma. Then make it louder. That’s Bokuto.” Kuroo explains as he gets out of the car. You do the same, walking over to his side and grabbing his hand. The two of you walk up the stairs to the door, and Kuroo swings it open without knocking. And just like that, you were officially at your first street racer party. 

“Hey, it’s DK!” You hear someone shout distantly, followed by a chorus of greetings. It was just like the ramen shop, everyone being so quick to greet Kuroo. 

“Hey everyone.” Kuroo says loudly, greeting everyone at once. He pulls your hand so you’re standing in front of him, leading the way into the party. Everyone gawks at you as Kuroo places a hand on your waist, coaxing you to walk further into the house. 

“Does everyone know you? Should I start getting used to that sort of greeting?” You ask, maneuvering your way through the crowd. 

Kuroo laughs, giving your belt loop a tug and pulling you into him, your back crashing into his strong chest. “Eventually people will start saying DK and (y/n).” He says into your ear, kissing you on the cheek. You smirk at his comment, a part of you enjoyed the attention everyone was giving you as Kuroo held you against his body. He really knew every way to feed into your ego, and you really did love it. 

“HEY HEY HEY! IS THAT MY BOY DK?!” you hear a loud, chaotic voice say from the kitchen. You and Kuroo turn your heads to find the source, and you see a tall, muscular guy with spiky grey hair grinning at the both of you. You notice the grey bomber jacket he wore, meaning that he was a racer like Kuroo and Oikawa. His appearance was a bit intimidating, and his features were almost...owl-like. 

“BOKUTO!” Kuroo yells, letting go of your hand to greet the host of the party. The two tall, well built men embrace in a hug, clapping each other on the back. You stand there, smiling at this new side of Kuroo. You understood what he meant by Bokuto making him feel more normal. 

“Good to see you dude! Hey, Lev mentioned you were bringing a girl! Where is she?!” Bokuto asks excitedly, looking around to try and spot you. 

“Right here.” You answer, moving to stand next to Kuroo. “I’m (y/n). And I’m assuming you’re the infamous Bokuto?” 

Bokuto laughs, throwing his head back. “Infamous, eh? That must mean DK’s been talking about me.” 

“I figured I should warn her on what she’d be walking into.” Kuroo says slyly, wrapping an arm around you. You found it endearing how affectionate Kuroo acts with you, making sure to keep you close. 

“Glad I didn’t scare ya away.” Bokuto jokes, grinning at you. “Well, DK here is like a brother to me, so by extension that makes you family. Both of you just make yourselves right at home, drink whatever you want and let me know if you need anything. Mi casa es su casa, as Cypher would say. Well, he probably wouldn’t say that, but it’s definitely Spanish.” 

You laugh, smiling up at Bokuto. Kuroo was right, he really is just a genuinely nice guy. Bokuto was a refreshing change from the usual dark and scary stuff  that you and Kuroo dealt with. 

“Say, speaking of Cypher, where is the punk?” Kuroo asks, looking around. 

“Upstairs with the rest of the Brawlers. Your guys are out back. Say, you guys want anything to drink?” Bokuto asks, turning to the counter full of liquor. 

“None for me. Gotta make sure someone gets home safe.” Kuroo says, squeezing your shoulder. 

“Well look at you being all chivalrous!” Bokuto says, playfully punching Kuroo’s arm. “Anything for you, (y/n)?”  

“Sure, I’ll drink whatever.” You say, unsure of what to ask for. High school parties were one thing, but what the hell are you supposed to drink at a street racer’s party? 

“One mystery drink coming right up.” Bokuto says, turning around. “Akaashi!” 

A handsome guy with short dark brown hair turns at the sound of his name. “Can you make a drink for (y/n) pretty please?” Bokuto asks, grinning at him. Akaashi nods, putting his cup down and picking up an empty one for you. He pours some random bottles of liquor and some more random juices into a cup, handing it to you. 

“Thanks.” You say, taking the cup. You take a sip, and to your surprise, it wasn’t disgusting. 

“Akaashi’s kinda the drink expert. And car expert. He’s kinda good at everything.” Bokuto says, noticing your look of amazement. Akaashi rolls his eyes behind him, but you notice his ears flushing red at Bokuto’s compliment. “I’m gonna go be a good host and do my host thing, but I’ll find you two later!” Bokuto turns away from the both of you, walking towards the crowd of people outside. 

“Oh and DK!” Bokuto calls out loudly, making plenty of people turn towards Kuroo. “I’m glad to see you’re finally off the market! No more bachelor’s life for you!” 

“Bachelor’s life?” You question, looking up at him skeptically. Prying eyes peered over at the two of you, no doubt trying to sneak a peek at the great DK and the girl that took him off the market.

“Don’t worry about it.” He answers, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact. Of course he was a lady’s man before you, just look at him. But just how many girls were in your place before you got there? 

Kuroo takes your hand, leading you upstairs to where Cypher was. The two of you found him lounging on a couch with a bunch of other guys wearing jackets similar to his, talking and laughing with a bottle of expensive looking tequila in his hand. 

“Hola amigo.” Kuroo says in a mocking tone, sitting next to Cypher. You sit next to Kuroo, and he puts his arm around you possessively. 

“Hola lovers.” Oikawa slurs, lazily placing an arm around Kuroo. “Good to see you didn’t scare princesa away.” He says, nodding to you. 

“You’re (y/n).” You hear someone say from the opposite end of the couch. You turn your head to see a guy with tan skin and short spiky brown hair staring at you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You say, caught off guard by how many people already knew you. Seriously, how often did Kuroo talk about you? 

“Oh, sorry.” He says, appearing to snap himself out of deep thought. “Cypher was telling us about the last job and mentioned you. Just put two and two together. I’m Iwaizumi.” He says, getting up and extending a hand to you. You shake his hand, smiling at him. 

“That’s right, I was telling a story! Now, as I was saying…” Oikawa continues on, recounting the events of the job that you accompanied them on, silver tequila sloshing around in the glass bottle as Oikawa wildly gestures with his hands as the story progresses. 

“So Sly Fox had the cargo the entire time?” Iwaizumi asks, looking at us skeptically. 

“The entire time.” Kuroo says, nodding. “Speaking of the Sly Fox, where is he?” 

“Outside with your crew.” a scary looking guy with deep set eyes answers. His hair looked very unique, a bleach blonde buzz cut with two black stripes running around his head. 

“Thanks Mad Dog.” Kuroo says, getting up, dragging you with him. “Cypher, let’s go. Got some work talk to do with Sly Fox.” Oikawa clumsily gets up, taking the tequila with him. 

The three of you walk down the stairs and out the backdoor, where you immediately see a group of guys sitting around a fire pit, half of them wearing black, and the other half wearing Nekoma bombers. 

“Sly Fox!” Kuroo calls out, getting Kita’s attention. He looks up from his rolling tray, blunt in hand. “We got some business to talk about. You too, Snake Eyes.” He says, pointing at Kenma. 

Kita nods, looking over at his guys and motioning for them to leave the area. Kuroo does the same, and the Nekoma Crew minus Kenma leave. You, Oikawa, and Kuroo each take a seat around the fire. 

“What are we talking about?” Kenma asks, looking over at you and Kuroo. Kita continues to roll, and Oikawa slouches in his seat, taking sips from his bottle. 

“Yeah, what are we talking about fellas?!” Bokuto says with a grin on his face, walking up to the group of you and grabbing a seat. You couldn’t help but smile at his behavior, his charisma. 

“Work stuff, Bokuto.” Kuroo answers, giving Bokuto a warning look. 

“Oh! Got it! Say no more, plausible deniability and all that jazz. You guys let me know if you need me!” He says, getting up immediately and walking away with haste. The entire time the grin on his face never wavered, he didn’t seem the least bit offended by being kicked out of the conversation.

“Bokuto knows the stuff we do, but we keep him out of it. He’s...a bit soft for our line of work. And he knows if he hears anything, he could get in trouble. So, he stays away.” Kita explains, licking his rolling paper and sealing the blunt. 

“We got some new intel from the boss.” Kuroo says. Oikawa sits up, paying attention now that the real business talk had started. “We may know who gave the anonymous tip during the last job.” 

“Someone we know?” Kenma asks. 

Kuroo nods. “Suguru Daishou. Fangs. He’s the lead for the Nohebi Clan.” 

“Nohebi?” You ask. Everyone looks over at you. “They used to work for my dad.”

“What happened to them?” Kita asks, lighting his blunt and getting it started. 

“Daishou crossed my family, I guess he was trying to make a name for himself by taking on my dad. Didn’t end well.” You say, remembering overhearing your father’s work conversations with Fangs when you were in high school. 

“Which would explain the grudge he has, and why he tried to bust us.” Kenma says. 

“But how would he know about the move? There were no other cars on the road that night.” Oikawa points out, setting his bottle down. 

“That’s the million dollar question. We still don’t know how he knew, but we do know he has eyes on us. Which means you guys and your teams need to be careful, at least until the Daishou problem is sorted out. Sound good?” Kuroo asks, looking at Oikawa and Kita. They both nod, understanding the risk that the Nohebi Clan posed. 

“I’ll see what I can find out about Fangs and Nohebi.” Kenma says, which Kuroo nods to. 

“Thank you. The more we know, the better.” Kuroo glances at you, meeting your eyes. “Any of you guys know where Karasuno Killers are?” He asks, looking around the group. 

“Upstairs living room. You got business with them?” Oikawa asks, looking over at you. 

“Something like that.” Kuroo says, taking your hand and standing up. “We’ll catch you guys later.” 

“See ya.” You say, giving a half wave with your cup in your hand. You follow behind Kuroo, once again going through the house and up the stairs. You were keenly aware of the eyes that seemed to follow your every move, and you couldn’t help but notice that they were almost entirely female. What, was Kuroo such a hot commodity that you being with him tonight was a headline? 

“See that, you pulled the E brake too soon.” You hear someone say from the partially shut door. You and Kuroo had made it to the room that Oikawa said the Karasuno Killers were in. 

“You guys watch racing footage at parties?” Kuroo questions, slowly opening the door. Inside, there were three guys sitting on a couch in front of a TV that appeared to be playing a video of a street race. 

“Not everyone is blessed with your drifting skills, DK.” One of the guys say, getting up to greet him. He had a warm smile, dark brown eyes, and short brown hair. Him and Kuroo give each other one of those bro hugs, and afterwards he turns to look at you. 

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He says, extending his hand to you. “Daichi Sawamura. Mechanic for Karasuno Killers.” 

“(y/n) Sakanoshita.” You say, shaking his hand. He raises his eyebrows slightly at surprise, no doubt at the mention of your family name.

“Sakanoshita?” Another guy with a buzzcut and a gruff voice says from behind Daichi.

“As in the King of Tokyo Sakanoshita?!” The third guy says, his voice higher in pitch. He wore his brown hair spiked up, with a single blonde streak right in the middle.

“Please excuse these two dumbasses, they’re not the best socially.” Daichi smiles apologetically, moving to invite you and Kuroo to join them on the couch. Behind you, Kuroo shuts the door. 

“You said you’re a Sakanoshita?” The buzzcut one repeats, staring at you intensely. 

“Tanaka, chill.” Daichi warns, looking over at him. 

“Yeah Tanaka, you’re gonna scare her away.” The guy with the blonde streak jokes, punching Tanaka in the arm. 

“Oh shut it, Noya.” Tanaka says, shoving him back. “Sorry. My sister knew someone with that last name.” He says, looking over at you once more.

“You’re Saeko’s brother?” You ask him, getting his attention. He looks surprised, almost a little scared by his sister’s name being mentioned. 

“How do you know my sister?” He asks, his voice taking on a threatening tone. 

“Yeah, what’s your business with big sis?” Noya asks, eyes darting between you and Kuroo. 

“Take it easy, guys. We mean no harm, I swear it on my crew.” Kuroo says in a peaceful tone. Tanaka and Noya lighten up, but continue to stare at you skeptically. 

“Keishin Ukai was my brother.” You say, causing the three men from Karasuno to sit straight up, simply from the mention of his name. “I know he dated your sister, and I want to talk to her.” 

“No one talks to big sis. Especially not strangers.” Noya says, leaning back against the couch. 

“You’re Black Lungs’ sister?” Daichi asks, looking at you with curiosity. 

“Yeah. He raced under the name Ukai to get away from my family. And I know about the accident. I’m sorry Tanaka.” You say sincerely, looking at Tanaka. You didn’t know to what extent Saeko was injured, but you assumed that she had to have taken some amount of damage. 

Tanaka shrugs, looking away. “It’s all good. Why do you need to talk to my sister?” 

“I need to know the truth about my brother. About how he died. And I heard that your sister and my brother were pretty close, I just want to talk to her about him.” You say, nearly begging. 

Tanaka sat for a second, thinking of a response. “My sister...she doesn’t talk to many people nowadays. She hasn’t been the same since your brother passed. Black Lung was her soulmate, or whatever.” He says awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to put her through reliving that night just for your sake. I really am sorry, (y/n), about your brother. He was a cool dude.” 

You sigh, taking a long drink from your cup. You had a feeling it would go like this, but you couldn’t help feeling disappointed by the outcome. 

“We think we know the truth about his death.” Kuroo says, making everyone in the room look at him. “We know it wasn’t an accident.” You knew he was taking a risk saying this, telling these guys the suspicions you held. He was gamlbing with the only intel the two of you had. 

“What do you mean the truth? His death was a tragic accident and that’s that.” Daichi says in an assertive tone. 

“Daichi, it’s okay.” Tanaka says quietly, his eyes not moving from your own. “You two know the truth? Or just theories?” He questions you. 

“We...have theories. But I think that talking to your sister will help point us in the right direction. Or maybe even give us exactly what we need to prove our theories.” You say, trying your hardest to convince Tanaka. 

Tanaka sighs, looking at the TV, which remained paused on a frame of an orange Mitsubishi. “I don’t know.” 

“No one knows you.” Noya points out, getting your attention. “You don’t belong to any crew, I know you’re here with DK but you aren’t officially a part of Nekoma. Everyone knows your dad is a shady dude. And Saeko shouldn’t have to relive Black Lung’s death for a stranger.” 

“You’re right.” You say, knowing that everything he was saying was correct. You were a stranger, the idea of a dead street racer’s little sister suddenly coming out of hiding to ask a thousand questions about her brother’s death was far fetched, even for you. “You guys have no reason to trust me, or to let me talk to Saeko. But I’m desperate. I just — I need to know what happened to my brother. I’ll do anything.” 

“What do you think Saeko would want? What would she have (y/n) do to prove herself?” Kuroo asks. 

“I know exactly what she would want.” Tanaka says, sighing and sitting up. “A race. A memorial for Black Lung. We haven’t had one for a while, but the last time she had one, all the money raised from it went to...a memorial fund. For your brother.” 

“A memorial fund? For Keishin?” You question, uncertain why the son of a millionaire needed a memorial fund. 

“It goes to Saeko. Helps keep the shop open, and funds her research into what happened to your brother.” Daichi answers. 

“So I’m not the only one with theories.” You say, beginning to understand. “I’m assuming it goes to P.I.’s, buying access to private files, stuff like that?” 

“We can neither confirm nor deny that.” Noya says in a robotic tone, like it was a line he was taught to say. 

“If we do the memorial race, who’s racing?” Kuroo asks, changing the topic. 

“Me.” You answer immediately, making everyone look at you in shock. “A Black Lung memorial race, with his little sister making her racing debut. It could be big. Raise a lot of money. I know the type of power my family name has in this city.” 

“And it would prove to Saeko that you’re serious about meeting her.” Daichi points out. 

“Okay, how about this.” Tanaka says, shifting in his seat once more. “You and me, headline race. If we can get some more racers in on this, then great. If you win, you can meet Saeko. If you don’t, then oh well. At least she’ll get some more funds for her...side project.” 

“I can get some more racers in on this.” Kuroo says. 

“Perfect. We got a deal, you two?” Daichi asks, looking between you and Tanaka. You nod, sticking your hand out. 

“Deal.” Tanaka says, shaking your hand.

“Looks like we got a race to plan.” Daichi says, grinning at Kuroo. 

Kuroo smirks, getting up. “I’ll go start recruiting some more racers.” 

You follow Kuroo, getting up and heading for the door. “I’ll see you on the road, cue ball.” You say, smirking at Tanaka. You slowly head out, leaving the door cracked open. 

“HA! CUE BALL! Get it, cause you’re freakin bald!” Noya yells, cackling with laughter. You chuckle, their conservation fading out as you walk with Kuroo back downstairs. 

For about an hour or so, you and Kuroo went around the party, mingling with racers, recruiting them for the Black Lung memorial. You got at least enough people for three more races. So far, the lineup was you vs. Tanaka, Kuroo vs. Bokuto, Iwaizumi vs. Atsumu Miya from Inarizaki, and Oikawa vs. Kita. Kuroo pointed out that there would be a good turnout for the memorial given how many great racers were on the bracket, which made you both nervous and hopeful. 

“So, since when do you race?” Kuroo asks you, sitting down on the couch. 

“I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.” You say, sitting down next to him, draping your legs over his. “Gas pedal makes car go vroom vroom. Seems simple enough.” You joke to him, making him roll his eyes. 

“Sounds like someone needs a teacher.” He says, leaning closer to you. 

“Sounds like someone wants to teach me.” You say, closing the gap between the two of you, kissing him. 

A buzz from your pocket interrupts you, causing you to pull away from Kuroo and take your phone out. 

‘Call me now.’ the text read from your dad. Kuroo saw it over your shoulder, and immediately sat up. 

“Dad, is everything okay?” You ask, trying to drown out the sound of the party. 

“You need to get out of there, have Kuroo take you somewhere safe. Nohebi is looking for us.” Your dad says in a rushed tone. You hear some shuffling on his end, and your mother’s voice in the distance. 

“What? Nohebi knows I’m here?” You ask. Kuroo looks at you with concern, seemingly ready to get up and run at any moment. 

“Daishou has eyes everywhere. Don’t come home, your mother and I won’t be here. Tell Kuroo to protect you no matter what.” There’s a brief moment of silence between the two of you. “Your mom and I love you, sweetheart. We’ll see you soon.” Three beeps signal the end of the call. 

“We need to go. Nohebi’s coming.” You say, jumping up. Kuroo follows suit. 

“I’ll let the guys know.” Kuroo says, beginning to race towards the backyard where Inarizaki, Seijoh, and Nekoma were hanging out. 

You follow him out, trailing behind him as he approaches Cypher and Sly Fox. Before you can catch up to him, he’s already heading back towards you, taking your hand and dragging you through the house and out the front door. 

“Will everyone be okay?” You ask him, running to the car. You hop in, Kuroo doing the same and turning the car on. 

“Between Seijoh, Inarizaki, and Nekoma, they have Nohebi outnumbered three to one. They won’t try anything at a party this crowded. Daishou’s too smart to fight a losing battle.” Kuroo says, immediately racing away from the party, the houses of the neighborhood zooming past your line of sight. “The gangs aren’t the target anyways. We are.” 

As if on cue, you see in the rearview mirror three cars pull up to the party, and Daishou climbs out of one of them. He was vaguely familiar, you could barely recall seeing him in your father’s office, but you knew that he would recognize you and Kuroo in a heartbeat. 

“We got out just in time.” You say, looking over at Kuroo. 

“Barely. We’re not in the clear just yet princess, still need to get somewhere safe.” Kuroo says shortly, continuing to fly down the empty Tokyo streets. “We don’t know if Daishou had eyes on us as we left. And as soon as he realizes we aren’t there, they’re gonna be all over the city looking for us.” 

“So where do we go?” You ask him. 

Kuroo pauses, staring out at the freeway in front of the two of you. “My safehouse. It’s under a bogus name, in an old neighborhood. They won’t know to look there.” 

You nod, sighing and rubbing your eyes. You didn’t feel even the slightest bit tipsy from the drink you had earlier. How did the night go bad so quickly?

“Hey.” Kuroo says gently, reaching over to hold your hand. “Everything will be okay. As soon as we’re at the safehouse, we’ll be in the clear. And I’m sure your mom and dad are somewhere safe as well.” 

His reassurance goes a long way, easing your nerves and allowing you to relax a little. There was no use stressing yourself out while you’re stuck in the car, driving to an unknown destination. 

After about 50 minutes of silent driving, Kuroo finally pulls off of the freeway and enters an old, run down neighborhood. Everything was quiet, and the streetlights overhead were flickering in the darkness. 

“Home sweet home.” Kuroo says, pulling into an alley next to an apartment building. He turns the car off, going to the trunk. You get out as well, watching Kuroo as he drapes a large tarp over the car. A bright red luxury car would definitely stand out in a neighborhood like this. 

Kuroo takes your hand and leads you up the apartment complex stairs to a door labeled ‘A402’. With one of the many keys on his keychain, Kuroo unlocks the door, opening it for you. 

There wasn’t anything very special about the apartment, it seemed like the type of place a person would crash at for a night or two then leave. A small but functional kitchen, a modestly sized living area with a couch and a TV. As you continue further into the apartment, you see a quaint bathroom with a standing shower, and a bedroom barely big enough to fit a full sized bed. 

“There’s some pillows and stuff in the hall closet. And some extra clothes in the bedroom.” Kuroo says, setting his keys on the counter and pulling out his phone. As you reach for a light switch, Kuroo stops you. “Wait, don’t. We shouldn’t make it look like anyone’s home, just in case. At least until I hear back from Kenma.” 

Although his paranoia seemed a bit much for you, you knew that it was for a good reason. If the Nohebi Clan was enough of a threat to make your father go into hiding, no precaution was too extreme. 

“I’m gonna go change.” You call out to him, grabbing a spare shirt and pair of men’s boxers from the bedroom closet. You gently close the door, beginning to strip off your party outfit and changing into Kuroo’s clothes. 

After taking a moment to recollect your thoughts, you decide there was no use worrying about things that were out of your control. Your mother and father, the race that you volunteered for, even the party you just fled from. What was in your control, however, was the bed.

“I’ll put some sheets on the bed.” You shout out to Kuroo once more, grabbing the pillows and sheets from the closet. It felt almost hotel-like, the way everything was pristine and untouched. At least you knew this wasn’t the sort of place Kuroo took other girls. 

“Perfect.” You say, fluffing the pillows one last time, then stepping back to admire your work. 

“I heard back from Kenma.” Kuroo says, pushing the door open and entering the room. He flops onto the bed, ruining your perfect sheets and collapsing your freshly fluffed pillows. 

You sigh in annoyance, closing your eyes to keep your cool. “What did he say?” You ask, sitting next to Kuroo. 

“Everything’s all good. Daishou and his guys showed up, asked for us. Oikawa and Kita were waiting for them, so they barely even made it past the front door. Told them we left a while ago, and that they didn’t know where we went.” Kuroo rubs his forehead with his hands, pushing his hair back. In the dim light that radiated from the street lamps outside, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“No one got hurt? Are they still out looking for us?” You ask, your brain going a thousand miles an hour. 

“Everyone's fine.” Kuroo says gently, taking your hand. “From what Kenma knows, they gave up looking for us and now they’re trying to find your dad. I think they’re assuming I brought you to them.” 

You breathe another sigh of relief. The two of you were finally in the clear, finally safe, at least for tonight. “So we’re okay? At least for now?” 

“For now, yes. In the morning Kenma will let me know if we’re all clear to go back to your place. But for right now, we’re safe.” Kuroo says, turning over to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your thigh. 

“We’re safe.” You whisper to yourself, running your fingers through Kuroo’s unruly black hair. The moment of calm being shared between the two of you is disrupted by a loud rumbling from your stomach. 

“You hungry?” Kuroo asks, grinning against your leg. 

“Maybe.” You say, realizing how hungry you’ve been all night. Is eating at parties still not cool, or was that only a high school thing? You didn’t see anyone else eating at Bokuto’s, so you assume it still wasn’t. Or maybe you were too worried about everyone staring at you to notice if anyone was eating. 

“I’ll go grab some stuff at the convenience store.” Kuroo says, getting up and grabbing his jacket. “Onigiri?” 

“And some ramen please.” You request politely, smiling sweetly at him. “Be careful.” 

“Always am, princess.” He says, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips. 

Kuroo exits the room and you hear the front door shut and lock. You found yourself in a silent, dark apartment, alone. 

‘Might as well see if the TV works.’ you think to yourself, getting up and walking to the living room and plopping down on the couch. Just like the bed, it felt brand new, as if you were the first person to sit on it. 

After flicking the TV on, you mindlessly scroll through channels, trying to find something to occupy your mind. It felt wrong, how everything was so dangerous and scary tonight, but all that you could think of was that one thing Bokuto said. ‘No more bachelor’s life for you!’ What does that even mean? 

Grabbing your phone, you realize that you really had no one to talk to. Normal girls would text their best friend, or even just a regular friend when they want to talk about boy problems. Normal girls, with normal friends and safe lives. Maybe Kuroo really is the only person you talk to. 

You scroll through your recent messages, trying to find anyone to talk to. Dad — no. For obvious reasons. Mom — maybe on a regular day, but not right now. Kuroo — big no, for even more obvious reasons. Dentist — yeah, if you were really that desperate. 

