#Soft Tissue Trauma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hazelfoureyes · 8 months ago

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Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Female Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Male Reader - Someone nice, somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

.<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Female!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when you said you’d never actually orgasmed before, everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall.

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Nerves can make holes dry like nothin’ else. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally came into contact between your legs. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and a down your pussy.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with sleeping with women, it was just usually for money or a shoot. Not his preferred flavor, but he could still get it up. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights. Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed passed your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight entrance of your cunt and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your self grip his finger, nervousness slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your clit. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your lap warm with the rush of blood.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “Not everyone needs it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.”

“Three fingers means I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers, sticky with lube. His long digits were fast and practiced as he rubbed your clit. “Sex math. Dont need your virgin pussy locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his fingers made your body spasm, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering walls made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Yeah, it’s starting to feel good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your clit. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive bud of nerves.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“Like that? Watch this,” He cupped his mouth over your clit and began strumming it with his tongue. Fat and flat, then thin and sharp. His fingers slowed, now just bending to hit your soft g-spot again and again.

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Feelin’ good?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I want to feel more, Angel.” It came out as more of a whine than you meant.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your entrance, fingers dipping in then out.

“You comfortable with getting on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position.

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto pussy, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, the tight coil of pleasure his mouth summoned now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your folds, swiping past your entrance. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper.

You were so soft around him, yet gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into your walls. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, a rush of pleasure electrifying your clit.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up.

“Right there,” you whimpered, “please don’t stop, right there Angel.” You dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel a pressure building in your lower stomach.

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to press at your clit, finger frantically moving. You felt something building, you were desperate to reach its climax.

Angel’s hand came down and pushed yours aside, his fingers strong and not shaking with your impending orgasm.

“Almost- Angel pleeeease! Don’t stop- keep—” You squeezed his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowing only slightly.

"You can do it, baby. Come on. Almost there~" His words fell apart in his mouth, his own moans getting louder, your cunt tightening in spasms as your first orgasm tore through you. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation, barely ever chosen as the one doing the fucking, let alone fucking a woman. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, orgasm still rolling from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move. His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, “More than anything.” He side eyed you, “Well, not anything.”

“Right answer, toots,” One of his hands came down and settled on your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

༻Masterlist༺

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americarept · 1 year ago

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heli-writes · 5 months ago

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A dragon's heart, part 13.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, mentions of rape and abuse, marking, trauma symptoms, trust issues

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Katsuki wakes up in a great mood. Yawning, he stretches his limbs. He feels a bit sore after last night's endeavors but he got a hella good orgasm out of it, so he doesn't feel like complaining. He stares at the ceiling of the tent with a big grin on his face. He's finally got a mate. And not just any mate, but y/n. In his mind, he replays some of the scenes when he had y/n bouncing on his dick drunk on pleasure last night. A warm tingle runs down his spine. Goddamit y/n looked so good beneath him.

He pats the space at his side in an attempt to find y/n but he only comes up with an empty space. He turns his head to see where his new mate is hiding only to see the other side of the bed empty. Sitting up, he furrows his brows. Where is she?, he thinks. Listening intently, he tries to locate y/n. Maybe she's taking a piss, he concludes and slowly gets up. Quickly, he pulls the discarded linen pants from yesterday over his butt and makes his way to the bathing hut. Without knocking, he enters the room.

That's where he finds y/n. She's leaning against the tub cowering on the floor. She's still butt-naked and dried blood clings to her neck and chest. Katsuki frowns. Didn't he take care of the mark? He remembers pushing a clean cloth against the wound to stop it from bleeding. For how long did she continue to bleed? Did she go in here in an attempt to dress the wound? Why didn't she wake him up?

„Hey, y/n.“, Katsuki calls out to her softly.

When y/n doesn't respond, he steps closer to her and crouches down to her level. „Y/n.“, he tries again. Carefully he touches her shoulder and tries to shake her awake. Y/n's head lolls to the side unconsciously. Katsuki can feel worry bubble up in his chest. He touches her hand. She's ice cold. Did she spend the entire night here on the floor?, he wonders worriedly.

Carefully, he picks her up and carries her back to the bed. Softly, he lays her down and pulls the warm, soft fur blankets over her. As he pulls the blanket up to her collarbone, his gaze lingers on the fresh bite mark on her neck. Again, he furrows his brows. The wound has an unnatural red-violet colour. The tissue is clearly inflamed and infected. Carefully, he reaches up to the wound. Y/n flinches at his touch. By now the wound should start to heal and it also shouldn't hurt anymore.

Absent-mindedly, Katsuki touches his own neck. Usually, mates mark each other during their first night together. He doesn't blame y/n for not returning the favor last night. He hoped they would do it again in the morning and y/n would finally make him hers. It's not uncommon for a mate to be overwhelmed with emotions both mentally and physically during the marking. Considering y/n is an outsider, he kind of already expected it.

Katsuki keeps staring at y/n's neck. He's unsure what to do. Mate marks are not treated as wounds. They're left to heal by themselves. Creams and bandages that could help the healing process also usually lessen the scarring. And mate marks are meant to scar. Having a very prominent mate mark proved having a strong mate and a strong bond. That's why he put all his force behind marking y/n last night. He wanted to prove to her that he is the best mate she could wish for.

However, right now he doubts this practice. The wound looks bad and his instinct tells him to rub alcohol on it. Katsuki chews on his lips. Maybe he should also let the healer look over this. He's never heard of a case where mate marks get infected. Eventually, Katsuki decides to clean the wound and put a bandage on it. It's against the practice of his tribe, but he puts y/n before tradition. He looked forward to showing y/n around the tribe today and letting everyone see the great mark he left on her. Somehow he doubts that y/n is going anywhere today. Clearly, she needs rest.

Katsuki stays around for a while massaging y/n's feet and legs in an attempt to warm her up. When he's sure that y/n is warming up a bit and that she won't be waking up anytime soon, Katsuki leaves her to slumber. After getting himself some breakfast and catching up with some of his men, he returns to y/n's side. He takes some fruit and bread along with him. Y/n must be hungry after everything that happened yesterday.

When Katsuki enters the tent again, he notices that y/n is still asleep. For a moment, he ponders on whether or not to let her sleep. Eventually, he decides that she can nap later. He puts the food on the nightstand and pours y/n a glass of water. Then, he sits down at y/n's side of the bed. Carefully, he leans over to her. Gently, he strokes some stray hair out of her face and caresses her cheek with his thumb.

„Y/n, wake up.“, he calls out to her softly, „I've brought you breakfast. Don't you want to get up?“

For a moment, y/n doesn't react. However, when Katsuki starts scratching her head lightly, she begins to stir. Katsuki feels oddly relieved upon seeing her gain consciousness again. Y/n stirs and twists uncomfortably in the bed sheets. She turns to her side, away from Katsuki. Katsuki watches her with worried eyes.

The world appears infront of her in a haze. Sight and sound appear distorted to her until everything slowly becomes clearer. Her whole body feels sore and there's a biting pain that shoots up her neck. It takes a moment for her to recall what had happened last night. Then, she remembers. Pleasure. Katsuki. His lips on her neck. Then, his teeth sinking into her.

Y/n bolts up at the memory, almost colliding with Katsuki's head that loomed over her. Katsuki retreats immediately when y/n sits up. Her hand flies to her neck, touching the wound he left behind. Y/n lets out a sharp hiss. It must feel as painful as it looks, he guesses.

„Y/n.“, he says carefully. Something tells him the next few moments will be important for them.

Y/n's head flies around and her eyes meet his. Her eyes widen. Then, she scrambles away from him, to the other side of the bed. She pulls the blanket with her trying to cover herself. He can see how her breathing and heartbeat pick up. This time not in pleasure, but in fear. His heart aches.

„Y/n... what's going on? What did I do?“, he asks her. He tries to sound calm and quiet. He doesn't want to scare her away. When y/n doesn't react, he tries to reach out to her, to touch her cheek softly but y/n roughly pushes his hand away.

„Go... away...“, y/n's voice sounds hoarse. The look in her eyes is blank. Katsuki doesn't understand what she says but he doubts it's a profession of love. He pushes his hand through his hair. Worry overcomes him. This is not how he thought their first day together as mates would be. „Y/n...“, he tries again and reaches out to her.

„Go away!“, y/n yells louder while using her foot to push Katsuki's hand away. Katsuki watches her for a moment. There's something behind her eyes now. Fire? No, spite. Katsuki leans back and sighs. There's a lump forming in his throat and his eyes itch. There's no use talking to her now.

He watches her for another moment, just as she is watching his every move. He guesses she watches him for very different reasons though. She looks at him like prey watches its predator, calculating when the blowing kill comes, when it's the right moment to take flight. Slowly, he gets up. He places the fruit and water next to her.

„Eat.“, he tells her. He's sure that's a word she has picked up. He turns his back to her and looks for some clothes for her to wear. When he found some, he gently places them at the edge of the back. He points at the bathing hut.

„I'll heat up some water for you. To take a bath.“, he tells her.

Then he gets up to leave her be. He sees she doesn't want him around right now. He will leave her for now in hopes that she will calm herself.

~*~*~*~

Finally, he's gone. Y/n relaxes a bit when Katsuki leaves the tent. Her eyes wander to the water Katsuki put in her reach. Greedily, she grabs the cup and chugs down the cool liquid. By now, her head is pounding as is the wound on her neck. She wishes she had a mirror to see how bad it really is.

Y/n leans against the headboard and replays what happened yesterday night in her mind. Everything was fine, more than fine, until Katsuki sunk his teeth into her.

„Gods...“, y/n groans and rubs her face. What on earth was Katsuki thinking? Who does this kind of thing? What is wrong with these people?

She remembers how Katsuki eventually let go of her. There are very vague images of him tucking her in and snuggling into her afterward. Clearly, he did not see anything wrong with what he did. She remembers lying awake for some time. She can't even remember how long she must've laid there. Time was a construct that didn't exist at that very moment. She waited until Katsuki was deep asleep until she slipped out of bed and stumbled into the bathing hut.

She felt like throwing up. She felt the wet blood on her neck and chest. His spill clinging onto the inside of her thighs. She tried washing both of it away but the water was ice cold and her hands were going numb. She remembers sliding down at the side of the tub. Crying. Panicking. Wishing she'd be dead instead of here.

Y/n shivers at the memory. She doesn't want to be dead. Things must've been really bad when those were the thoughts that crossed her mind. She touches the inside of her thighs. His dried spent still clings to her skin. Suddenly, she feels disgusted. Not of herself, but of him. How could he not understand when she told him to stop? No matter the language, when someone screams at the top of their lungs in fear, one must notice it. Was he so drunk on pleasure? She wouldn't put it past him.

Slowly, she tries to get up. Her legs feel wobbly and for a moment she's afraid that they won't hold her weight. Carefully, she stumbles into the bathing hut. The hut is warmer than it was last night. She notices how hot water drips through a pipe into the bathtub. She stumbles closer and lets her hand touch the warm water. After using the chamber pot, she steps into the hot water. She hisses as she sits down. For now, she refrains from using the nice soaps and oils that are placed next to the tub. She doubts it will be good for the wound on her neck. In careful movements, she washes away the grime, blood, and semen from her body. Lastly, she tries to clean the wound. It burns as she dabs a clean cloth against it. Eventually, the pain gets so bad that she gives up cleaning the wound.

After giving her hair a good wash, she steps out of the tub and dries herself off. She puts on the clean clothes Katsuki left behind for her. After looking for some rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages to no avail, she gives up and settles on the bed again. She presses a clean cloth dipped in cool water against the wound on her neck and tries to figure out what to do next.

Somehow she doubts that Katsuki tried to kill her last night. Firstly, if he wanted to kill her, he would've been successful. Y/n cannot take on Katsuki in a fight. Secondly, she doubts that what happened last night happened due to Katsuki's ill intent towards her. Absolutely nothing that happened beforehand, or afterwards for that matter, hints towards Katsuki being cross with her. She saw the worry and hurt in his eyes when she woke up. Which makes what happened yesterday a bigger mystery to her.

Why on earth would you hurt someone so badly while being intimate with them? Katsuki was so soft and loving with her. The way he touched her, the way he made her feel... Y/n quickly shakes her head at that thought. She doesn't want to remember how good he made her feel. Right now she wants to be angry with him. For hurting her like this, for not listening to her. Or at least not noticing her.

She wants to blame him, she really does. But ultimately, everything leads back to her poor decisions. She was angry with him yesterday, for deciding things over her head. And instead of being cautious of him, she jumps into bed with him. Should she really be surprised at how this turned out?

She sighs and dips the cloth into the cool water again. Pressing it against her neck, she slides under the covers again. She pulls them over her head and hopes they would swallow her whole. Take her back to her mother's bed where she hid under the covers when a storm raged outside their tent.

Maybe for a while, she could pretend to be there instead of the place she chose to be in right now.

~*~*~*~

Katsuki is not sure what to do next.

After he poured y/n a hot bath, he's standing outside his tent lost in thought. He tries to come up with something he could do for y/n, to make her feel better. He hasn't got much time to dwell on this question. Soon, his men spot him and drag him back to the war tent where he's forced to listen to a bunch of questions and make a bunch of decisions concerning their tribe. He postpones all raids until the near future. He decides that treating their men and strengthening their numbers is a priority right now. He sends small hunting parties into the mountains and adjacent forests to gather food.

When he's worked through most of his men's concerns, he slumps down onto a seat. He massages his temple. He can already feel a headache starting to form.

„Yo, Bakugo, my man. You ok?“, Kirishima asks him uncertainly.

Katsuki didn't notice that his best friend was still in the room.

„Yeah, I'm fine.“, he grumbles and gets up. Kirishima gives him a look that says I-am-not-so-sure-about-that. Katsuki ignores him and steers towards the exit. He doesn't want to talk to Kirishima right now. Unlucky for him, his friend looks right through him and gets a hold of his arm.

„You know, it's not good for the tribe when his leader is somewhere else with his thoughts whilst making important decisions.“, Kirishima condemns him.

„I'm not somewhere else with my thoughts!“, Katsuki snaps at him and pulls his arms free. Kirishima is quick to block the exit of the tent.

„I get it, dude. There are a lot of heavy decisions to make. If you ask me, so far you're doing good. Some men might not like you restricting our tribe's activity outside our territory, but it's the right thing to do right now.“, Kirishima tries to encourage him.

Katsuki groans and turns away from his friend. He does not want to talk more politics with him.

„Or is this about something else?“, his friend says uncertainly.

Damn this Kirishima, why is he so quick about catching onto things?, Katsuki thinks. When Katsuki doesn't answer him, Kirishima is quick to press on about it.

„Is this about y/n?“, his friend asks. Katsuki rolls his eyes and grabs a cup. He doesn't even know what's in it, but he quickly chugs the liquid down.

„Because we heard you last night. Well done, dude!“, Kirishima grins and pats his arm. Katsuki is quick to push his hand off of him.

„Shut up, Kirishima!“, he barks at him and the red-haired man looks at him stunned.

„So... it's not good then?“, Kirishima guesses.

Katsuki doesn't look at his subordinate. He is weighing his options here. He could tell him and ask for advice. Kirishima seems to be better with the ladies than he is. Even though things between him and his mate aren't ideal either. Then again, Kirishima is a giant blabber mouth and telling him could mean telling the entire tribe. That's the last thing he needs. He takes a deep breath.

„No, it's not good.“, he tells him. Kirishima is quiet for a moment before carefully asking: „Why that? She didn't like it?“

Katsuki scoffs.

„I don't know. I thought she liked it. Until this morning. She looked... disturbed.“, he says getting more quiet at the end of his sentence.

„Why that? Did your enormous dick scare the shit out of her?“, Kirishima grins and Katsuki is quick to hit his friend's arm with his fist.

„It's not funny, Kirishima! This is serious!“, he barks at him. His friend gets quiet and a concerned look on his face.

„Walk me through it. What happened?“, Kirishima asks more solemnly. Katsuki scratches the back of his head.

„Dunno... Yesterday was fine. We enjoyed our time together. I marked her, tucked her in and we went to sleep. This morning, I found her in the bathing hut, all cold 'n shit. The wound on her neck looks fucking bad, dude.“, he tries to explain. He can see how his friend has trouble keeping up with his explanation.

„Alright...“, Kirishima says and ponders about it for a moment, „How bad looks the mark?“

„Inflamed, infected.“, Katsuki tells him.

„My mate's mark also took some time to heal. A lot longer than a mate mark usually takes to heal. Maybe it's because they're outsiders. If it's really bad, let a healer take a look at it.“, Kirishima tells him.

Katsuki snorts. He doesn't want another person to look at y/n's mark. Well he does, but he wants others to look at it in awe. He doesn't want others to know that it's not going the way it's supposed to go.

„Hey“, Kirishima puts a hand on his shoulder, „If it's really infected, this is not something to be taken lightly. An infected wound can be dangerous. Do you really want to put y/n's health on the line just because it would make you look bad?“

Immediately, Katsuki feels bad. He remembers the promise he gave to Drami. He wants to be a good mate and he definitely doesn't want y/n to suffer. He wants her to be happy and healthy. Pushing off his friend's hand, he agrees with him Kirishima flashes him a toothy grin.