“I guess I could talk to myself.” You mutter out loud. After a moment of lonesome silence, you sigh. “Yeah, no. I’m not that crazy.” 

What kind of bachelor’s life was Kuroo living before you came along, before that early morning watching the sunrise? You always assumed he was the no strings attached sort of guy, considering the type of work he does. But then again, the only times you ever saw him was when he was working. Maybe the Kuroo you knew was just one side, the professional side. Of course he let his guard down around you, joking and flirting when you were alone. It had been that way for as long as you could remember, since Kuroo started working for your dad. But maybe that was just another side, the side for girls he was interested in. Maybe you weren’t the only one who got to see that side. You saw two out of however many sides he has — the flirt and the henchman. Maybe you didn’t know him at all. 

The sound of the front door creaking open draws you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see Kuroo with a convenience store bag filled with food. 

“I wasn’t sure which onigiri you’d want, so I got one of each.” He says, plopping a bag filled with various onigiris onto the living room table. “And I got two ramens, spicy and regular. I’ll take whichever one you don’t want.” 

“Spicy please.” You say, chuckling at how much food Kuroo got for just the two of you. Kuroo shrugs his jacket off, leaving it on the couch. Grabbing the bag with the ramen, he walks into the kitchen, flicking the lights on. 

“One spicy ramen coming right up.” He says, pulling a pot out of the cupboard. You grab a salmon onigiri from the bag in front of you, unwrapping it and taking a bite. 

“How often do you use this place?” You ask, watching Kuroo as he fills the pot with water and puts it on the stove. 

“Once in a blue moon, really. If a job goes wrong and I need a place to lay low, I stay here. Or if I need a place to crash and don’t feel like driving home.” He answers. 

“Where do you live, anyways?” 

“Close by the Nekoma shop, same building as Kenma. We talked about being roommates for a while, but we agreed we’d probably start hating one another.” Kuroo chuckles to himself, walking back to the living room to grab an onigiri for himself. 

“So it’s just you?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation in your favor. 

“Me and Yoruichi.”

“Yoruichi?” You ask, feeling like you knew the name from somewhere. Maybe an old anime?

“My cat.” He says, grinning. “I found her on a job, actually. She kept following me around and just jumped into my car when I wasn’t looking.” 

“Sounds like a pretty good life.” You say, trying your hardest to be subtle. “A bachelor’s life.” Okay, not so subtle. 

“I knew you were still thinking about that.” Kuroo says, laughing. “You know you can just ask me stuff. No need to try and jump over hurdles trying to talk to me.” 

“I’m not really good at this.” You admit. “You know...talking. Being open. Relationship stuff.” 

“Relationship, huh?” Kuroo asks, turning to you and smirking. The pot of water behind him was at a rolling boil, letting steam into the kitchen. 

You roll your eyes, your cheeks were definitely blushing but you hope that Kuroo couldn’t see it in the dim light. “Whatever this is.” You say quietly, knowing that a real label was the last thing either of you were thinking of with all the things you both were dealing with. 

“Like I said, ask me anything.” Kuroo says, his back turned to you as he stirred the ramen. 

“What did Bokuto mean by ‘a bachelor’s life’?” You ask, getting up to join Kuroo in the kitchen. You lean against the counter opposite the stove, staring at Kuroo’s muscular back. 

“I was...definitely a bachelor. For a while.” Kuroo says, back still turned to you. 

“Like...you had…” you say, trailing off. You were torn between saying “hoes” or “bitches”.

“I had...some girls that I spent time with. Nothing serious, though. I always made sure to keep things casual.” The conversation felt tense, slowly but surely growing more and more awkward as more details were being revealed. 

“I don’t really care about how many there were.” You say quickly, reassuring Kuroo and clearing some of the tension. “I don’t care who they are either. But is there anyone I should be worried about? It felt like everyone was staring at me at the party.” The memory of all the girls at the party staring at you curiously was persisting in your mind. 

“No one to worry about, really. None of them seem like the type to backstab, especially considering soon everyone will know you’re a Sakanoshita.” Kuroo says slyly, referring to the upcoming race in memory of your brother. You knew that as soon as everyone learned of your family, your sense of anonymity in Kuroo’s world would be gone. 

“I have one more question.” You say, moving to stand next to the stove, nearly in front of Kuroo. “If those girls were nothing, and you usually keep things casual, what are we?” 

Kuroo pauses, thinking for a moment before setting down his chopsticks and turning the heat to a simmer. Turning to you, he places his hands on either side of the counter next to you, trapping you underneath him. Your heart raced as you felt your breath catch in your throat, caught off guard by Kuroo’s sudden closeness to you. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be.” He says, barely louder than a whisper, his lips hovering over yours. 

“You’re mine.” You say, your gaze bouncing from his eyes to his lips. Kuroo moves closer to you, his body pressing against yours. 

“I’m yours.” He responds, wrapping one of his arms around your waist. 

“Kuroo…” You whisper, lips grazing his. He reaches next to you, turning the stove off. In an instant, his lips crash against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, desperate for more — more contact, more kisses, more Kuroo. The entire night Kuroo kept you close to him, never leaving your side at the party, always making sure to let his kisses linger a few seconds longer than normal. All the pent up tension was finally being released, the adrenaline rush that came with all the drama from tonight only fueled the boldness of yours and Kuroo’s actions. 

You grind your hips against him, making him groan. You were very aware of two things; his growing member, hard against your body, and the sudden wetness between your legs. 

You gently push against Kuroo, freeing yourself from underneath him. His lips stay attached to yours, refusing to break the seal the two of you made. In one swift motion, you release from his grasp, and without looking back, you calmly walk to the bedroom, leaving Kuroo standing in the kitchen alone, pining for more. 

“Are you coming or not? Make sure you turn off the stove.” You call behind you, toying with Kuroo. You grin to yourself, knowing that you were just as irresistible to him as he was to you.

You open the bedroom door, behind you Kuroo’s footsteps grew closer and closer. Suddenly, you feel his arms around your waist again, and in an instant Kuroo is in front of you grabbing you by the throat, moving you so your back is against the door, pushing you backwards to shut it. 

“Such a pretty princess.” Kuroo says, closing the gap between you two. You felt your heart rate quickening, being trapped under Kuroo’s touch like this. A light moan escapes your lips, this dominant side of Kuroo makes you want him even more. His hand wrapped around your throat, his hard cock against your leg, the whole room felt electrified. 

“Kuroo please.” You whisper, eager for more. 

“You want me?” Kuroo asks, his lips barely touching yours. He wraps his other arm around you, grabbing your ass and pulling you against his body. The only thing that stopped the two of you from being directly pressed against one another was his hand around your throat. 

“Yes.” You answer breathlessly, moving your head forward, your lips colliding with his. Kuroo breathes heavily, removing his hand from your throat and moving to grab your ass. Almost by instinct, you give a light jump, wrapping your legs around Kuroo’s waist, his hands supporting you and keeping you from falling. 

Kuroo moves backwards until his legs hit the bed, then he slowly sits and reclines backwards, careful not to drop you or break the kiss. He maintains a firm grip on your ass as you straddle him grinding your hips against his, yearning for more friction between the bulge being held back by his jeans and your throbbing pussy. 

His fingers gently graze at the bottom of your shirt, tugging it upwards. You take the hint, sitting up and removing your top effortlessly. Kuroo does the same, sitting up slightly and lifting his shirt over his head. In the dim glow of the street light from outside, you could just barely make out the dragon tattoo on that stretched from his neck down his arm. 

“Take these off.” Kuroo says, rubbing your thighs.

“What’s the magic word?” You tease. 

“Now.” He says, reaching for your neck, forcefully pulling you down to look him in the eyes. You smirk, relishing in the fact you were able to see this side of Kuroo. There was no fear within you as he tightened his grip around your throat, only more and more arousal at the sight of the great Drift King grasping for control. 

Gently, you take hold of his wrist, making him let go of your neck. After placing a small kiss on his thumb, you get up, unbuttoning your pants. Kuroo’s eyes never left you, he was hypnotized, his hand rubbing his hardened crotch. He almost looked as if he was stuck in a trance, watching you undress before him, as if you were something out of a magazine that had come to life right before his eyes. 

Reaching behind you, you unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor, your nipples already rock hard. Kuroo lets out a small “fuck”, watching you in amazement. You turn to look at him, feeling no need to cover your nude body, no need to hide from him. You want him to see you, it turns you on watching him touch himself as he stares at you with lust in his eyes. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed with him and fuck all night long. 

You take a few steps closer to him, bending down and reaching for his pants, smirking as you hear his breath catch in his throat. Kuroo moves his hands away, hoisting himself up on his elbows to watch you. After unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, he moves slightly to allow you to remove his pants — and to his surprise — his underwear as well. 

If there was a god out there, you were certain that they personally blessed Tetsurou Kuroo with a gorgeous penis. Standing perfectly erect in front of you, you stop for a moment to simply take it all in. The size, the girth, the slight lean to the left, the vein popping out in excitement, the droplets of precum gathering on the head. At just the mere sight of his cock, you felt a fire light inside of you, eager to pleasure him.  

“You just gonna sit and stare all night?” Kuroo asks sarcastically, looking down at you with a smirk. Without saying a word, you gently lick the precum off of the head, your eyes not leaving his. He gently sighs, his smirk falling as his mouth stays slightly agape. You will yourself to salivate, and in one seemingly effortless motion, you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat. You gag slightly, trying your hardest to relax your throat to keep his dick in your mouth. Kuroo’s head falls back in pleasure, and a beautiful moan escapes his lips. 

“Goddamn, princess.” Kuroo says, lazily picking his head up to look you in your eyes. Once again maintaining eye contact, you slowly withdraw his dick from your mouth, allowing your drool to dribble from your mouth onto his penis. Kuroo’s chest continued to rise and fall heavily, watching your every move. Licking one long stripe along the vein of his penis, you once again take him in your mouth, this time creating a rhythm, your head bobbing up and down as your hand strokes the length that you couldn’t fit, letting your spit lubricate his cock. 

You begin to lose yourself in the moment, allowing yourself to close your eyes and bask in the sound of Kuroo’s soft groans as you pleasure him. 

“Come here.” Kuroo says, breaking your concentration. You slowly take his length out of your mouth, leaving it wet with your saliva. Kuroo reaches for your thighs, pulling you upwards to look you straight into your eyes as you hover over him, his wet length hitting your inner thigh.

“Sit on my face.” Kuroo commands roughly, hands wandering up and down your legs and ass, his fingers gently brushing the lips of your vagina. You shiver at the small contact made, ready for more. After planting a short kiss on Kuroo’s lips, you let him guide you until your pussy is just barely hovering over his lips, his hands securely gripping your thighs, your bare tits practically glowing in the dim light streaming in from the empty street. You felt so defenseless, exposing yourself as Kuroo stared up at your naked body, you both knew he was strong enough to hold you down against his mouth if he wanted to. 

Slowly, tentatively, you lower yourself down, your heart pounding out of your chest in excitement. Without missing a beat, Kuroo’s large hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you steady as his tongue furiously licks your pussy, practically making you double over in ecstasy. 

Your moans and whimpers of pleasure echo through the room, and Kuroo takes this as a signal to quicken his pace, his tongue licking fast strokes against your clit and dipping slightly into your hole. His pace continued getting faster and faster, tongue alternating between circling your clit and deeply thrusting into your hole. You were certain he was leaving bruises on your thighs, trying to keep you still against his devilish mouth. Gripping tightly onto his hair, you feel yourself beginning to come undone on top of him, your walls tightening as you grind your hips against Kuroo’s face, his nose nudging against your clit, the pace never slowing down. You weren’t 100% sure he could breathe, but you didn’t really care. All that mattered to you was reaching your climax with Kuroo’s face buried in your pussy. 

“Kuroo!” You moan out, pulling his hair a little harder as you feel your walls pounding as you hit your peak, struggling screams escaping your mouth as Kuroo continues gently lapping at your clit as you cum. It took everything in you just to stay upright, the intensity of Kuroo’s mouth never letting up even as you came. You ride out your high on Kuroo’s face, slowly releasing your grip on his head as he takes his hands off your thighs. 

As you continue to try to catch your breath, you lift yourself up, giving Kuroo room to breathe. He breathes deeply as well, looking up at you with a smirk. 

“You sound cute when you scream my name.” He says smugly, rubbing your thigh. You roll your eyes, your cheeks burning. Shifting backwards, you widen your stance to straddle his waist again, the tip of his penis just barely grazing the lips of your drenched pussy. 

“And I like you better when you’re quiet.” You say, just barely louder than a whisper. Your face was once again centimeters away from his, and his lips were still glistening with your cum. Without hesitation Kuroo’s lips meet yours, sloppy, wet kisses being swapped between the two of you as your hand takes hold of his dick, lining it up with your entrance. 

You watch as Kuroo pulls away from the kiss, his face contorting in satisfaction as you sink into him. You sigh, closing your eyes as his length slowly starts filling you up. There was only a little resistance, your walls having to stretch to adjust to his size. But even so, he felt so comfortable inside of you. It felt as if the two of you were made for one another. 

You feel your eyes roll back as you shift your hips, his dick twitching slightly inside of you. Kuroo’s hands gripped onto your ass deeply, urging you to move, to create some sort of friction. With the support of his hands, you move your hips upwards, then downwards, up, down, up, down, two bodies moving almost perfectly in sync as the room filled with the sounds of Kuroo’s moans and your screams. 

The two of you kept a rhythmic pace to maintain the high you were both building, his hands guiding your hips as you steadily let your body rise and fall against his. Fireworks exploded at your core every time your hips collided with his, the head of his dick ramming against your cervix. 

After some time you slow down, your legs were getting more and more tired as you rocked against him. Kuroo senses your exhaustion and effortlessly flips you over onto your back, getting on top of you. Lining up his rock hard cock at your entrance, he looks down at you with a malicious grin. 

“So desperate for my dick, huh princess?” Kuroo teases, letting the head of his penis rub along your soaking wet pussy, your walls clenching every time it barely grazes your clit.  

“Just get inside me already.” You demand, your body aching for more. You were so close to reaching your second high, and you were more than ready to keep going all night if Kuroo wanted to. 

“What’s the magic word?” Kuroo says, using your words from earlier against you. He slowly lowers himself until his lips graze your hardened nipple. The tip of his dick continues to rub against you, making your pussy throb. Kuroo flicks your nipple with his tongue, before taking it between his teeth and nibbling softly, causing you to yelp at the sudden contact. Kuroo moves away from your nipple, sucking hard on the soft tissue of your breasts, leaving hickeys scattered across your chest. 

“Please fuck me Kuroo!” You beg, unable to take any more stimulation. You feel Kuroo chuckle against your skin, right before he finally lets his tip enter you. He pushes into you at a painstakingly slow rate, making you groan in anticipation, shutting your eyes tightly. Kuroo always left you yearning for more, lusting for his touch. 

Kuroo moves his head upwards, nestling his face into your neck as he gradually increases his pace. He leaves small kisses along your neck, taking your ear lobe between his teeth and tugging on it, making your eyes roll back as you let out a loud moan. You shift underneath him, bucking your hips upwards as you wrap your legs around his waist. Kuroo groans into your neck, letting his head rest against your shoulder as he continues to pound into you, leaving shockwaves running through your body with every thrust. 

“Kuroo, please make me cum.” You moan out, tangling your hands in his hair. Kuroo quickly pushes himself upward, hoisting your legs up and using his thighs to keep your hips suspended in the air, his dick still deep in you. Kuroo smirks as he sees your eyes roll back in pleasure, your hands grasping at the sheets around you, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. His smirk only grows wider as he begins rubbing small circles on your clit with his thumb, causing you to scream so loud you were certain everyone in the neighborhood could hear you. 

With this added stimulation, you felt yourself getting closer to your climax much faster, the pressure building up in your pussy as Kuroo continues fucking you from this new angle. Without any warning, you feel your walls clenching like a vice around Kuroo’s dick, causing Kuroo to take his thumb off of your clit so his hands could grab your waist, keeping you still as you cum all over him. 

Your climax is only further intensified by Kuroo continuing to pound into your tight cunt, aching for his own release. The feeling of your vaginal walls spasming around his cock was more than enough for him, but getting to see you scream in pleasure as he sends you over the edge is what really did it for him. To him, there was no better sight than seeing his princess cum. 

It didn’t take long until Kuroo let out a throaty groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucks you even harder. 

“Cum inside of me.” You barely make out, your body overrun with satisfaction. Kuroo leans down once more, pinning your hands over your head as you wrap your legs around him. Looking deeply into his eyes, you watch as his face contorts in ecstasy, his forehead dropping against yours. You feel his cock twitch inside of you, and you feel your cunt fill up with Kuroo’s hot cum. 

After a last few sloppy thrusts, Kuroo pulls out of you, leaving you lying on the bed breathless, your chest rising and falling as you try to gain your composure. Your pussy was practically bursting with liquids, both yours and his. Kuroo briskly walks over to the bathroom, and you hear some shuffling and the sink running. Kuroo returns with a wet washcloth, kneeling in front of your soaking wet vagina and tenderly wiping up any cum that was on you. 

“Such a gentleman.” You comment, looking down at Kuroo as he concentrates on cleaning you up. He looks up at you, smiling when he realizes you were watching him. 

“Only the best for my girl.” He says, getting up and wiping his dick off with the rag. You move to lay on your side, feeling more than content with the events that just occurred. Kuroo lays next to you, looking into your eyes. 

“My girl?” You repeat back at him, squinting your eyes skeptically. Kuroo rolls his eyes, throwing his arm around your waist and pulling you next to him.

“I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s the deal.” He says, winking at you. 

“Since when am I yours?” You ask teasingly, knowing damn well that there was no arguing that you and Kuroo belonged to one another. 

“Since you screamed my name so loud the entire neighborhood heard you.” Kuroo says, smirking. “The hickeys speak for themselves too. They’re like a personal tag.” 

“Shut up.” You say, rolling your eyes at his lewd comments. You couldn’t hide the smile on your face as you thought about the idea of being Kuroo’s. “I’m yours.” You whisper, inching your face closer to Kuroo’s.

“You’re mine.” Kuroo responds back, placing a loving kiss on your lips. There wasn’t any lust, any heat in this kiss, which was a drastic change from the absolutely filthy deeds the two of you were just committing. It was a simple kiss, sealing the deal the two of you made. 

“Round two after dinner?” Kuroo asks jokingly, pulling away from your kiss. You laugh, resting your forehead against his, lazily nodding at the proposal of more sex. 

Alone with Kuroo in that tiny little safehouse, you felt more at home than you had felt in years. Maybe it was the intensity of everything that happened that night, maybe it was the sense of belonging you felt as you laid in Kuroo’s arms, maybe it was the way your heart fluttered every time you heard Kuroo say “I’m yours”. Perhaps it was all of it, all of these emotions and sensations coming together, a light in the middle of the darkest storm that raged on around you, right outside the walls of this apartment. That storm wasn’t going to stop, and you and Kuroo were fully aware of the dangers that lurked around the corner for the both of you. But maybe the comfort the two of you found in one another was more than just a shelter from the impending storm. A solemn promise that regardless of the future that lay ahead, there was one constant that would remain true — he is yours, and you are his. 

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Welcome To The Family (4/???)

1/ 2/ 3 here

Note- This festival is a different one than the festival arc.  Sorry if the ending seems kinda sudden. Didn’t really know how to end it. 

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I’m unsure what time exactly they will be here. They probably should have told me that before, now that I think about it. Luckily, everyone is passed out by sunrise so that’s not an issue of them seeing who is in the vehicle. My issue is them possibly entering here, so I should probably wait outside. 

On my way to get outside, I run into the mold-quirked male. He’s passed out on the floor in the hall. His really long, oddly-textured white hair sprawled everywhere around him. I’ve never touched it, but just by looking at it, the hair seems weird. It looks like what fuzzy mold possibly feels like if that makes sense. Makes me wonder if his hair IS mold. Gross, no thanks. 

I wonder whether to wake him or let him sleep. I decided to just let him sleep and walk over his body. 

Exiting the building, it was like there was never loud music blaring, or even a party. No mess anywhere. That must be how they get away with it. 

I brought my money with me to play a few games, but nothing extreme. Of course, I should be safe around three heroes, but not taking any chances is still the better option than bringing all of it. 

It only takes a few minutes for the familiar black car to pull up. Being texted they were on their way would have been nice, but beggars can’t be choosers. Hitoshi exits the car for me to get in. 

I’m greeted by the very happy smile of Eri. That will never be a tiring sight to see. I buckle up and lean over since her arms are outstretched for a hug. 

From the view of Aizawa in the front, he’s dressed decently today, and even his hair looks much tidier than I’ve ever seen it. The same for the first time he’s wearing something besides his hero outfit. No doubt Hizashi made him do it, or even more likely he did it for Aizawa himself. He still has that scarf though. I resist the urge to laugh at the thought of him unwillingly being tidied up by Hizashi. 

In speaking of Hizashi, I’ve never seen his hair not standing up before. It’s a good look in the half-bun, but I wonder what it would look like fully down. Nope, don’t think too far into that. That’s kinda weird. 

“Morning Y/N!” Hizashi exclaims. 

“Morning guys! What’s planned first when we get there?”

“Eri wants to get a candy apple. She loves them after last time.”

I look at her. “Candy apples? Why did you never tell me? We could have made those at some point before.” 

“It should be more of a treat than a daily thing,” Aizawa says. 

“Says the one who pretty much lives off jelly pouches,” Hizashi informs.

“Like you’re much better with forgetting sometimes to eat at all.” Aizawa shoots back at him. 

Jelly pouches? How in the world is he still in such great shape then? Obviously fighting and training often helps, but that sounds like multiple deficiencies just waiting to happen. Same with Hizashi. Jeez, these two seem rather irresponsible sometimes. At least they’re focused on their kids since I’ve never heard Eri telling me they forgot to feed her. 

“You know how to make them?” Hitoshi asks. 

I look at him and nod. “Yep. I helped a friend in the past who was in a candy apple tournament with their other friends. Whoever could make the coolest-looking ones wins. They sadly got second place, but to me, galaxy apples look a lot cooler than the tree candy apples that won. You couldn’t even bite the top of the silly things without breaking your teeth!” 

Eri gasps and puts a hand on her mouth in the thought of breaking her teeth. 

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t make them even if I could.”

She nods relieved. 

We get to the festival and Hizashi finds somewhere to park the car. 

Walking around, I could swear we passed a few familiar faces to me. The games are rather interesting and pull me towards them, but we can go to them later since Eri wants a candy apple. 

I notice Hizashi and Aizawa refraining from holding hands though they seem to want to. I try to come up with a reason for why that might be. Not very likely they’d be recognized by villains since they look like entirely different people. Hmm… Obviously, Hitoshi and Eri wouldn’t care. 

The only other thing I can think of is their students. Of course, their students might be able to recognize them. Did they not tell their students they’re married or something? I know Midoriya wouldn’t care since I met him, but maybe there are a few in his class that wouldn’t be too open-minded about it? It’s not my place, whatever is the cause. I do feel a little bad though they can’t act normally. 

Hizashi suddenly stops, making the rest of us stop, and pulls out his phone. He reads something with a frown forming on his face. He pockets it and looks at me. “Yo, Y/n? Could ya hang out with Hitoshi and Eri alone for a bit? Sho and I gotta go take care of something that came up.” 

Hero work I’m guessing. Poor guys, they really can’t seem to catch a break. “Of course!” 

They both then run back in the direction we came from. I look at Eri and Hitoshi. “Well, should we continue looking?” 

Eri happily nods.

Hitoshi goes in front of me with Eri, probably leading the way since he seems to know where they are. I stay rather close behind them so no one gets between us and we lose each other from how crowded it seems to be in this area. 

Over the music, I can swear I hear tiny explosions quickly getting louder, and maybe closer? Coming from behind me. I turn around to see people clearing from behind me to show an angry blond coming up incredibly quickly. Explosions crackling from his hands. His feral glaring face was enough to put so much fear in me that I freeze in my place. I clench my eyes closed and wait for an impact that no doubt is going to be painful.

“Kacchan, stop! They’re Eri’s babysitter!!!” A very familiar voice yells to the blond in front of me. 

He stops with one of his hands millimeters from my face. I can hear the sizzling and feel the heat radiating off of it onto my face. I slowly open my eyes to meet his still-glaring ones. 

… Isn’t he one of Aizawa’s and Hizashi’s students? I think he was one farther in the back frowning in the picture I saw on my first day. 

In the blink of an eye, Hitoshi slightly pulls me back, and stands in front of me, preventing the blond from coming close again. Midoriya is running up to us as well. He tries to cheer me up by giving me a kind wave. It does little to help my still-panicked state. 

Eri hugs me by my side in worry. I feel like fainting. 

The blond becomes slightly less tense at realizing she’s hugging me.

“Hah? How the hell was I supposed to know with the way the damn extra was following so closely?”

“Uh… Kacchan, I don’t think Shinsou would be so open for attacks…” 

The blond glares at him like Midoriya is the dumbest person on the planet. He refused to reply, and just storms off. 