„See, she'll be fine. Her mark will heal and things will be alright!“, he tries to cheer up his grumpy friend. Katsuki's facial expression still looks worried. After a moment Katsuki carefully asks him:

„How did she look at you? The day after I mean?“

Kirishima is taken aback at this question. They rarely talk about his mate. It's a touchy subject Katsuki usually knows to avoid. Kirishima sighs and sits down next to his friend.

„I mean... things were different for us. She was chosen for me and... I don't know, I did what had to be done. I don't have to tell you that she didn't exactly... want it.“, Kirishima waves his hand infront of his body.

„All of this. Me. Truth is, she probably despised me the day after. Maybe she still does, I don't know.“, Kirishima's shoulders slump down.

„I do my best. I want to be a good mate to her. But it's hard when the other person doesn't want to be with you.“, Kirishima becomes more quiet at the end.

Katsuki remains silent as well. He doesn't know what to tell his friend. After all, he was the one who chose the woman for his friend. He's the reason why Kirishima is feeling miserable with his mateship.

„But hey,“ Kirishima claps his friend's back, „I'm sure it's different for you two! I've seen the way y/n looks at you! She's smitten with you!“

Katsuki stays silent for a while.

„What if she isn't? She barely could look at me today. And not in the I-am-shy-because-we-just-did-it kind of way. More like she was scared of me. Maybe even resentful.“, he confesses to his friend.

Now it's Kirishima who doesn't know what to say for a moment.

„Are you sure? I mean did you give her any reason to be scared or angry with you?“, Kirishima asks carefully. He knows how explosive and rude his friend can be. Katsuki scoffs.

„I've told you what happened. Everything was fine last night and today she wakes up being all shitty towards me!“, Katsuki barks back. Kirishima takes no offense to his friend's tone. He can see the worry on Katsuki's face. He's sure his friend is just hurting.

„Maybe it's because of the wound. Pain can twist someone's mood. Maybe she blames you for her pain.“, Kirishima says carefully.

„Why would she?!“, Katsuki exclaims. Kirishima looks at his friend for a long while. Is he really this oblivious?

„Because you're the one that hurt her?“, he tells his leader carefully. This shuts Katsuki up for a moment.

„I didn't mean to hurt her“, Katsuki says quietly. Kirishima can see regret forming in his friend's face.

„I just wanted to give her the best mate mark I could give. Something she could be proud of.“, he mumbles under his breath. Kirishima catches onto it. He pats his friend's back understandingly.

„You sure that she got that? She's an outsider, remember.“, Kirishima tells him compassionately. Katsuki's ears perk up.

„Do you think that she thinks I hurt her on purpose?“, Katsuki says and Kirishima shrugs.

„I don't know much about outsider's mating traditions, so I wouldn't take my word for it.“, Kirishima replies.

Kirishima pushes himself up again and he pats his leader's shoulder. „Let's go to the healer's tent. We've got to check up on our injured men anyways and you can ask a healer to take a look at y/n.“, he tells his friend. Katsuki nods and gets up as well.

Internally, he's already making plans on how to make up with y/n. He can't have his mate running around thinking he wants to hurt her.

~*~*~*~

Katsuki returns to their tent after y/n has woken up from her nap. She's just changed the cloth one more time when Katsuki, Kirishima and an older man enter the tent. Immediately, y/n is on high alert. What on earth is Katsuki planning this time? Her eyes immediately dart around the room looking for a suitable weapon. Luckily, there are many to choose from Katsuki's collection. She manages to grab a silver dagger and hides it behind her back, pressing herself against the headboard of the bed.

Katsuki enters the tent first lying eyes upon y/n who presses herself against the back of his bed. There's a wild look in her eyes. He's not sure whether it's fear or anger. Or maybe both. He gestures for the two men to wait by the entrance. Kirishima entangles the healer in a conversation to give Katsuki some kind of privacy.

Katsuki walks closer to y/n and sits down at the edge of the bed. Y/n holds his gaze. She definitely looks angry, Katsuki determines. He moves his hand towards her neck but y/n catches his arm, holding his wrist in a strong grip. Her eyes flicker towards the other two men. She's contemplating threatening Katsuki with the hidden dagger.

„Y/n.“

Her gaze flickers back to Katsuki who is still looking into her eyes. He says something and points towards the wound on her neck. With his other hand, he carefully pulls away the cloth that covers the wound. Upon seeing the wound, his expression sours. At least he feels bad seeing his work, y/n thinks.

Katsuki turns around and says something to the men waiting on the other side of the room. He moves away and y/n relaxes a bit. Katsuki steps away and makes room for the older man he brought along. The man puts down a basket and asks y/n something. Katsuki answers for her. The man keeps his eye locked on the wound on her neck. He doesn't move to touch her. Katsuki tells the man something and the man starts taking out medical supplies out of the basket.

Y/n sees fresh bandages, cloths, a salve and a small bottle with a translucent liquid in it. It's probably alcohol, she thinks. Did Katsuki really bring someone here to treat the very wound he created? She moves away when the healer tries to touch her neck. She doesn't want anybody touching the wound. She notices how Katsuki gets angry at her being unwilling to let this stranger treat her wound. This, in return, makes her angry. She trusted him to touch her and where has this gotten her? Why should she let a stranger touch her? When the man moves to touch her again, she finally pulls the hidden dagger from its hiding place and holds it to the man's neck.

„Don't fucking touch me!“, she hisses at the man. She almost pities the man and his shocked expression. Clearly, the man was here to treat her wounds and not to hurt her further. He means no harm and it's probably unfair that she holds a dagger to his pulse point right now. She's not sure why she does it. Clearly, her wound needs treatment.

„Y/n!“, Katsuki's voice booms through the tent. He's fuming. How can she humiliate him infront of their head healer? Kirishima snickers behind him.

„It's not funny, Kirishima.“, he barks at his friend.

„Wel... it's a little bit funny. Seems like your mate is as thickheaded as you when it comes to getting their wounds treated.“, Kirishima points out.

Meanwhile, the healer doesn't dare to move a muscle. Y/n looks as if she's serious about ramming that dagger in his neck. Kirishima pushes past Katsuki. Carefully, he puts his hand on y/n's and pushes her hand down.

„Now, now, y/n, let's keep this civil.“, he tells her. The healer sighs in relief when y/n lowers her hand.

„I don't want strange men touching me!“, y/n yells even though she knows none of the men will understand her.

Kirishima looks at her with pity and y/n can feel her face become red with shame. She must look like a cornered animal and it makes her sick. Kirishima gestures for Katsuki to follow them outside. The three men leave the tent again. The medical supplies stay on the bed with y/n.

Y/n can feel hot tears burning behind her eyes but she refuses to let them flow. She must already look pitiful enough. Instead, she reaches for the medical supplies. She pours the rubbing alcohol onto a clean cloth. She moves to put it on the wound and hisses when the harsh liquid comes in contact with the inflamed tissue. The pain is blinding. She forces herself to keep her hand in place. The wound must be cleaned. It's probably already too late and an infection is forming, but still. Finally, she can feel tears streaming down her face. The pain is just too much. She pants in paint and starts rocking back and forth in an attempt to distract her from the pain.

Y/n doesn't notice how Katsuki enters the tent again or how he watches her attempting to clean the wound. She also doesn't notice how Katsuki's face contorts in pain as well. Not physical pain, but emotional pain upon seeing his mate so miserable. He hates seeing her like this. It's even worse knowing that he caused this.

Katsuki moves towards her and sits on the bed again. Y/n is so blinded by her pain that she doesn't notice how close Katsuki is. Only when Katsuki touches her wrist, does she jolts back in surprise. Upon seeing Katsuki, she tries to move away from him but Katsuki keeps her locked in place. Her chest rises heavily upon being so close to him again.

„Y/n“, Katsuki says softly, „Just let me take care of you.“

Y/n stares at him in bewilderment but doesn't move away anymore. Katsuki lets go of her wrist and takes the cleaning cloth from her. He pours more alcohol on it and moves towards her neck. Y/n flinches away.

„I know it hurts, love, but we gotta clean it.“, he mumbles and moves towards her neck again.

Y/n's hand flies towards his other hand. She grips it tightly. Her nails dig into the back of his hand. She looks at him pleadingly. Katsuki just shakes his head. In a swift movement, he puts the alcohol-drenched cloth onto the wound again and y/n lets out a howl in pain. She curls forward and Katsuki pulls her against his shoulder. Katsuki dabs the cloth onto the wound cleaning it properly. He can hear y/n cry and convulse in pain and his heart feels heavy. He never meant to hurt her, he just wanted to fulfill his promise and be a good mate.

When he's done cleaning the wound he applies the salve the healer brought along and wraps a clean bandage around her neck. Y/n doesn't make any attempt to push him away or murder him with his own dagger. He places her head back on the pillow when he's done. Y/n looks exhausted and pale. Katsuki touches her forehead. He imagines that she's slightly warm.

He brings y/n another cup of water and forces her to drink it. Y/n only drinks half of it before moving away. Katsuki puts the cup away and keeps looking at her. He doesn't know what to say or to do. It's unlike him. He's the leader. He always knows what to say. But when it comes to y/n everything is so much more complicated. It's like she claws away the surface and lays open the deepest parts of him. Parts he refuses to acknowledge exist. It's unfit for the leader of the dragon blood tribe to be this vulnerable.

„Y/n“, he calls out to her softly. Y/n doesn't meet his eyes. Carefully, he touches her cheek. She doesn't resist this time. She only looks at him with soft, sad eyes. He can see tears shimmering behind them.

„Shit“, he mumbles, „I really screwed up, didn't I?“

He moves his hand from her cheek to her hair and strokes it lightly. Tears spill over and Katsuki doesn't bother wiping hers away. Who is he to console her now? Y/n says something to him. He doesn't need to understand it. Whether it's a question or an accusation, it probably holds the same meaning. You did this to me.

„I only wanted you to be proud to have me as your mate, I swear.“, he mumbles as he keeps stroking her hair. Y/n ferociously wipes her tears away. For a moment, Katsuki wonders what she would do if he pulled her close right now. The next moment, he doesn't care what she would do. May you stab me with that dagger, I don't care.

Katsuki moves to lie down next to her. He's lying on the edge of the bed. He pulls her close burying his nose in her hair. Gently, he keeps stroking her hair and arms. Y/n makes no attempt to move away. Eventually, she turns around and stares into his eyes as if she's looking for something. Katsuki doesn't know what to give her. He keeps holding her until she falls asleep again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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bunnyhugs77 · 9 months ago

Text

Angel Eyes

𓆩♡𓆪Pairing: Patient! Jungkook x Reader

𓆩♡𓆪WC: 8.2k

𓆩♡𓆪The Honeymoon (Epilogue)

𓆩♡𓆪Content Warning: hospital romance, mentions of birth, blizzard, car accidents, smthn abt soulamtes, ft Jin, medical emergencies, making out, jk is a free spirit, tattoos, rehabilitation, they're so cute, cafeteria dates, meet cute, weddings, sexual themes, comas, newborn baby, angsttt :(

The double doors to the emergency room burst open with a team of paramedics meeting a team of nurses over the limp body that was being rushed in on a gurney.

"26-year-old male. One of many from the four-car pile-up on Highway 400. Blunt head trauma —shattered ribs, compound fractures in both legs. He's unconscious, showing premature signs of decline. We need to get him stabilized immediately."

"Prepare the operation room." One of the nurses orders and the chaos moves around the corner with the gurney.

A team of trauma surgeons and nurses worked frantically to stabilize him. He was quickly assessed for injuries, and diagnostic tests revealed the extent of the damage he had sustained

The man suffered from internal injuries, including a punctured lung and severe abdominal trauma. There was a point when doctors were sure he wouldn't make it but they were wrong.

After undergoing several surgeries in the first few days following the accident, including procedures to repair his fractured bones, remove damaged tissue, and stabilize his internal injuries he was beginning to show small signs of improvement.

However, it was only the beginning of a very long and hard journey for him.

𓆩♡𓆪 2 months later

"Where is she?" You stand up at the sight of your brother-in-law, Jin rushing into the waiting room of the labour and delivery wing. Face flushed and hair a bit frazzled. He'd obviously run here from the parking lot.

"Down the hall to your left. They're just running some tests and checking the baby." He pauses in his steps, letting it all sink in. Placing a hand on his chest as he tried to stabilize his breathing.

Taking the chance to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Everything is going to be okay, breathe." You encourage, taking tips from the Lamaze classes your sister had made the three of you take in preparation for this baby.

He smiles before making his way to his wife and out of sight.

Meanwhile, you stayed put in the waiting room as your sister made it very clear she did not want you in the room any time her vagina was out and you weren't going to argue.

Seeing that the doctors needed to check up on the baby once the two of you arrived no less than 15 minutes ago, you had already excused yourself to the hall.

Once you saw the familiar nurse you remember being assigned to your sister walk past you, you deemed it was safe enough to return to her room. Knocking first with your hand over your eyes.

There was soft laughter, "It's been put away, you can open your eyes." Eunji says, allowing you to lower your palm from your gaze to see Seokjin sitting on a chair nestled near Eunji's bedside.

"Wow, they've got you hooked up like a TV." You snort, pointing to the IV drip, pulse oximeter, and various other tubes taped to her arm.

Shaking her head at your typical Y/n-Antics but refusing to acknowledge your joke any further. "What did the nurse say?" Jin asks, almost anxiously, taking her hand in his.

"The baby is fine, she's healthy, but I'm a long way from giving birth. Apparently-" Eunji pauses, her eyes squeezing shut just as they did back at your place when the two of you discovered she'd been having contractions.

Taking deep breaths she opens her eyes and resumes speaking as if it never happened, "Apparently I'm only one centimeter dilated. I'm already tired of this place." She pouts sadly while Jin gently moves a stray hair from out of her face.

You sighed internally, hoping that one day you'd find that.

"I'm just glad you guys made it here safely. The roads are getting worse with that blizzard coming in tonight." Jin shares which prompts you to check your phone while the couple talks about what a normal couple would discuss at a time like this.

Jin was right. There in fact was a blizzard heading your way and it was nasty. Up to six feet of snow in some regions and harsh winds. It was practically impossible to see the road through all the flurries on your way here.

It was unsafe for anyone to be driving at a time like this hence why Eunji had already begged your parents to stay home until the roads were safe. No matter how much she knew your parents wanted to be present for the birth of their first grandchild it was just too dangerous.

This winter was packed with a punch this year. You can't forget the first major storm of the season about two months ago that blindsided everyone.

The severity of the storm dawns on you as you remember driving past a nasty collision on the highway on your way home from work.

You could only hope that this would be the end of the strenuous icy season and that spring would be just around the corner. You were looking forward to the blossoming season of spring but not as much as you were looking forward to holding your niece in your arms in just a few short hours.

𓆩♡𓆪

Clearly, you and your niece weren't on the same page.

It's been 4 hours and the hospital was on lockdown, any visitors in the building were forbidden from leaving due to the severity of the storm outside. Honestly, some part of you believed you would have been able to hold your niece and go home all in the last three hours, but oh how you were wrong.

"What do you mean you're only 3 centimetres along?" You say, exhausted from waiting. "Oh, I'm sorry Y/n, are you tired? How inconsiderate of me!" She exclaims, clearly annoyed with you.

You dropped your shoulders, you deserved that. Eunji had been battling her contractions restlessly for hours on end, you couldn't imagine how she felt.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" She shakes her head while Jin returns with a full cup of ice for her to chew on. Your stomach rumbles, and not quietly.

"You should go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I'll stay with Eunji." Jin offers and you nod, deciding it was time for a break anyway.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you stood in the café line, unsure what to get before deciding to get a typical iced coffee and a turkey sandwich.

Once it came time to find a spot, your eyes were scanning every nook and cranny of the filled cafeteria due to the overwhelming number of people trapped in this building just as you were.

Finally, you found one available spot, at an occupied table. "Is anyone sitting here?" You ask the man who was enjoying his own coffee. "It's all yours," He smiles and you reciprocate it as you take a seat.

Paying him no mind as you bite into your meal and pull out the book you've been reading over the last few weeks.

"The String of Fate," The man across from you mumbles as he reads the title of your book causing your eyes to flicker to his. "What's it about?" You close the book almost too eagerly.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" He blinks at you.

"Y'know, like two people that are destined to be together no matter the time or place." His brow arches. "Not a chance." You frown, "Well, basically this book explains the concept of soulmates and how they're connected by this invisible string between them that will always guide them back to each other. No matter the time or place."

He sighs heavily, head now resting on his hand. "I'm gonna take a shot in the dark here and assume that you believe in soulmates?"

"What's there not to believe? It makes total sense-" You ask, about to take your first bite of your sandwich. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you," He says quickly, and you close your mouth, placing the sandwich back down.

"Why not?" He simply stares at you, "Trust me. I've been here long enough to know." You nod slowly, "You must visit a lot."

With a shrug of his shoulders, he finishes the last of his coffee, "Something like that." He mumbles.

Your stomach reminds you of the hunger you'd just permitted to exist longer all in the name of this handsome stranger you'd just met. "So what can I eat here?"

He grins and your stomach twists.

"Follow me." You pack up your stuff and stand. Unable to process your thoughts once the man moves away from the table in his wheelchair.

"Oh c'mon, don't give me that look." He sighs.

"What look?" You counter, genuinely confused.

"That look of 'oh my gosh, he's in a wheelchair. Now everything is different.'" He says in a slightly raised tone.

"First of all, I didn't think that at all. I was just shocked." He looked almost deflated until you spoke up, "So are we still getting jello or what?" He smiles, leading the way.

"Hey! Hey! Mister Lightning McQueen, do you mind slowing down a bit? Or at least tell me your name so I don't have to keep yelling mister." You pant, finally catching up to him at the end of the hall.

"Sorry." He flushes a light pink before a quick clearing of his throat, "I'm Jungkook." He stretches his hand and you shake it gently, "Y/n." You say, the two of you hold hands a little longer than necessary before a visitor attempts to get by and you pull your hand away first.

Fast forward to the two of you sitting on the chairs in god knows which wing of the hospital, the building was so damn big. Licking the spoons of your delicious cherry jello as you were both facing the window that looked out into the midnight sky.

"So what brings you here tonight?" He asks as he scoops around his cup for another spoonful. "My sister is giving birth. At least that's what I thought was supposed to happen but the baby doesn't want to come yet." He laughs, "That's amazing. Not the part about the baby holding your sister's womb hostage but- you know what I'm trying to say."

Unable to control your laughter at his bizarre wording, "Yeah, I get it." A silence falls between the two of you, sitting on your shoulders. You wanted to say something but you weren't sure- "It's okay, Y/n. You can ask." He speaks without even looking at you. Focused on getting his next spoon of jello.

"How did you end up here?" You ask and Jungkook begins the age-old story. He was coming home from work during that crazy storm 2 months ago. He said he didn't remember much from the actual accident, one second he's in his lane and the next there's an eighteen-wheeler sliding right into him and dragging two others in with him.

"I don't even remember being rushed in here, I just remember waking up 3 days later and the doctors telling me I was lucky to be alive. Telling me I had basically injured every bone I had. Head trauma, shattered ribs, a punctured lung, fractured both my legs- and the list goes on."

Your jaw falls open. Hand raising to cover your mouth for two reasons.

"You really are lucky to be alive."

It seems that Jungkook disagrees, "Yet I don't feel all that lucky. I wake up to the same faces, getting poked at and pricked every hour. Going to rehab every other day, my body hurts constantly. I can't even count how many painkillers and antibiotics I take every morning." You frown.

"I'm grateful to be making progress of course, but sometimes It feels like the world is passing me by while I'm standing still-- or sitting, for that matter.." You'd never connected to anything more.

"I totally understand. Under different circumstances of course, but I think I get what you mean. Ever since I was 7 I'd had this perfect vision of how my life should be by the time I was 25. A nice house, with a loving husband and maybe a baby on the way with my six-figure paying job but here I am, 26, sitting in a waiting room, single, waiting for my sister to have a baby so that I can go home to my office job that sure as hell doesn't pay enough for a nice house."

Your story provokes a soft chuckle to come rumbling from Jungkook's chest and you swat at him. "And it's like, you want to take steps forward but it's almost like you can't because everything is out of your control. The most decisive factor of a good life is controlled by everyone but you. It sucks." Jungkook expands on your thoughts further and you'd never felt so seen before.

"I-" You begin but the PA system begins to blare someone's voice as they make an announcement.

"Code Yellow. Code Yellow." Jungkook's vision darts to his wristwatch. "Shit. It's been an hour already?" You weren't following, "What's going on?" Jungkook begins to roll back, tossing away his garbage in the bin while you stand and do the same.

"Code yellow is just their dramatic way of declaring a patient is missing. Although-" His eyes fly past you and to whoever was behind you, it was a furious nurse. "Jeon Jungkook." She says and he groans, "I know- I know."

Jungkook hardly got to speak before he was being pushed away back to wherever his room was. "I hope your sister has a safe delivery." You stand still in the middle of the hall as you watch Jungkook get whisked out of sight.

Unable to stop thinking about how disappointed he looked once that nurse appeared. Clearly, he didn't want to go back. You couldn't shake what he told you, about seeing the same people every day, following the same painful routine.

You wondered if he had any family that visited him.

Speaking of which, it was time for you to return to your own.

𓆩♡𓆪

7 hours later you were finally holding the most perfect baby girl in your arms. "She's beautiful, Eunji," you say tearfully, staring at the adorable infant who was just so tiny in your arms.

"I can't believe I'm holding your baby right now." You say to no one in particular while Seokjin stands behind you looking down at the baby, he looks like he's still in awe himself.

Carefully passing her back into your sister's tired arms. You had the honour of taking their first family photo. With Seokjin's eyes full of love and your sister displaying the happiest smile you'd ever seen.

"She's perfect." You hear him whisper with a kiss to Eunji's forehead and your heart just about melts at the heartwarming sight.

𓆩♡𓆪 7 days later

The moment that you left that hospital that morning you felt almost... sad? Like you had a happiness hangover. You were truly overjoyed, you finally got to meet your niece and you met Jungkook who left an unanticipated imprint on your brain.

You tapped your nails against the desk in your cubicle, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth as your eyes glanced at the time at the bottom of the computer screen.

Your break was in 20 minutes, you had an hour to do whatever and sure, you could spend it here continuing your work so that you could go home earlier...but the hospital is nearby...

No more than a 10-minute drive.. maybe you could drop by? Just for a little?

You didn't leave yourself much time to debate it as you were already marching out of the office the moment the clock hit 12. You'd decided to pick up some flowers from the gift shop on your way up.

Following the receptionist's instructions that she gave you to locate his room with a nervous click of your heels with each step. What if he didn't want to see you? Does he even remember you?

You saw him through the glass window briefly and adjusted yourself to an angle where he couldn't see you. He was just laying there. Staring up at the ceiling, but he sat up once a nurse walked in.

It seemed that she was doing some routine checkups before pricking him with a needle of some kind. You'd always been the type to squirm with needles yet he was unfazed, it was like he couldn't even feel it.

Once she left she passed you with a small smile. Slowly you walk to the door and his gaze slowly drags towards you. His eyes smile before his lips, and he sits up.

"Y/n!" He says with such a joyful tone, you would never expect the voice to belong to someone sitting in a hospital bed. "Hi," You say, unsure of what to do with the flowers.

"Don't tell me you're still waiting for your sister to give birth." He says with a little sarcasm and you laugh with a shake of your head. "No, little miss Seol-a came fashionably late."

"As in 'snow child'? That's a perfect name." You agree. Watching him as his gaze drops to your arms. "Oh- These are for you." Bringing the small bouquet of tiger lilies to him, he accepts it gratefully.

"Thank you-- Really, you didn't have to. You visiting me is more than enough of a gift, and they're Tiger Lilies, too. Fun fact, that's actually my birth flower." It was like a lightbulb had gone off in your head but you ignored it.

Maybe that was just a coincidence, but you didn't like that word. You preferred to use something much stronger, that starts with an 'F', and ends with an 'ate'.

"Pull up a chair, please. I don't want to be the only one sitting." He insists, gesturing to the chair near the wall and you bring it a bit closer.

Letting out a soft sigh of relief once you were off your feet, "God, I hate heels." You mutter, "I'm guessing you have to wear them for that magical job of yours," Your face turns sour, "Magic isn't the word I'd use to describe it,"

Just like that the two of you fell down a rabbit hole of conversation, exchanging work experiences and even phone numbers at one point.

"So tell me, Y/n. In a perfect world, if you could just drop everything, what would you do?" You pretended to give it thought as if you hadn't known for the last decade. "I'd want to open a hair salon... Is that crazy? I don't think I've ever actually said that out loud before."

"What's stopping you?" You laugh, a little too hard, thinking of the dozens of reasons why it wasn't practical and way too impulsive but the longer you looked at his neutral expression you began to reflect on the reasons.

And they all came back to the same root, "What if I fail?" He shrugs, "You can't fail unless you give up." You couldn't believe you were actually considering this. Shaking your head dramatically, clearing your brain.

"You're such a bad influence, y'know? I can't believe you really almost made me do that." His bunny-like smile is on display when he speaks, "That wasn't me, that was your instinct. For a brief second, you just listened to your heart."

Woah.

"Wanna see something cool?" His hand raises and gestures to his lower body, and you watch as the blankets begin to stretch over the small peak that began to form under the covers as he bends his left knee slightly.

"Jungkook! That's incredible." You gasped, eyes wide and you weren't sure what came over you, but before you knew it you'd taken him in your arms.

His body was still a bit weak but his arms responded almost immediately. Holding you still for the short duration of the hug before you pulled away.

"Are you okay- I'm sorry, did I hurt you-" A small panic consumes you as Jungkook's eyes tint a faint red and well with tears. "No, no. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just been so long since someone's been so happy for me."

His words weighed down in your chest like a pile of bricks. "Does no one visit you?"

"All my friends and family came to visit right after the accident. Then it was just my best friends and my parents who came a few times a week. Soon people don't have time to visit someone who makes such little progress every day."

He continues to explain, "But I don't hold it against them. It's a time commitment. The real world is more demanding than I am and I just can't wait for the day I get to meet them out there."

Gently placing your hand on top of his, "You're gonna be out of here before you know it-" A familiar ringer goes off in your bag. You pull out your phone and stop the alarm. "Well, my break ends soon." You stand and you tell yourself that you're imagining the small frown peels over his lips.

Putting the chair back where you found it you walk to the door. "Bye Jungkook, it was good to see you again." With that, you walk away and Jungkook is left in despair. That was it? It's over?

You were just gonna walk into his room and bless him with the most revitalizing conversation he's ever had and you're leaving?

Before he gets the chance to deflate into his pillows your head pops back into the doorframe, "See you tomorrow." You wink and vanish once again. Knowing that you'd given him a little wave of sadness at first.

His shoulders shake with laughter, relieved.

𓆩♡𓆪

Staying true to your word, you in fact did go back to visit him the next day, except you went after your shift since 40 minutes simply wasn't enough time.

For the first few weeks of your daily visits, Jungkook was afraid that one day you would stop coming and he wouldn't see you again, but once three months had passed, there was no doubt in his mind he would walk out of this hospital without you by his side.

You'd even met his parents once, by accident of course. You were just leaving when they'd been walking in and of course, they had no idea who you were.

Telling them about how the two of you met was quite entertaining, Accidentally mentioning the part where Jungkook had been called a missing patient which earned him a soft pinch to his arm from his mother.

But you'll never forget the words his mother whispered in your ear as she hugged you. "Thank you for loving my son." Your cheeks flushed and you stuttered, trying to clarify things but she didn't want to hear it.

"It's okay, I know." She says with the most subtle of winks before walking off with her husband who shook your hand graciously.

Not every day was full of laughs and feasts that you'd bring him from the outside world, there were definitely down days. Days when the pain would call for a stronger dose of his medications which left him burnt out and groggy.

But there were also good days like today. You had the honour of helping Jungkook take some of his first steps for a few feet before being right behind him with the wheelchair.

You weren't able to stop your tears while Jungkook apologized to the physical therapist for your constant crying. You cried every time you saw him move on his own, but he thinks it's cute.

It's evident how much you care about him. By now your entire family knew about your blossomed friendship, and it seems he was all you could talk about. He could only hope that you knew how much he cared about you.

He would love to surprise you at work one day with lunch or take you to your favourite places. Alas, that was among the list of things he unfortunately couldn't control but promised to do once he got out.

He had a section of notes dedicated to you and all the places he would take you, it's what he always hid against his chest anytime you tried peaking.

"You won't believe what I just did!" Those are the first words that escape your mouth in the most dramatic of ways as you practically burst into his room.

He jolts, his book now falling forgotten from his fingers, you'd startled him and you apologized. You weren't usually here at noon. So he welcomes your explanation with a warm smile and curious eyes.

"So I went to work this morning, and they called us all in for a meeting. I was expecting another spontaneous workshop about professional behaviour or something. They drop this huge bomb on us that the company is downsizing so they're laying off a third of the company and basically cutting everyone's salary in half." It all comes out in a single breath, so you give yourself some time to breathe.

Jungkook wasn't following, "This sounds like... bad news? Am I missing something? Why do you look so happy?"

"Because I quit my job. I've been thinking about what you said for a while now, about following my heart, and I think I've always been waiting for some kind of sign or opportunity to just go for it, so today was the day." Now that you'd finally gotten the jitters out, you pulled up a chair.

"I know it's crazy, I don't know what I was thinking, but I just got off the phone with one of the property managers of those empty studios downtown and it was all so exciting and I don't even know where I'm going to get the money but I think I can-"

Jungkook finally silenced you with his lips.

He kissed you.

His lips were soft as they worked against yours. You could feel him smile as the kiss deepened. You moved out of your chair to the bed without breaking contact. Pulling away briefly for air but resuming as though you couldn't be apart for more than a second.

You weren't sure when you'd ended up on top of him with Jungkook on his back and your hips grinding down onto his softly, still a bit cautious.

"You have-" He kisses down your neck, peppering kisses between his words, "-No idea-" His lips kissing right below your ear, "-How long I've wanted to kiss you." His teeth gently nibble on the skin of your ear causing a whine to escape your lips.

Suddenly there was a fast beeping and it was only getting faster.

A nurse walks in and you just about throw yourself off of Jungkook and onto the ground. "What's going on in here? Your heart rate was way too fast, Mr. Jeon." He bites his lip nervously while you get yourself on your feet.

"Sorry, Nurse Lynn. I was just trying some new exercises and I guess I got a bit carried away." He says the last part with a lustful look in his eye when he glances towards you.

Once she left you let your hand cover your mouth in pure shock, laughing uncontrollably. "Oh my god, I can't believe that just happened." Jungkook throws his head back onto the pillows with a heavy breath.

"Those nurses can't let me have shit in here. I can't even rub one out in the shower without them barging in." Your jaw drops, "It's happened more times than I'd like to speak about." The shame that seems to swallow him up makes you laugh even harder.

"How's the salon going?" He's the first to ask you once you walk out of the bathroom and your shoulders drop. Taking a seat beside him on the bed, "It's a lot harder than I thought it would be. My contractor is being a total pain in the ass, but at least it's starting to come together, look-"

You swipe through the photos of the empty studio that was now painted. "I can't wait to see it." He says, and you look away from the screen. Focusing on his beautiful brown eyes. "Me too." He steals a sweet kiss from you before resuming his swipe through your phone with a cheeky grin.

For the first time, you noticed how empty his left arm was compared to his right. His right arm was covered in tattoos that the two of you had spent nearly an hour talking about once, while his left arm was blank.

"Why don't you have any tattoos on your left arm?" He places down your phone, making eye contact with you once again. "I wanna save it for something special, something meaningful, like the Batman symbol." His nerdy remark makes you snort.

𓆩♡𓆪

"Hi Jungko-Oh." This was unusual.

Of all the times you'd visited Jungkook, there was probably only one other time where you'd caught him sleeping, although that was a late night. It was only sometime around 3 in the afternoon.

You didn't want to disturb him, so you left him a little sticky note for him to read when he wakes up. You didn't want him to think that you never came.

The following day the two of you were having a bit of a hard time getting Jungkook out of bed. "I thought you wanted to do some more walking?" You offer, standing with his walker but he laid back unmotivated.

"Not today, maybe another day. I'm just a bit tired." He mumbles and you nod, "Oh. Okay." But your heart wasn't settled, something was wrong.

The week continued with his slow responses and fatigue. "Are you okay?" He hums, his eyes shutting tight as he grunts softly. "Yeah, just got a bit of a headache, that's all. I'll be better by tomorrow." He reassures you, and you insist on getting him some water.

"Nurse Lynn." You call out for the Nurse as you cross paths as you return from refilling Jungkook's water bottle. She stops and begins to approach you. "Jungkook has been acting a bit off lately. He's been really tired and he says he has a headache and I just want to know if anything is going on."

You can see that she really begins to think about anything it could be. You follow her as she goes off to check his charts. Looking through the window, Jungkook had already fallen asleep.

"His numbers seem to be fine, but we'll keep a close eye on them tonight and run some tests in the morning." Leaving you with a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but you still didn't feel any better.

You went home to your parents' house. You'd moved back home after impulsively quitting your job since there was no way you'd be able to afford your old apartment anymore. Besides, this arrangement made the most sense.

Now you were able to save your money and focus on your salon. The salon Jungkook had inspired you to open, god you couldn't stop thinking about him. Something felt off.

"Y/n?" Your dad snaps his fingers in front of you, finally catching your attention. "Sorry- What?"

"Your mom and I were wondering if you'd be joining us for dinner or if you already ate." You shake your head slowly, "It's okay, I'm not hungry."

"Is everything okay?'' Your stretches her neck from where she sat on the couch. "I don't know. Jungkook's been acting off lately and I just don't know if everything is okay." Anyone who heard you could hear the worry that wavered in your tone. You wanted nothing more than for him to be okay.