Midoriya looks at me and smiles sheepishly with one of his hands behind his head. “So sorry about that! Kacchan can be rather… headstrong when villains might be involved.”

I just shakily nod. “Uh… y-yeah, good first impression.” 

Hitoshi’s face grows into one of great worry, and I think some anger. He puts one of his arms behind my back as a sort of comfort and support. Surprisingly, it helps a little bit. 

“I think I need to sit down for a moment.” 

“There should be some benches not too far from here,” Midoriya informs, and we get there after a bit. Miraculously, one of them was empty. I sit down with Hitoshi to the left of me. Eri sits on my right, clearly struggling in trying to figure out how to help.

Midoriya stands at my right, in front of Eri’s spot. He seems to be in thought for a moment. “Togata has a surprise the next time we come over. He found a new dress he wants you and Eri to judge.”

That sunshine adult makes me end up smiling slightly. Shinsou seems a bit annoyed at the mention of the kind blond. “Aw, that means Eri and I will have to make him another tiara so it will match his new dress.” 

“I hope it’s poofy!” Eri chimes in. 

I smile at her. “What color do you think it will be? Maybe it will be green! We should have one where we all wear green to match your tea set!” 

Her eyes shine in excitement at the idea. 

“I uh, I guess I have that covered,” Midoriya says. 

“You know you don’t HAVE to wear a dress, right? I bet you’d look great in a green suit too! Ooh! You could be the beloved butler!” 

“I think I’ll just stick with the dress I have… It was so awkward telling my mom about it back when I got it. I don’t know if I could ask her to buy something else too.” 

Hitoshi gets a message on his phone and pulls it out. I’m too focused on Midoriya and Eri. Going on that idea of Togata helped calm me down greatly. 

“That’s understandable. Suits can be rather expensive.”

“Midoriya?” Hitoshi suddenly pipes up. 

“Yeah, Shinsou?”

“You might want to run. Ashido knows you’re here and wants to give you more dance lessons.”  

His eyes widen fearfully, and he takes off while looking around. 

“I didn’t get to hug him…” Eri says rather disappointedly. 

“What’s wrong with dance lessons?” I question.

He has a rather large grin on his face. It kind of creeps me out a bit. How can someone be such a perfect combination of two adults that aren’t blood-related to them? “He usually doesn’t mind them, but recently they got struck with a personality-changing quirk. They became sterner than my dad.” It was easy to tell which dad he meant. 

Just thinking of someone even more serious and stern than him is terrifying. I bet Aizawa isn’t too happy to be stuck dealing with that. 

Hitoshi also seems rather relieved Midoriya has left. Wonder what’s up with that. 

I look at Eri. “Well, why don’t we continue to find your candy apple now that things are a little more settled?” 

She nods, and the three of us stand up. 

It doesn’t take long to find them. They look rather unappealing compared to my friend’s homemade, but I’m not going to bring that up.

After Hitoshi gives it to her, she looks at it for a second, then looks at me. “What is your favorite jewel?” That’s an odd question out of nowhere. Then again, maybe the hard shell makes her think of rocks?  

“Why do you want to know?” 

She shrugs. “They’re so pretty. I like the red ones!”

Red like the candy apple? How cute. I tell her my favorite.  

Hitoshi pulls out his phone and texts someone again. “Something is holding our parents up. It might be at least a few hours before they return.” 

I feel rather bad for them for that. Being a hero is something I thank them for daily, but it must be so exhausting not being able to spend time with your family… 

“Okay. What should we do then? I don’t think we should do any rides for now from Eri eating.”

Hitoshi shrugs. “The only thing we really can do is games unless there’s a different food you’re interested in getting here.”

I shake my head in reply. 

Eri gently tugs at my clothes with her free hand. I look at her and she points at a prize in the shooting game. It’s a stuffed animal of my favorite creature. It’s also my favorite color, and even has a rather similar eye color to mine. Huh, what are the chances of that? 

The game seems simple enough. Hitoshi notices what Eri is pointing at, and smirks at me. He crosses his arms. “Are you going to try first?” 

I get the attention of the person behind the counter and pay, having them give me the corks. I load it and take another quick look at Hitoshi with a smirk myself. “Well, what does it look like? And I’m going to be the one that gets it for her!” 

He teasingly huffs with a roll of his eyes. “Sure you will.”

I look back towards the prize and focus my aim. 

… It misses. Not by much, but my aim is a little too high and too far to the right. 

“You missed.” His tone isn’t condescending in any way. 

“Yeah, yeah. I still have two tries.” 

Looking again, I aim slightly down and more to the left. 

… It missed again, but much closer this time. It’s the right height, but now I have it too far to the left. 

“You missed, again.”

“Hush, you.” I don’t even have to look at him to know he has an enormous smirk forming on his face. I’ll show you!

I force my breathing to slow, focus a little longer, move just a tad to the right...

… Yes! I got it! 

The person goes over and grabs it, giving it to me. I then give it to Eri which gives her an enormous smile on her face. 

I give Hitoshi an “I-told-you-so” face. 

“I would have gotten it on my first try.” 

“Sure you would have.” 

“Next time I’ll show you.” 

“Mhm, whatever you say, Hitoshi.”

After that, we did a few more games and ended up going on a few of the rides. It was rather difficult due to Eri being too small for them. She was a little saddened by that, so I told her maybe she will be able to next year.

Hitoshi and I also ended up getting hungry at one point, so we bought some snacks. After taking a bite of what I bought, I look at the time. Surprisingly, about four hours have passed. I don’t think taking care of a villain should take this long, right? Maybe they got ambushed?

Don’t think about it. They’re pros. They should be able to handle anything. 

In speaking of them, a message from Hizashi pops up on my phone. “Just about done here! Was a rather bad ambush, but we’re good! Gotta clear up a few more things, then we’ll be on our way!” 

He put us in a group chat. Hitoshi is in it, and I’m guessing the other is Aizawa. He reads the message as well. 

Eri is still playing around with her new stuffed animal. 

“Should we do the same rides when your parents come?”

He shakes his head. “They will probably be rather tired when they return. Hizashi wanted to ride the Ferris Wheel with all of us more than anything.”

Why does that seem so accurate for him? “Really? The Ferris Wheel out of everything?”

He shrugs. “My other dad doesn’t really care. He’d rather sleep, but we all know Hizashi wouldn’t allow that.” 

I laugh. “He seems like the type.”

A chill suddenly goes down my spine. Why do I feel like someone is watching us? Hitoshi notices my discomfort, and goes on alert, scanning the crowd around us. He doesn’t seem to see anything concerning. He pulls out his phone and quickly texts someone again, constantly glancing around. 

“Don’t mean to be intrusive, but who are you texting?” 

“My dads. I’m telling them to hurry up.” 

Again, I feel bad for the two grown men. “It shouldn’t be too much of a problem. It’s probably just someone thinking they know me or something.” 

He frowns. “Not taking any chances.” 

I guess that makes sense. “If it’s such a problem, why don’t we find Midoriya to be with us again? I’m sure-”

“No.” He cuts me off. He was rather firm on saying it. 

… No? I thought they were on good terms? “Are you two not on the best terms anymore or something? You don’t seem to want him around.”

“If there is someone watching, it would be better for a student in the top class to not be involved. It could make you a bigger target if your feeling of being watched is correct.” 

Didn’t think of that. It still seems kind of like a ridiculous claim though. After all, Hizashi is a very well-known hero, so what difference would that make between Midoriya being with us or an adult?

 I decided to just brush it off. 

---------------------------------------

Whatever Hitoshi told them must have worked, since they arrived and found us at what must have been a record-breaking speed. 

“Hey guys, you got here quick!”

“Well, we couldn’t let you three have all the fun now, could we?” 

“Speak for yourself.” Aizawa tiredly mumbles. They’re wearing the same outfits they did earlier. I wonder if Hizashi was recognized during his fight. I have a feeling they keep their weapons in the trunk of their car just in case they get called. 

I look at Eri and notice her yawn. I then look back up to Aizawa. “Looks like you’re not the only one that’s tired.” 

He looks at her with the tiniest smile as she yawns again. “Fine. Just a few rides, then we go home.” 

We end up on a few of the rides Eri can go on. I still don’t feel comfortable around Aizawa, so I try my best to sit with Hitoshi and Eri. 

Hizashi keeps looking around as we go on a few of the rides. He tries to be more stealthy about it, but he’s failing at it greatly. Aizawa seems like he couldn’t care less. I should have just ignored it since now I feel like I’m ruining the rides for them for the imaginary odd feeling. 

We decided the very last ride to be the Ferris Wheel. “You guys should go ahead. I’ll wait down here for you.” I inform them. Three out of the four of them look at me like I just grew another head. “What? It will be too tight a squeeze otherwise.” Hizashi just shakes his head and grabs me by one of my wrists to come with. 

The feeling multiplied after he grabbed my wrist, making me forcefully stop and look behind me. He stops as well, looking in the same direction.

“That’s another thing! We can’t just leave you alone down here if someone’s watchin’ ya! C’mon!”

He drags me into the line for it with the others. Luckily, there wasn’t much of a wait. I can’t believe it’s sunset already. I also can’t believe I’m stuck going on it with them. 

We all get into the cart, and I try to sit down with Eri and Hitoshi. Hizashi grabs my wrist again, having me sit between him and Aizawa. It’s a rather tight fit with my thighs and sides being pressed on theirs. This is rather uncomfortable, and definitely something I did NOT sign up for as a sitter… 

At least the sight is beautiful to see with the sun shining brightly to the right side of us. Eri leans against Hitoshi and closes her eyes, hugging her new stuffed animal close. It stays quiet between all of us for a bit. Hizashi slips his arm behind my shoulders, making me tense. I decided he must be trying to give us a bit more room. 

“Sorry for not bein’ around much today to hang out with. Tell ya what, why don’t you join us next Sunday for dinner as an apology?” 

My eyes narrow in thought. “An apology for what? You guys couldn’t help it. It happens.”

He shakes his head. “Come on, we already cleared our schedules for it. It would be heartbreaking if you say no!” 

“But I was planning on hanging out with my friends next Sunday… Why not the Sunday after that?” 

“Just go with it. Having him change his mind is impossible.” 

I mentally sigh. “Fine. But the Sunday after, I won’t be coming. I WILL spend my day with them then, so please don’t invite me into anything.” 

I could swear Hizashi frowns disappointingly at the news, but his face becomes a smile before I can put much thought into it. “Great! Be sure to wear somethin’ at least a little fancy, okay? We’re going somewhere special! Oh! And we’ll pick ya up again!” 

“Okay…” was my only reply.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Just saw that I hit 200 followers! I didn’t expect that even in my wildest dreams, so thank you so much for those of you who follow me, like/retweet my posts!! 🥰

Thanks aside, enjoy this chapter! I ended up not making it as angst as I intended it to be, so lucky you!

In which she makes a friend, Part Eight

Cassian’s headache was going to kill him.

The past week had been exhausting. Azriel had left only a day ago, leaving Cassian with more work and more troubled thoughts regarding the advance of the rebels.

At least now he had something to occupy his time during his sleepless nights, preferring to work instead of simply staring at his bedroom’s wall until the first rays of sunrise appeared.

Cassian was also worried about Kaelin. The young Illyrian had dismissed Nesta’s worried look, simply stating that his hair had been bothering him and that a few bruises were common. He had only been unfortunate enough to receive most of the blows on his face.

Both Cassian and Azriel had confirmed Kaelin’s words, but he had caught Nesta whispering with the young Illyrian when they thought nobody was looking, and Cassian was starting to get worried that Kaelin was hiding something.

Nesta also occupied his thoughts. Now more than ever.

Although she had actually sided with Azriel, both messing with him non stop — Azriel’s dark humour having surprisingly matched perfectly with Nesta’s ironic one — Cassian would see how she sometimes appeared to be lost in thought, becoming a little quieter once in a while, no doubt with her mind busy with Kaelin.

Cassian had to discover what was happening. He had to make sure that Nesta’s rare and easy smiles — even the way her stormy blue eyes softened more than less nowadays — would not disappear. She deserved all the happiness in the world. As did Kaelin.

But first, he had to rid himself of the nasty headache that had been bothering him all day.

“Now I know why Azriel rubs his temple so often” Cassian thought as he made his way for the healers tents, rubbing his own temple in a vain attempt to ease the pounding inside his head.

As he walked further into the tent, the smell of different herbs assaulted him, and Cassian took a deep breath, an expecting scent he could not name laying a blanket of calmness over him, easing his pain.

“Somebody give me some salt! An evil spirit has arrived!” Cassian heard a familiar grumpy voice shout.

“I missed you too Esmée” he said, stopping near the table where the matron of the healers appeared to be making a complicate looking potion.

“Bah, missed me! You missed coming here and charming my healers to give you extra bandages to wrap your fists, that’s what happened” Esmée replied, snorting.

“You usually need to wrap your hands or else they’ll get hurt even more. Am I wrong ladies?” Cassian playfully said, winking at one of the healers, who blushed.

“Hurt hands!! As if!” Esmée indignantly exclaimed “You are one vain warrior who does it for the aesthetics in four out of five cases!”

“And stop flirting with my healers! You’re distracting them!” she added, hitting him on the head with the small wooden stick she used to grind the herbs.

Cassian gave a surprised yelp, earning giggles from the healers.

“Great, now I’ll have a pump in the morning along with a headache” he thought, massaging his head.

“Esmée” Cassian charmingly tried, giving the old female his best puppy eyes “Uyara of the healers”

“Flattery will not get you anywhere kunumim” she huffed, but Cassian could see her eyes shining with secret delight.

Uyara meant Lady, owner and even dominant in the Illyrian tong. And Cassian may use flattery, but he was no liar while doing it. Esmée was the best healer the Illyrians had. She knew secrets long lost, passed only from matron to matron of camp. And her abilities were just as legendary. She truly was the Lady of the Healers.

“This time I did not come here to ask for bandages” Cassian said “I was wondering if you had any herbs for headaches. Mine is killing me”

Esmée surprised Cassian by raising her hands and cupping his cheeks, bringing his face down so she could inspect it.

“You have dark shadows under your eyes. Your eyes are tired, and you are a little anaemic” the old healer’s voice got unusually soft, maternal concern lacing it “You work too much. Have you been having trouble sleeping kunumim?”

Cassian felt his chest tighten a bit at Esmée’s words.

It had been a long time since someone had noticed how tired he felt beneath his happy facade. Since someone had cared to stop and really look at him.

Cassian loved his family. But even around them he felt the need to keep up the appearances.

He had to be the funny one. The one always there to make sure everyone was happy and comfortable.

Cassian sometimes wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and complain.

Wanted someone to hug him and let him slip his mask off.

Wanted someone who loved him enough to hear his troubles.

But Cassian could not afford to be selfish right now.

He had a camp to take care of.

“I’m fine Uyara” smiling weakly, Cassian gently took her hands off his face, squeezing them in reassurance.

Esmée clicked her tong in annoyance, her mean and grumpy attitude back in an instant, as if she was not worried at all about him.

“Lucky for you,” Esmée said, motioning for him to follow her to the back of the tent “we have recently made some painkiller tonics”

Her next words, however, got lost when Cassian smelled that calming scent again.

Closer now, he could clearly smell lavender and vanilla, a familiar scent.

And that’s when he saw her.

Nesta, an apron tied over her dark green dress, her sleeves pushed back — Cassian caught himself staring at her bare forearms and resisting the urge to run his fingertips softly against her milky skin — and brows knotted in concentration while she filled some vials.

“Nesta, grab two of those vials and pack them for this headstrong Commander”

At Esmée’s words, Nesta raised her head and looked in their direction, stormy blue eyes widening slightly when she spotted Cassian beside the healer.

“So this is where she disappears to everyday after lunch”

Nesta quickly recomposed herself, effortlessly filling the small glass flasks and placing them in a little pouch, Cassian not taking his eyes off of her for a single moment.

Esmée huffed in approval, but when Nesta tried to hand it to her, the healer refused it.

“You also need to rest. You think I did not see you dozing off? Or the way you were blinking heavily while mixing the herbs?”

Cassian’s attention peaked at that, and he noticed the shadows underneath Nesta’s eyes. They were faint, fainter than his, but they were still there.

“I’m fine Esmée” Nesta strongly argued, not backing off.

“You’re off duties until you’ve had some sleep and that’s final” the matron replied “What’s the problem with you two and not sleeping? It’s not as if you don’t have a bed”

And before they even knew what had happened, Esmée had ripped the apron from around Nesta’s waist, threw her coat and banned them from the tent.

“If that overexcited pitanga appears I’ll let him know that you already left with the Commander” with this last warning, Esmée left them outside, both a little lost.

Nesta was the first one to recompose herself. She wore her coat and started walking back to the cabin, not waiting to see if Cassian was following her.

Which he obviously was, effortlessly catching up to her given his long strides.

“You seem to be very fond of walking” he tried, casting her a side glance.

“I have no wings” she snorted “How else am I supposed to get anywhere then?

“Is that an invitation to fly with me Ness?” Cassian said, half joking and half expectant of her answer.

He would not lie and say the opportunity to hold her close to him did not tempt him. And he would not lie further by saying he had not been dying to show her how beautiful Illyria could be from above.

“No” she swiftly cut his offer down, staring straight ahead.

“It’ll be fun” he tried again.

“What’s so fun about making someone sick?” Nesta snapped, and Cassian remembered the last time she had flown.

How Rhysand had purposely flew faster than she could possibly stomach, no doubt a petty move from his side.

“I would fly very slowly” he tentatively said “And not even that high”

Cassian only received silence in answer, but he could tell from the way Nesta was pursing her lips that she was tempted to say yes.

“It is faster this way” Cassian added.

“Fine,” Nesta finally answered, a hint of annoyance in her voice “but one smart trick from you and you’ll wake up with burnt eyebrows tomorrow”

“I wouldn’t dare and try to make Your Highness uncomfortable”

They stopped walking, Cassian hesitating to take the first step and embrace Nesta.

The same could not be said about her, however, who boldly got close to him.

“So? Are we going or not?”

“Eager aren’t we sweetheart” Cassian gathered her on his arms, Nesta lacing her own around his shoulders “If I knew you were so desperate to hold me I would have brought this ideia up sooner”

Before she could throw a barbed reply his way, Cassian opened his wings and shot to the sky, feeling Nesta tighten her hold and bury her head on his shoulder.

Siphons flashing, Cassian pulled a shield over them, the air that high up being colder, specially when autumn was nearing its end.

He may or may not have taken the opportunity to discreetly take a better look at Nesta.

At the way the few strands of her hair had escaped her braid, tickling his cheek as they were blew by the wind.

At the way she got braver and raised her head a little, her blue eyes the colour of the cloud free sky and sparkling with wonder.

“It’s beautiful” and Nesta’s voice was so soft, so full of wonder, that Cassian imagined if that was how she had been before the war. When she was human and all she wanted was to keep Elain happy and travel the world.

“It is”

But he was not looking at the view.

Was not looking at how the sun sparkled against the shiny peeks of the mountains, how the vast green forest beneath them looked like a gigantic carpet laid over Illyria.

Cassian was looking at the female on his arms, savouring every precious second of the moment and thanking the gods he had promised to fly slowly, just so he could hold Nesta longer.

Letting her go once they were back on the ground was one of the hardest things he had ever done, missing her warmth and her jasmine and vanilla scent as if he was missing one of his own limbs.

He hoped he affected her the same way she affected him.

Hoped she felt even a minuscule fragment of what he felt for her.

Hoped he had not misunderstood the way she too seemed to regret letting him go.

~•~

Cassian didn’t even have to take the medicine for his headache, that annoying pounding having disappeared mid flight.

Nesta Archeron, he decided, was the best medicine he could have.

And it seemed that luck was finally on his side, for when they had arrived and Cassian asked her if she’d like to eat something, Nesta surprisingly said yes, going as far as to put the kettle on the stove to boil some water for tea.

Feeling bashful and enjoying his luck, Cassian attempted to make some small talk with Nesta, asking her about her day, what she liked about learning to be a healer, what she thought about Esmée.

He had been scared she’d shut him out, but she answered his questions with no problem, asking him some in return.

Cassian’s day had started awful but seemed to be walking towards being the best he’d ever had, specially when he appeared in living room after a warm bath and spotted Nesta, once again sitting comfortably on the couch — one of her new books laid on her lap — hair in a simple braid and wearing that mouth watering leggings, combined with a white tunic that drew attention to her eyes.

The fireplace was, as usual, empty.

Cassian could not understand how Nesta managed to make do with only fur blankets, specially now that winter was fast approaching.

“The fireplace.... why don’t you like to light it?”

That caught Nesta’s attention, and he saw how she flinched.

Dangerous. It was a dangerous ground that he was walking on.

They had only talked about futilities so far. But to ask her something so personal, something he suspected was related to the war and her traumas...

He didn’t want to see her back to the dark and empty place she used to go when she had first arrived, eyes faraway and empty.

“You don’t have to answer that if you’re not comfortable, but I’m... worried” Cassian flapped his wings a little, an evident sign of his anxiousness “Winter in Illyria is ruthless”

“It was no different from when I was human” Nesta snapped, but her voice had a slight tremble to it.

“It is. And you...we won’t be able to go through it if we don’t have a fire burning” he walked towards the sofa, daring to sit down beside Nesta, but holding himself back from touching her hand, which clutched the hardcover of the book “Even the wards and walls here are not enough to keep the cold away. Winter at Illyria won’t be like winter in the human land. Or in Velaris”

Nesta only stared and stared at the fireplace, as if it would light up any minute. After some time, she spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“The sound that the fire makes...when it burns...it reminds me of bones” she shuddered “Of bones breaking”

Her father’s neck.

Maybe even his wings.

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t known and last solstice she had stayed all night, without complaining about the noise. Without asking to diminish the fire or even make it soundless — Cassian knew that Rhysand, Amren or even Mor would be able to do it. But she had not asked to. Had not wanted to appear weak. To most probably not worry Feyre.

Nesta had been suffering all this time.

Alone.

“I... I have no magic. At least not any apart from the killing power every Illyrian has. So I’m not able to make the fire soundless”

“But you could do it” he added softly “If you lit the fire with your powers... I think you’d be able to turn the sound of the wood snapping off. The fire would be yours to tame. To control”

“You think it would work?” she asked, and Cassian felt a sliver of hope in her tone.

Control. It was all about control. And if Nesta felt like she was in control of the situation, she would be able to support a burning fireplace, sound or not.

“I think you are able to do whatever you wish to, but the first step is to try”

“Grab the wood then” Nesta said.

And Cassian did. He piled the wood neatly, and Nesta moved to stand in front of the fireplace, standing her hands in front of her.

“Just like we practiced” Cassian softly said, moving behind her, his front only a couple of inches from her back “Reach deep within you for it, and then redirect it to the wood”

He could picture Nesta knotting her eyebrows in concentration, and her silver flames soon appeared on her hands.

“Good, now project them towards the fire” Cassian’s voice took the tone he usually used during training, a way to ground her.

Nesta’s flames got brighter and with a little push of arms they flew towards the wood, burning it.

It started small, but soon the fire was roaring, the crack crack of wood filling the air.

“Now turn it off Nesta”

“I-I can’t” she said, her whole body starting to tremble “I don’t know how”

“You can. And you will” he placed a hand on her lower back, like he had once done a lifetime ago in a war tent “You’re the one in control. The flames obey you and no else”

Nesta’s breath was coming in pants now, but the cracking of the fire gradually began to get quieter.

“Just like that Ness” he encouraged, daring to get a little closer, until his front almost touched her back “You’re doing amazing xe nhia”

With a grunt, the sound of the burning wood died out completely, and Nesta staggered back into Cassian’s chest, the flames around her fists also disappearing.

He held her against him, filled with awe and proud of her for meeting her fear head on.

Nesta straightened herself, turning to face Cassian, her blue-gray eyes shining with some hidden emotion.

“Thank you” she whispered, and Cassian swore he had never heard more precious words.

“It was all you” he shrugged “You don’t have to thank me sweetheart”

“I wouldn’t have tried it if it weren’t for you” she stubbornly replied “So accept my thanks and stop being so headstrong”

“Me? Headstrong?” Cassian chuckled, his arms tightening around her “Aren’t you talking about yourself Nessie?”

Nesta snorted, placing her hands on his chest and Cassian prayed to the gods that she wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating.

Being so close to Nesta did things to his heart.

And to other parts of him.

“Go make dinner you stupid bat” she said, pushing him away “Kaelin should be arriving, and I bet he’ll be starving after training”

As if on cue, the door opened and the Illyrian walked in.

“Hey...” Kaelin greeted weakly, and Cassian noticed fresh bruises on the kid’s face, the older ones barely healed.

“Kaelin!” Nesta exclaimed, practically running towards the young Illyrian “What happened?”

“Oh this is nothing” he shrugged, wincing slightly “Just lost at an one on one spar today”

“Kaelin...” Nesta tried to touch him, but the kid swiftly backed off, avoiding her.

Cassian saw the look of hurt flashing on Nesta’s face before she concealed it beneath a mask of coolness.

“I’ll just wash up and then help with dinner” saying that, Kaelin quickly left the room.

It seemed that Cassian’s luck could only go so far, for his worries about Kaelin seemed to have doubled.

•

Fixed tag list: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal @sensitiveillyrian @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae

{Please let me know if you’d like to added to my Fixed Tag list}

[kirishibi]

Kindred Spirits | Bubaigawara Jin (Twice)

My contribution to the BNHArem flowers collab!

Flower: White Chrysanthemum, meaning loyalty and devoted love 

Summary: you were born with a quirk that allows you to temporarily take other peoples’ emotions, though it makes it nearly impossible to create your own. every day, you sit out on city sidewalks hoping for people to let you borrow their unwanted emotions. Used to only feeling things like guilt, shame, and disappointment, you find yourself pleasantly surprised when a kind stranger comes along and donates happiness

Pairing: Bubaigawara Jin (Twice)  x Reader

Warnings: No manga spoilers! jin smoking a cigarette, light cursing, pining, brief angst (hurt/comfort), sickeningly sweet fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: this is officially the longest single piece i’ve ever written and my back is feeling it. i’m so excited to have been able to participate in this collab, especially since I got to write one of my all time favorite characters! thank you so much @jojosmilktea​ for making the masterlist - you did a great job!

You sat against the brick wall of a quaint boutique in one of the busiest areas of the city, a frayed cardboard sign in your hands and rusted tin can beside your feet. The neat, permanent marker words on your sign read, ‘will take unwanted emotions for $’. 

Your practice wasn’t entirely legal since you didn’t have a license, but with villain activity rising rapidly in the area, you were the least of the local authorities’ worries. Your tin only held enough change for a protein bar from the corner store and your muscles ached, stiff from sitting in the same spot all day, yet you told yourself to wait a little longer. Maybe you’d get lucky. 

A bus rolled by, on its side an advertisement for some hero school at the edge of town, the tagline: ‘You, too, are destined for greatness!’ plastered in bold letters beside a photo of comically fake, smiling heroes. You couldn’t help but scoff as you watched the bus round a corner and disappear from sight, remembering the vain hope you held as a child seeing similar advertisements on T.V. Back then, you truly believed you would become a hero once you got your quirk - in fact, most kids your age did, excitedly awaiting the day they’d discover their unique “super power”. 

On your fourth birthday, your quirk came in and tore away any hope you had for the life of a hero. That day, you discovered that you could steal whatever emotion someone was feeling with the touch of your fingertips, taking it for yourself and leaving them without until your quirk wore off. The catch, however, was that it became incredibly difficult for you to feel any emotion without stealing it from someone else. 

Your quirk had a habit of activating involuntarily, so at a young age you began to wear gloves. It wasn’t long before rumors spread around your school that you were secretly a witch, or cursed, and you were bullied relentlessly from afar for the majority of your early life. 

The treatment only worsened as you grew to adulthood. 

In your world where heroes and super powers were commonplace, if your quirk was problematic or - god forbid - nonexistent, you were nothing but a stain on society, a weed in need of pulling. As a kid, you were reluctant to learn this fact, so life beat it into you. You learned a harsh reality very quickly - emotions became addicting once you were unable to feel them by yourself, and in desperate times, even the bad ones were better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing. Hardships hit you in waves until you had nowhere else to go, finding solace in a ramshackle apartment in the middle of the city, begging for unwanted feelings with a side of cash during the day, spending all night searching for a job on the web. 

Without a useful quirk, wealthy upbringing, or a desire to turn to villainy, this was your place in society. 

After around half an hour, you stood from your spot on the pavement with a disappointed huff, stretching your aching muscles for a moment before crouching to collect your things. “Excuse me!” A gruff voice called out from behind you, the words “Hey, bitch!” following closely after, without pause for you to respond. You thought you heard the person whisper a quiet ‘sorry’ before you whipped around, startled. 

You found a tall, blonde man standing at the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved in patched jean pockets and his broad shoulders hunched sheepishly, as if he wanted to occupy as little space as possible. The man shifted nervously while you looked him up and down. A large, vertical scar ran up the center of his forehead to just shy of his hairline, and dark blond stubble dotted his sharp jaw. The faint frown lines bordering his lips and creasing the space between his brows told you he’d likely endured a life similar to yours. Most people who spent their time on these streets had, and after a while the signs became easy to spot.

You cocked your head slightly to the side, raising a brow. “Can I help you?” You responded curtly. Living in such an unpredictable area had certainly not made you any kinder. 

“You have an emotion quirk, right?  I, uh, saw the sign. ‘was wondering if I could donate.” His gaze evaded yours even as he spoke, the man instead opting to watch as his frayed sneakers anxiously toed the ground.

You bent down, grabbing your change-filled tin from the sidewalk and jangling the coins within, wordlessly telling him your service wasn’t free. He stepped closer, huddling at the inner edge of the sidewalk with you, hugging the wall so as not to block the path of those trying to pass by. He pulled a crumpled two thousand yen bill from his pocket and handed it over with a timid smile. To any of the businessmen who walked by, the cash would have been no more than pocket change, but to you, it was a fortune. 

Your expression must have shown just how much his payment meant to you, as the man's smile grew wider, stretching to crease the corners of his eyes. He didn’t say anything, only watched as you stuffed the bill into your pocket for safekeeping, slipped off one of your tattered, cotton gloves and held out a bare palm. “Can I see your hand? It only works through touch.” As he slid a hand out of his pocket, you recited the same speech you gave to all of your customers: “Bring forth whichever emotion you’d like me to take from you - really make yourself feel it. I don’t get to choose what I take, so whatever’s at the forefront of your mind is what will be transferred. Effects can last anywhere between three to four hours. Oh, and no refunds. Any questions?”

He reached for your hand, but hesitated, his fingers hovering just shy of yours as he timidly asked. “Is any emotion okay, good or bad?”

You sighed, “Yeah, I don’t judge. Whatever it is, it’s better than nothing.” 

He nodded and laid a heavy, calloused palm atop your own. You braced yourself for what you had grown used to - feelings of disappointment, shame, anger, hopelessness; the most common feelings of the dejected businessmen who worked in the area and passed your spot regularly. 

As your quirk took effect, however, you didn’t experience any of those things. You felt the corners of your lips pulling into a grin entirely on their own, a joyous giggle bubbling in your throat and spilling from you before you could halt it. Your hands flew to your face, feeling your cheeks as they flushed pink from excitement. “Wh-what?” Was all you could manage in your surprised, giddy state. It had been months- no- years since you’d felt this way.

The man’s kind smile remained, though it no longer spread to his eyes. Like you, he seemed used to faking it. “I knew a kid with an emotion quirk growin’ up. He was a total loser. Uh- it made it harder for him to feel stuff on his own, so I wanted to...” He paused for a moment before timidly continuing, his next word hanging in his mouth as if unfamiliar to his lips “help. Just in case it was the same for you, ya ugly hoe.” With his joy depleted, embarrassment quickly took its place. The man’s teeth found his bottom lip as if to keep himself from saying more, and you thought you could see a faint blush spread along his cheekbones as he turned to leave. 

You were startled by the way his tone shifted so quickly, yet his actions had been kind. You couldn’t help but think, maybe his quirk knocked a few screws loose in his head, too. Much to your surprise, you found yourself wanting to talk to him more, or at least pay him back in some way, but the man had donated joy, not courage. 

“Thank you, sir!” was all you could manage as he made his way deeper into the city, the distance between you growing with each step. 

He waved in acknowledgement before pocketing his hand once again and turning off into a darkened alley.

---

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you awoke the next day feeling refreshed. You felt a slight bounce in your step as you made your way to your typical spot, treating yourself to a cold drink from the cafe along the way. Thanks to the kind stranger from the night before, you could finally afford a refreshing beverage to fend off the ever intensifying heat outside.

You didn’t quite know why, but the sun seemed to shine a little brighter as it rose along the horizon, the colors that sunrise painted across the skyline more vibrant than previous mornings. 

Your day went by fast, and soon enough dusk began to fall. The street lights surrounding you kicked on, signaling that it was once again time for you to pack up and return home. You stood, gathered your things, and turned to begin your journey back to your apartment when a vaguely familiar voice caught your attention, “Hey, wait up- get outta here!” 

It was him. 

You turned on your heel toward the sound of his voice, almost as surprised as when he showed up the night before. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, is that okay? Got a problem with me or somethin’?!” You watched him wince as the second set of words passed his lips. He gritted his teeth, shoulders tensing. Like before, he preferred to watch the ground between you rather than meet your gaze.

“It’s fine.” He glanced back up at the sound of your voice, and you flashed him a reassuring smile. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fade if only for a moment. “My regulars just tend to be angry white-collar businessmen, not, ya know...” You let your words trail off, unsure how to finish.

“Not people like you?” He filled in the blanks with ease, and you nodded in agreement. 

A comfortable silence spread between you for a moment before he cleared his throat, pulling another creased bill from his pocket. You realized your hands were too full to take the cash and moved to set your things down on the pavement, but the man reached out a tentative palm, “I can hold your sign for ya. I don’t wanna. I won’t take it. I will. I- I just don't want it gettin’ all dirtied up if it’s your only one.”

You hesitated, “You don’t have to be so nice. I’ve lived here long enough to handle myself.” 

“I believe you. Doubt it! But what kinda guy would I be if I didn’t try ta help out a sweet lady like you?”

His genuine kindness was entirely unexpected, but you saw no reason to be distrustful. After all, what use could he have for old, water damaged cardboard. You looked him over once more before handing him the already filthy sign and taking his payment with a newly emptied hand. You stuffed it in your pocket, slid off your glove, and held out an open palm like before. “Need me to debrief you again?”

“Yes, please!” His words betrayed him as he shook his head ‘no’. “I got it, thanks.”

Suddenly, you were grateful that you had figured out which of his voices to listen to, and which to ignore. He rested a large palm against your own. A second later, you felt sparks of joy ignite a fire within your chest. The blond’s touch suddenly felt pleasantly electric on your skin, and you allowed your hand to linger in his, reluctant to pull away. 

Glancing back up, you realized that he had been watching you. The tender warmth in his gaze never left as he slowly, hesitantly slipped his fingers from yours. He reached into his jeans’ back pocket, revealed a half empty pack of cigarettes, “Got time for a smoke?”

You began to refuse on instinct, but the words caught at the tip of your tongue. Again, you found that you didn’t want to part with him quite yet. Something about him caught your interest, generous donations aside. A finger tapped your chin as you pretended to ponder your decision, then shrugged, “Yeah, I think I’ve got some time.”

Shoulder to shoulder, you propped yourselves against the boutique’s wall. He offered a cigarette, to which you declined with a slight shake of your head. When you reached to take your sign back so that he could focus on lighting up, he simply swatted your hand away and tucked it under his arm. “Aye, let me be a gentleman. It’s mine!” 

Your chest felt fuzzy, heart fluttering. There was something beneath your good mood, something heavy and intoxicating that you’d never felt before, but you didn’t dislike it. Quite the opposite, in fact.  “You’re weird” you teased. 

“You’re weird” he responded without skipping a beat. There was another brief pause as he lit his cigarette, then spoke again “So, what’s your name, weirdo?”

You giggled, playfully jabbing an elbow to his side at the title, and he laughed with you. It had a deep, melodic timbre to it, hearty, disarming, and beautiful. You wondered how sweet the sound would be under normal circumstances, without your quirk draining him. “(Y/n). What’s yours?”

“None o’ ya business!” He rolled his eyes at himself, frustrated, then took a long drag from his cigarette. “Bubaigawara. You can call me Jin, though.”

“Jin Bubaigawara” You repeated his full name slowly, savoring the way it felt on your tongue, and grateful to finally be able to call him something other than ‘sir’.

“Sounds prettier coming from you, but yeah that’s it.”

At his words, warmth crept up your neck, dusting your cheeks a rosy pink, and tugging the edges of your lips into a shy smile. 

Jin felt different from the people you grew up with. He looked at you with eyes entirely void of judgement or distrust, and even if only for a moment, he made you feel like someone understood -- like someone cared.

Hours passed as you talked about everything, yet nothing in particular. The two of you took turns just chatting, occasionally asking questions back and forth. You told one another of how you discovered your quirks, shared stories from school, spoke of your families, or lack thereof. He didn’t explain the scar on his forehead, nor his split speech, but you didn’t think to ask, either. They were a part of him, made him who he was, and you realized that night that you really liked who he was.

---

For the most part, your days passed as they always did, with little business in the mornings and a few agitated corporate underlings stopping by around lunchtime to rid themselves of the bitter frustration their coworkers gave rise to. However, during your long periods of downtime, your thoughts began to wander. 

Typically, they wandered to Jin. 

Often, as you got bored, you found yourself scanning passing crowds for a tall blond with tired yet kind eyes, sighing disappointedly when you couldn’t find him. As much as your quirk numbed you to most things, you weren’t entirely immune to simpler feelings, like the soft pang of missing someone or the nervous quickening of your heartbeat when you finally spotted him at the end of the day. You couldn’t deny that your draw to him only grew with each nightly rendezvous and slowly, butterflies began to appear in your chest even long after the effects of your quirk had worn off. You found yourself counting the minutes until he came to see you at the end of the day, and feeling melancholy when you parted ways late in the evening.

You had never been able to feel something without taking it from someone else first, but bit by bit that began to change.

---

One night a little over a week after you first met, Jin was ten minutes late to meet you - concerning, considering how punctual he’d always been until then. 

When he did show up, he seemed agitated as he tried to make conversation, and the moment his eyes met yours, you knew something was wrong. “Jin?” You questioned. Though he’d been slowly breaking the habit as you got to know one another, his gaze once again glued itself to the ground. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to avoid eye contact. You moved closer and bent down slightly, forcing yourself into his line of sight though he tried to evade. Only then did you notice he’d been biting his lip so hard it had swelled, threatening to bleed. “Jin, are you okay?” 

For the first time in your life, you felt genuine concern.

“Back off, bitch!” He clasped a hand over his mouth the moment the words flew past his lips, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I-” His voice broke as he repeated the words over and over again. “I can't help it. Yes I can. I don’t mean it. I’ll hurt you. Gah- damn it, shut the hell up, wontcha?!” He yelled at no one in particular. 

You took a cautious step back to give him space, though you had no intention of running. You knew how it felt to find yourself stuck in a losing battle against your own mind. No matter what he said, you weren’t about to leave. Not like everyone else had left both of you.

Without a second thought, you reached out, entwining gloved fingers with his and tugging him down the sidewalk. He followed without hesitation, clutching your hand so tightly you thought it may break. You pulled him into a narrow alleyway for privacy, and the moment no one else was around, he hurriedly reached into his pocket, fishing out a two-toned mask. “Shit, I- I’m splitting up! I’m fine! I’m splitting all up- I love it!” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as his bloodshot eyes finally found yours. “I’m splitting, (Y/n), you don’t understand I’m sp-!”

You put two and two together fairly quickly and swiped the mask from his trembling grasp, roughly tugging the skin-tight material over his head and down onto most of his face. You rattled off a stream of apologies as you helped him unceremoniously slide it the rest of the way on, certain you were pulling tufts of hair along with the fabric.

The moment his mask was fully in place, Jin exhaled a sigh of relief and dropped to the ground. You pushed away the countless questions racking your brain, instead forcing yourself to focus on the man before you. You lowered to sit beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back. Your thumb lightly rubbed the space between his shoulder blades as you sat together on the damp asphalt, barely noticing as small droplets of old rain periodically dribbled onto your shoulders from an overhead windowsill. 

You didn’t have to wait long before he turned his attention back to you, shifting so you were face to face and cupping your cheeks with calloused palms. “You’re an angel! Marry me!” he excitedly exclaimed. You leaned into his touch despite the confusion clouding your thoughts, and suddenly you found yourself grateful your quirk only transmitted through your fingertips. 

You didn’t know exactly what you were feeling in that moment - worry, adoration, compassion, panic - the lines between them all blurred together in your head, but it didn’t matter. The feelings were there, and they were yours. 

Without a second thought, you threw your arms around Jin. He gladly reciprocated, nearly knocking you off balance as he wrapped you in a tight hug. “Sorry, that musta’ been real scary for ya, huh?”

You shook your head ‘no’ against his strong shoulder, “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to scare me.” He chuckled weakly at your words, and you reluctantly pulled away to meet his gaze once more. “Are you okay? I mean-” you sighed, “that was a dumb question, but you know what I mean, right? Do you need anything? Water, juice?” 

“Juice! Stop stressin’! I’m fine now - when the mask is on, I become whole again! Good as new, see?” He flexed a bicep theatrically. The mask obscured his smile, but the slight squint at the bottoms of his eyes told you he was grinning from ear to ear. You nodded, letting out a breath that you didn’t know you had been holding in.

Hesitantly, you asked the next question on your mind: “Does that happen often?”

The man in front of you shrugged much too nonchalantly for the situation. “Most of the time I’m wearin’ the mask, so I don’t really gotta worry.”

Your brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen you in it before.”

“Duh, I always take it off to visit ya!” You cocked a brow questioningly, and he took the hint to elaborate further. “First time was an accident. You just caught my eye when I was on a walk without it, and I wanted to help ya out a bit ‘cause of that one guy from school.” He shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re so pretty, though - especially when you’re happy - I just had to come back. But you’d already seen me without the mask, so I jus’ took it off when I went to see ya.”

Whether his intention or not, Jin’s words forced a smile onto your face. The butterflies in your chest buzzed to life as he locked his fingers with yours, squeezing happily when he saw the blush on your cheeks. “The mask wouldn’t have changed a thing about how you make me feel, dummy!” you confessed before you could talk yourself out of it. “You’re still you-.” 

Not willing to let go of your hand, Jin dragged it along with his as he raised an index finger to halt your statement. “Did ya just say ‘feel’? You’re feeling things now? An’ you didn’t tell me?!” 

“I didn’t want to interrupt what was going on with you!” You argued, giggles dampening your fake-serious tone.

“Silence, woman! That’s amazing!” He leapt to his feet, pulling you up with him and twirling you around in a circle. The happy tune of your combined laughter bounced off the brick alley walls, only serving to make you laugh harder before he halted you with an embrace. “Good job, you!”

“Good job, you!” You chimed back.

---

Your routine continued normally the next day. The street lamps flicked on at dark and, like clockwork, you spotted Jin in the distance. Unlike previous nights, though, this time he seemed to be carrying something. As he neared, crossing under the bright spotlight of a streetlight, you realized it was a flower - a white chrysanthemum, to be exact. You bounded toward him, meeting halfway down the sidewalk and practically tackling him in a delighted hug.

Jin’s free hand found yours as you separated, so that he could keep holding onto some part of you as you spoke. His other hand slipped the stem of the flower behind your ear, making sure it was secure before pulling away and taking in the view. “Ug-lee! You’re so pretty!”

You blew a playful kiss, “Thanks, to both. How did you know I love chrysanthemums?”

“I just hoped, ‘cause I love ‘em too. Do you know the meanin’ behind ‘em?”

You shook  your head ‘no’.

“Devoted love, apparently. I’m pretty damn devoted to lovin’ you!”

You knew Jin was about to nervously ramble, apologizing after his second statement, so you halted him with a finger to his lips. When he fell silent, you detangled your hand from his, much to his displeasure. Working slowly so that he could stop you at any point, you hooked your thumbs under the hem of his mask. His breath caught in his throat as you carefully tugged it up, just enough to expose his mouth. 

You found yourself grateful for the desolate streets that late evening provided as you stretched onto your toes and pressed your lips to his. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him as you deepened the kiss. After a few sweet moments, you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “Good, because I’m pretty damn devoted to loving you, too.”

[stubbychaos]

Let These Words Set You Free

Chapter 6 of Saviin’ika

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: After finding it impossible to break off your relationship with the Mandalorian, you let him claw his way deeper into your heart as you two spend the night together after he tends to your wounds. Deep conversations ensue and the Mandalorian gives you not one, but two gifts to cheer you up.

Rating: T 

Word Count: 7,900

Warnings: There’s really not a whole lot of warnings for this chapter to be honest. Mostly non-descriptive mentions of abuse, tending to wounds, and Saviin’ika struggling with self-deprecating thoughts because of how horribly she’s been manipulated.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind words on the last chapter and I absolutely can’t believe that it has over 200 notes?? Like, you guys are all amazing and keep inspiring me to write more and I absolutely love reading all your replies/reblogs/messages/and even the tags!! <3

You’re certain that you must be the most selfish woman in all of Nevarro--in all of the entire galaxy.

Instead of listening to your father’s grave threat against your life, against your Mandalorian’s life, you find yourself letting your fearless warrior stay with you throughout the entire night so he can hold you close to him after a traumatizing week. At one point, he removes his cuirass and the padding that covers his stomach so you can rest your head more comfortably and your heart swells that he’s willing to shed something so precious, just for the sake of your neck not aching, come morning.

You’re half asleep and unaware of how much time has passed since dozing off when you feel him slowly shifting your sore body against him, turning you until your cheek is pressed against his softly defined belly and you bring a hand up to curl into the warm fabric covering his side. You find it slightly amusing that the last time he’d been lying on the medical cot with your hands on his ribs, you’d been absolutely terrified of him and now--

Well, now you’re letting him hold you in such an intimate, vulnerable way and you’ve never felt safer.

As he tenderly caresses your face and hair while you rest your eyes, his cloak wrapped tightly around your pliant form, you realize you’ve never trusted anyone the same way you trust this massive warrior of a man. You’re in an extremely vulnerable position, too lethargic and drained to fight back against anyone who would want to harm you in that moment, but he’s proved to you, time and time again that he couldn’t even bear the thought of causing you such pain. 

You’d witnessed it in the way he continuously went out of his way to brighten up your day by showering you with sweet, simple gestures, or how he held no reservations in taking care of you and your injuries. He hadn’t believed you to be a foolish woman for wanting to fiercely protect the sweet crystalline fox that still comfortably sleeps on the flat pillow you had surrendered earlier, nor had he admonished you for being reckless enough to go anywhere near that dirty cantina where the Trandoshan had discovered you. 

The faith and confidence he has in you to simply be nothing more than yourself is overwhelming and breathtaking in the most beautiful way, as you’ve never had anyone show you such interest in all the little quirks and personality traits that he believed made you unique, compared to anyone else he’s encountered before.

Your heart soars when you think of the pride that had been prevalent in his praises upon finding out that you had kicked your attacker hard enough to get yourself out of a bad situation. You want to learn how to become stronger, for both yourself and him, but the weight of your father’s threats press down harshly on your thin shoulders and you fear that it is such a weight that not even your heavy-infantry warrior would be able to relieve you of.

You ponder if he thinks you’re fully asleep as he gently removes the metal cuffs from the tail of your braids, skilled fingers working at the tangled locks that your father had angrily dragged you by just a day prior to your reunion with your Mandalorian. The stark contrast leaves your lungs bereft of all air as he takes his time to unwind your long braids, taking great care to not tug at them or cause you any discomfort while you get some much needed rest, and you marvel at how someone who possessed so much strength and such a terrifying reputation can touch you so sweetly, so tenderly.

“You are so pretty--so beautiful,” He murmurs with a soft, dreamy sigh as he tenderly rubs your sore scalp with the utmost precision, “I promise I’ll take you away from this awful place soon--just hang in there, ner cyare. ’M gonna take care of this whole situation you’re in.”

You think you must have simply dreamed the excruciatingly sweet sentiment because of the way he utters the promise with complete devotion, his thumb moving to tenderly stroke your bottom lip. It makes you feel like you’re trapped in a lovely fantasy, rather than the nightmares that typically prevent you from getting a good night of sleep.

You let out with a little hum when you feel him shift a little, fearing that he’s going to leave you, but his hand hastily moves to the spot between your shoulder blades and reassuringly rubs up and down the length of your spine.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika,” He whispers so lowly that you only hear it from underneath his blue helm, “Always.”

Underneath the care and skill of his hands, you eventually fall into a peaceful sleep, letting the Mandalorian comfort you in the only way he knows how. Before you let exhaustion completely take over, you briefly wonder what cyar’ika means and if it will replace the other names he’s gifted you with.

Only hours pass when you feel fingers tenderly squeezing your nape and you slowly wake with a big yawn against his stomach, your fingers curling into the thick fabric covering his ribs as he coaxes you from your restful slumber. Despite being a little tired and there being a dull throbbing aches in the back of your skull from being concussed, you think it’s the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had.

“I am sorry for waking you, mesh’la,” The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you completely out of your dreamy state and you groan a little as you rub the sleep from the corners of your eyes, “I was not sure when your father would be back and did not want to cause you anymore trouble with him.”

You ignore how nauseous you suddenly feel from both his words and the promise you had broken to your father, “Wh--What time is it?”

He hums a little, his hand easily sliding down your spine like it’s only natural for him, “About an hour before sunrise.”

“We do not have much longer then,” You reluctantly sit up, letting out another soft groan as you stretch out your arms high above your head, cringing when your hear several bones in your back and joints in your shoulders crack. You hear the Mandalorian sigh behind you as you roll your stiff neck and you both understand that you aren’t sore from the position you slept in, but more so the grueling shifts you’ve been working the past two weeks.