"Oh, honey." Your parents hugged you and for a moment you felt like everything was going to be okay.

Until it wasn't.

It was around 2 in the morning when you'd gotten a call from Jungkook's mom.

He'd gone into a coma.

You didn't find yourself to be a religious person yet you found yourself praying to any god in the sky who was listening as you drove to the hospital that he would be okay.

Running through the halls, letting out careless apologies to those you nearly bumped into as you did so. "What happened?!" You say frantically, his mother was in no state to speak, her eyes were bloodshot and her lips quivered whenever she tried to speak.

Instead, his father took on the role to tell you, "The doctors said there were unforeseen complications from his accident. There was some inflammation in his brain that went undetected and was applying pressure to his brain stem which is why he was experiencing those headaches and fatigue. They've done all they can to reduce the swelling, but there's no guarantee he'll-"

His dad struggles to finish his sentence, choking up a bit himself at the possibility of Jungkook never waking up. "C-Can I see him?" You swallow back your tears and that sore feeling in your throat as you walk in slowly.

You didn't want to cry, but the moment you saw him hooked up to all those machines, the same ones he hated so much, the way his body lay so still, it broke you.

Your cries came out more as wails than anything else, you couldn't say anything but his name. You weren't just crying, you were begging, pleading with the gods to spare him.

"Y/n-" You hear his dad's voice behind you, catching you in his arms just as you fall to your knees. He could have never anticipated a reaction quite like this one. It seems he underestimated how much Jungkook meant to you.

Now he knows.

All his friends and family knew.

As they trickled in and out of Jungkook's hospital room over the following weeks they would see you sitting by his side, the same way you did all the days before.

His mom liked to say you were there more than Jungkook was. She knew he was lucky, he'd found something special with you. A kind of love that was rare to come across these days.

You spent every waking moment beside him until visiting hours were over, and would be back the next morning the moment they begin. Your parents told you to keep yourself busy with your salon and you tried, but how could you when everything inside reminded you of him?

Today was a quiet day, with no visitors or flowers for you to find space for as his room was filled. You focused on reading to him. You'd been told that hearing familiar voices can help to stimulate brain activity and you were willing to do anything.

"As Batman ran through the dark streets of Gotham-" You chuckled to yourself, unable to take the story seriously.

According to his parents, this was his favourite comic book growing up, and you'd been reading it to him for the last few days, and yet you still weren't interested in DC.

You rummaged through the bag of books you had on the side, your fingertips grasped the familiar cover that started it all. "The String of Fate" You mumble, a soft smile as the title takes you back to the night you met.

Back then he was nothing more than an opinionated patient on the loose, and now, he was everything.

You opened the book, going back to the page you'd bookmarked as a favourite. Deciding to read it out loud for the sake of Jungkook hearing your voice.

"In the garden of destiny, soulmates blossom, each petal a reflection of the other's beauty, each leaf a testament to their shared growth. Together, they tend to the soil of their dreams, nurturing them with the water of their love, as they chase the sunsets of tomorrow, hand in hand, forever intertwined."

Your voice began to shake halfway through, and your tears landed on every other word. You closed the book, placing it back in the bag so that you could take Jungkook's hands in yours.

"Please," You whispered, "I love you."

It was no surprise to anyone. You had nothing but love for the man who changed your world for the better. He had no idea how much space he takes up in your head, your heart. It's his, it belongs to him.

"Can we come in?" There are soft knocks on the door and you're pleasantly surprised to see Jin and your sister, assuming the baby was with your parents.

"Thank you for coming," You hug them both, "If there's someone important enough that you went MIA during my labour, then I have to meet him." Eunji says jokingly and you smile sadly, "I just wish you got to meet under better circumstances."

The days turned to night then day once again, and the pattern continued endlessly for the following month. It just continued to repeat in this painful process of dwindling hope.

Nothing could have prepared you for the devastating conversation with the doctor this morning.

"Please understand, during this difficult time, we have carefully monitored Jungkook's minimal brain activity. Given the duration of his coma and after our intensive examination of his condition, if there were indications for a potential recovery leading to him waking up, we would have observed signs by now. I know this news is incredibly challenging to hear but-"

His mother wept.

"We're so sorry." The doctor says as if it was rehearsed, you couldn't imagine how many times he'd had to give such gut-wrenching news to other families.

You listened with a broken heart, unable to cry. You were all out of tears. You'd cried and cried your heart out all month, you couldn't bear the thought of it all being for such a tragic conclusion.

That was almost a week ago, you'd remained by Jungkook's side regardless. Never leaving, not moving.

"Y/n, Honey. You've been here all day, when's the last time you ate something, hm?" His mom gently tilted your chin upwards, you looked pale in colour and your eyes were dull with sorrow.

"I don't know, Tuesday maybe?"

It's Thursday night.

"Go." She orders, and you know that tone. She wasn't willing to negotiate this with you. She'd begun to care for you like a daughter of her own, and as much as she respected and adored your dedication to her son, it was just as important that you were healthy.

Still following Jungkook's advice, you avoided most of the shops in the cafeteria except for a select few that he deemed sanitary. Sitting at one of the tables by yourself, you poked at your food, not all that hungry but you took bites anyway.

Taking a long sip from your water bottle you ignored the buzzing from your phone. You're sure it's just the contractors giving you a hard time again. You were set to open in a few months from now and you'd never felt more grateful for your mom stepping in to help while you were.. away.

Your phone buzzes once more, you finally check the messages.

Ever since that night, every time Mrs. Jeon messaged you, it left you with a pit in your stomach, quite like the one in your stomach right now.

She was calling you back to Jungkook's room immediately.

Completely abandoning your half-eaten meal on the table as you rushed back up to the room you'd begun to know like the back of your hand.

There his parents were, teary-eyed as they sat outside his room, making calls and texting loved ones. Soon you saw a team of nurses walking out of his room with some medical technology that you're sure had very complicated names and--

Oh no.

Your brain was putting the pieces together. What was once a pit had evolved into a full-fledged sinkhole. Your hands were shaking as you walked into the room, eyes landing on his body, not expecting to meet his familiar brown orbs.

They blinked at you slowly. Just like the first time you'd visited, they smiled before his lips did. "There she is," His voice was weak, understandably but it still had that softness to it.

Your body was overwhelmed and unable to make any coherent sounds. You were standing still as a statue. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your lips from quivering but you couldn't stop it.

Your breathing became shallow and the sound of your heart drumming in your ears seemed much louder than it did a minute ago. You felt like your eyes were playing tricks on you.

"Is it-" Your voice airy and broken, not wanting this to be a dream. You so desperately needed this to be real. He nods slowly with a grin, "It's me." Just when you thought you had no more tears left, there were more spilling down your cheeks.

Finally picking up your feet and walking over to him with broken sobs, meeting him at the side of the bed. On your knees with his arms around you while you held him in yours. "I thought I lost you." You swat him with teary eyes and a small laugh.

"You can never lose me, Y/n, and I want to make sure of that." He says, and your head tilts instinctively. "What do you mean?"

"Marry me."

Eyes wide and your mouth nearly kissing the floor.

"You can't be serious," Oh how you hoped he was serious.

"You've been by my side every step of the way. When I walk through those hospital doors one last time, I want to be beside the woman I love. Let me spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you've made me." Now he was the one getting misty eyes.

Your mouth struggled to keep up with the eager nodding of your head. "Yes." Holding his face in your hands and kissing him like you'd longed to do for weeks.

Finally.

"Wait- You don't have a ring," Jungkook leans slightly for the box of band-aids on the side table. "Jungkook, I don't need-'' Your efforts go in vain as he shushes you kindly, taping the band-aid around your ring finer.

"It's symbolic for now until I can get you the real thing."

Nothing could have prepared you for the busy year ahead of you. Between visiting Jungkook, opening a salon and planning a wedding things were beginning to get chaotic but it all seemed to fade in importance once Jungkook finally got to go home.

And you were right, he was home just in time for Thanksgiving, and he had a lot to be thankful for. He made that clear during his speech at your parents' annual Thanksgiving dinner.

The fact he was able to stand for it was reason enough. Although he wasn't able to walk far distances, he was improving every day, and it just warmed your heart.

Your speech wasn't nearly as tear-jerking as Jungkook's was, but you still had a lot to be grateful for. Just looking around the table from where you stood, smiling at your parents, your sister with Jin and Seol-a, Jungkook's parents, and Jungkook, of course.

Everything you ever wanted was right in front of you.

Keeping your speech short and sweet, "And I know she's grateful for that huge rock on her finger." Eunji whispers loudly causing the table to erupt in a fit of giggles, the tips of your ears turn red as you smile shyly.

From Thanksgiving to the opening day of your Salon. Staring up to look at your name written out in a cursive font across the top of the building you were in awe. "Pinch me," you mutter sarcastically, not expecting Jungkook to actually pinch you.

With a pout you rubbed the pink mark he left on your arm as the two of you walked into the moderately busy salon. Your mom had sent out flyers and emails about the opening day all season.

You wouldn't have been able to do it without her.

"I'm so proud of you," Jungkook whispers and you turn to face him with the look of a puppy. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you," He shakes his head, "I didn't do anything. This was all you, all you had to do was listen to your heart." Giving him one of those upside-down smiles you wrap your arms around him, talking into his chest.

"I can't wait to marry you."

Before you knew it, the wait was over.

Today is the day.

You could only stress about one day so much, you'd gone over every last detail down to the very inch and you were sure it was going to be perfect, after all, you'd had it all planned out in your head since you were 7 and Jungkook was more than happy oblige, 'as long as I get to marry you', he would say.

Your wedding was beautiful, it left your guests breathless the moment they entered the venue and the ceremony hadn't even begun yet.

Your wedding had its own special and heartfelt twist to it. Instead of Jungkook standing ready at the altar, he had the honour of picking a heartfelt song to walk down the aisle to with no arm crutches or wheelchair to support him. Nothing but his parents on either side holding one of his arms.

Some of the audience cheered while some let their tears fall quietly, knowing how far Jungkook had come to get to this point. Once he made it to the front, his best man, Jimin, handed him his arm crutches once again.

Soon the rest of the bridal party had made their way down the aisle, prompting the audience to stand. All heads turned to the grand double doors that soon opened as a romantic instrumental of "Look After You" began to play.

Jungkook could hardly see you from the distance he was standing but just knowing that you were walking towards him had him choking up already.

By the time he really could see you, he couldn't. His eyes are cloudy with tears until Jimin hands him his pocket square to wipe his eyes. Blinking the rest of his tears away, he smiles at you.

You looked beautiful.

Like God's most perfect creation sent down from heaven. There you were, smiling back at him with those angel eyes of yours. It would be a lie to say you didn't want to cry but the last thing you wanted was to ruin your makeup.

However, you weren't so strong when it came time to listen to Jungkook's vows after just finishing yours.

"You once asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I remember saying it was a load of crap. I had no idea they were sitting right in front of me. Your unconditional and unchanging demonstration of love has completely changed me from the inside out. Through you, I breathe again, and for you, my heart beats. Today, I give you more than just my word. I give you mind, I give you my soul, my everything. I pray from this day forward we will chase the sunsets of tomorrow, hand in hand, forever."

The last part he recites from the passage of your book you'd read to him while he was still unconscious. Your makeup is now a victim to the stream of hot, salty tears that flowed from your eyes, "You heard me." You say just loud enough for only him to hear you. He smiles. "I heard you."

With no more tears and the unravelling of a touching ceremony,

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

This was it. The moment Jungkook had been anticipating for months. Unclipping himself from the crutches around his arms, he hands them to Jimin.

He stretches out his arms dramatically, pretending to crack his neck.

Carefully taking your face in his hands, knowing how important it was to you that he didn't smudge anything, but your lipstick was going to need some reapplication after the way he pivoted and swooped you down for the most passionate of kisses.

The kind where your leg raises in the air while the photographer gets the money shot, capturing the bright smiles all around.

As if it was possible, the reception was even better than the ceremony. The toasts were both funny and touching. All eyes were on the happy couple who sat at their special table on the elevated platform for all to see.

Unable to hear what was being said but they could only assume it was something heartfelt based on the way your hands had clasped over your mouth.

Jungkook had just rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, showing you a new tattoo that you'd never seen. It was a delicate dark vine that wrapped around his forearm, with blossoming flowers, encircling the words 'Garden of Destiny', just like from your book.

"Are those-" You point to the types of flowers, "Tiger Lilies and Cosmos, your birth flower? Yeah." You pout, "Please don't cry, you'll be so upset if you ruin your makeup." He gently moves a loose strand of your hair from your face with the same hand you'd just been examining, and that's when it hits you.

"It's on your left arm." He grins,

"Of course it is."

𓆩♡𓆪This was only supposed to be 900 words. oops. 𓆩♡𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 mentions and reblogs are always appreciated <3

#bts #jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #bts one shot #jungkook fic recs #bts jungkook #jungkook angst #bts scenarios #bts imagines #imagines #btsscenarios

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court-jobi · 2 months ago

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Let's Heal Each Other

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (fem!reader is a semi-retired pro hero)

Words: 3.6K

Rating: T+ (18+ near the end for some spicy themes)

Warnings: talk about scars, past traumas, FEELINGS, body image issues, hurt/comfort, body worship, kissing, use of petnames

Summary:

You play a game only you keep tallies of: lay hordes of kisses onto your boyfriend until he breaks and gives into your sweet affections. It works-- making him reconsider keeping the majority of his skin (and insecurities) hidden from you, until he believes wholeheartedly that your love for him goes beyond scar tissue and that he literally never wants you to feel an ounce of self-hatred anymore, either. "I don't think I like this uno-reverse treatment. Aren't you supposed to be the flustered one, green eyes?" "You want me to stop?" "..no." "Then respectfully, hush your mouth, honey."

A/N: a love letter to sweet, sweet teacher!deku… I've lowkey always wanted to write for him~ horrified I'm not caught up on the manga/anime as I write this, but I had to dabble! Back into my MHA era I go~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

What began as you looking through his journals and hearing each and every one of your sweetheart’s passions from over his shoulder turned into a game of placing whisper-soft kisses on his cheeks. It was a private game that only you kept tallies of.

Rules are… anytime he opens his mouth, the timer starts: how long can you hold out before forcing him to stop and take a breath after a quick pebbling of affection? Seeing him sigh at the first touch only encouraged you to do it more. He’d allow a few little pecks here, a few more there, or -like tonight- he’d suffer every one of your little presses until his patience broke, and he had no choice but to give you a kiss back. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear the content of what he shared– he was your own personal podcast, after all… but sometimes the fight to resist kissing him silly just turned tail and was nowhere to be found.

One long kiss turned into two and under the trae lit ceiling of his study, a bit of a makeout session grew as your lovely Izuku Midoriya relaxed into your affections, his hands roaming to your back to pull you comfortably over into his lap from your spot on the couch. He hugged you close and placed plenty of pecks along your cheek and jaw until you ultimately pressed him back into place– all so you could straddle him and face him properly. This move finally made him flounder and start to lose his vocabulary- even at the ripe ‘ole age of twenty-eight.

You had to giggle a little and tease him for it; you’d expect a boy half his age to sport such a reaction, not a faculty member at UA highschool.

"This is ok? I just wanted to see that cute face of yours-" you leaned back to give him enough space if he needed, letting your hands trail along his arms, down to his hands.

Izuku, or ‘Deku’ as his friends and the Hero World still called him, grasped yours and fought his wavering voice to recover.

"N-no no! uh, it’s ok- yeah, it's fine!” want and desire brought out Izuku’s voice flip, “I just uhhh-heh~ haven’t had you sit this close up, like this before. I‘m... like it a lot."

You brushed your thumbs along his hands and linked his dominant's hand’s fingers with yours– noticing the pull of some scarring there for perhaps the first time.

Izuku swallowed and tensed, pulling back to simply squeeze your hand briefly before letting go. Turning his wrist to turn down his cuff sleeve clenched that fist so tightly, the scars turned white.

"U-um.. yeah, I know it's pretty rough to look at. I hurt myself a lot my first year at UA- as a student, I mean. It's kind of embarrassing..." Izuku laughed it off, massaging his hand palm side up so you didn’t have to see.

"Embarrassing? Why?" You brushed his hair back on one side soothingly.

Izuku met your eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest. Any effort to keep him talking would reward him in the end– only now you feared this was not a game anymore, but rather a necessary act of reassurance. He shook off any initial nerves with a quick tease back,

“... You’re just– trying to get me to lay off the stats, aren’t you.”

“Course not,” you defended, “but it seems like if I touched a nerve, it must be important and I don’t wanna gloss over that either. So, I wanna know all about that, too.”

Izuku quirked his lip and carried on, "If you insist. I guess the short of it is, I didn’t know my limits when I enrolled, and I damaged myself beyond repair while training with ‘One for All’. The tightness is a lot better now! But I overdid it... and I'll always have these scars as a reminder- they're… still there."

Care for his younger self flooded you. It’s clear Izuku still had plenty of regrets surrounding his former hero days, at least in how he went about discussing it. Were he still active as a hero, he might view battle scars differently - just signs of the lifestyle. Now on him, they must be more painful reminders instead.