Your Mandalorian voices his concern as you begin to part your hair so you can braid it, “This job takes a toll on you, does it not, mesh’la?”

“Yes, but it is worth it to me,” You murmur, shivering a little when his cape falls from your shoulders, “I wish the people were kinder, but sometimes I get someone who is grateful. Yesterday one of my patients was a little girl who had scraped her knees pretty badly--she was the cutest thing, just a little Togruta, no older than six. She was so upset because apparently her older brother told her that I was going to amputate her legs. I had to reassure her for nearly half an hour I would not be cutting off her legs because of scraped knees.”

The Mandalorian laughs, tilting his helmet as he watches you gracefully style your hair and brush it away from your face, “You like children?”

Something about casually talking about children, all while sitting between his thighs on the cot you two had shared the previous night makes your cheeks viciously flush and you’re grateful your back is facing him. You’re not sure how to change the topic and choose your next words carefully.

“Yes, Mandalorian. I think they are... precious and I admire their curiosity and innocence. It is not often my patients are younglings though.”

“Someone like you must be good with little ones,” He voices his thoughts out loud and you think he sounds amused as he grazes his thumb along the outer shell of your warm ear.

For some reason, an intense pang throbs in your chest and you lower your head a little when unpleasant memories surface to the forefront of your mind, causing hot tears to brim your eyes and you quickly squeeze them shut.

“I could only wish to be better.”

His hand falters at the shakiness in your sad whisper of a voice and instead of teasing your ear, his hand moves to your nape and squeezes in an attempt to comfort you. He doesn’t ask what or who’s haunting you and you’re grateful, for you fear you do not have the strength to confide such horrific thoughts and memories to the massive Mandalorian without crumbling to pieces.

It’s silent for a few moments and you hate that you’ve completely ruined the comfortable atmosphere, so you miserably continue to braid your hair with now shaking fingers.

The Mandalorian, however, is determined not let you feel such dejection and speaks as softly as his helmet will allow him to.

"I wish I could watch you do this every morning."

“I am only braiding my hair, Mandalorian,” You smile weakly, forcing yourself to forget about the topic of children as you lift your elbows high above your head, deftly parting three separate locks of thick hair on the right half of your scalp, “It is nothing special.”

“Yet you make it look like art,” He hums, reaching out to softly stroke the half of your hair that you’re currently not braiding; for a moment, you think he’s going to attempt to style it for you, though he simply continues to trail his hand down your back, “I haven’t really touched someone else’s hair in a long time--I enjoy touching yours.”

“How long has it been?”

His hand freezes against the small of your back and before you can even begin to fear that you’ve asked a terrible question, he answers you in a much softer tone, “At least twenty years, mesh’la. My mother used to let me try to style her hair much like how you do yours, but I was never as good as she was and I would usually give up. She would always tell me that she felt bad for any future grandchildren I would give her because of how terrible I am when it comes to such things.”

The thought of this intimidating warrior being a child, attempting to braid his exasperated mother’s hair makes you smile fondly as you keep forcing yourself to not let your mind wander to a dark place that cause you unnecessary pain.

He sounds utterly nostalgic and you marvel at the images his words conjure in your imaginative mind, “Her hair was a lot more stubborn and curlier than yours, but she always made it seem so easy to braid it--you both make it seem so easy.”

“Then it would be good for you to learn as well, Mandalorian,” You quietly inform him, turning your head slightly to regard him with quirked eyebrows as he reaches out to stroke the thick plait with admiration before finishing it off for you with one of the metal cuffs he had dutifully held onto all night.

He sounds utterly amused when he speaks up again, mirth evident in his modulated voice as he continues to thumb the soft weaves and crevices of your graceful work, “Why would I need to learn such things when braiding someone else’s hair has never been a part of my studies in the tribe? What could hair styling possibly come in handy for if I am in the middle of a battle, little nurse?”

‘Braiding the hair of the future grandchildren your mother spoke of.’

You nearly say the words out loud, though you think them to be too personal and you do not wish to cause the Mandalorian any sadness upon bringing up old memories of a different time.

“I am sure the little ones in your tribe would not mind having their hair out of their faces,” You hum as you cross thick locks of hair underneath one another and gently tug to make sure they are tight enough where stubborn pieces won’t escape; you frown at the way his hand falters against your nape and you think you’ve made a mistake in your words, “Unless there are no little ones that don’t wear helmets? I j-just figured--I did not mean to disrespect your tribe or--”

“It’s okay, you are not being disrespectful,” He chuckles, shaking his head a little as he continues to watch your fingers work at your smooth locks, “I just… I was not expecting you to say that--you never ask about our helmets.”

“It is something sacred and none of my business,” You refuse to meet the emotionless gaze of his visor as you hastily bring your braid over your shoulder to continue the lower you get, cheeks burning as you lower your voice into a sheepish whisper; you feel shameful for bringing up something so personal, “I would never--I don’t ever want to--”

“Saviin’ika--you are far too sweet and precious for your own good,” His chuckles dissolve into laughter at how flushed and shy you’ve suddenly become at something that truly does not seem to be a big deal to him, his fingers squeezing your nape in a comforting way, “Yes, we do have young children in the tribe that have not yet sworn to the creed and we have some that put on the helmet as early as their sixth birthday. It is something that they choose whenever they are ready, not something that is forced upon them.”

You awkwardly shuffle your body around until you’re facing him, his thighs still splayed wide and feet dangling off either side of the cot as he lazily reaches forward to grab the loose tail of your braid. He seems utterly focused as he skillfully wraps the silver cuff around the bottom of your plait, fingers lightly stroking the ends of your hair that aren’t weaved together. You think there must be some sort of comfort and reassurance the warrior gains from helping you tame your own unruly locks and you smile warmly at him when he continues to stroke the soft tip of your braids with great reverence.

Curiosity gets the better of you and despite your better judgment, you find yourself speaking a question that’s plagued you since he first opened up about his tribe during one of your first meetings when he finally began to trust you more.

“Are there people who simply do not wear the helmet at all?”

He makes a small humming noise as you shyly lift your gaze to peer up at him through a thick abundance of eyelashes, “Sometimes uh, people who would not be considered to be foundlings are brought to the tribe, but it is rare that they are accepted by everyone. It is a long process that goes into permanently bringing in an outsider and very rarely are they accepted. It usually ends in an intense fight of some sort.”

“M-May I ask why?”

His helmet tilts to the side and his bare hand comes up to gently caress your healing cheek as he easily quells your curiosity in that comforting baritone that must intimidate so many others, “Because, saviin’ika, we need to make sure that whoever is deemed worthy of joining our tribe is able to provide for us in one way or another--no matter how little or big the job may be. We need to be sure that they will not turn their backs on us or do something that will draw attention to the tribe. It is a very delicate and difficult process, but it is for our own protection since our numbers are now so low.”

“I think it is honorable,” You murmur as you sheepishly tuck your hands between your thighs and gaze up at his emotionless visor, “That you value your people so dearly that there is a long process that goes into joining the tribe. It shows that you have respect and love for one another--it’s admirable.”

He hums, his thick fingers twitching against your healing cheek as he heaves a grave sigh and brings his other hand to tenderly cradle your head between his big hands. He cocks his scuffed up helmet to the side as he curiously strokes your skin and you certainly notice the strange shift in the atmosphere when his chest heaves a little and he simply holds your head up between warm palms.

You nervously fidget with the tail of your braid as he remains deathly still and silent, almost making you think he’s fallen asleep or passed out underneath that blue bucket.

He eventually shakes his helmet a little and clears his throat as he reluctantly releases the gentle hold he has on you, your skin now warmed and tinged pink, "I don't think I will ever truly be able to understand you, mesh'la."

You frown a little, confusion pinching your brows together with worry, "Did I say something wrong?"

He chuckles a little when you move to carefully climb over his thigh to slowly slide off the cot, his hands hastily moving to your hips so he can steady you when you nearly fall face first into the floor.

"No, you just--" He makes a funny noise as he moves so his thick legs are dangling off the side of the cot and you're caged between them; you smile when he brings you closer without having to use much guidance. You think the Mandalorian could guide you through your darkest, scariest nightmares and you would still trust him not to let any harm reign down on you--that he would be able to lay waste to anyone or anything that attempted to cause you pain or discomfort, all while holding your hand.

"I'm just daydreaming, like you always do."

You smile at the slightly wistful tone he manages through his crackly modulator.

"About what?"

He lets out a deep exhale when you bring your hands up to tentatively cup the sides of his clothed neck to hold him in place, though he could easily shake you off if he desired.

 "I’m daydreaming about you, mesh'la--always about you."

Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps his arms around the back of your thighs and drops his helmet against your stomach, resting it there as if it's the softest pillow he's ever owned. A small, desperate groan has you nearly giggling and you hesitantly choose to firmly massage the tense muscles in his broad shoulders and the back of his neck. He gently squeezes the back of your legs with gratitude and pulls you impossibly close; you remember with burning cheeks what he had admitted to you last night.

"The things you do to me… The things I would do for you."

You're not used to feeling wanted in any way shape or form, but something about the way he strokes the back of your covered thighs and melts into you makes you think he’s not toying around or jesting with you. Despite never trusting anyone enough to want to pursue some sort of physical intimacy with them, you find that you're absolutely flushed at the sound of every little groan and grunt he lets out as your fingers work at his tense muscles. You’re unfamiliar with the dull ache that’s burning something fierce in the pit of your stomach, but you find that it’s not an unpleasant sensation. 

You’re absolutely certain it has nothing to do with your healing injuries, but more so with the way one of his hands finds the small of your back and gently squeezes.

It’s not until your fingers manage to curl underneath the bunched up material that covers his neck that he lets out with a groan so loud and a shuddery breath that you nearly yank yourself away from him, fearing that you’ve somehow managed to harm your Mandalorian.

“You’re good--fuck, you’re good,” He reassures you before you can remove your hand from his warm skin and you fear that your skin will actually be set ablaze, “Feels really nice, is all.”

You glue yourself to that spot and continue to provide him with any relief he’s willing to accept from you. Happiness and dread burns hotter than coals in the pit of your belly when you realize that you are somehow able to reduce the huge warrior to this kind of state. Something about him displaying such vulnerability is humbling and satisfying, but you realize just how accurate your father was when he spoke of being able to hurt the Mandalorian in other ways. Judging by how upset he had been the previous night upon first noticing your injuries, you are certain that your father would wish to cause him pain through your own suffering.

“If he ever hurt you to the point where you could not be healed, I would not hesitate to act so cruelly and I would not let anyone stop me.”

You remember the Mandalorian’s grave promise and lower your head in shame--fear and sadness suddenly threatening to drown you underneath its massive tidal wave. You do not wish to be the reason for your Mandalorian displaying such acts of violence and you realize that the soft words he had spoken in your sleepy state about taking you away from the village was only part of a silly dream.

“It seems as though you need rest as well,” You whisper, hating that your voice shakes from excitement and fear, “I’m sure your own bed is far more comfortable than this dinky little cot. You should go back to your tribe and get some sleep since you didn’t seem to get any last night.”

“I’m sure my bed is comfier than yours as well,” The Mandalorian huffs, completely disregarding the last sentence, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your heart leap at his next words, “Perhaps you would like to test it out sometime?”

Your chest heaves a little at his boldness and you struggle to shrug it off, “I think you just want a body to keep your bed warm at night and I am not that kind of woman.”

“And I am not that kind of man.”

“Yet you would still invite me to sleep in your bed?”

“Did we not sleep together last night?” His shoulders are shaking from what you think is him trying not to laugh and you roll your eyes, though a warm smile stretches across your lips.

“Besides, your skin is always freezing--I doubt you would be doing much to warm my bed, though I don’t think that’s a bad thing, mesh’la,” His voice drops into a deep, low rasp as he slides his hand up the base of your spine, fingers splayed wide against nearly the entirety of your lower back, “I would not mind warming you up every night, especially in my bed.”

“You cannot say these things to me, Mandalorian,” You huff at the tenderness and intimacy of his words and his impossibly tight embrace, “I am not--I’m not used to others wanting me the way you seem to want me.”

“Has nobody--” He seems to struggle with his next words as his hand tenderly squeezes your hip, “Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are? Or how pretty your eyes are? How soft your hair is and how nice it looks when you wear flowers in your braids?”

Your breath hitches at the utter conviction in his modulated voice and you loathe how shaky your voice is when you speak, “I cannot say anyone has said such things to me before, nor do I feel deserving of those kinds of compliments. I know I am nothing special.”

“Is that what he tells you?”

You look away from the warrior shamefully, even when he sits up a little straighter, his visor piercing your soul as you answer him, “It is what I know.”

The tips of his warm fingers curl firmly into the back of your thighs as he moves his helmet backwards to gaze up at you and you think that this kind of skin contact must be so rare for him that it brings more pleasure than anything else. He seems so vulnerable like this--sitting on the medical cot where the two of you had just spent the night together, his helmet pressed against your ribs that had been intensely bruised and aching only hours ago. Though there’s still a small amount of pain that lingers, it is now significantly milder after he used your bacta salve to heal the worst of your bruising.

“Don’t speak lies about yourself, cyar’ika--it hurts me too,” He almost sounds like he’s in pain as he holds you so close to him, “You are by far the most beautiful person I have ever encountered in Nevarro--in the entirety of this galaxy. You are deserving of so much more than my words and I would never stop trying to convince you otherwise.”

“You are too sweet to me,” You murmur, voice still shaking with intense emotions that you’re not used to feeling, “I wish there was more I could give you in return.”

With little hesitation, you curiously burrow your fingers deeper underneath the thick fabric of his tunic as you massage the soft, pillowy muscles of his tense shoulders, enjoying the way he groans and pushes himself closer to you when you rub at a particularly tender spot.

“Being able to hold you is all I could ever ask from you, but having your hands on me like this is a nice bonus,” His voice is deliciously hoarse and low, even through the guise of his modulator and he practically keens when your fingers squeeze the tension away from just underneath his nape, where he carries stress the most between his shoulder blades, “Vor entye--thank you, cyar’ika.”

You’re well aware of the way his hands barely move an inch up the back of your thighs as you reluctantly remove your hand from the heat of his cowl, finding purchase on the hollows of his cold Beskar cheeks instead. He makes a small humming noise when you urge his helmet backwards a little to properly gaze up at you and you can’t stop yourself from smiling from the comfort that the shine of his visor bestows upon you. His hands move to cover yours and you beam when he places them on top of your much smaller ones, carefully squeezing your fingers.

“One day--” He sighs and cocks his helmet to the side as his voice drops, “One day I will feel your hands on my cheeks--on my skin.”

“But your helmet--your creed?”

“There are ways, cyare,” He informs you, his modulated voice crackling a little, “I will show you some day.”

You smile weakly and barely nod at him, deciding it was probably one of those traditions sacred to his people.

A few stray beams of crimson sunlight infiltrate your tiny office through the cracks of the blinds and you reluctantly pull away from one another; you feel the pull he has on your heart, as if beckoning you to remain close to him. You fear him leaving to go back to his tribe will unravel you completely, though you remind yourself that if you rely on him like this, it will only cause more pain when all is said and done.

He stands tall above you, still observing you as you make your way over to the vulptex that is barely starting to wake up, her eyes narrowed in the Mandalorian’s direction. 

After checking the state of her minor wounds and hand-feeding her some dried meat--much to her utter dismay--the beautiful creature seems to be in better spirits as she allows you to tenderly pet her rocky coat. You can’t help but to grin and giggle a little when she squeaks happily, letting you tenderly scratch her rocky little chin with admiration.

“What are you going to do about her?” Your Mandalorian questions when you eventually face him, watching with interest as he easily adorns his chest with that scuffed up cuirass before turning to his much larger equipment, “Would he not be angry about you taking in a stray? It’s just a weak runt, saviin’ika, are you sure she’s worth all this?”

“Do not speak of her like that,” You frown, turning to the tiny vulptex that is staring up at the two of you with curiosity, “Of course she is worth it.”

The Mandalorian sighs and shakes his head as your crystal companion clumsily rises from her pillow and quickly hobbles over to you for comfort; you’re quick to reach down to scratch just behind one of her large ears. Her crimson eyes blink slowly at you with adoration and you wonder how anyone could possibly have the desire to harm or kill a creature so beautiful and sweet. You think it must be difficult for your Mandalorian to be able to relate to having feelings of helplessness, what with being a trained warrior and you wonder what it must feel like to be a feared man in a village like this.

You can’t even begin to imagine not feeling like an easy target.

“What if he--?”

“I’ve been able to hide my smaller patients before,” You inform him, grabbing his large hand in both of yours before he can put his glove on; his helmet cocks to the side and you think he must be amused, “I’m sure she will not be difficult to keep hidden.”

“She is not the first stray you’ve taken in?”

You raise your brows at the blue warrior who seems utterly content to let you explore the coarse, calloused skin of his knuckles, “You’re still here, aren’t you, Mandalorian?”

“Funny,” He huffs in an incredulous manner, shaking his helmet at your teasing voice, “I’m being serious though, please be careful. I would rather you not be bruised and broken the next time I see you because of you having such a soft heart.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod slowly, dread creeping through you as you whisper your next words, “When will I see you again?”

“I--” He watches you as you lower your head, not wanting him to see the fear and despair in your eyes that he seems to find so expressive, though he still seems to have an easy read on you as he speaks with anguish evident in his crackly voice, “I am not sure, but I promise it won’t be more than a few days this time. It is for the well-being of the tribe, something that will benefit us.”

“Then that is good,” You murmur, though the ache in your chest still burns painfully and you force a meek smile, one that he easily sees through “They are your biggest priority.”

You wonder what it must feel like to have that kind of intense love for your family--that willingness to walk through flames and the most dangerous of situations, all to protect the ones you love. You find it absolutely beautiful--the dedication that Mandalorians have to their tribe--and you briefly ponder if you’d ever get to meet any of the warriors from his tribe, if he would ever trust you enough to even entertain the thought.

“You both are my biggest priority, mesh’la,” You absolutely loathe how vulnerable and scared you feel as you keep your tear-filled eyes away from his visor and you hear the heavy-infantry warrior grunt a little, stepping closer to you, “Please don’t cry. Stars, I’m not worth your tears.”

“You are worth every single one of them,” You inform him in the form of a breathy whisper, quickly shouldering away a tear that manages to slip from the corner of your eye, “I will wait for you, I just fear that you would not come back for me. I have--I have been abandoned far too many times, Mandalorian. I am afraid.”

“I will always come back for you,” His back straightens and his helmet jolts to the side a little, as though the thought of not returning to you has him feeling distraught, “That is a promise, ner cyar’ika, and I never break my fucking promises to those I care for.”

Your breath hitches at the utter devotion that’s apparent in his deep baritone and you can’t stop yourself from bringing his massive hand up to your face, barely aware of the way he grunts and shifts when your lips find the rough callouses that cover his knuckles. You’re used to dealing with tough criminals and bounty hunters that have no reluctance in displaying their dominance or strength, but as you gently kiss the rough marks and scars that he’s willingly exposed, you think it’s the first time a man has ever been utterly relaxed and pliant under your touch.

“What are you doing--? Saviin’ika are you--?”

He chokes a little when you maneuver his hand until his palm is facing upwards and he’s gently grasping your lightly bruised cheeks, not quite as tenderly as the previous night, but still making sure not to cause you any pain. You think the bruises must linger on your skin like some sort of beacon, judging by how tenderly he squeezes the supple flesh. 

A part of you gains satisfaction in the way the massive warrior groans loudly when you firmly press your lips into the warm, bare skin of his rough palm and you’re stunned and lightheaded at the thought of having this kind of power over such a fearless man.

“You said last night that you wished you could kiss me,” You remind him and you swear he shudders against the light hold you have on him, as though you somehow have the same effect he has on you whenever he decides to grow bold around you, “This is the only way I know how to give you one.”

His chest heaves a little upon feeling that warmth of your lips in the valley of his thumb and index finger, “I wish I could give you more. I wish I could show you how precious you are to me--so fucking precious to me, saviin’ika.”

You feel your eyes brim with hot tears at the utter conviction in his raspy crackle of a voice and you want to tell him that he’s already done plenty to make you believe his affection and intentions with you are completely genuine. His shoulders drop as you tend to a rough callous on the heel of his palm with your lips and you think you feel his fingers tremble against your cheek. It is then that you realize just how much you two have in common, both of you not used to the tender touch of another soul and you marvel at the thought of someone so much more powerful and far larger than you being just as touch-starved and vulnerable.

“You took care of me last night and helped with my wounds. You saved me from that cruel criminal and held me all night to keep me away from my nightmares,” You remind the aloof Mandalorian, peering up at him with a soft, kind gaze that seems to only unravel him further, “I have… I’ve never been someone else’s patient before--at least not since before my mother cared for me--but what you did for me was the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me and I could not ask for more from you. You have given me more happiness and hope in the last decade than anyone else."

“I want to give you more,” He pleads, almost sounding helpless underneath all that armor, a thought so ridiculous and shocking to you, “Cyar’ika, I would give you anything you wanted if it meant you blessed me with that pretty smile of yours.”

He seems hellbent on giving you some sort of gift and you wrack your brain for anything within reason your blue warrior could possibly conjure up for you.

For some reason, you think of all the nicknames he’s affectionately gifted you with, along with knowing your real name, and your cheeks flush when you realize the only name you have for him is ‘Mandalorian’. It feels too formal for your liking and you wonder if he feels the same way--if he longs for you to murmur his real name when you’re whispering soft praises underneath the tender care of his hands whenever he’s softly caressing your bare skin.

You don’t know enough about Mandalorian customs or traditions when it comes to their real names and you think that perhaps it’s taboo for him to share his name with outsiders. The last thing you want is to cause any offense or disrespect to his people that he evidently cherishes and you let out a soft sigh against his palm.

“Always thinking so much and never saying what’s on your mind,” He observes thoughtfully, not seeming upset by your quiet reluctance, “Your thoughts are safe with me, always.”

“I would not wish to offend you for what I want from you,” Another gentle press of your lips against the center of his palm has the huge warrior grunting once again and pushing himself further against you, “It would be selfish of me.”

“I would give you anything you wished for--” He breathes as your lips graze across his rough fingertips, “And knowing you, it is something that is not selfish.”

“How could you possibly know that, Mandalorian?”

“Because I know you are not a selfish woman,” He chuckles as your soft lips continue to praise his warm skin with great tenderness, though every time you think of the promise you made to your father and how easily you broke it, you feel like the most selfish woman in the galaxy, “Tell me what it is you wish for, cyar’ika, and I will give it to you in a heartbeat.”

His hand tenderly moves to cup your cheek and you know that he must feel how hot it burns for him--for the promise that his deep baritone carries and you fear that your heart will actually fail its main purpose.

“Even your name?”

“Anything for you, cyar’ika--anything.”

The way he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest almost leaves you in tears and steals the air from your lungs.

You smile at the way he grunts, as though he doesn’t know how to respond and you relish in the way you are able to reduce him to a state of being speechless when you’re certain that there aren’t many who had such an effect on him. For what you think must be the hundredth time in the last few hours, he leans down to gently nudge his forehead against yours and you shiver when he pulls you in close. Something about the way he holds you this close or how he softly rubs his scuffed up helmet against your head makes you think that these gentle headbutts hold more meaning and sentiment than you originally thought.

His hands find their home on your hips and you loathe that his cuirass and all the padding and equipment he wears prevents you from melting into him as he simply holds you close. Carefully, he drops his helmet into the curve of your neck and you hear the way he inhales deeply before releasing it and you think you feel some of his warm breath tickling your exposed skin. You remember him admitting how he oftentimes swore he could smell your hair--your flowers--and you wonder if that's what he's currently trying to do, even though you lack your usual violets.

“Paz.”

His voice utters a single syllable and your heart leaps high into your throat, threatening to choke you with the intense emotions you’re currently feeling.

Immediately, you grin when he reluctantly lifts his helmet to observe you, as though he's nervous of your reaction and you decide you don't mind seeing the Mandalorian act as sheepish as he often makes you feel.

"Paz," You repeat the three-lettered name out loud with a sheepish grin, your voice sounding so soft and quiet compared to the way he says it in that deep baritone; you say it again, a little louder and more sure of yourself,  "Paz. I… think it suits you."

He hums, shaking his scuffed up helmet at you and you think he must feel embarrassed, for whatever reason, "What's that supposed to mean?"

You force yourself not to giggle at the terseness in his crackly voice, “It is sweet and sharp, kind of piercing, just like you. It is gentle, but also rough--just one syllable and so short, but no less meaningful. It suits you and I… I love it.”

“My name?” He chuckles, and you almost loathe how amused he sounds as he hunches over to press his forehead against yours, "You love it?”

Your cheeks burn something fierce as you nod a little against his helmet, "Yes, but I also wonder, do you have a last name as well?”

“Yes, cyar’ika,” He hums, his deep baritone rumbling like roaring thunder against your eardrums, “Perhaps one day I will give it to you.”

Your frantic heart instantly falters and your eyes widen as he gently grazes the apple of your cheek with his knuckles that you had previously been praising with your lips. You realize you must be overthinking his words, judging by how calm and cool he sounds as he murmurs soft words in his native tongue that barely make it past his vocoder. Though you've only known the Mandalorian for a few months, the thought of having such a future with him fills your belly with an intense heat and you don’t say anything out of fear of your voice shaking.