"May I see?"

Once again, the man looked up in surprise to see your little half smile and steeled himself– not having the heart to say no to you when you were being sweet. You were his girl after all.

So, Izuku shimmied himself out of his sportek hoodie, and you scooted off his lap to give him room. You always noted he wore a black underarmor shirt, no matter the weather, and now realized why.

Biting the inner of his cheek, Izuku kept his sights up and over your shoulder as he rolled each sleeve off, wrenching it between his hands. Jagged scars ran all the way up his dominant arm to a big patch behind his tricep. His shoulder remained largely untouched save for a dangerous slice following where the underarm curved upwards. Without the pop of a shirt collar or the bunching of a hoodie, you now fully saw the stiff scar that trailed up his neck and matched in color to the one gracing his face.

For all the years that had passed since those days which he’s fully told you were a time of intensive training and exercise, you were surprised to learn that he’s kept up a workout discipline. His body was scarred, yes, but still incredibly strong. He’s clearly prioritized keeping himself in shape, if for no other reason than to maintain flexibility and range of motion.

The whole moment fell quiet, but extremely intimate– even as he left his base tank top on. You ran your fingers up his now bare arm and hummed gently.

"Well..." you leaned demurely towards the back of the couch, admiring the freckles that stood out between the changed pigments, "for what it's worth, I think they read ‘I lived’ rather than ‘I failed’. And I don’t think they’re ugly." You kissed a broad line on his bicep and met his eyes. " ‘Scars are tattoos with better stories’, right? Yours even have ‘sparkles’."

Though touched enough to give a sweet little hum back, his expression held tears right at the surface. He looked at your arm in comparison and let out a little sigh, his own fingers caressing the soft skin there. Didn’t take anyone with a psychic quirk to tell what he was thinking.

"Here–”

You sat up and turned around, starting to lift the back of your own shirt, and you heard his squeak of surprise–

"UhhhHWHATareyoudoing!!" Izuku reared back as if his scandalized mother would enter the room at any moment.

"Relax, tiger,” you fitted a look over your shoulder and teased. Holding the shirt in place over your shoulders, you activated your kinetic quirk and doing so illuminated some rigid scarring across your lower back- what looked like whip marks as you'd seen from the surgery notes.

Gemlike light shone through even your underclothes, up your back, then on a diagonal across your neck. These were your own battle scars from over the years. You pointed with your thumb starting at the low spine,

"These were from when I was first captured in Panama. Up here, when I tried to escape." Then you twisted to the side a bit where a big gash shone brilliantly to just under your left breast, "this, I got when I tried to make a quick rescue during my first internship in the States. I had a little boy in my right hand and couldn't drop him, so I took a hit on the other side." You shared these stories softly and he studied each with complete care.

Izuku reached a bit with his good hand, but stayed his motion when he hovered an inch away.

You encouraged, with ultimate trust, "You can touch it."

Despite your kind chirp, his eyes checked over you briefly and simply brushed you with the back of two fingers at first. He let out a shaky breath at the sight that greeted him– the light danced around his fingers, interacting with his presence like ethereal steam rising around the contours. There were so many moments watching you in combat with these sorts of emissions that he remembered blackwhip- one of the more practical gifts ‘One for All’ had offered him, though equally dangerous and hard to control.

You had your own ‘blackwhip’ and it gifted you similar lessons learned- he wasn’t the only one.

"See? It's not so bad," you resolved any concern Izuku had shown so far. He sought your eyes again, catching sight of the side of your other cheek which was also glowing a bit. "-- at least we match in the face shot department~"

With a scoot, you slid back to face him again; he noted the scar across the temple of your hair trickling down to the top of your cheek bone. The way the light shone mimicked a tear’s tread down a fogged windowpane.

Ultimate care brought Izuku to reach up -to stop it’s run somehow- and touched the skin with a gentleness you came to love about him. Anticipating his concern, you mumbled something about it only really hurting when you have a glare headache after too much screentime, reminiscing on the throbbing sensation.

"Huh..." Why couldn't he see them before? Why would your quirk hold onto pain this way?

"They only show up when I'm actively using my power to its fullest, and these are usually covered by clothes or face shield when I'm driving." You tuned into his thoughts perfectly. "But… I know they’re there, even if I’m completely covered up. I see ‘em in the back of my mind anytime I’m in front of a mirror."

As you deactivate your illumination and your skin settled back to normal, you righted your sweater down to your waist so it didn’t catch in the sofa cushions. If you were bothered at all, you barely showed it through your shrug.

"Everyone carries scars- not every single one can be seen, but we all have them. If not physical, emotional then." Running your manicured hand along the edge of his jaw made him lean into the touch, not unlike a puppy. "Please dont think less of yourself because of this... you're too wonderful to even think so poorly. If nothing else, it's proof of how great a hero you are."

He was one, after all, according to the annals of the Pro Hero Japan Registrar… but Izuku hardly felt like one anymore. It was an old pain in several ways past the tangible. Because ultimately, he had his chance of being an active pro hero– which was now fully over the minute he expelled the last of his power and ended the cycle for good.

Help of friends, mentors, and loads of therapy have helped him cope with the memories and pressures of his time in school– all to bring him to a better, more healthy mindset in terms of his place in the world. Putting in the mental work was his largest success, to his credit. In many ways, his life was even more fulfilling now; Izuku fully recognized that and expressed gratitude vocally. Teaching gave him both an outlet and a purpose that he shined in. Still, a selfish twinge of him still hurt knowing how it all panned out- how different his life ended up from what he’d dreamed.

‘What a great hero I am’…What kind of hero am I?’ his eyes grieved with distance behind them, ‘Now that I'm no more than a living legend like All Might? He at least got to have a full career.’

Behind a tight lipped smile, Izuku wanted everything in him to sink into your loving sentiments as they often consoled him like none other; but now he found his delight dropping against his will. And how could he fight your praise when you looked at him so earnestly? Like you believed it? It seemed this sentiment upset him. Izuku never once doubted your sweetness so visibly, until now.

It seemed dating you brought some old feelings to the surface– try as he might to ignore them.

As if sensing the turn of his thoughts inward, you read the tiniest of changes in his posture and pressed on, pulling your legs up to stretch over his lap. Unphased, Izuku dropped the hoodie to the floor and absently caressed your calves.

“You do know you’re still a hero, right?”

Izuku cocked his head, not understanding.

“You were one before any of that madness. They show it all the time at the schools, y’know,” you shared with a good deal of pride, “The sludge monster that had your friend– that was Deku’s first mission. Bet you didn’t know it then, anymore than you do now: even while you’re teaching the next generation of heroes. Your words, your mind, and your heart– you’re still very much a hero… by all three you carry with you.”

And just like that, Izuku truly didn’t think he could melt into the floor like Mirio– until that very moment. It was that pinnacle point that Allmight identified it, too. The instinct that turned the rest of his life upside down.

Betrayed by his disciplined nerves, his weepy heartstrings eeked out a catch in his voice,

"How is it you always know just what to say?..."

Your brilliant smile pressed your cheeks into the most charming lift, knowing him all too well and being proud of it:

"I feel like you do, more than you think. I've gotten really good at masking my own issues, so I get it.”

In a split second, Izuku channeled all self-pitying energy into full, protective alarm–

"IsSuEs?? About what?!–Yourself- how could you say that??"

You chuckled with a full heart, and gave him another doting kiss on the shoulder to try and deter him.

"Well I'm not exactly a tiny girl anymore, hot stuff~ Mah thighs have been particularly blessed since I took a step back from active duty, and they’re at war with any skirt or pants I find." You palmed down your legs briefly, stretching and doing your best to be alluring, "You don’t seem to mind too much ‘bout my size though, so I don’t sweat it nowadays… You inspired me, actually.”

Light suspicion glared back at you, listening but friendly. “How so?”

You turned introspective yourself- but voiced your train of thought rather than shut it up behind pretty eyes and stunted vulnerability.

“Oh, that silly voice in my head shouts just as loudly as anyone else, so I’m plenty guilty of keeping myself down. She doesn’t serve me though, and that’s taken some reframing to get over… I started focusing on making you feel better, when I met you. Share something outside of myself. That makes me happy. Helps keep things in perspective and not stay hung up hard on myself either.”

Before you could read into how tenderly your Izuku was listening to you, you bombarded him with a bite of your trademark humor..

“I mean, let’s be honest– you’ve done the impossible work of convincing me to finish an entire Stanley before lunch, all in the name of hydration! That’s true love right there…”

You reclined back fully now- an extension of your true level of comfort with him. Watching you ease your way down, Izuku would have been flustered at any other time, but now? All he did was fawn after you like you hung the stars yourself.

“You deserve some happiness, baby,” you reminded him. “If I can play any part in that, give you even a fraction of what you’ve given me? I’m honored for the chance. Not for everything you've done– but everything you are. To me."

Seeing Izuku’s newfound appreciation and sentimental smile, you feared he would slide right off the sofa and take you with him– until a newly confident smirk took its place.

A flit of his gaze down your body proved he’d decided otherwise: you were gonna pay for the emotional roller coaster this night has turned into.

Picking up one of your bent legs and chucking it off the couch, Izuku stole you from your comfy position outright: he scooped you up, then plopped you down again with the immense strength he did in fact still carry– all to snuggle up by pinning you where he liked. The surprise had its desired effect, as you giggled at your hero snatching you– squeezing him in a tight, full body hug.

"If you're going to let me not worry about my arms,�� Izuku curtailed his laughing, “-then I'll see to it that you don't worry about these–”

He muffled a kiss to your thigh after scooting backwards- one kiss each, then settled his chin on your tummy.

"You’re really beautiful,” Izuku marvelled, “I’ve always thought that. Inside and out."

You stuttered a bit and leaned up on your elbows. Your earlier bravery was slipping now that the roles were reversed.

Next, he set a loving course of affections there on your stomach too, and scattered more smooches across your midsection, regardless of the barrier your sweater kept between. The hand not supporting his weight caressed your side and even dipped underneath the hem a little.

"Izuku...." you sighed a bit, running through his hair again. There he goes, making you thoroughly embarrassed.

“You should take your own advice, sweet girl,” he shared wisely, “-- treat ourselves as nicely as we treat others– and I don’t mean about keeping you hydrated, silly.”

You snorted back. No argument there– but you hear him out all the same.

“You’re right about that, y’know,” his sights adored you inch by inch as he spoke. “I can wish and wonder how things might have been n’let that keep me down… or, I can be proud of what I’m making now… the future I get to live and see… with the loveliest woman on Earth.”

These comments would be the death of you. Death by Deku.

You chuffed at the change, “Well, geez what happened to my blushing bride? A little pep talk all you needed?”

“Mmmyup. Your turn, now.”

“I dunno if I like this uno-reverse,” you teased his scalp– “it’s definitely.. different.”

Izuku mouths a minute at your wrist, puppy eyes locked on yours, “You wan’ me to stop?”

“...No.”

“Then respectfully, hush your mouth, honey.”

Littering compliments on you caused Izuku to kiss you a bit slower, crawling up your body, pressing tiny kisses up your middle, skipping your chest (politely) and going for the open space from your off shoulder top to take a taste of you on your collarbone. He hummed on contact with skin, brushing some of your flyaways up and away. He muttered between kisses.

‘You smell good… well, of course, you always smell good, always feel s’soft…’

Sighs and spoken praise passed the man’s lips as chose a new spot on your shoulder to adore, claiming you as soft and warm in the tenderest of ways, humming distractedly along every spot he deemed worthy of worship.

Without your noticing, those very strong, steady, scarred hands guided your chin– leading your head away so he'd have room by your neck. This was a great tactic to hide your dizzying aversion, so you’d be damned to stop him now.

Completely unfair. Wasn’t it his job to be constantly embarrassed?!

Taking your pitiful moans as a hint for a breather, Izuku pulled back to savor how cute your face contorted in shyness.

Your darling Izuku leaned down to your ear while you hugged him closer than ever now. The hot anticipation in your belly let its tight grip loose to something relieving to your senses; a refreshing blanket of comfort, rather than white-hot lust and drive. He nuzzled you as he spoke, whispering such caring words,

"You hold onto me, love, and I'll hold onto you. Let's help heal each other."

You hummed in agreement and gasped a little at feeling warm lips meeting your neck for the first time. The sound that left you, involuntary as it was, did nothing but give him the confirmation he wanted.

Izuku’s kisses fell gently and sweet from that moment forward, tongue lapping after some sucked areas to ease any harshness on his way to your waiting mouth. He seemed to be lost in his actions, moaning little utterances of your name as he went. You called for him too in your lovestruck haze, rubbing his shoulders and holding him in place lightly by the hair once he graced your lips at long last.

His hands trailed all over your sides and with your encouragement finally reaching his ears, he grasped at your waist a little firmer. Strength and assurance on full display, he turned the both of you over so you laid in his arms fully, and he met your lips with newfound passion.

Pausing to catch a breath, you both looked at each other with such respect and understanding and damn near reverence that you couldn't keep a smile in. He could have sworn you were sunlight. Warmth you'd never felt before bloomed inside.

Not that you’d ever be the one to make him stop once he’s on a roll, but you caught sight of the abandoned notebook on the ground beside you. Still open, long forgotten.

“What happened to quizzing me on Present Mic’s sound wave frequencies per mile~” you mouthed to him, breathless.

Izuku simply held you tighter, onto his brightest sunflower. “Nah, maybe later. ‘Wanna play your game first.”

#izuku midoriya #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha #bnha

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rahuratna · 1 month ago

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Synopsis: Post-Shibuya Nanami x Classical Dancer Desi Reader

In the aftermath of Shibuya, an injured Nanami struggles to balance his eroding self-worth with his desire to conduct his duty as a sorcerer. He finds healing in the fragrant garden of your dance.

Genres: Romance, angst, suspense.

Content warnings: depictions of low self-esteem, dealing with trauma, erotic and sexual content.

Thanks to @tsukimefuku for reading and editing this piece that is so precious to me. 🧡💜

Please refer to the glossary for the meaning of certain terms used. 🧡

(I)

Pushpanjali: an offering

"Tha ka dhi mi, tha ka dhi mi, tha ka ... "

It is a chant that spans centuries, leaping from the high-ceilinged, airy chambers of a land and time long past, to here, and now. It winds between the gently rippling silk scarves that adorn the walls, a drumbeat like the slow collapse of ancient kingdoms under the steady tramp of cavalry.

Time seems to pass at a stagnant pace in here, in this place where your domain has taken root and unfurled, a red, red bloom in the heart and hand of a painted god.

Feet slide and strike against the worn wooden floor, precise and weighted, as you perform the basic stance before your pupils, watching faces tight with the concentration of the inexperienced.

"Tha ka dhi mi, tha ka dhi mi ... "

Your voice guides them, as does your form, an arm straightening here and a pair of knees bending further as they watch you. The twist of your lower back, the stretch of your arms in a line to some point behind you, the rejoining of your fingers in katakamukha, the arch kept between chin and the line of your shoulder, all shifting in a single fluid movement that requires no thought.

Incense snakes through the air, close to the glass double doors, the heady scent of sandalwood gathering in tendrils there, where the gentle push of the breeze cannot dissipate it. It is through this fine mist that you see him, for the first time, standing just outside the doors in the narrow passageway.

Shoko had informed you of his arrival, of course. She had warned you about his physical condition, about the nature of his grievous injuries. It wouldn't be the first time she'd made use of your services to assist in the rehabilitation of wounded sorcerers.

Your eyes meet his, through the shifting coils of fragrant smoke from the brazier, and you see, in a single, fractured moment, why he is here. He has been sent here for a form of healing, but his gaze is not soft and receptive. It is shuttered, its passion muted and closeted away, defences piled so high they might as well be weapons. He scans the dance hall with the kind of predatory clarity that long, long years of being a sorcerer would bring.

You excuse yourself and step outside, the open door allowing the scent of the incense and the soft evening air to filter out into the hallway. Behind you, the silk scarves flutter gently in the draught.

He is a tall man, poised and elegant. He wears the jacket and comfortable, warm trousers in a way that speaks of someone more accustomed to formal wear. As soon as you enter the hall, he bows with deep formality, and the mellow resonance of his voice seeps into the narrow space like honey spilled across the floorboards.

"Nanami Kento. I was referred here by - "

"Shoko. Yes. I've been expecting you."

You return his bow and introduction, aware of his scrutiny travelling the length of your spine. You can sense that he is picking you apart in his mind, fitting together the components to try to build a coherent whole.

Close-up, the severity of his burns are evident. A layer of darkened scar tissue covers the left side of his face and scalp, running down his neck and further, where your eyes cannot follow. The left eye, according to Shoko, had been unrecoverable, now shielded with a soft, surgical patch. The damage to his arm had been even worse, as it seemed he'd used it to shield himself. A fuzzy growth of pale hair had started along the scorched skin of his scalp, a sign that even now, his body was knitting itself slowly back together.

Your eyes travel over his sharp-edged countenance, and he stares back, unphased. You make a rapid mental list, a trickle of first impressions that will later build to a torrent.

Stength, and plenty of it. A deathly, well-controlled calm that permeates his living flesh, skin over smooth stone. The martial bearing and powerful arms and shoulders, even scorched as they are, speak of the force he must have presented on the battlefield.

He assesses you in return, and you tilt your head as the dim sunlight filtering into the corridor catches his eye, turning the honeyed brown of their depths to a moss-flecked river bed, steady and cool.

Beautiful.

That is your first impression of him.

(II)

Alarippu: the flowering

Recovery.

Kento has heard a dozen variations of that word by now, couched in the language of choice.

The road to recovery.

Recovering your mobility.

Getting your old self back.

A return to routine.

He is aware, by now, that any such full repair of the damage that has been done to him is a castle in the air, one he cannot summon the lightness of spirit to ascend to. Positivity had never really been his hallmark. Now, even less so.

The world had shifted around him while he was asleep, you see. Comrades had fallen. The new generation had triumphed. The very fabric of Jujutsu society had been rewoven, the dawning of a new age embroidered for all to see across the hard-won horizon.

The sacrifices he'd made were but a few of many. They'd hardly mattered, in the larger scheme of things. Many had given their lives. What had he offered up?

The ability to walk without aid, for one. Also, most of the skin on the left side of his body. Basic movements, things that had once been second nature to him, were now carefully calculated because of the pain.

The lunge of an arm through a coat sleeve when he was in a rush. The brisk pace he'd maintained to keep his body temperature up in cold weather. The sensation of a soft cashmere scarf against his cheek, or the brush of an aerated cotton shirt against his skin in summer. The cascade of hot water on tired muscles, after a long afternoon swinging diligently at cursed spirits. All muted, fuzzy, lost.

And what else?

Kento had never been soft with himself. People often thought that sentiment never clouded his cool judgment, allowing him to make objective and sensible decisions. While that was largely true, it flew wide of the mark in terms of what really pushed him, what gave him direction. It was ironic, as he'd speculated later, that his mortal enemy had been the one to identify what many of his comrades hadn't.

Mahito, in that light, youthful, jubilant voice, declaring how he'd seen Kento's soul quivering. And he was not wrong.

Kento was a man driven by a quiet, desolate desperation, a desire to fill an empty space that yawned endlessly within his soul, a black hole with an insatiable appetite. Emotion was as vital to his function as breathing. It drove him out of bed everyday, into the office, into the boardroom, into the bakery, back to jujutsu tech, into rain, snow, sun and wind, into the face of his darkest imaginings.

He watches traffic from the window of his room at the private clinic, pedestrians going about their lives, people chatting on precariously held phones, children dancing through a world of make-belief, people on lunch break. People with purpose, a certainty of their place in the world. What could he offer, in this world of colour, sound, movement and shadow, this world that threatened to leave him behind?

Kento had paid the price, and would do it again, and again, and again, in every known reality, if it meant maintaining the stability he saw outside his window.

(But if that was the case, why was the darkness inside him more ravenous than ever?)

********

Shoko comes to see him most frequently, even with her workload at the Tech. She can't really help it. Nanami is her last remaining bridge to the past, as selfish as that makes her seem. She doesn't care much, not anymore. She'll take what she can get.

A tenuous bridge, is Nanami.

Shoko is accustomed to seeing the damage that can be done to a body by the uncontrolled hatred of a curse, or the more conscious destruction of a cursed technique. She has seen it all, performed the most grotesque procedures on the corpses of those she loved. But something about seeing Nanami's injuries, seeing him like this, is more jarring than any of those horrors.

Her technique has allowed his skin to heal, the raw flesh, exposed tendon and muscle beneath now covered by the new epidermal growth she has stimulated. The chances of oedema and infection are also minimal, considering her precautions. All that was left now was his slow physical conditioning and therapy.

(If only that were all.)

If Itadori, Kugisaki, Fushiguro and Ijichi had their way, Nanami would never know a moment of solitude. They wanted constant updates on his condition, to bring him his favourite foods, to talk, weep, mourn and rejoice with him. She allowed them to see him, every other day, but drew a firm line, citing his recovery as priority. She didn't have the heart to tell them that every gentle glance, every proud smile, every glimpse of the old Nanami they received came at a great cost.

Standing in the doorway of his room now, she could see it. Or rather, the lack of it. That vitality, that pain from which he drew his vigour, the firm lines of his back and shoulder that reminded her of an implacable bulwark against the raging of the cursed world, all absent. When he didn't think anyone was looking, that is.

Stepping into the room, she offers a slight nod as the door slides shut behind her. The change is immediate. He straightens, the corners of his eyes regaining their sharp edge, the set of his mouth firm and familiar.

"Shoko."

"Nanami. Ready to talk about physical therapy?"

She gets straight into it, knowing that he wouldn't want it any other way.

"I'd like that very much. When can I begin?"

His words are still slightly muffled, the burnt edge of his lips stiff with a new layer of scar tissue.

Nanami had never been a vain man. He had always been in possession of striking features, and had taken care of his appearance, but in a way that was more attuned to practicality; if he was neat, well-presented and unremarkable, Nanami considered this a success.

It was why he had been able to look in a mirror with such equanimity for the first time after his treatment. All she had seen was a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth, a slow nod, a brief look of exhaustion and resignation as to this new set of scars.

The loss of his left eye and the damage to the arm on the same side had been the worst of it. There, she'd done everything in her power to restore the lost tissue, but Nanami would never regain his eye, or the full range of motion with that limb. There was, however, the soft growth of new hair on his scalp, a promising sign that elsewhere, her rejuvenation of the underlying tissue layers had somewhat succeeded.

Shoko doesn't reply to his query just yet. She approaches the bed, and he sits up, unlacing the front of his hospital gown, accustomed to the routine by now. She place her palms a few inches from his skin, closing her eyes as she maps him out, bone, muscle, blood and water, the minute synapses where impulses leap in a frantic race, the steady beat of his heart.

Inhaling deeply, she steps away.

"The sooner you begin, the better. I know you've been walking a lot. That alone won't help in the long term."

There is a hint of reproach in her voice. Nanami, displaying his singularly stubborn streak, had been discovered out of bed on more than one occasion, standing by the windows, staring into space in a way that made her worried.

He gives a wry, crooked smile.

"What do you recommend?"

Shoko places the file she'd carried along carefully on his lap.

"There's a family with a specific cursed technique I've corresponded with before. Sent some of my patients to them. They specialize in therapeutics."

Nanami is watching her closely, taking note of the way she focuses on the view out the window.

"And you're sending me to them?"

"They aren't local. The main clan is located in India. Scattered at various locations in the Tamil Nadu province. One of their members moved here, some years back, to conduct research on the compatibility of their techniques with ours. It wasn't a success, for various reasons, but he stayed, with his family."

"So it's a hereditary technique?"

"In a way. It manifests with varying degrees of efficacy. I'd simply like ... for you to meet with their representative."

She returns his gaze, and when she speaks again, he understands why she has been so hesitant.

"It's not just physical therapy, Nanami. We can achieve that pretty well here. Their methods go ... deeper than that. I can mend physical wounds. They might be able to help you heal in other ways."

He doesn't agree to it immediately, looking through the list of exercises that came after the therapy recommendation letter. One eyebrow lifts slightly in a comfortingly familiar query.

"You want me to do yoga too?"

"Gojo's idea. He added it to the list before he - "

She stops abruptly, one hand finding purchase on Nanami's ankle, squeezing lightly on it where it rests beside her, under the blankets.

"Anyway. He said he wanted to make video edits of you with your ass in the air. Said it would be good to bring you down to earth a little."

Her chuckle doesn't sound hollow any longer. She can talk about her friend (yes, he was that too) without that tell-tale catch of agony in her chest. Nanami sighs before opening up the file, his good hand leafing through the printed pages.

"I suppose ... I could humour him. This once."

(III)

Shabdam: The Word

In a month's time, with Shoko's regular treatment, Nanami is in good enough condition to leave the clinic. He still makes use of a walking stick, especially for longer distances and steeper flights of stairs. Ijichi makes sure he is permanently on call, for the occasions when Nanami simply needs to get out of the sterile halls of the clinic, the rapid intake of the world outside enough to sustain him.

Nanami has, for the most part, been following Shoko's regimen religiously, adding his own variations without her knowledge. In this way, his strength and endurance steadily build up to a point where he is ready to be discharged (with daily check-ins, of course).

Nanami keeps the file that Shoko had handed over, but every time he spies it out of the corner of his eye, he occupies himself with something else, procrastinating in a way that is wholly unlike him. Eventually, his own conscience prevents him from delaying further. He is entirely skeptical that anyone can truly help him. He has felt that way since Haibara died, but even he can admit that there's no harm in trying.

He finds the address given with little issue, and Ijichi is more than willing to take him there. The place is nondescript, no signage giving any indication of the activities that take place there. There is an wood-panelled foyer, a colonial style spiral staircase leading to the upper floors. The stairs themselves have been worn smooth by many generations of feet.

Nanami is half an hour early, anticipating some kind of registration process, or introductions, as there had been in martial arts dojos he had frequented. There is nothing of the kind. He finds himself in a corridor, flanked by two pairs of glass double doors. In one of the rooms, a wide open space with a wooden floor and a view over the city, he sees some kind of class in session.

Approaching slowly, he hears it. The rhythmic thump and shuffle of feet, the feminine voice that called out a pattern that he's never heard before, but seems familiar all the same. The glass doors give him a clear view of the room, of the five occupants (a small class, then) who were engaged in some kind of dance practice, and the instructor, up front.

He pauses, body coming to a complete and rare standstill. He watches as she moves through a repetitive step, in time with the beat she calls out, firm, musical, lilting. The grace of movement, the low centre of gravity, the rigidity of the lower body in contrast with the flow of the upper, arrests his vision.

The disciplined line of her throat turns, and she is facing the door, facing him, hands brought together in a signature pose. Long lashed eyes, observant, catching and holding his glance. For a moment, he feels the desire to back away from the door, to hurry out into the street, a return to his comfortable routine. He stands his ground, as always.

He watches as she approaches the door.

********

Once your introductions have been dispensed with, you gesture to Nanami to follow you into the smaller room you use for individual therapy. His gaze lingers on the class that continues, even in your absence.

The same silk scarves ripple gently along the walls of the room next door, orange, grey, red and green. The rug is old, but rich and plush. There are two chairs, comfortable and supportive, their orange upholstery lined with faded gold thread, and an urn on a stand nearby, on the boil in readiness to prepare chai.

You pour him a cup now, the fragrant liquid a rich, caramel brown in the small glass, eyeing his expression through the steam.

There. Immediate interest. A man with a varied palate, considering the way he accepts the tea with polite deference, but takes an appreciative sniff before sipping deeply. The way his shoulders relax slightly afterwards has the corner of your mouth tipping up.

"So, Nanami. Shoko told me that you're here for our specific line of therapeutics."

He puts the cup down with a decisive motion.

"Yes. She told me a little about the effects of your technique."

"Did she explain what exactly it involves?"

He pauses, gaze traveling to the students in the dance hall next door who were now stretching and rounding up their practice.

"I assume it has ... something to do with that?"

You set your own cup down and clap your palms together.

"Well observed. It has everything to do with dance. Bharatanatyam, to be exact."

He raises an eyebrow, and you explain obligingly.

"Where I'm from, Bharatanatyam is one of many classic dance forms. The practice itself goes back centuries. My family's technique is rooted in the principles of the dance itself."

Nanami cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid ... I'm not a good dancer."

Your laughter comes easily.

"That's what they all say, in the beginning. But don't worry. You won't have to do anything strenuous, nor am I going to make you prance around in a dhoti."

"You have my thanks, I suppose."

"We will do plenty of physical conditioning, but you will also be my audience. My technique requires that you are ... receptive and open to answering the things that I ask."

Here, the easy flow of conversation stills a little, and the tea swirls gently through the motion of his dexterous fingers. He does reply, eventually, softer than before.

"I chose to come here. I think that speaks for itself. I will accept whatever your technique can do for me."

The non-committal nature of his reply does not escape you. You nod, understanding that this is the best you'll get from him, for now.

"Hmm. I think it's best that I demonstrate. That always works better than sitting here and explaining."

You stand and gesture for him to do the same, observing his movements carefully.

There. The burned side of his body has slower movements, as expected. He still displays agility and grace, despite the stiffness and pain he must feel. You approach and stand directly in front of him.

"Nanami, I'm going to lay my hand here, on your abdomen. Please tell me if this is fine."

He nods, but his body is now taut, anticipatory. This close, you can smell the surgical cleaning fluid that he must still use when changing dressings, the scent of the clinic still clinging to his clothes and hair. Beneath it, something warm, vital, pleasant. The scent of him. His hair falls over one brow, unhindered, and he impatiently pushes it back. Judging from the length, he must like it shorter than it currently is.

"Please try to relax."

Your hand presses against the firm planes of his stomach, centering around his navel. He is shockingly solid, vitality surging under your fingers. And something else. You frown, but keep your hand in place. After a few minutes, your fingers begin to move. You start to tap out a gentle rhythm against his skin, tentative, repetitive.

You keep this up for a while, eyes shut tightly, focused. When you eventually look up at him, he is watching you with close attention. You know what he sees, that he is following the currents of cursed energy that swarm around your body, fluttering and pulsing in accordance to the pattern you've been tapping out.

This part is crucial. The manner with which you approach this will determine his response, and you can feel his resistance to an invasion of this kind, how he could shut himself off from you, the giant ribcage of self-preservation sealing to the sternum, forever shielding his heart.

You step back and take your seat again, and he pauses before doing the same. He leans forward, elbows on knees, watchful. This man doesn't miss a thing.

"Your diagnosis?"

He had a lot of cheek too.

"There is no diagnosis. Not in the sense you're thinking."

"So, what was the purpose of ... that?"

"It allows me to plan my dance. For next time."

"Your dance?"

You reach for your glass, take a quick sip of the cooling liquid.

"In plain terms, my technique is called Arangetram. It's named after the dance recital performed by a bharatanatyam student after many years of perfection of their art. The recital takes place in stages, and each stage reveals more of their dedication, their skill and their unique talent."

Your palms, placed together, draw apart and Nanami's gaze falls between them.

"It's an unfolding. A gradual one. My technique enables me to read deeper into the patterns of your own energy, gently peeling apart each layer in stages, until we reach the crux of the issue. The wound to your Atman. Your true, and eternal self. With my guidance, and your cooperation, we can possibly help heal that."

As you speak, Nanami's gaze falls to his glass, the bitter dregs collecting at the base. He stands abruptly, and turns away from you, facing the window. You remain still, waiting.

When he speaks, there is something in his voice that makes you wince slightly. So much heaviness. So much despair. The weight of it must be crushing.

"That sounds ... familiar. Before I was saved by another young sorcerer, someone I helped mentor, I ran into a curse that could have ended my life for good. I'd met him before, you see, but he escaped me at that time. His technique ... wounds the soul. Our perception of ourselves."

You take in a sharp breath. What Nanami was describing was a form of cursed technique in direct opposition to your own. Nanami continues, eyes fixed on the steady stream of cars that pass by below.

"Are you telling me that you can heal that kind of damage completely?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because damage to the soul requires accurate perception, but a callous disregard for any and all forms of life. Destruction is part of universal balance, but to actively go about it, without any consideration for what you will create, is ... inhuman."

You stand, wanting to meet his eyes when he turns to face you again.

"Healing the soul is nothing like this. Nor can it be done in the same way for every person. But Nanami, here's the question I want to ask most right now. Why, even now, are you thinking about all the victims of this curse? Why, since you've heard the nature of my technique, have you never once thought about how it could actually help you?"

This demand is what it takes for him to finally tear his gaze away from that window, mouth opening in protest, but your silencing finger is up. You're not touching his lips, not quite, but close. His warm breath ghosts over your finger.

"Dont answer that question now. Answer it tomorrow, after you watch me dance."

(IV)

Jathiswaram: Purity of dance

He is early the next day, and you can sense that this will be a pattern. A seasoned sorcerer, through and through, gaining intel on the lie of the land. He is dressed with casual elegance once again, this time in a soft sweater and old jeans.

You guide him through a series of stretches and stances, eyes following his movements. As hard as Nanami is to read, you can tell, from the softening of the lines at the corners of his eyes that these exercises give him relief.

He is also unlike any other pupil you've ever encountered. There is something about having that keen gaze trace every line your body forms with such close attentiveness, the lithe mimicking of each pose, the easing of the stiff line of his mouth when he gets something right, and is aware of it.

It is like practicing yoga alongside a panther, one that won't harm you, but with every stray connection of the eyes, you are aware of just what it is physically capable of. It is both thrilling and strange; new.

When the first short session is over, and he seems slightly more at ease, you serve him tea once again.

"Take a few minutes. Relax. You'll wait in here until I call you into the hall next door."

"What would you have me do?"

"There will be a cushion on the floor. You're going to sit cross legged, as comfortable as you can get. Arms relaxed, hands resting on your knees. Then, you watch."

"A performance of some kind?"

"Yes. To be more specific, you're going to be inside my domain."