Suddenly, he pulls his helmet away and you frown at how frantic he suddenly seems to grow, immediately fearing the worst.

“Shit--I almost forgot after everything that happened last night.”

You watch with utter curiosity as he pulls away from you and makes his way over to where he had left his utility belt on your desk, carefully shuffling through one of the pouches with great intent and precision, “When I was traveling the last few days I saw something and it reminded me of you. I want you to have it.”

Your brows pinch together in confusion and you frantically shake your head when he turns around with a white cloth that’s wrapped around your unexpected gift, “You...? You just gave me something so precious--I couldn’t possibly--”

“It is nothing special,” He chuckles as he begins to unwrap the object, shaking his helmet at your anxious tone, “It didn’t cost me anything other than my pride when everyone in the tribe found out.”

Your eyes widen and you gasp when Paz reveals a beautiful white flower that’s the size of your palm, it’s long petals wispy and curled around the ends. You don’t even realize your eyes are brimming with tears and you can’t remember the last time someone has made you cry out of happiness, your cheeks aching from how big you’re smiling.

“I’m not sure what kind of flower it is,” He explains sheepishly when you don’t say anything, “Underneath the moonlight, the tips of the petals turn blue. I thought it might...”

He turns his visor away from your face when you grin up at him, “You thought what, Paz?”

“That it might look pretty behind your ear.”

“You--” Instead of saying anything else, you launch yourself at him and you’re surprised when he actually stumbles backwards the tiniest amount as you squeeze your arms around his broad shoulders. He chuckles and easily holds you close, his arms wrapped around your waist and you’re too distracted by the beautiful gift to feel any discomfort from his gauntlets digging into your back.

“No one has ever given me a flower before,” You press your face into the crook of his neck and listen to the way he sighs your name when you kiss the bunched up fabric, “Th-Thank you.”

Paz reluctantly lets go of you when you move to tuck the flower safely behind your ear where he thought it would look prettiest and you give him an inquisitive expression, as if silently asking him to confirm his suspicions. 

“You are so beautiful,” He reaches out for you and for a moment, you think he’s going to touch your ear or stroke the big flower, but instead, his hand cradles your cheek in a way that steals your breath, “I... I don’t want to leave.”

“You must,” You remind him with a sympathetic smile, understanding his pain all too well, “We both have important jobs to do. I could walk with you as far as you would let me?”

He huffs, the thought of you walking with him no doubt an amusing one, but he nods as you carefully scoop up the vulptex in one arm and grab his elbow with the other, letting him lead the way. You notice that he walks slower, visor dutifully scanning his surroundings and you wonder if he’s always this cognizant of his surroundings or if it’s because of your presence. There’s a slight chill in the air, but not enough to make you shiver and you smile a little when the sun continues to slowly rise and warm you with it’s early-morning rays.

You close your eyes for just a few seconds, pretending you’re elsewhere with your Mandalorian, somewhere far more beautiful, and you’re certainly not aware of the way he stares down at you as he leads you further from the infirmary.

“I could not let you go any further,” Paz finally speaks about twenty minutes later, just outside the marketplace, and you turn to face him with a soft little smile, “Someone else from the tribe has been taking jobs in the village for the past few weeks and it is not safe for more than one of us to be above ground for too long.”

“There is no need to explain--I understand,” You reassure him, giving his elbow a firm squeeze and your heart soars when he taps his helmet to your forehead one last time, “Then I will see you soon again?”

“Yes,” He sighs gravely when you two reluctantly pull away from each other, “I mean it this time too. I am hoping the next time I see you, I will have good news, cyar’ika.”

You beam and cradle the vulptex securely to your chest with both arms. Though you don’t know exactly what kind of news he could possibly have that will affect you in any way, shape or form, you’re still excited to hear more about his tribe--his people--and you give him a frantic nod. After saying your goodbyes and blushing when he gives your chin a little tap and a reminder to keep your head up, you make your way back to the infirmary, a bittersweet sensation lingering like a dark cloud over your heart.

“It’s okay, little one,” You gently shush the vulptex when she lets out with a sharp whine, as though your downtrodden disposition is affecting her also, “At least we have each other, right?”

You give her a soft smile when her eyes slowly blink up at you and even though you should feel ridiculous for talking to an animal, it doesn’t stop you and you continue to tell her of your hopes and dreams for the future--your wants and desires pertaining to your blue Mandalorian. A part of you realizes there’s something cathartic about speaking to someone or something that doesn’t actually know what your saying, perhaps because you know that your crystalline companion won’t judge you.

Before you can tell her that you long to run away from all this, you freeze when you look away from your confidante to check your surroundings, only to be met with the sight of a figure storming towards you with a blaster trained on your vulptex.

You’re not sure what fills you with more fear--

The fact that you’re already going to lose your precious companion, or the familiarity of the t-shaped visor that’s pointed directly at you.

Ner= My, mine

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Saviin=Violet

Cyar’ika=Darling, sweetheart

Cyare=Beloved, loved, popular

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[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 02

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: same as before, wounded gabriel & removal of those stitches notes: the fire under my ass burns as strong as ever, hallelujah

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

Much to your regret, your plans the next morning to continue being a nuisance to Dean are thrown in the bin at his decision to leave early and meet Castiel somewhere a state over for a case that the angel had found. Something about vamps in a mine or something, you’re a bit hazy on the details. You’d only half-listened when Sam filled you in upon your arrival in the kitchen, a good hour after Dean had already departed the bunker.

While you would like to say Dean is completely to blame, the truth is that once you passed out last night you slept like a log and didn’t wake up until mid-morning today, which classifies as a sleep-in of sorts for you. You love sleep, but your body is wired to wake up not long after sunrise, unfortunately. It’s that hunter lifestyle you love to hate.

Sam had huffed a laugh at your face when you found out you’d missed Dean, but otherwise had kept to himself with his healthy breakfast as you went about making yourself a coffee. You tend to be a bit nauseous in the mornings, so a coffee will be enough for you for a few hours. It’s likely your stomach won’t roar in hunger until a bit after midday, as it is wont to do.

“How is your arm?”

Sam’s question breaks you out of the dissociative state you’d slipped into as you sip your coffee, grip on the mug tightening in reflex. It takes a few blinks before your eyes focus back on him, a small smile on your lips.

“Much better, thank you doctor,” you answer, before mumbling into your coffee as you take another sip. “Despite apparent attempts at making it otherwise…”

Sam snorts, not even bothering to comment on that. “I’m glad. Did you have anything planned for the day?”

A contemplative hum escapes you, your gaze wandering to the ceiling. “No, not really. I kind of went hard for a while there, one case after the other, so I’m due for a break. Not much of a fan of burnout.”

Your eyes move back down, meeting his own. “I’m probably going to just hang back, for a bit. Recuperate. I mean, I didn’t get any injury besides my arm, but I’m just… tired, I suppose. Didn’t get much sleep the past few weeks.”

“Of course you didn’t hurt anything but your arm,” Sam rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his smoothie—you’re not a fan of the green tinge it has, but if he likes it then you suppose it must be alright, at least. “You and your stupid good luck. Dean is still mad about last time, you know. When he got splattered in monster guts that just missed you by a centimetre.”

The memory yanks a giggle out of you before you can stop it, almost spilling your coffee as a result of the abrupt movement. “Oh, that was good. I wish I had a picture so I could scrapbook it.”

Sam laughs around a mouthful of food, swallowing it down before he continues. “Dean would kill you.”

“I know, but it would be worth it.” You place your cup down, deciding it a better course of action than continuing to hold it and risking spillage. “Also, I know you think my luck is really good all the time, but it’s kind of just good occasionally. All other times, it sucks.”

“It kicks in when you hunt, though, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” Sam muses, flicking through an article on his phone somewhat distractedly. He hums to himself before turning the screen off and angling his body to you properly, meeting your questioning gaze.

“I’m… I’m gonna need your help,” he says, appearing somewhat sheepish. “With Gabriel.”

You try not to let your sharp intake of breath show, but from the look that flickers through Sam’s eyes you figure he catches it anyway. Your teeth worry your bottom lip for a moment before you can muster a proper response. “Alright. What are you thinking of doing?”

Sam adjusts once more, pushing his plate away, cutlery stacked on top; it’s only now that you realise he’s finished the meal and the only thing left to consume is his smoothie.

“Well, I’m not… entirely sure yet.”

You huff a laugh, attempting to regain a sense of normalcy. It isn’t that you’d forgotten about the battered archangel hiding in a room a few doors down from yours, but it’s moreso that you’d made it a point not to think about it so early in the morning, lest your mood be ruined for the entire day. Thinking of Gabriel… it kind of hurt. You’re not sure you’re ready to sit down and analyse exactly why you’re having such visceral reactions yet.

“I don’t think we can really plan much, here,” he says, features softening with empathy. It reminds you that when it comes to Hell and being tortured, the youngest Winchester isn’t as unfamiliar as you might hope. A pang of something hits against the confines of your chest at his tone and the passing look in his eyes; as always, there’s the useless feeling, the wish you could take away all the bad memories and experiences and make it all better. You know you can’t, nothing can, but you hate seeing your friends in any modicum of pain.

You suppose that includes Gabriel, if the sensations whirling within you at the thought of him are anything to go by.

“We’ll just have to take it as it comes,” you say, taking your mug into your hold and downing the rest of the drink in one go. “Alright! I’m gonna shower and then… I guess we go see him.”

x   x

 Unlike the Gabriel you were once so familiar with, this Gabriel is decidedly not fond of visitors.

Sam had gone and prepared some things while you’d showered and dressed, and by the time you reappear outside your room you hear shuffling from the direction of the library. Curious, you make your way down the hall, peeking your head in and blinking in only minor surprise at the sight of Sam, his shoulders heavy.

“What’s up, Sam-o-saurus?”

Sam looks up and gives you the closest approximation to a bitch face that you’ve ever received from him, clearly not fond of the new nickname that came to you on the spot like a divine enlightenment. He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe, though, which is probably for the best considering your mission for the day. It would do none of you any good if he went near Gabriel while all riled up.

“Gabriel is, uh,” he clears his throat, placing down a sterile steel tray in the shape of a bean and small surgical scissors, along with a scalpel. Your gaze strays to the side and sees that it was the first aid box he’d been ransacking as you arrived. “Not very open to visitation from me right now. I think I might be a bit… bit big. He doesn’t really even see me when he looks at me, so I don’t think he realises who I am.”

You wince, trying not to dwell on the information longer than needed to file it away for later consideration. “Oh. Sorry, Sam. You want me to go see if I can bring him out?”

“Please,” the tall man says, gesturing to the tools on the glossy oak table. “I figured we could start by getting rid of those stitches over his mouth, if nothing else. I don’t think he has enough grace right now to stop infection so we should try and reduce the risk.”

His words sadden you, but you know the truth they hold. Your limbs feel a bit heavy as you push away from the doorway.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel’s allocated room isn’t all that far from the library, and the note on the door sticks out like a sore thumb so you don’t have to worry much about getting lost on the way (ignoring that at this point you know most parts of the bunker like the back of your hand). Once outside his room, something gives you pause though.

Are you ready to see him in that state again? Or is it that a small, tiny part of you fears he won’t recognise you, either?

Ridiculous of you, really. You take a moment to admonish yourself for the thought. If you take a second to factor in the difference in time spent in hell, even without considering all the time he was missing, Gabriel had to have been trapped and tortured for over a century at the very least. Centuries and years might mean nothing to a celestial being who has been alive for millennia, but over a century of fear and torture is a lot even for someone with such impressive mileage.

You shake your head, attempting to clear your thoughts and emotions so you don’t enter his room with an overwhelming aura. Okay, showtime.

A soft knock echoes as your knuckles meet the wood, a moment passing before you speak, attempting to keep your voice as soft and nonthreatening as possible.

“Gabriel? It’s y/n, I’m going to come in now.”

You allow another moment to pass before you ease the door open, blinking in surprise as your eyes are greeted by light—it seems the archangel has every bulb in the vicinity burning its brightest. Understandable, since you presume he wasn’t exactly kept in well-lit conditions.

For a second, you think he’s not in the room. You don’t see him anywhere, and you’re about a split-second away from turning and calling Sam when you catch a glimpse of something shifting in the corner, behind the bulky side of a wooden dresser. You think for a second that you’ve forgotten how to breathe, chest painfully tight, as you realise that the small form huddled and curled in the corner is, in fact, the archangel Gabriel.

You hate that you’d noticed him only because of the filthy scraps of material that stick out against the dark décor of the bunker.

“Hey, Gabriel,” you say softly, keeping the door open so he has a route of escape and moving over as slowly and cautiously as you can. “I’m just gonna come over and sit in front of you, alright?”

You figure that even if he’s not entirely listening to everything you’re saying, it’s better to announce what you’re doing before you do it, for his benefit.

Something painful ricochets off the inside of your chest as you grow close enough to see him around the dresser and you’re confronted with his beaten, bloody and battered figure once more. His gaze is anywhere but you, and the way he presses himself into the corner is like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. It takes all of your willpower to squash down the unexpected sob that catches low in your throat. What is wrong with you?! You need to get a grip.

“Oh, Gabriel,” you find yourself saying before you can stop. “I’m so sorry…”

The closer you get to him, the lower you try to make yourself in his peripheral. It wouldn’t do any good to startle him by appearing big and threatening. It makes you frown when you remember just who it is that you have to think this way about. It’s sad, you think. The Gabriel you’d known was prideful, glaringly bright and loud in his presence, both as a trickster and an angel, and that he’d been reduced to… well, to this? It made your chest feel heavy.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, you ease down onto your knees in front of him, doing your best not to rush anything. It’s hard—you’re a hunter, used to moving with speed and a sense of urgency. So to take your time and really be in the moment for each of your actions is definitely an odd change from the usual autopilot your brain resides in.

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence once you’re still in front of him, not really. You had expected as much though, and as much as he seems unresponsive you do see the occasional flick of his eyes in your direction before they dart away, like he couldn’t believe he’d dared to look at someone instead of the floor.

For a few minutes, you simply let him adjust to your presence, your company. Ever so slowly, you see the tiniest bits of tension ease from his shoulders, his eyes no longer darting around like a frantic squirrel. You take the opportunity to take in the wounds and sores littering his body, doing your best not to get too upset by what you see. Dirt and grime coats him in layers, and you mentally note that your next goal with him would be to get him in a damn bath.

It can’t be comfortable, sitting in all that grime…

“For the sake of transparency,” you begin when he seems like he will be open enough to listening. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. This is your space right now, and I don’t want to intrude on it unless I really need to.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, but you sense you have his attention. “Given that right now you’re low on… strength, and not healing as you usually do, we need to take care of some of the worse wounds you have. If we don’t, it’s a risk of infection, and we don’t know how well you would fight that off in this state…”

You clear your throat, attempting to keep yourself on track. “So, if you’re able, we’d really like you to come out just for a moment, so we can fix up some of your sores. I promise that you can come right back in here afterwards, and that unless we have something really important we’ll leave you alone. Sound good?”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t really move, but the way his eyes move to yours and hold your gaze for a bare second longer than you expect, you gather he’s not entirely against it. You offer him a smile, oddly proud of him. You’d seen firsthand how hard it can be to get out of these mindsets, even just for a moment. Effort is hard and that he’s making it means everything.

“Perfect,” you say, shifting in your spot so you can stand more easily. “Alright, I can help you up, if you’d like, or you can stand on your own if you want. What do y—”

Your hands had already begun to outstretch as you spoke, and you’re taken by surprise when before you even finish speaking his hand is whipping up to grab your wrist in a sort of monkey grip. You’re left blinking as you help him up, moving on autopilot. You expect him to release you as soon as he’s standing, but it adds to your surprise as he wobbles in place and retains his grip, if anything shuffling a little closer.

“Okay,” you say, angling your body and adjusting your grip so that it’s loose and as nonthreatening as possible. “Let’s go. Thank you for cooperating.”

Of course, there’s no response and he’s silent the whole way to the library. You remember that Sam is in there only as you approach the threshold, but unlike what you feared, Gabriel doesn’t seem to react too poorly to him like he apparently had earlier. Risking a glance his way reveals that actually, amongst the frayed and almost manic energy, he seems oddly… grounded, just for the moment.

Well, this is certainly going better than you’d anticipated.

x

“I went to bully Dean this morning, but he woke up before me and left before I could get to him.”

You’re in the process of cleaning the wounds around Gabriel’s mouth and removing the ugly stitches that have been sewn into his lips. As something to distract him as much as you from what you’re doing, you’ve begun chatting idly to the archangel, unbothered by the lack of response. Sam sits a metre or so away, researching for Dean who had apparently called earlier when you were coercing Gabriel out of his room.

Still Gabriel doesn’t hold your gaze, eyes averted as he leans forward in the chair for you to reach his mouth, but you can tell from the way his eyes occasionally flick to you as you speak that he is listening, somewhat. It’s enough of a win that you’re willing to take it.

He winces each time your alcohol swab goes over the entry point of a stitch, but doesn’t flinch away too badly. You’re pretty proud of him for that, actually, because it must hurt like a bitch.

“You got him yesterday, though,” Sam pipes in from the side, amused as he recalls your arrival. “Barely an hour after you got here and he was quitting and heading to bed.”

“It’s hard being so naturally talented,” you say, placing the swab down and reaching for the small scissors and tweezers. “I’m an absolute delight, and Dean should appreciate that!”

“Has anyone ever believed you when you told them that?” Sam asks, presumably referring to the ‘delight’ bit.

“Why wouldn’t they, Samuel?” you ask, giving the massive man a light spritz of stink-eye. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he snorts in response, turning a page in the tome he currently has in his lap.

You bite your lip to hide your amused smile, turning back to Gabriel. You place your hand softly on his cheek to let him know that you’re about to go back in for the stitches, before raising the other tool and bringing it to the first of the thick threads woven through his flesh. Wincing, you try and snip it as delicately as possible. Now seems like a better time than any for more distractions.

“If you think I’m bad, you should be glad you never met my grandfather,” you inform the youngest Winchester, successfully severing the first stitch and beginning the icky job of pulling it out. Gabriel makes a muffled noise of pain but remains still, and you pat his hand softly in support. “He could stir the shit out of anyone, man. Like, I’m not even kidding. The bastard gene I got from him was actually watered down by the time it got to me, so count your lucky stars.”

Sam makes a noise of contemplation, like he really is taking the time to thank whatever powers that be— those apparently being Chuck, as you’ve heard— that you’re not more like your grandfather. Honestly, you’re not kidding—they really should be grateful. You loved your grandpa but you’d never met anyone so quick to stir whatever pot may present itself before them. An opportunist with bastardous tendencies, one might describe him.

In the silence that follows, you jump to another topic for the sake of distraction once more—you’re about to move onto another stitch.

“So, now that your mother is here, are you guys actually eating like normal human beings?” you ask, tongue pressed between your lips in concentration as you try to snip the thread as painlessly as possible by manoeuvring the small scissors. “Like, balanced meals with vegetables and shit?”

You hear Sam pause in the motion of turning a page, a scoff turning into a laugh as it climbs his throat. “What—homecooked meals? Our mom? Dude, she’s worse than Dean in the kitchen, and I really didn’t think that was possible.”

You pause your ministrations to face the tall man, squinting. “What? No way. No way is she worse than Dean—”

“We’ve had to replace the fire alarms twice already,” Sam says, meeting your gaze with a look that is full of both fondness and exasperation. He lets out a laugh at your flabbergasted face. “Dude, I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it for myself. You’ll see, whenever she gets back with Jack. She can’t cook but it doesn’t really stop her trying.”

“Another terrible chef joins the ranks,” you proclaim dramatically, pulling the stitch you were working on out and going in on the next one. “Oh, to be able to cook. I suppose this Jack kid is our last hope.”

“He’s not even a year old, y/n,” Sam says, deadpan. “I wouldn’t count on it. Also, you can cook, you’re just lazy.”

You shrug, making a face; he has you there. “I will neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

Once more, you feel Sam roll his eyes behind you—he should get that checked if he’s rolling them so heavily you can feel it yourself. They’re not even eyes that are in your own skull, man.

You proceed to pull shit out of your ass as you take Gabriel’s mouth stitches out, the metal tin to the side soon filled with scraps of thick thread covered in dried blood and muck. The exit wounds where the thread had been have begun to well with blood, the wounds agitated by the removal of the stitches, and you bring a new cotton pad back with alcohol to clean them up. Gabriel hisses at the contact, and you rush out apologies under your breath as you finish up. You’d forgotten to warn him, and it’s only something small but you still feel bad.

“Alright, that’s done,” you announce, mostly to yourself. You look over him, deciding which wound to treat next, when your attention is drawn to the way he seems to be shaking a little on the spot. He’s not as grounded as he was earlier when he sat down with you, and even though you have much more work to do you can tell intrinsically that this is the most he can take right now. Dressing his other wounds would have to wait until tomorrow.

You turn to find Sam already giving the archangel a scrutinising look, apparently arriving at the same conclusion you had. He gives you a nod and you let out a soft breath, turning back to Gabriel and offering your hands should he need them.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get you back to the room.”

You can only hope tomorrow will offer the same amount of progress as today.

prev. || next

[walviemort]

hurry up and wait

summary: After the events of 6x09, Killian finds himself unexpectedly and rapidly pregnant; from first stirrings to full term in a week. Little does he know, Rumplestiltskin is pulling the strings as a form of revenge, and has full control over how fast—or slow—this pregnancy goes. He'll need to rely on Emma, and all his loved ones, to get through whatever comes next.

a/n: I’M BACK Y’ALL! the muse has overtaken me this week with this story (I’ve so far written 18k in about 7 days, with more to come). Hope you enjoy it and stay tuned!

rated light M / 3k / ao3

It was the final straw. First, the pirate had taken Milah; then he’d helped keep him apart from Bae for so long. And now? Now, he was part of the reason Belle was leaving Rumplestiltskin behind, and had sent their son away. Hook had no idea what it was like to suffer such loss. But the Dark One would see to it that he did.

And he had to admit—the spell he’d found was rather ingenious; something that had come over from the Land of Untold Stories and piqued his interest. And would let him have a bit of fun along the way. Well, fun for him; not so much for Jones.

It was sheer luck that the Savior and her beau broke into his shop that night. Normally, he’d take issue with that; but it merely gave him a chance to enact his revenge.

While the couple was inspecting a sword, Rumple froze them in place with a wave of his hand. From his coat pocket, he pulled a small glass orb; it would let him control the spell and keep an eye on things. And with a few more gestures that resulted in a brief glow coming from the pirate’s midsection (which mirrored in the orb), it was done. 

He unfroze them and disappeared into the night, content that he’d finally be getting even with his longtime enemy. Far away from town, he pulled out the orb and peered in to see how things were faring; at the rate it was going, he had at least a few days before anyone figured out what was happening. (Unless he changed that, of course.)

---------------------------------------------

The next morning, Killian was shocked when the sun was shining through the curtains of the bedroom as he awoke. He was usually one to wake with the sunrise, but given the day they’d had yesterday—not to mention the frantic coming together he and Emma had last night—it was no surprise he’d slept in.

Nor was it that an unease had settled over him. Just because they’d found the weapon meant to kill Emma didn’t mean they’d truly solved anything in regards to her supposed fate. Just the thought of losing her...gods, it turned his stomach.

Quite literally—seconds later, he found himself making a mad dash for their washroom, only to lose what remained of last night’s dinner. It had been quite some time since nerves made him nauseous but he supposed it was warranted; his present sense of apprehension was on level with any he’d felt before heading into battle. He leaned against the wall of the bathroom and took a few measured breaths to help calm him; while it helped his racing heart, it did little to ease his stomach. He’d take it, though.

After rinsing his mouth out, he took his pajama-clad self downstairs to the kitchen, where a quiet display of domesticity lay before him: Emma and Henry, sharing a breakfast of Pop-Tarts and coffee at the table, laughing quietly at some unheard joke. It was so easy, so casual, and quite honestly, all he wanted in the world. It hadn’t been that long since his own resurrection and he’d be damned again if he didn’t fight to hold onto it.

“Killian, are you okay?” Emma asked, finally noticing his entrance. Killian jumped and sniffled at her enquiry, surprised at her query. 

He scrubbed a hand along his face and it came back wet—he was crying? Goodness, he was more out of sorts than he thought. “Aye, love; just need to get some food in me,” he shrugged off.

“Well, I made Pop-Tarts,” she joked as he strode into the kitchen, pausing to place a kiss on her temple. “Your favorite,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Perhaps another time,” he tossed back as he grabbed a coffee mug from the counter; a full pot was waiting. But when he reached for it to pour himself a cup, the smell of it turned his stomach yet again; it was all he could do to put it back before he was retching into the sink.

Emma was at his side in an instant, rubbing his back through the thin cotton of his tshirt. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, concern evident in her tone.

“Apparently not,” he breathed once he was done. “That’s the second time its happened today.”

She put the back of her hand on his forehead in a motherly move that filled him with another odd welling of emotion. Though her brow was furrowed, she assessed that he was “not running a fever, but you do look a bit green around the gills.”