This was the one detail he seemed most hesitant about. You wait, in silence, giving him a chance to defer, to push back, to delay the inevitable. He doesn't do any such thing. You're beginning to understand just what kind of courage this man possesses. It takes a different kind of bravery, you're well aware, to face your own demons rather than the gnashing beasts of the cursed world.

*****

Kento does his best to let the soothing spiced heat of the tea perform its dutiful relaxation of his limbs. He sits, legs spread slightly, staring at the wall. The door to the small side room effectively cuts off any sound from the dance floor beyond. He does not know what to expect and he doesn't like it.

Finally, a soft chime sounds. His signal. Setting the glass of tea aside, he stands and makes his way into the corridor, then into the room beyond. He pauses, taking in the transformation.

The view of the city outside has been completely blocked by rich, embroidered curtains, a screen propped up all along one end of the room. Behind it, he hears soft voices speak in another language, rapid and lyrical. The experimental pat of drums and the musical clink of small cymbals indicates that a band of some kind has set up back there, in readiness with their instruments.

Following the instructions he'd received earlier, Kento pads quietly to the centre of the room, where the large, solitary cushion sits, and lowers himself onto it. It is surprisingly comfortable. When everything seems to be in position, a hush falls over the room.

The first hint of her approach is the chime of the anklets she wears, many layered, the bronze shimmer of the individual bells catching the buttery light. She wears a sari, but something about it seems tailored differently from those he'd seen before. The waist has been cinched in with a belt, the pleats of the skirt fanning out around the knees. Beneath, she wears a pair of loose-fitting pants, the shimmering material caught in at the ankles by the bells he heard earlier.

Her hair has been fixed back in a long braid, flowers framing the outline of her head. Dark kohl lines her eyes, and her hands and feet are decorated with a red stain that stands out against the ocean-coloured silk of the sari.

She approaches and crouches nimbly before him, that long-lashed gaze travelling over his form, attentive. Her voice is low pitched, as always, but now there is a new undercurrent to it. He can feel the latent energy within her, as if she has been calling to it, like some long- submerged civilization breaching the surface of the sea.

"Nanami. I'm about to start. In order for me to do so, I need you to picture something in your mind's eye for me."

He nods, slowly.

"I'm going to touch your navel the same way I did yesterday. When I do, don't fight the image your mind throws up. It is natural. It may be a good memory, or an upsetting one. Either way, just let it be. Do you understand?"

"I do."

The pressure of her hand is barely tangible through the material of his sweater, but her cursed energy slides against him with a force he can push back against. He doesn't. Even as it goes against every preservatory instinct he has, he lets her in, watches the slow dawn of soft surprise in her eyes. She has kind eyes, he is only just realising.

And then an image flashes across his mind, just as she warned. Another era of lost kindness, a boy who looked at him with eternal patience, good humour and warmth. In the instant that he sees that face, laughing, animated, lips peeled back from wide, white teeth in that trademark grin, the world shifts. The face is no longer filled with life and humour. It is cold. Pale. Lips purplish and creased, dried blood flaking from the corners.

He wants to pull away, to stop, but he cannot. This is important. This has to be done.

Her hand comes down on his abdomen, harder. Then again. She is finding a rhythm in his own cursed energy, hand mapping out the pulse, scenting his weakness, his pain, following it. Again. And again. And again. The steady pattern builds. So does her cursed energy. It fills the room, filtering into every space, until Kento feels like he is the inhabitant of a fish tank.

Blue silk fluttering, she steps back suddenly. The scent of the incense is heady, intense. Behind the screen, the unseen musicians have somehow struck up the same tempo she has been playing on his abdomen. Her expression changes, and he straightens, slowly.

The kohl-lined eyes open wide, the whites stark gains the smoky backdrop of her lids. She drops to the same stance he'd seen her adopt in the class she'd taught yesterday, knees slightly bent, thighs holding a rigid line, arms outstretched, hands slightly bent at the ends. Her entire upper torso forms an elegant line, see-sawing gently, before the arms snap back and forth, as if tugged by an elastic band.

Red-painted, flickering like four flames, her hands and feet move with rapid precision, taking her through a fluid series of steps that are timed exactly to the beat of the drums, the beat of his own cursed energy, humming and writhing. Her dark, dark eyes meet his, and he understands, now, that every movement she makes entwines their energy, tangles it further, a cat with a ball of yarn, edging the threads closer to a woven pattern.

Her hands stretch toward him, shaped in what seems to be something symbolic of a flower. They spread, and he follows the reddened unfurling of her fingers, the crash of the cymbals louder, a portent of her ability.

He sees the incorporeal lotus, the shadow of it on the screen behind her, petals rifling past each other like the pages of an endless book, and her hands are dragging something out and away from him, emptying like fragrance into the room.

This is her domain, and he shudders in sudden understanding, as memories he'd long buried, bruised and raw, come fluttering like a cloud of butterflies to the surface of his mind.

The first time he'd met Haibara, the way the bright-eyed boy had handed him a shared ice cream, that hot, hot summer's day. The way he'd followed Kento, ignoring his grumpy demeanour, pressing snacks and home-made creations (less successful) into his hands. The long days of training, the sudden and pleased widening of his eyes when Kento had let slip that he'd been improving. The muted tones of his exuberant voice when he'd spoken of his sister, of the path he'd make sure she'd never choose.

And that, right there, was that focal point of pain, the sore spot that had festered, untreated, deep in the knowledge of his soul. Haibara had known, all along, the dangers of their job. He'd known, full well, how easily his life was spent by those who did not understand the full value of such currency. He knew that his youth was a fool's game, one that may never be completed. And for all of these years, since his death, Kento had chosen to -

The loud clash of cymbals dissipates those thoughts instantly, the energy permeating the room, surrounding them both, snapping back to her still form, controlled and under her command. She is watching him closely, the tight grip he now has on his knees, the sweat beading on his brow.

She takes three steps forward, legs lifting high in the stylized movement of her dance form, and her palms come together as she bows to him. Instantly, the performer is gone, and she is back with him, no longer in command. She pads quickly over to him, kneeling and touching his leg.

"Hold on to those images for a moment. Tell me, who was that boy?"

Kento pauses, swallows thickly.

"Haibara Yu. A boy who studied at the Tech with me. We trained together."

She does not need to ask what has happened to Haibara. She has seen it, through the binding of her dance. She has seen his death. Her next question catches him off guard.

"Why is his spirit so strong inside you? You carry him with you like a briefcase to work everyday. Why is his reflection on every surface you pass? Why does he force you forward, and yet, drag you backwards too?"

Kento is still, the sweat cooling on his temples. His muscles are rigid, cording. Pain flares along his jaw, where he has been clenching it. She raises a hand, palm up.

"Don't answer me now. Take the next few days off, and think about the questions I've asked."

*******

He does consider it, as she asked him to. In fact, it's all he can dwell on. As much as it robs him of sleep, leaving him tossing and turning, blankets rumpled and damp with perspiration, he thinks that this is better than staring into formless space. This torment is preferable to the endless battle played out against the pale, sterile walls of the clinic.

How long has it been since his pain has been cut out of his chest, a fully formed, hard-edged diamond, the corners so sharp they slice through him at every touch? How long has it been since he's turned over that crystalline fragment in his hands, allowed himself to remember, to cherish, to grieve?

He understands why he could not, before this. There were missions to undertake. Work to be done. Curses to be dispatched. An endless cycle of activity to tear his mind away from such things.

And then, there had been the students. He goes over each of their names in his mind like a mantra. Yuuji. Megumi. Nobara. Maki. Panda. Inunaki. Ino. The faces of children, the minds of warriors, the scars of those who had known their worst fears and overcome them. It was his duty to protect and serve, to keep them safe, and yet ...

If he had convinced himself, so many times over, that Haibara had needed an adult like the one he had shaped himself to be, then why wasn't he needed any longer?

(V)

Varnam: The Centerpiece

When you see him again, you can't help the smile that breaks across your face. Nanami is a tricky customer. In spite of his natural strength and charisma, you can tell that he is unaccustomed to relying on others for his emotional well-being.

And yet, here he is, standing in the hallway, expression controlled and muted as always. There is a certain tension and guarded quality to his demeanour that is lacking this time around, however. He has seen the extent of your technique. It cannot harm him any more than he harms himself. This, you are also aware of.

"Nanami. It's good to see you."

He nods, that keen eye of his taking in your expression.

"You were not expecting me to return."

It is not a question. You laugh and gesture to him to follow you into the smaller room beside the dance hall.

"I can't say what I expected. But rest assured ... I'm glad to see you here."

He dips his head in acknowledgement as he follows you through the door. You note that he's had a haircut since the last time you've seen him, the flowing blonde hair slicked back on the right side. His surgical patch has been replaced by a soft black one. His walk seems a little steadier, even if he still has to use the sturdy cane to navigate the stairs.

You pour him tea in silence, waiting for him to initiate the topic that you've asked him to consider. He takes a sip, a soft grunt of satisfaction escaping him, before he sets the glass down with that decisive motion you've come to recognise.

"Last time I was here ... you asked me about Haibara."

"I saw him. In your memories. He must have been important to you."

"I said that we studied together. We were in the same year. There was ... a mission. It was assigned wrongfully, by the higher ups. The difficulty level was ... too great for two fledgling sorcerers. We'd held our own against curses before, but this was different."

"And Haibara ... "

"He was killed. I escaped."

There it was. The words seem to exit him easily enough, because he's probably said them many times before. There is a raw quality to them, though, that cannot be disguised. He has never forgiven himself for Haibara's death. You give him a minute before resuming your questioning.

"My technique showed me that Haibara had a sister. He did not want her to become a sorcerer like you two?"

Here, Nanami's hesitance is tangible.

"No, he didn't. He knew the dangers of our work."

"And yet, in your memories, you clearly see him as someone to be protected."

"He was."

The words emerge sharper than Nanami likes, because he tries to lessen the bite of his tone as he continues.

"I believe that the younger generation of sorcerers should be protected at all costs, whenever necessary. It doesn't matter how much they've seen, how much they've experienced. What matters is that they are not robbed of responsible adult figures in their lives, who can help them cope with what comes later."

"Did anyone help you with coping? With dealing with what happened to Haibara?"

For the first time, Nanami does not meet your gaze. There is a softness to this man, that shows in the gentle, considered way he touches objects, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheeks, the way he is always thinking of someone, anyone other than himself.

"No."

His voice is charged, but quiet.

"And so, you think to play this role for the future generations?"

"I hope to. Yes."

You already know what must be done, as painful as it may be.

"Nanami, is it possible for me to meet with your students?"

******

"Nanamiiiinnnn!"

The boy with soft-hued pink hair is enthusiastic in his greeting, none of it contrived. You can see from the way his eyes light up, the way his whole body gravitates to the sorcerer standing beside you, that Nanami means the world to him. The girl with the eyepatch beside him gives a more staid greeting. There is a certain tough rakishness to her bearing that you've come to recognise as well-earned bravado.

It's Nanami you are more focused on. He introduces you to the students who greet you politely, each giving a small bow.

"How's the progress, Nanamin? You look great!"

The young sorcerer, Yuuji, truly means it. He is taking in Nanami with an air of triumph.

"It's slow, in some ways, but I'm getting there, Itadori."

You note how he still refers to them by their family names, even after everything they've been through together.

"Why don't we have lunch together?" you suggest.

Nobara immediately points at Nanami.

"Ask him. He's knows all the good places, in just about every part of the city."

And so, you find yourselves seated at a small soba place, one you haven't come across before. The food is excellent, and Yuuji and Nobara chat animatedly across the table with their senior as they plough through a selection of dishes.

It is now that you notice all of the things that Nanami doesn't.

The way Yuuji constantly keeps an eye on how much his mentor eats. The way Nobara adjusted the table when they sat down, such that Nanami could be more comfortable. The way they both scoped you out with clear protective instinct, forming their opinions of you.

Yuuji keeps up an encouraging stream of comments, complimenting Nanami on his receptiveness to treatment, on his hair, on the fact that he's been getting out more. He asks Nanami's advice on missions he'll be undertaking solo, and with others.

"So, Ino got his grade one promotion!"

"He told me."

Nanami cannot help the small smile that appears on his face. Yuuji shakes his head.

"Ha. I bet he told you before he told his mom."

Nobara snorts in agreement.

"Did you know he's picked up wearing a suit on missions now?"

"He does?"

Nanami seems surprised by this.

"Sure does. Keeps his hair shorter too. Thought I was teaming up with a Yakuza the last time we went on a mission together."

"Surely not."

"Oh, absolutely! He tried acting all cool, until I told him I'd video him and send it to you, and then he stopped with the persona real fast."

Nanami chuckles. It is a rich, warm, hearty sound, one that flickers over the table like the heat of a fireplace. You see the aching softness in Yuuji's eyes, the way Nobara grins triumphantly at having wrung that sound out of him.

And you understand, fully, like you knew you would.

These are no fledgling sorcerers. Nanami can never again offer them the kind of protection he once had. It is obvious that they value him no less for that. He is a glowing lantern of comfort, of hope to them. If he'd ever desired to play the role of responsible adult to these youngsters, then he'd exceeded every expectation and made himself indispensable, and loved.

If only he could see that.

You catch yourself watching Nanami's smile throughout the meal. It is, at times, contagious, at times shy, at other times a sarcastic tilt. He likes sandwiches, as you learn, and Nobara makes fun of the time one of Yaga's cursed dolls knocked a fresh salmon bagel out of Nanami's hand and he'd snapped and almost destroyed the garden it had escaped into.

It's only when the meal is over, and you are gathering up your purse, that you spy Nobara's eyes on you. The curve of her lips is discreet, and knowing.

*******

During the next few weeks, Nanami's physical condition slowly, but gradually improves. He does not ask when you will ensconce him in your domain again, and you do not offer. You feel that there is some fundamental hurdle he needs to overcome before this.

He still comes regularly, though. For someone who lived a regimental lifestyle like he did, you suppose it has something to do with maintaining a routine. Every other day, he is present, and sometimes, you note, he arrives almost half an hour early, watching the dance practice through the glass doors from the room across the hall.

You now leave the chai where he can help himself to it, and the cushioned mats rolled out so that he can take himself through the preliminary stretches while he waits.

The muscle atrophy, that is sometimes expected in cases of severe burns, does not present in any such way with Nanami. You can see, in the firmness of his stride, in the way he is able to balance his weight, in the slow loss of infirmity, that he has been working hard to maintain his strength and regain his physical abilities.

This is not what worries you. It's what comes after.

One month after treatment began, you see him ascend the staircase without assistance from a cane. He looks across the small distance, that bewitching hazel eye so firm, so proud, so accomplished, turning to you for acknowledgement that you cannot help the small sound of delight that escapes you. You also feel your stomach clench in anticipation.

Once in the room, you notice the small hint of amusement on his face, as you serve him from a plate of samoosas. You lift a curious brow.

"What is it?"

"You don't have to look so concerned. I won't be trying to take on any missions."

"I'm not concerned about- "

You cut yourself off, busying your hands with the tea. When you look up again, your breath catches slightly in your throat. He is watching you with what looks like tenderness, one hand still holding the plate you've absently passed to him. He speaks again, leaning back in his chair.

"There is something I haven't told you yet."

"And what's that?"

"About a dream of mine. One I've had for a very long time."

"And I presume it's a good dream?"

"In every sense. When I worked as a salaryman, I planned to save up enough money to retire. Live somewhere affordable, near the sea. Somewhere like Kuantan. I'd finally get to read all the books I'd bought and never finished. I'd live peacefully. Travel now and then."

You hum slightly, considering this dream.

"That sounds wonderful. Do you still think that this dream ... belongs to you? That it can be your reality, someday?"

"I always have. But ... I also know that such dreams come at a heavy price."

"Nanami ... I'd say that you've paid a thousand times over for such a dream."

Your heart twists at the pained knowledge in his glance. You've underestimated his astute nature.

He knows.

"I did tell you that one of the younger sorcerers saved my life, before. It was Yuuji. He found me when I was half conscious, burned, hallucinating about ... but that's beside the point. When I walked through that subway, I kept thinking the same thought, over and over again. 'Haven't I done enough?'"

The silence that descends upon the room is stifling. You clasp your hands over your knees.

"And have you?"

"I don't know, truthfully. Every time I think I have, there is something else. There will always be those who need the help of sorcerers. As long as I am able, how can I deny them that help?"

He is testing the waters, you can tell. Something about the last time he entered your domain must have triggered a curiosity in him, a desire to know just how much you could help him. You're not sure what it is, but you feel a rush of hope, a sense of a dawning breakthrough.

He spoke of a dream, and you know that Nanami never speaks idly. You pour him another glass of tea.

"I have a suggestion. Would you like to enter my domain again?"

(VI)

Padam: Simplicity

This time, there is no pre-amble. Nanami seats himself on the cushion at the centre of the room with preternatural calm, but you sense the roil of emotions beneath. It gives you a sense of purpose, as you prepare, focusing your technique as you braid your hair and apply the red alta dye to your hands and feet and leave it to dry.

When you enter the room, you see his gaze immediately follow the movement of your hands. You crouch beside him, and something feels different.