“There’s a stomach bug going around at school,” Henry chimed in. “Maybe it’s that?”

“It could be. You’ve definitely been running yourself thin lately.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but was merely met with another wave of nausea—though there wasn’t anything left to come up.

“Hey kid, can you get yourself to school okay?” she asked over her shoulder while resuming her ministrations on his back.

“Of course.”

“Okay; we’re gonna take a sick day, then.”

He stood straight again. “But Emma—the sword—”

“—Isn’t going anywhere,” she interrupted. “We are BOTH going to go back to bed, take a nap, maybe watch some sitcoms, and order takeout. We need it.”

He couldn’t deny that it sounded divine. “Aye, love; sounds excellent.”

The nausea never quite abated, although bland crackers and ginger ale seemed to help. True to her word, they curled up in bed and intermittently napped during the day; had a few heart-to-hearts about their general emotional states, and maybe had a few intimate moments sprinkled in there.

Unfortunately, the next day saw little change to his illness, but Emma had to handle some sheriff matters and couldn’t stay home. “But I’ll check up on you at lunch, okay?”

“I’m a grown man, love; I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”

It certainly wasn’t as enjoyable a day as the previous one, but by the end of it, he found the nausea had finally abated. Perhaps Emma was right; a couple days of rest was all he needed to get back into fighting shape. He made plans to meet up with Belle the next day, both for research—and to make sure his friend was doing alright.

---------------------------------------------

Away in his cabin, Rumplestiltskin glanced at the orb. He’d certainly enjoyed Hook’s being unwell, and was slightly miffed that wouldn’t carry through. But more dramatic things were about to unfold.

---------------------------------------------

To Killian’s surprise, the following morning found him with an entirely different sensation in his stomach: he was starving. To be expected, he supposed, considering he’d hardly been able to keep down anything the past couple days. He didn’t want to push it, but he needed something—fast.

Emma was still asleep next to him (he’d awoken at his normal time for a change) so he slipped out quietly to head downstairs. His usual breakfast fare wasn’t sounding as good as usual, so he poked around the cupboards to see if anything else caught his eye—and, to his astonishment, it did.

A bit later, when Emma joined him in the kitchen, she paused at what was surely an odd sight. “Seriously?” was all she could muster.

“I believe I may have misjudged these, love,” he said bashfully, biting into his Pop-Tart. It was sweet and flaky and precisely what he’d been craving that morning.

Emma just blinked in surprise. “Well, I hope you saved some for me.”

Killian said nothing as she made her way to what he knew was an empty box. He winced as she sighed. “Well, at least your appetite is back. And I guess we need to go to the store.”

“I’ll head there this evening to stock up.”

“You better.”

Before he headed to the library, he made sure to stop by Granny’s for some tea—and some pastries; it seemed his craving had yet to abate (and he was certain Belle would appreciate some extra treats). 

She was understandably morose on his arrival; before they got into any sort of research, he made sure to pull her over to the lone sofa there to have a chat—or, better yet, have a cry; his heart truly broke for his friend. He couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken to send her son away, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to do the same in her position.

As he predicted, though, the treats did help a bit (though he found himself consuming far more of them than he typically would). Their research yielded little, though, so he sent Belle home with the few remaining pastries as he headed to the market—where he was overwhelmed by the Pop-Tart selection. How had he been depriving himself so long? He bought one of each; hopefully that would placate Emma.

He should have also found it odd that he consumed more pizza that night for dinner than he usually would but apparently he was still playing catchup from the previous two days. Neither Emma nor Henry found it odd, so he too remained unconcerned.

His jeans were a bit snug the next morning but he figured he just needed some more time to digest; it wasn’t unusual for a sickness to throw him off like that. But he couldn’t help it if he was hungry still. He tried to keep up his fluids as well, but that didn’t stop him from snacking through the day—or devouring their Chinese takeout that night.

He and Emma were curled up in bed, engaging in some typical evening activities, when she began tracing his side and running her thumbs over his stomach—and, oddly, giggling. “What’s so funny, love?”

“Nothing; you’ve just got a food baby, is all.”

“A what?”

“A food baby,” she said again, patting his (slightly stuffed) belly. “It’s when you eat a lot and it just kind of sits there.” His brow furrowed in consternation—that was the last thing he wanted. She noticed his discomfort, though, as she always did, and laughed again. “Hey, it’s fine—it’s actually pretty cute. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Now can we get back to what we were doing?”

Well, he could never say no to that, and her words were quickly forgotten in favor of more pleasurable pursuits.

But they came roaring back when his jeans were a bit more tight the next day, and that weight that had settled in his stomach was visible in a slight rounding just behind his navel. Perhaps he was overindulging. He knew it was also a sign of aging (that and the few silvery hairs at his temples) but if he could control it, he’d like to keep his trim form.

He did his best that day to pare back, to only eat at meal times. But come evening, he was starved yet again, and may have polished off the pizza leftovers from the night before. (Thankfully, Emma was working at the station, so he was free of her comments that evening.)

Still...the worry plagued him the next morning when his stomach seemed impossibly larger. There was always a decent chance his eyes were playing tricks on him, but it was still worrying. (As if he didn’t have enough of those.)

He skipped breakfast, instead going for a run about town. His jeans still buttoned, at least, although just barely. Mid-day found him chasing Lost Boys across town, which gave him a reason to avoid lunch. By the time he got back to the station with the miscreants that afternoon, his stomach was gnawing at him and he was a bit lightheaded. 

Emma noticed, immediately, of course. “You feeling alright? Is the stomach bug back?”

“No, no,” he assured her, though probably unconvincingly. “I just need some water; I’ll be right back.” 

But he’d hardly pulled a glass from the cupboard over the sink when the world began to spin. He tried to grip the counter for stability, but it didn’t help much, and he continued on to the floor. The last thing he heard before the world went black was Emma frantically calling his name.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a steady beeping woke him up. He blinked a few times; they were in the hospital. Bloody hell.

He looked around to get his bearings, and Emma was at the side of the bed, holding his hand. HIs other arm was hooked up to an IV, and he could feel a number of other things stuck to him, monitoring other various things.

What struck him as truly odd, though, was the sensor he could feel on one side of his stomach.

“Emma, what’s…” he started to say, though he was still a bit out of breath—and parched.

She jumped at his voice, clearly lost in thought, but the concern quickly melted to a smile. “Hey, welcome back. What did you get yourself into?”

“My own vanity, I suppose,” he said. “What’s all this I’m hooked up to?”

Emma bit her lip, like she was trying to hold something back. She was clearly nervous about something.

“Love, what’s going on?”

She swallowed, clearly working up the nerve for something. He was confused; if something was wrong with him, she wouldn’t be smiling—but something had her conflicted.

“Well, as you probably figured out, you passed out at the station. Turns out you were dehydrated and running on an empty stomach. But the main reason that’s a problem is—”

“Alright, let’s take a look at that baby!” Doctor Whale’s voice interrupted Emma as he entered the room, pulling a machine with a large screen attached to it.

Baby? What on Earth? “Emma, are you…?” Gods, he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever be blessed enough to have a child with Emma, but if what the doctor was saying was true, then…

“No, I’m not,” she said slowly, but then moved her free hand onto his stomach. “But you, somehow, are.”

He was...he was pregnant? He started laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

Emma just bit her lip and shook her head. He turned to the doctor who just nodded.

“But that...that’s impossible.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen weirder things,” Whale said. “A pregnant man is only, like, fifth on my list. And you’re not even the first one I’ve come across.”

Killian swallowed and stared at his stomach. That...was a babe? It would explain some things—his illness, his cravings, his heightened emotions. Although his understanding of pregnancy was that it took a lot longer for those things to happen than they had to him. And there was still the biggest issue: he was a man. “How?” was all he could say.

Whale just shrugged. “Magic. You’d be surprised how many spells out there exist for this.”

He gave a snort of derision, but let his head fall back against the pillow of his hospital bed. Pregnant. He was with child. By some magical means. Gods, was it even actually a child? And whose was it? The number of questions he had was overwhelming—as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

“Hey,” Emma said, squeezing his hand and pulling him out of his stream of racing thoughts. “We’ll figure this out.”

He just swallowed and nodded.

“I hate to interrupt this existential crisis, but I do need to take a look inside there to see what’s going on. Mind if I pull up your shirt?”

“Go ahead,” he said in a small voice, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Will it hurt?”

“No, but it’ll be cold,” the doctor answered as he went to work. The man was nothing but clinical as he lifted Killian’s shirt, exposing the gentle curve of his stomach. Looking at it now, Killian could definitely see the resemblance to an expectant mother. He jolted when Whale put the odd, cool substance low on his belly (bloody hell, it was a belly), but then was distracted when the doctor turned on the screen and picked up a wand-like device.

He pressed the instrument against Killian’s skin and moved it back and forth; this must be how Robin had acquired that image from inside Zelena (far less intrusive than he had expected). The image on the screen was a blurry mess for the most part, but eventually a clearer picture began to take shape: the definitive form of an infant.

He and Emma both gasped at the same time. The image on the screen began to move, and he almost swore he could feel the echoing tiny movements within. Whale began to point things out—head, spine, fingers, toes—but Killian just kept staring at the image, in awe: he was going to be a father.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

“Now, this is the fun part,” Whale said in a voice that indicated it was anything but. “I can tell how far along the kid is from these pictures, but something tells me the truth is not quite the same. When did you notice things changing with you?”

“Um,” Killian stammered, trying to find his voice again. “It was...5 days ago? Right? That I came down with a stomach bug, but it was gone by the end of the following day. And I’ve been voracious ever since.”

Whale just whistled. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen one like this, then. Looks like you moved up to number four on my list.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this fetus is 5 months along.”

“What?” It was Emma’s turn to be incredulous (though how she’d remained calm at all was astonishing to him).

“Yeah, whatever this spell is, it’s accelerated. At the rate it’s gone, you’ll be having this kid in, like, four days.”

Killian could feel his jaw drop, and a glance at Emma showed the same. Four days? That was insane.

It was a bloody good thing he was already on a bed, because he fainted again.

---------------------------------------------

It wasn’t quite how Rumple figured the news would be discovered, but he was pleased nonetheless at the pirate’s distress. Four days until parenthood was indeed a terrifying prospect.

Imagine if he had even less than that, though...the Dark One cackled in delight and waved his hand over the orb, then hung back to watch the next events unfold.

---------------------------------------------

hope you liked it! let me know if you want a tag! tagging a few: @sherlockianwhovian  @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook​

[sondepoch]

Part 1

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Tonight will be a night you will never forget. And not just because this is a party that only happens once every one thousand years, or because of the stunning decor of the castle, or even because of how radiant you know you look in this dress, hand-picked by Diavolo.

No.

It is a night you will never forget because tonight will be the night Diavolo proposes to you.

You smile softly, remembering how you'd slipped out of the prince's arms this morning to surprise him by dressing in his shirt—something you'd learned early on that Diavolo absolutely adores—only to find a gorgeous ring in his pocket. As soon as you opened the velvety box and caught a glimpse of the diamond jewel, you'd shut it, not wanting to ruin any more of your surprise.

But you haven't been able to keep a smile off your face all day.

"Are you enjoying the party, darling?" Diavolo asks when he comes up from behind you, running his fingers up and down the length of your arm, another habit you'd learned that he enjoys. "Why are you hidden away on the balcony like this?"

"The sky is too beautiful to miss," You remark. You lean into Diavolo's arms and look up. Back home, you'd thought that the most beautiful sky belonged to the night: when stars rise to decorate the carpet of black draped above like gemstones woven into silk. But after coming to the Devildom, you'd found that the true sight to behold was a Devildom sunset: a sky redder than blood but brighter all the same, orange and yellow stars flying across in a perpetual state of movement and change. And tonight, there's a spot of carmine in the center: a vermillion scar that peels back at the sky itself as a comet drags on by.

"Truly beautiful," Diavolo murmurs in agreement, though his eyes are latched onto you as he says the words.

You let out a light giggle, knowing the real meaning to his words.

"Is this what you do every morning when you escape my arms? Watch the sunrise like this?"

"What else?" You murmur. Though this morning, you'd done a little more than just that. You turn and face Diavolo, cupping his cheek as you give him a chaste kiss. The fabric of your dress is thin, and you try to drag your body close to his to see if you can feel the outline of a ring anywhere on his pockets...to no avail.

"My love, how would you like to see sunrises and sunsets like this forever?" Diavolo murmurs, lacing his fingers in yours. He pulls your gaze up to meet his own with a single finger under your chin. "For tonight and all nights to come?"

A smile blooms on your lips.

You already know what is happening.

Diavolo pulls away to kneel on one knee, never letting go of your hand. He gives it a sultry kiss and looks up at you, eyes locked onto yours.

"MC of the human world, mortal of our immortal love, would you honor me by being at my side?" Diavolo smiles. "From now, until the end of time?"

"Yes," You whisper, breathless. Unable to pull the demon lord up (goodness, with those muscles he's easily double your weight), you lean forward and thrust yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs around him tightly, basking in his laugh as he returns the embrace.

Is this heaven?

You're grounded in hell, but the happiness flooding your body seems to be lifting you into an entirely new state of being. Your stomach literally feels like it's on fire, burning bright with excitement for the future. It's as if your life has changed with these words, and as if you're no longer just MC, but MC of MC and Diavolo. As if, with that proposal, the demon has made himself a part of you.

And the sheer joy of getting to share your life with another is all you need to be happy forever and ever.

This feeling is so much better than you'd thought it would be.

You knew he would ask, but hearing the words leave Diavolo's lips gave them a different weight than simply seeing a ring in a box. Where is the ring, anyway? Oh, Diavolo probably wants to give it to me later. You push the thoughts from your mind and hold him tighter, and the prince smiles. 

Still wrapped around his body, Diavolo rises and places you on the golden balustrade, admiring the sight before him.

"Thank you, my love. You truly are...perfect." Diavolo murmurs, giving you a kiss. From there, he trails to your neck, going lower and lower. Occasionally, he stops to give a spot of skin a tender suck, but as soon as a moan leaves your lips, he's reminded of his goal and continues downward until his head is directly between your thighs.

"D-Diavolo," You murmur as he presses kisses to the skin. "People will see."

"Let them," He mutter, leaning forward and ravishing you as if you're his last meal. It only then strikes you that Diavolo had planned this. All of this.

You smile as you lean your head back, letting your moans add to the noise of the chattering from within the castle. Such a perfect man, you realize. He'd known you would say yes, of course. It was probably at his instruction that Mammon had chased you to this balcony in the first place. Diavolo had probably even selected this dress because of how it gave him access to the warmth between your legs that he loved so.

"P-people," You stutter out, voice broken by pleasure. "G-going...to stare..." You thread your hand in Diavolo's locks, weakly trying to pull his head away, but in truth you don't want him to stop. A demon who's lived for literal thousands of years, Diavolo knows his way around your body better than you do, and he's always been able to bring you to paradise. Especially with that tongue of his.

"Let them stare," Diavolo mumbles as climax washes over you. "You're mine. All mine. My paramour."

At the back of your mind, something twists at the word. Paramour? Perhaps it means something different in the Devildom. But before you can think more about how humans consider a paramour to be more a mistress than a lover, Diavolo's lips are on your own and all your thoughts drift back to him.

"Shall we return to the party, darling?" He asks. Diavolo smiles his usual teasing smile, instantly back to normal. He winks, acting as if he hadn't just done something horribly indecent where any passing demon could have seen.

"Yes," You mumble, taking his arm. As he guides you back to the ballroom and invites you to dance, you can't help but feel like things are different now. My lover. You recall his words. From now, until the end of time.

Another wave of glee washes through you.

"I love you," You murmur as the waltz slows. Diavolo gives you his usual Prince Charming grin, spinning you in time with the music.

"And I love you," He steals a kiss from your lips. "You're so perfect, MC. I never should have been worried. Everything about you is just so...perfect."

"Aw, were you worried that I wouldn't say yes?" You ask, swaying with him. You bring the hand resting on his shoulder to his cheek.

"Only a little," Diavolo confesses. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel about this whole situation...I know it's different from what humans are used to."

"Different?" You laugh. "Even dating you was different from what humans are used to, given that you're—you know—a demon and all."

"But you love me anyway~" Diavolo cooes.

"But I love you anyway," You agree.

You two must dance for hours, merely waltzing back and forth. All around you, the couples change, stepping on and off the dance floor, but you and Diavolo remain. Arms around his neck, head resting against the firmness of his chest, you two are swaying more than you are dancing. Holding each other, more than you are moving. Loving, more than expressing.

The moment is so delicate. Truly precious. Untouched even by time, as the grandfather clock indicates that another hour has passed.

But like all good things, it too comes to an end.

"Now that you're my paramour," Diavolo murmurs softly, causing your ears to perk up. There's that word again. "I only have one other thing to do. Excuse me, my love."

You give the man a kiss on the cheek as he guides you off the dance floor, leaving you with Lucifer. The two of you busy yourselves with a glass of wine—Diavolo had brought champagne to the party specifically for you.

"It's not bad," Lucifer remarks. "But I must say that I prefer our Devildom alcohols more."

You laugh, taking another sip of your wine, continuing to make small talk with Lucifer. It's been a while since you left the House of Lamentation to come live with Diavolo, but there are more than enough times when you miss the chaotic demon brothers.

Unbeknownst to you, those two minutes while you chat with Lucifer are perhaps the last minutes to true happiness you feel for a very long time. You'll later wish you'd savored the moment more as you spoke with the demon, a small smile on your face with your mind half-lost in thoughts about the future you and Diavolo would be embarking upon. It's a moment of contentment, a moment of peace.

But blissful as it is, it's also a prelude to what must be true misery.

Because all good things must come to an end.

And this day has been far too good.

Or—later, you might realize—perhaps the entire day had been bad, with yourself only being too foolish to understand it? Perhaps this whole thing was, in truth, nothing but the calm before the storm?

Whatever the truth may be, the fact is that the moment you lay your eyes upon Diavolo, you're shattered. And with each word that leaves his mouth, you find your heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.

"Honored guests and friends alike, I have an announcement to make." Your eyes widen. At the top of the staircase from where Diavolo had begun the party, he now stands in his demon form, arm-in-arm with another demon. A woman. An exquisitely beautiful one, at that.

"The time for my coronation as king of the Devildom nears, and a king is nothing without a queen beside him. So it is with utmost esteem that I ask this question to my lady."

You watch in a queer mix of pain, confusion, and anger, as Diavolo drops to one knee in front of the woman. You want to close your eyes, want to look away. You can feel Lucifer's gaze on you, watching to see your response, but you can't bring yourself to care. Your mind is a mess. What is going on? You wonder as tears threaten to leave your eyes. Why is he proposing to another woman?

And then you see a shine in his hands as he opens a black velvet box, the very same box you'd opened this morning; and in this light, with this decor, the ring seems to glisten even more beautifully than the stars in the sky that you love so. "Would you, my fair lady, honor me by being my wife? From now, until the end of time?"

And at this moment, when you're positively certain that your heart cannot break any more, you feel the final blow come: with the soft but clear "yes" that echoes through the hall.

Then, chaos.

That's the only word for what happens next.

Chaos everywhere.

All around you, demons cheer and begin whooping in celebration for what they just witnessed. But at the same time, their haphazard chanting can't begin to compare to the distressed frenzy that your mind is in as you tear your way out of the hall, ignoring Lucifer's desperate cries of your name.

Only once you've found shelter behind closed doors do you allow yourself to give in to your emotions. You drop to the ground, clutching it for support when it feels as if the very foundation of your spirit has been ripped out. All you can think about is the image of what just happened: Diavolo, on one knee in front of another woman, holding the ring that you had thought was meant for you.

The only thing that drowns out your broken sobs is the sound of demons as they cheer and laugh, congratulating their lord for his new engagement.

***

Diavolo should have known better.

That's what Lucifer says, at least.

"Did you not account for the fact that she has no understanding of our customs, Diavolo?" The demon practically shouts, causing the prince to flinch. Diavolo is beyond used to Lucifer's wrath, but he's accustomed to seeing it directed at others. Never himself. And on any other occasion, Diavolo would have sharply reminded Lucifer of his place. But as the younger demon continues to rant angrily, even Barbatos stands silently, knowing full-well that Diavolo deserves every bit of it.

"And you! You're the prince! You've been a demon for thousands of years, you know what human customs are like! Their obsession with commitment and having a single spouse is one of the very reasons why they've always believed our polygamic traditions to be evil! No self-respecting human would ever agree to be a paramour—does MC even know what a paramour is?"

Diavolo looks away, shame flooding him. He's never felt this way. He's the future king, for crying out loud. "I had assumed that it was a part of RAD's curriculum. I thought it was all covered in Demon Studies."

"Diavolo," Lucifer begins, pinching the spot between his eyebrows. "The curriculum is designed for demons, not humans. Demon Studies isn't about demon culture, it's about demon history. Important wars. Famous battles. Reputed commanders. Major e-"

"Yes. I get it, Lucifer." Diavolo puts a hand up, silencing the man in front of him. "What's done is done. I know you are upset with me, but we have to figure out what to do about MC."

"My lord?" Barbatos interrupts. "She still hasn't left her room. She isn't responding to my knocks, either."

"Has she escaped?" Lucifer asks, startled.

"No," Barbatos pauses for a moment. "But unless my lord does something, she plans to."

"Thanks," Diavolo mumbles sarcastically, resting his forehead on his palm. Twelve hours ago, things had been going so well. MC had actually agreed to be his paramour—or well, now he knows that she thought he was asking her to be his wife, goodness—and he was finally free to propose to the powerful she-demon that he'd always intended on marrying. And of course, the demon had said yes, and Diavolo's life couldn't be more perfect: he had his wife, his future kingdom to inherit, and his paramour.

And now he's lost the single most important thing from that list.

You.

"I'm going to speak to her," Diavolo blurts, rising. "I need her to understand what I was proposing...and what her new role is. The moment she said yes, she was bound to me by contract. She has to at least try to understand-"

"Diavolo, you can't possibly expect that the contract properly formed under those circumstances."

Diavolo quiets Lucifer in an instant, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the tattoos that covered his lower body. To anyone else, little change would be noticeable. A prince, Diavolo had been blessed hundreds of times over, and thus had a plethora of protective spells materialized on his skin. But to his right-hand man, who knows Diavolo better than the prince perhaps knows himself, the new tattoo stands out: a small design, just above the V that dips beneath Diavolo's pants.

"The contract...actually formed?" Lucifer mutters in disbelief. "Diavolo, these aren't the standard characters of paramour contract. The markings read 'true lover.' Surely you understand that it is a warning of—"

"It means that MC is my true lover," Diavolo interrupts before Lucifer can dirty the meaning with any other notion. "And that I am hers. If I have the mark, she has it as well. The gods of hell have recognized our union."

"My lord, what if she does not wish to be yours?" Barbatos ventures. "She is a human, after all. They are known to be fickle. And paramour is not a word they consider positive, by any means."

Diavolo doesn't respond. Like his events, his plans are reckless and more driven by emotion than logic and reason.

MC will understand, won't she? Diavolo tries to console himself with the thought. Your understanding and compassionate nature was part of the reason why Diavolo fell in love with you in the first place. You'll understand. You have to.

Diavolo doesn't know what he'll do if you don't.

***

Since coming to the Devildom, you've felt a lot of things. Excitement, at the prospect of new classmates. Frustration, at the antics of your roommates in the House of Lamentation. Worry, when you grew intimate with Diavolo and had to keep it a secret. Happiness, when the two of you decided to finally announce your relationship. And sadness—lots of it—after the events that transpired yesterday.

But this is the first time you've felt such fury.

"You're telling me," You mutter, too livid to even look at the man you'd once been proud to call your lover. "That when you proposed to me yesterday you were asking me to be your paramour? And that by accepting, I gave you permission to take another wife?!"

"Not another wife..." DIavolo trails off, not meeting your gaze. But when he sees you clench your fists and grow even angrier, he's quick to continue. "She's the only one! I won't take any other wives!"

"Does it make a difference? It doesn't matter if there's one other woman or one million in your life. How do you expect me to be okay with this? Why would any woman be okay with this? Who in their right mind would consent to being a paramour?! A paramour is just a glorified concubine—you keep her in your castle because you love her, but she's not good enough to be by your side and be called your 'wife.'"

"No, no, no." Diavolo stands up and forces you to meet his eyes, forces you to see how sincere he is. But somehow, the fact that he genuinely believes that the concept of a paramour is even okay only further enrages you. "Wives and paramours are different, you can't compare them. I know it's different from the human world, but in the Devildom, all the little girls grow up wanting to be paramours. A paramour is special. A person takes a paramour only out of love, not for her last name or her rank or her title. It's the better one. A wife is just someone who bears children. Nothing more. As soon as I have an heir, I won't even need to think about my wife! It'll just be you, my sweet, sweet paramour, and—"

"How can you truly love me if you have children with another woman? Don't act like a wife is nothing special. There's a reason why we in the human world say that the most sacred bond a man and woman can have is that of a husband and wife. You've chosen this woman. You want her. For her looks, for her nobility, her title, her—"

"Her fertility," Diavolo interrupts. "That is all. She bears our relationship no harm."

"You're asking me to be a glorified concubine." You repeat, scowling. "A mistress. The other woman."

"These are human concepts you're bringing in, dear," Diavolo murmurs. "You are my only love. And...MC, you physically cannot be my wife. You..."

You narrow your eyes, daring Diavolo to finish that sentence.

And foolishly, he does.

"You can bear me no children."

You raise your hand, poising it to slap Diavolo across the cheek, when you hesitate. Why? Why should you waste a single second more on this man who would never be fully committed to you? He's already made it clear that he won't be canceling the engagement he has with his future wife.

And you refuse to be any man's side piece.

"Get out." You scowl.

"MC, please, you know that I—"

"If you won't get out, I will."

Before you can leave the room, though, Diavolo has pulled you into his lap. "Let go," You hiss, thrashing in his arms. But the man is a demon, future lord of the Devildom, and is truly the strongest man in the entire kingdom. And you're just a human. Faced with his strength, you're nothing.

"Darling, please. Please. Just let me speak. Give me one minute. That's all I need. One minute." Slowly, you cease your movement. It's a silent indication that, yes, you'll give Diavolo a minute to speak. But no more.

"Darling, I love you. You are everything. I love you so much, and when I asked you to be mine...I truly thought you knew that I was asking you to be my paramour. I am sorry for the distress I have caused you these past hours." Diavolo places a soft kiss to your neck, letting his lips lay on what is normally your weak spot. But when you don't respond, he opts to continue.

"But there's something you need to see. A...a proposal to a paramour in the Devildom is sacred. I know you don't see it that way, but it is even more sacred than a proposal to a wife. And...it's viewed as a contract." Diavolo slowly lifts the edge of your shirt up. Your hands instantly go down to cover yourself, not wanting to give the demon a chance to give you any pleasure that might distract you from your current anger, but then you see what the man must have been trying to show you.

"How...?" You ask, and for the first time today, your words aren't coated with rage as you speak.

You pull yourself out of Diavolo's lap and go to the full-length mirror, raising your shirt higher on your stomach. You remember last night, when you'd felt a burning sensation over your stomach after accepting Diavolo's proposal. You'd thought the feeling to be a part of your happiness at being (you thought) Diavolo's wife, but now it becomes painfully obvious that it had been something else entirely.

There, on your lower abdomen, just above your underwear line but below your belly button, lies a delicate symbol. You squint at it, running your fingers over the mark—but the ebony black characters feel like they're a part of your skin, as if they've always been there.

"I have one to match," Diavolo says with a smile. He unbuttons his shirt and approaches the mirror, standing next to you. "Mine says 'true lover,'" He murmurs into your ear. The proximity makes you shudder, and you have to remind yourself that you're angry with the man. But as he lifts your shirt above your shoulders, shedding his own top in turn, you find that whatever emotions you were feeling before have been replaced with a new sense of longing.

"I'm still angry." The words are more for you than they are for him. It's as if saying them excuses how responsive you're being to Diavolo's touch as he strokes your sides.

"I know you are," He mumbles, kissing you.

"I'm not okay with being your paramour," You continue, only to be met with another 'I know' as Diavolo's lips ghost over your neck.

And as he gives the sensitive skin a tender suck, you can't help but lean into his arms for support, even as he continues to trail lower down to your stomach.

"I love you," he mumbles into your skin, licking the spot where your body is branded with the mark of the paramour. He leans back to admire the character.

And that's when things go downhill.

"Diavolo?" You ask, cupping his cheek. "What's wrong?"

You flinch as the man's grip around your waist tightens, watching in confusion as he stares daggers into the spot on your stomach that he had been gazing at so tenderly before. You see his eye twitch before he abruptly stands up and begins dressing himself.

You watch in disbelief. Diavolo's expression has changed completely, unwilling to meet your eyes and practically ignoring you.

"Diavolo, why—"

"MC, please be quiet. You wanted to be left alone? Very well, you will be left alone." Diavolo is now scowling as he buttons up his shirt, not even bothering to wear his cape as he makes for the door.

"Wh-what happened?" You ask, pulling on his sleeve. It's a futile attempt. The man is double your weight and over ten times as strong, but he humors you and stops before the door. "Diavolo, please. What did I do? Are you angry?"

"MC," Diavolo speaks, not facing you. His tone is dark. "It's best for the both of us if you are not with me right now."

He yanks his sleeve from your grasp, slamming the door shut in your face as he storms out, leaving you an even bigger mess of emotions than when he walked in.

You slowly make your way to the mirror, staring at the character on your stomach. You can't read what it says, but something about it seemed to anger Diavolo. After nearly half an hour of being more furious than you've ever been in your entire life, you know that the dark emotion Diavolo was trying to hide was rage itself.

But what could have made him so angry?

You stare at the spot on your stomach, before frustration begins to amalgamate once more. What right does Diavolo have to be angry with you, right now? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Right, you remember. When he kissed you, it was so easy to forget that he was asking you to be his paramour, his trophy-wife-that's-not-even-good-enough-to-be-a-wife lover. But now?

You scowl into the mirror, crossing your arms.

Diavolo can be angry all he wants.

His fury won't change yours. And I'm justified in my anger, you think, before a knock breaks you from your thoughts.

Not even bothering to wear your shirt, you march over to the door. This had better be Diavolo, ready to apologize, you think, before swinging it open.

But the face that greets you is smaller. Shorter. Olive eyes and mismatched hair, it's Barbatos who greets you.

"My lady," He murmurs stiffly. For a millisecond, his eyes dart down to your body, and his eyes widen in surprise. You're not sure why the demon butler looks so startled to see your exposed stomach. Demons in the Devildom have little sense of shame when it comes to nudity, as you'd learned from Lucifer's and Barbatos's utter indifference to constantly walking in on your nude form during nights with Diavolo. If anything, you're more covered than usual.

"No need to call me that, Barbatos. I'm Diavolo's secret lover. The only 'lady' you'll be needing to bow to is that wife of his," You sigh and leave the door open, a subtle invitation inside.

Speaking with Diavolo did quell most of your anger. Talking to Barbatos can't hurt, right?"

"If my lady wishes for me to call her MC, I shall," Barbatos says, shutting the door behind him. "But don't delude yourself into thinking that you're Diavolo's secret lover. A paramour is respected more than a wife, here. The whole realm will know you: face, name, history. It will be an honor."

"It will be a humiliation," You interrupt. You throw your shirt on, beginning to rant. "The whole realm will mock me: the prince's concubine. His whore. The idea that I'm not good enough to be his only lover is an insult. A paramour is disgusting and—"

"Then perhaps someone else is better suited for the role?"

You stop, pondering the words.

Barbatos looks at you with one eyebrow raised, gaze unwavering as he sees into your soul. You want to look away, want to ignore him, want to act as if that one question isn't the very conflict you've been torn over.

But you can't.

Diavolo has made it clear that the only way he'll have you be his lover is as his paramour. And every fiber of your being refuses to be paramour to a man who has a separate wife. So that truly only leaves one option, doesn't it?

"I don't have any other choices, do I?" You say dryly, realizing the nature of the situation you're in.

"If you cannot be his paramour," Barbatos agrees. "You cannot be his lover."

You sigh, leaning back against the bed.

It's been dwelling at the back of your mind for hours, but now as the truth begins to unshroud itself, you find the decision at the forefront of your mind.

Perhaps someone else is suited for the role, you think. Against your will, a memory of Diavolo's soft reddish locks flashes through your mind. You've always loved to play with them, and the demon lord always let you. He'd let out a gentle hum as you'd massage his scalp, a smile tugging at his lips as your fingers would lose themselves in his hair.

Perhaps someone else is meant to be Diavolo's paramour.

Another memory jumps into your thoughts, an image of the two of you dancing in the ballroom. Despite the situation, you smile at the thought. Diavolo adores dancing with you. It's his favorite thing to do: a respite from the daily struggles of the Devildom. There hasn't been a single week where he hasn't invited you down to the ballroom at least once. Even if there's no party, he would lead you into the hall, casting a cassette to play for you as the two of you danced the night away.

Perhaps I can never be the woman he needs me to be. The paramour he seeks.

A new image comes to mind, more recent. Diavolo's sleeping face. Normally, you would take to admiring his body in the morning, running your hands over his muscles and abs and sometimes the sensitive organ between his legs - but that morning, you'd been drawn to his face. The face of the man you loved. The face of a prince.

And slowly, you realize the truth.

The face of the man I cannot have.

"You're right," You say to Barbatos. Your voice is barely a whisper, but the butler seems to have heard you all the same.

You cannot carry the weight of being Diavolo's paramour. You're too human. It conflicts with your nature too much. And just as the relation Diavolo sought from you is too horrid for you to bear, the relationship you seek from Diavolo is one that's too far from the demon lord's customs.

He'd told you this when you first kissed him: that a human and a demon have no place together. Much less, a human and the ruler of the Devildom.

At the time, you'd only smiled into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for more.

But now those words have hauntingly returned, more true than ever before.

A human and a demon have no place together.

And you and Diavolo are no exception.

"I'll help you move your things into Purgatory Hall. For the remainder of the exchange program, you'll want to be there." Barbatos turns, walking to the door. "I'll leave you to inform lord Diavolo of your decision."

"Wait!" You blurt before you can stop yourself, grabbing the demon's wrist.

He turns to you, expression nonchalant. His gaze is normally intimidating, but as you stand before him all you can think about is the pure apathy in his eyes: now that you've decided to no longer be his lord's lover, he truly does not care about you.

But you won't let that stop you from asking.

"I...Diavolo said that the symbols on my stomach are characters. For words. What..." You trail off, trying to find your courage. "What does it say?"

Barbatos steps toward you, lifting your shirt with his left hand. A gloved finger traces the dark markings, and he begins speaking.

"This is the mark of the paramour. On most, it'll just be the character for 'lover,' but sometimes...in truly special instances, there'll be a description character as well. Diavolo's mark reads: true lover."

"What does mine say?" You whisper.

Barbatos brushes the mark with his thumb, his touch oddly gentle as he strokes the branded skin. His eyes never leave yours, and you think that it's a gesture of kindness until you catch the glint of morbid cruelty as he watches your reaction to his next words.

His gaze bores into you, staring past your eyes and into your heart as he shatters it with the truth.

"False lover."

MASTERLIST

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

Word count: 5.5k

Notes: Ive had this idea for diavolo since the day i opened this game, and i finally got around to writing it x3 its a lil angsty right now, but it gets better~ happy endings here, promise <3 im expecting this to be either 2 parts MAYBE 3, so stay tuned :D

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/28/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[syubub]

SEOKJIN SOULMATE READING

~disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes and simply my interpretation. Not to be taken as fact!

Seokjinnie seokjinne Jin Jin jinnie.

My very fine fellow sag it is your time now.

So for starters: energy color. Its honestly fascinating? I've never seen a more dynamic color? It gives off more of a feeling rather than a color and the best way I can describe it is like a spring sunrise/sunset? Its got a lot of colors but its very refreshing and warm at the same time. I could not for the fucking life of me find a picture on all of Google that looked anything like it but these two are the closest?

It's crazy really how cool that is to me.

Anyway. So things are normal, doo doo doo going up to his little platform, offer energy blah blah blah (Jin has a box of energy? Flowers? Idk but its cute, infront of a "wall" thing? Anyway I get past it) and ask him if I can do a read and stuff and so he connects.

Now. His soulmate shows up once we connected and connected to me as well? Its like I had two little energy connection strings attached to my forehead. His soulmates energy is cute af.

Anyway, I asked if there were any messages that they'd want to share and I shit you not I let out the most unattractive sound ever.

"I'm his better half"

Soulmate has jokes! Honestly so cute and hilarious.

Onto cards. For personality/signifier I pulled the empress. This is one heck of a cool energy. This is someone that has a lot of abundance, especially in their mindset! This is also someone with a very nurturing and caring personality but don't be fooled! They are not afraid to drop kick you to Mars if they need to. Most likely fire and earth energy (the wands and pentacle cards beside the empress) (probably some in Taurus in there tbh)

As for the other personality cards I drew daughter of swords, 2 of swords, fool rev. And 3 of swords. Now this shows that this person is very curious? This is someone who has a lot of new ideas and has a rather... unique way of connecting/communicating with people. This is someone who is likely guarded at their core and hard to get to know due to past heart ache. This person can also be a bit reckless and even directionless at times. A weird line popped in my head while doing this reading, "the line of morality isn't always a straight but rather a thin grey line thats been smudged at the edge." I'm not sure where that comes from or if it really comes from anywhere at all but to me this is really interesting. No, it doesn't mean that his soulmate is a serial killer. I think it means that this person is deliberate in their beliefs and doesn't take outside influence to determine their moral compass. This is so cool.

Now. Relationship. Protection, value your self worth, akasha, progress not perfection and stand strong in your faith. They have a very solid relationship! They take the time to support eachother and are very generous with their time together. They uplift eachother and help eachother grow. Definitely a confidence boosting couple. They also hold eachother accountable! Theres also a feeling that Jin gets really blushed around this person! Cute af.

Onto messages his soulmate has for him! We have, take time for yourself, figure shit out on your own and make it rain. I think this is his soulmate telling him that he needs to define himself by his own standards and treat himself like the fucking king that he is! He needs to work out his own shit without being told how by other people in his life! He needs to make himself happy. Enjoy the hobbies that he has and to live for himself. Do whatever it is he needs to recharge himself!

For character cards we have dilettante, addict and exorcist. This person might be a life coach or maybe an art/music therapist? Or at the very least the type of person that everyone goes to for advice because they just have a way of telling you straight up, "here is your problem. Fix it." This is also someone who dabbles in the arts for funsies. Likely has a billion hobbies and thus has at least a million skills!

Feature cards: dark hair, light eyes, purple, fashionable, funny, acts of service, gifts, younger, feminine and hard working.

For the other little cards I got: it will come, thinking of you and truth.

Now onto the last cards. We have: what do you feel and she sees, she knows. This is cute. These are both messages to seokjin. So from what do you feel, there's a line that says, "Do you know how unique you are? How your path is your path to be chosen, lived and created- only by you? Someone else cannot become the source of your decision making power without negative repercussions for both of you in the long run." There's another quote I like from this same card that says, "you are at a crossroads in your journey and the choices you make at this time-even simply choosing to do things a little differently, without much drama associated with the decision-are powerful triggers for some great magic to enter your life." Jin has a lot coming up for him in the future and his soulmate is saying that the choice is his. He can live how he wants.

In she feels she knows it says, "The situation you find yourself in right now might not be one of joy, but in time you will understand more of the bigger picture. You will come to see why things are happening as they are, and how you are being helped on to the next stage of your path-even though it may look like an obstacle right now." I think this means something to him in a lot of ways but specifically in terms of the state of the world and his impending military service. He might be down because he's not sure if he'll be able to perform for army in person before service. Theres a lot of thoughts in his head but his soulmage is saying that things will work out and its happening for a reason. Also there's a big chance of him realizing something really important about himself in this time!

Overall his soulmate is awesome? Definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Also the feeling of theor energy is so so so so so domestic and cute and fun! They have their serious moments together but they prefer to keep it happy and light and fun because they understand eachother so well that they hardly need to have "serious talks". One look conveys everything that needs to be said and they deal with everything accordingly!

I love love.

[sweetheartyuta]

Prince! Jungwoo

Not gonna lie, to most people he looks absolutely terrifying, his royal standing, tall frame and sharp jawline could easily trick anyone into thinking he was scary 

On the contrary, he so badly wants to make friends and prove to his villagers that he’s anything but menacing

He didn’t want to be treated like a prince at all, in face he loathed the title, he’d rather keep his own room clean and help in the kitchen making dinner so that the palace workers were given a small break.

He hated people feeling inferior to him as a result of his title, he wanted everyone around him to be treated equally and fairly.

He found the most comfort when he was amongst the animals at the stable, making sure they were well fed, they carried no judgement and he was never pestered by anyone, in that moment he was no prince, just jungwoo in his little hideaway.

He’d take the horses out of the stable and train them on the land he had but wasn’t allowed to venture outside of the castle walls as a result of his mother and fathers’ iron first. 

He was close to the maids, regarding them as his only friends and appreciated them for treating him as such, no title included. He confided in them, often opening up to them about his thoughts and feelings 

The palace staff often held sympathy for the young prince, isolated in the castle, no friends his own age and as a result of his parents being King and Queen there was very little interaction between them due to making appearances.

If given the chance, he’d trade his life as a prince in a heartbeat for a normal life.

As he grew older his “home” started to feel more and more like a prison and the more he wanted to break out and away from his parents grasp.

He slowly felt like he was going insane, being so isolated. His parents were so often in other countries, dealing with royal affairs and were none the wiser to their sons’ loneliness.

Jungwoo decided enough was enough and drew a deal with the castle staff, with them allowing him one day of freedom a week to go into the town, leaving a change of everyday clothing outside of his room so that he didn’t bring any unnecessary attention to himself. 

The guards knew of the risk but complied with his wishes so long as he keeps a low profile, them secretly being excited that he was going off into the world on his own and holding resentment against his parents for always leaving him behind.

He’d take money to those in need, disgusted by how comfortably his family lived and yet there were people in such dire need so he did what he could without being discovered.

He never showed his face to those he helped, scared that they would treat him differently or refuse his help because of who he was.

After a few more visits into the town, the village conditions had bettered and poverty was lessening, leaving only one mysterious figure to thank.

When returning back to the castle from his most recent visit, a guard who was visibly panicked approached him, letting go of a breath he’d been holding

“I’m so glad you’re back young prince, your mother and father are due back in half an hour, take this back to your room and quickly change” handed him a pile of royal clothing 

He thanked the guard and ran to his bedroom, changing into his formal wear and placing his casual clothes into the back of his drawers, making it back downstairs with just enough time to spare to greet his mother and father on arrival 

but this time there was a girl alongside them, confusion written all over his face 

His mother chided him “Jungwoo, don’t be rude to your future wife” 

and he honestly choked on air because 

what the fuck 

what the fuCK

whAT THE FUCK 

Livid was not even the word. His own parents had used him as a bargaining chip to unite two different counties and keep the peace between them. 

He also felt sorry for the girl he was due to marry too as she probably wasn’t for the marriage either but had been coerced by her own parents but he didn’t care, this was the last straw. 

Jungwoo saw his parents maybe twice a year if he was lucky yet for some reason they thought it would be okay to marry him off to someone without any consideration of his thoughts or feelings 

he felt like part of a business deal, cheap. And he wasn’t about to let that happen.

He stormed off to him room, mother and father crying after him but for Jungwoo there was no turning back now and he put a plan in action, he would not be used as currency.

He locked his door and waited up until the early hours of the morning and ran away, heading in the direction of the town he knew so well and loved dearly, all those times sneaking out coming in handy.

He knew the village and castle would know of his absence come morning, leaving his parents a letter, giving his reasons for running away, namely being his wishes to find love on his own terms. 

It was still dark by the time he made it into the centre of the village but he kept moving, knowing he couldn’t stay there for long as he would be quickly discovered.

He advanced to the outskirts of the village where the woods were located, stepping over a few branches when he fell, a searing pain shooting up his legs, making his yelp.

You dropped the firewood that you’d been collecting after hearing a pained shout coming from an area nearby, searching for the owner of the voice you see a figure holding their ankle as you rush to help them.

You wouldn’t typically let a stranger into the house at sunrise though in this state, the man posed no threat to you.

You decided to get him to your house first where you could examine his injury better, you looked down at him and realised that the man was very handsome, you crouched to his level as he attempted to cover his face which you thought was as a result of being injured but Jungwoo was afraid of being found.

You pulled his arm down from his face, willing the man to look at you “can you walk” 

Jungwoo nodded, bewildered at the fact you didn’t know who he was but was in no position to answer any questions on the matter and so was glad he wasn’t a familiar face to you 

He tried to stand, grunting in pain, you rushed to his side, swinging his arm over your shoulder to help take some of the weight off of his leg, and starting the small walk back to your house which was situated in the middle of the woods 

As you walked together, Jungwoo took the opportunity to scan your face, you were absolutely beautiful, the warm glow of the moon illuminating your angelic features, he’d never spoken to anyone around his age but still felt instantly comfortable with your presence due to your kindness and reassuring aura. 

He was a total strange to you and yet you still rushed to his aid and half carried him to your own house so he was already indebted to you.

You made it home and got straight to work at examining Jungwoos’ leg, using your limited knowing of nursing from your mother which was enough to know that his ankle was badly sprained, not broken thankfully.

You racked the cupboards looking for the herbal medicines your mother made as Jungwoo broke the silence and decided to ask a few questions 

“How long have you lived in these woods for?” 

You turned and smiled, leaving his heart soaring at the sight

“All my life, I live here with my mother picking herbs and plants to make into remedies for the doctors in village, that’s how we make our money but most of the time we don’t accept it, we know enough about the land to live off of it, we just like to help out as much as we can, no one knows the forest like my mother does.”

Jungwoo put the pieces together in his head, you rarely ventured from the forest, explaining why you hadn’t recognised him but hearing of your good deeds did not help the erratic pounding of his heart 

“Your mother and yourself are very good people, please, is there anything I can give you as a thank you for helping me?”

You turned, finally finding the herbal mix you were looking for “your name” you laughed, realising that the both of you still were strangers to each other. 

He smiled, and it was a heavenly sight, it was only then you realised the full of extent of beauty of the man before you, even with some twine and leaves stuck in his hair. 

“My name is Jungwoo and yours is?” 

Realising you’d been staring for too long you startle “Oh! My name is Y/n! “ 

You have a beautiful name, it compliments you well 

You turned back around to face the cupboards, making sure he didn’t witness your face turn the same colour as the roses you had picked earlier that day. 

You collected yourself, turning wrap Jungwoo’s ankle, applying the herbal remedy and warpping the cloth around his ankle as gently as you could, he winced quietly, guilt washing over you as you whispered a soft apology, Jungwoo reached for your hand making you look at him as he giggled.

“It’s all right, it was my fault for being clumsy enough to fall in the first place though it appears I’m falling again” 

You didn’t quite understand what he meant by that so you focused on making a warm brew, infusing it with medicine and handing it to him before deciding to go back into the forest to quickly retrieve the firewood you dropped earlier.

Concern flooded his face, it still wasn’t light outside and he was concerned about you going back out there on your own, he hopped to your side “I’ll go with you” 

You laughed softly “Jungwoo, you haven’t given your ankle any time to heal, the forest is my home and I know it well, I’ll be back in no time, I need to make a fire to keep us warm, I should say, you’re welcome to stay a few nights, I saw your bag and realised you probably don’t have anywhere else to go, besides it’s nice to see a new face. My mother often goes into town for a couple of days at a time delivering medicine so it can be quite lonely”

He nodded in return, understanding the feeling more than most would

He visibly calmed upon your return, watching you throw the pieces of wood you had collected into the fireplace and afterwards taking a seat next to him and sparking up a conversation. 

You quickly opened up to him, talking about anything and everything, feeling so instantly comfortable with him, you both related to being outsiders of the town and it wasn’t long before Jungwoo confessed his true identity to you 

He wholeheartedly liked you and if he wanted to get to know you further he wanted to give you as much truth and honesty as you had rewarded him.

The news came as a total shock to you as a result of how grounded and down to earth he was

though it did explain why such a handsome man was walking around the forest himself in the early hours of the morning.

“So you ran away?” you questioned

He nodded, continuing “ In the time I’ve spent here I’ve felt more welcomed into your home than I ever did my own, I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t call a search, they tried to pick my destiny for me and so, I ran away, I wasn’t having those decisions taken from me” 

You shook your head, empathising with the young man “I’m so sorry that happened Jungwoo, everyone should be in charge of their own destiny” 

“I’m not sorry it happened anymore, I met you” 

While caring for Jungwoo, days continued and not once had you asked him to leave, so he didn’t. He stayed and days turned into months and soon enough, he had asked you to marry him, knowing from that night that you would be his beginning and his end.

There was nothing better than waking up beside him each morning, his arms wrapped tightly around you, as if he was protecting you from harms way even in his sleep, legs tangled together and your bodies fitting together like a puzzle piece, made for each other.

When you kissed it was like all of the stars had aligned in your favour, he knocked the breath from your lungs in the best way, disappointed when you ultimately had to break away to catch your breath, Jungwoo lowering himself so that he could rest his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair, talking to him about whatever was on your mind.

You’d spend days together showing him the right herbs and berries to pick to help you and your mother in the future and which herbs to avoid.

You smiled at his reaction to the deer cautiously making its way towards you both, the adoration in Jungwoo’s eyes was clear when you pet the deer’s nose, you had such a close bond with it as you had helped your mother raise it as a baby when she found it abandoned by his mother in the forest, before releasing him back into the wild when it was fit and ready. 

Jungwoo had found it so easy to fall in love wit you, he loved every part of you, you were the escape he was looking for, and in meeting you he knew he’d made the right decision in running away from the palace because in you, he’d found his destiny.

Hope you guys enjoyed! I really like how this turned out after some serious editing, let me know what you think! 

Bunny x