Prior to this, Nanami was yet another patient of Shoko's, referred to your family for the kind of healing that physiologically-based cursed techniques couldn't touch. It was the reason that the study of their connection had fizzled out. Practitioners like Shoko were fully aware of the effects, but could not recommend them without a sense of hesitation.

And what was Nanami to you now?

You'd been avoiding that question. You know, full well, that helping him has become a desire birthed inside you as vital as breathing. You want to see him well, you want to see him happy, you want his laugh to echo through the corridors of Jujutsu Tech and his feet to find their way to warm sands and the gentle caress of waves. It is that simple.

(You wish it was.)

Your touch on his abdomen is charged with the weight of this knowledge, the heat that floods your veins intoxicating as he opens himself to you. You feel for the thread that hangs in the still interior of the self, the quivering vibration that changes and slides from his soul to yours.

There. It is different this time.

There is a tug of greater urgency, a rhythm that swells into a powerful current that threatens to snatch away your control.

No. You won't let it.

The reigns twist in your hand, but you pull them further into yourself, taking them, pioneering your way across the ocean of his desolation and uncertainty. You begin the steady rhythm, synchronized with the music of his soul. The drums behind you take it up. The song holds power, heady and fractious.

There will be theater in your performance tonight.

You spring away from Nanami, the connection between you thrumming with latent energy. The visions of his mind's eye flash upon yours, a series of broken images. You need more coherency. And so, you dance.

You allow your expression to mould to a frightening form, eyes wide, shadows gathering beneath them. Your palm raised, the other thumb above it, quivering.

Illumination. Let the soul reveal itself.

And it does. Nanami's form, dragging his feet, fresh, horrific burns across his torso, swimming into your vision. As you take measured steps across the floor, knees poised high, anklets chiming, his footsteps echo yours.

You turn, palms facing floorward and ceilingward, the red seeping between your fingers in the dim light reminiscent of the blood that creeps sluggishly from the raw ends of his scorched flesh. You take his pain into yourself, whirling across the floor.

And then, something startling. Yuuji appears, but not as the heroic saviour. There is a gaping hole in his chest, those bright eyes, fervent with life, now empty and soulless. He collapses with a solid thud and your steps falter.

This is not -

And then, Nobara. Your hands draw back, foot placed on the flesh of the enemy, but Nobara's face explodes in a bloom of scarlet, painting the walls with a hibiscus flare of bone, flesh and matter.

Why is he -

Nanami's face and neck are drenched in sweat, his eyes shut tightly. There are crescents forming in the fabric of his trousers, over the knees, where his fingernails dig into the flesh. The cymbals are now clashing to a faster pace, and you are drawn along, the river of his despair breaking its banks.

You see them, one by one, in-between the rush of your spinning braid, arms and the red flash of your fingers. All of them. All of the students Nanami holds so dear, lifeless, bodies broken beyond repair. A thin, bespectacled man in a dark suit, motionless on the ground, blood seeping from beneath him. Shoko, with her lackadaisical smile and lazy warmth, neck slit, dropping to her knees. Haibara Yu, his youthful face ghastly and pale, one finger raised, pointing.

There is a dreadful sound emerging from Nanami's throat, pain and loss and suffering ground between his teeth to spill into his lap, along with the dampness that rushes from beneath his single, uncovered eyelid. You fight against the overwhelming current, back towards him, the muscles of your legs screaming as his cursed energy pushes up from all around him, a defensive wall.

You're on your knees beside him now, reaching past the battering of his energy, grasping hard at his shoulders.

Come back. Come back to me.

He is twisting in your grasp, his strength all but overwhelming, even in his weakened state. You position your hands on either side of his face, gently, the tendons in your neck standing out with the effort of keeping them in place.

Come back to me.

You are vaguely aware that words are spilling from between his clenched lips, the muffled sounds slowly gaining clarity as you fix your gaze on his mouth.

"Why not me, why not me, why not me, why - "

You feel an answering dampness on your own cheeks as you draw him closer, feeling his cursed energy envelope you, binding you even closer in mind and body.

"Not you, Nanami. Not you. Because your life is not going to be spent like this. Not like this."

Through the atomic engagement of your cursed energy, you feel for the familiarity of him, and you flood his awareness with images that push away the darkness that lingers. Of Yuuji and his kind eyes and watchful care, of Nobara with her brash humour and protective glance. You force him to confront the reality of the others he's buried in his memory, of the bespectacled man scurrying around his office, of Shoko puffing out a dense, white cloud as her head tilts back against a pillar, of the other students, traipsing back in, exhausted after a mission, of a young man pulling a ski mask over a cheeky, lop-sided grin.

"They need you, Nanami Kento. They need you to be alive and well. That's all they've ever wanted."

Your voice has lowered to a whisper as your domain is finally able to manifest, unfolding in the absence of his resistance. The many-petaled flower blooms in shadow, until the shining heart of it breaches like a whale's head above the turbulent waves.

And Nanami is enfolded in your arms, head pillowed against your shoulder, as your voice draws his drowning mind inwards, a solitary lifeline.

*****

Nanami does not return for his scheduled appointment the day after, or the time after that. Two weeks go by with no sign of him. You debate calling Shoko to enquire after him, your concern growing like a viper, hatched in the pit of your stomach.

Something holds you back, however. The same idea that forces you to confront what Nanami Kento has become to you. Your technique alone is based on facing the uncomfortable truths buried deep in your soul, and your feelings for him are no exception.

You cannot, in good conscience, call Shoko when the man you have come to care for so deeply wants nothing more to do with you, or your domain. The best thing for both of you would be to remain as silent ships, passing each other on the vast ocean, as Nanami gradually finds his way to the uncertain shore of recovery.

You cannot help but wonder, though, if you did truly have some impact on him. Had it worked? Would he now make more positive changes in his life that you would simply remain unaware of, or would he ignore all the progress you had made since the first time he'd stepped through those doors? You had to make peace with the idea that you'd probably never know.

(It still leaves you breathless with hurt, remembering the tender scent of him that remains on your clothes.)

******

Nanami does return, just not in the manner you'd expected.

It is a cool spring day, a full month after the incident in the dance hall. You've just come down from your apartment on the third level, wrapping a scarf around your neck and steeling yourself to brave the chill. You hear footsteps on the stairs, and you will your heart to a regular beat as their steady pace and weight sounds familiar. You've long given up the chance of seeing him again.

And then the distinctive wing of blonde hair makes an appearance past the rickety balustrade, followed shortly by the rest of him, and something in your chest constricts, because all of your discipline and mindfulness is about to fly out the window, and -

He mounts the final stair, pausing as he takes you in, in your outdoor clothes. You are trying, failing, trying so hard not to read too much into his expression, but there ... you see it. His eye kindles; the warmth of it floods the narrow space between you two, seeping into you down to your bones. No scarf can replicate this.

He steps forward, uncertainly, face twisting slightly in pained apology.

"Am I ... I hope you're well."

"I am. You look ... "

He is finally clad in the form most natural to him, a tan business suit, dark blue shirt beneath, a speckled tie cast to one side by the wind. His hair has grown drastically in the time he's been absent, one half of his scalp covered by a short growth of luxuriant white. He wears a dark glove over his left hand, presumably protecting the sensitive burnt skin there.

He is walking, completely without aid, only a slight stiffness betraying the original severity of his injury. All the elegance, strength and beauty you saw in him at first glance, now magnified beyond your comprehension, because something else is different.

His soul, the Atman that had struggled like a wounded tiger, frantic and torn, beating against its constraints, is not whole. Not just yet. It is, however, expanding beyond the borders of his body, exuding that confidence and grace you knew were such a vital part of his being. This is Nanami, the shackles of his mind trailing with uncertainty behind him as his gaze seeks yours.

You take a breath, but he holds up a hand.

"Please, let me speak first."

Seeing your slow nod, he seems slightly relieved.

"I apologise sincerely for not coming sooner. I felt that ... I needed to make progress on my own, to come to terms with what you'd shown me, before I came here once again. Above all I was ... "

Those rich, mellow tones of his drop to the range of the barely audible.

"Above all, I was ashamed. Of how obtuse I'd been. Of all the things I'd missed. I had to make that right somehow, to work harder to show the people who care about me that I can learn. That I can change. That I can ... think of myself and prioritize my well-being."

You are vaguely aware that you've drawn closer, a hapless moth, fluttering closer to a consuming flame.

"And are you at such a point now? You can really think of yourself?"

He huffs a soft laugh, eye traveling slowly, softly over your hair, your face, your lips.

"Yes. Yes, I think I can. If you choose to forgive me, maybe I can accompany you on your walk now?"

******

It is not the only time he walks with you. Nanami starts to visit again, regularly, but not just for yoga and exercises. Many of his visits are social, calling on you with a small gift of some edible treat or other that he'd discovered.

He tells you that he has started working at the Tech again, but in a purely advisory capacity, holding special seminars for younger sorcerers on the dynamics of co-operative missions, prioritizing the safety of oneself and teammates, strategy and appropriate preparation before missions.

He watches each young face that peers earnestly at him from the audience and feels a sense of peace, that he is doing all that he can to help them survive the harsh world that awaits. He is also liaising with various counseling services, trying to build a solid foundation for sorcerers who require emotional and psychological support.

You listen to each of his endeavours with delight, especially when he asks if you are willing to be part of this new co-ordinated team, bringing your area of specialty to the table.

Other times, you sit on the balcony with him, watching the ebb and flow of humanity in the city below, your bubble of tranquility untouched. These times are the most precious to you, because that is when Nanami's shoulders ease, when the lines at the corners his eyes deepen with merriment, when he tells you stories of places he's visited, people he's come across, anecdotes from his days as a salaryman and the latest exploits of the students.

There are times when he leans in close, when your breath halts at the verdant, warm, masculine scent of him. There are times when you pass him a steaming glass and your fingers brush the ends of his, and you notice that he always takes off his glove when he sits with you. Sometimes you stand, side by side on the balcony, your upper arm pressed slightly against his, revelling in the sweet, solid proximity of him.

It is one one of those occasions that you turn to him, to point out a new store that has opened not far away, and you see that he is watching you. There is no shame in his glance, only a gentle wonder that weaves a golden bridge between the both of you. Your voice is soft, reverent.

"What is it?"

"I'm remembering the first time I saw you dance."

"Oh?"

"You were teaching a class, as I recall. I remember standing by the door, watching, and some time later, your eyes were on me. And I realized that I couldn't remember anything that had happened in between."

He reaches for you, the glove absent, and you lean into his touch without hesitation. His fingers are light, so light, as they trace across your temple, your cheek, the corner of your lips.

"And ... during our second session, when you held me, I knew that I couldn't continue like this. That you were using the strength of your soul to heal mine, and that if I didn't do my best to understand what you had shown me, then all your effort would have been for nothing. I couldn't accept that."

Your forehead finds purchase against his, a natural movement that echoes the press of your palm against the substantiality of his chest.

"And now?"

"Now ... I can walk beside you in the sun."

The taste of his mouth is a nectar you've never known you've craved. It is heady, a fiery joining of soft and rough, the edges of the scar tissue tracing along your lips like the light drag of a fingernail.

You open your arms to him once more, and this time, he stays.

(VII)

Thillana: Revivification

After learning the soul, learning the body is as natural as breathing. You were hesitant about touching him, wondering how much he'd allow after his injuries. You needn't have worried much on that account. As much as he makes your heart flutter and sing with his praises, with his eager, gentle touches, with the growing harshness of his lips against yours, all that he seems concerned with is how to use his body best to bring pleasure to yours.

You have seen the barest desolation of his soul, and its healing, and the damage to his body means as little to both of you as the muted rush of traffic outside your small apartment.

His urgency is sweetened by the clumsy tug and pull on zips and fastenings, on the shedding of clothes, the soft exhales, painting skin with warm moisture in between the frantic pace of your lips and his.

His hands are so large, spanning your ribcage as you lead him to your bed, circling and finding purchase on the dip of your waist. His body is a moving furnace that warms you as you stumble and clutch at each other, the ripple of muscle like an unseen beast beneath the waves as your palms explore his shoulders, arms, torso, hips.

Kento's skin is a map of hidden treasures, the smooth, tawny, gold- flecked expanse of chest meeting the ridges of scar tissue halfway across. The new growth of white hair on his scalp is downy soft between your fingers, in contrast to the silky texture on the right. His powerful thighs slide between yours, the forward thrust of his hips spreading you open to receive his weight.

He is not forceful, and yet, takes the reigns of your intimate dance almost as if by instinct. He pauses above you, propped on his hands, chest heaving slightly as he takes you in, his amber-shot gaze misty with adoration and lust. You reach up, tracing the firm line of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the sinew of his neck. Every new angle you spy reveals more, that elusive, predatory beauty that never fails to enchant you.

His head dips, the blonde strands falling forward softly against your skin as he kisses a line of fire down your torso, quickening your breathing as his tongue flickers against your flesh. He holds you down, pressing you firmly into the mattress as he worships each breast, lapping, suckling, savouring.

He moves further down, and your sharp breathing devolves into whispered pleas and whimpers as he nudges your inner thigh softly with his nose. So deliriously slow, so decisive, as in every action he takes, he devours his way to the apex of your thighs, sliding his hands underneath you as you lift your hips and present yourself further to him.

The feast he has been waiting for lies open beneath his gently probing fingers, their honey smearing over his lips as he tastes you, eye snapping up as a breathy moan escapes your lips. He laps at you with heady abandon, that smoky, devoted gaze never leaving the contortions of your face as he brings you to each hard-won peak, drifting you back down to a mellow lake of blinding pleasure.

Your fingers slide and catch on his shoulders, anchoring yourself as blood thunders in your ears, and a rising storm, electric and charged with fresh potency, builds at every ultra-sensitive point of contact. He is your passionate guide, leading you to a shining horizon, familiar and yet fraught with the overwhelming knowledge that he is the one who pulls you over the edge of the thundering waterfall.

You are submerged, the shake of your limbs and the hoarse cry of your voice reaching up from beneath the surface your senses have yet to emerge from. When they do, you glance down at him, past your heaving chest, at the blaze that roars within him as he beholds you splayed out, breathless; an offering.

He takes it.

The slow crawl of his skin, sliding against your damp flesh, the brief touch of his mouth at the hollow of your throat, the brush of his nose against yours. He takes your lips in a soft request for entry, groans into your mouth as you trace the ridges of his spine.

Kento is almost too much for you, the burning vitality that steals your breath, the fullness of your arms as they embrace all of him. The air rushes out of your lungs as the hardened press of his length breaches you, fills you to overflowing.

He holds you close, so close, as if he could meld your bodies as you had once done with your cursed energy, ragged puffs of air escaping his lips to collect like clouds in the evening sky of your hair. His movements are slow, dragging tears from the corners of your eyes, drunk and blissful moans cocooned within the slowly rotating vessel of your lovemaking.

You are at sea with him, around him, washing over his starving self and nourishing his spirit with every slick press of your bodies together, every arch of your back, every trace of his scarred skin, every gentle touch of your lips to his brow, cheek, mouth. He is now taking as well as giving, rolling his hips hard into the widening harbour of your thighs, soft grunt and pants deepening in their urgency.

The unfolding within you is different, completely out of your control. A wild, reckless dance, the rhythm ever-changing, golden threads running like molten metal between the undulations of your bodies. The flower of your combined desire unfurls, petal by petal, each dropping to the floor as new layers of delight and abandon are reached.

The bed creaks beneath the weighted push of his thrusts, his hands flying to your cheeks as your cries grow louder, louder, raspy and choked. This is the true face of passion, the complete submission to the will of your lover, the way you take all that he gifts you with and reciprocate with the finest nectar that slides from the deepest parts of you, soaking the sheets beneath you.

It is here, it is here in the glazed film of his eye beneath dusky lashes, the sweat between his body and yours, the heat that stretches on and on to an infinity within your knowing and snaps-

Washing over his ears in your sharp scream of release, in the wanton covering of his mouth with yours, the ecstasy of a thousand fluttering birds within the cage of your ribs. This time, the gentle ripple of your tide pulls him forward over the edge, his deep groan of guttural satisfaction reverberating through your whole body as his hips stutter and still their frantic pace.

You lie with him, afterwards, limbs entangled, aware only of the shift of his nose against your collarbone, the tightening of his arms around you, the way you wrap yourself around his form, as if to shield him, just for a moment, from the world he has been born into.

Kento.

Brightness, shadow, mellow and hard-edged, the loveliness of everything in-between.

Yours.

How can you ever call it anything other than love?

(VII)

Mangalam: Gratitude

To be in Kento's presence is to discover a thousand tiny precious shards, hidden in the silken folds of your changing life, piecing them together to form a diamond of unparalleled value.

He is quiet, stubborn, brave, resilient, mischievous and agile of mind. He challenges your thoughts on the jujutsu world, brings summer to your heart and draws you into the sunshine of his embrace. The fractured nature of his soul is not one that can be undone, but weeds (hardy and weathered) have grown through the cracks and your own flowerbed finds a home there, gently blossoming.

You are reminded of every richness he has brought into your life on one summer night, in the aftermath of a taxing mission for some of the students, when he meets them for supper and a discussion of what had occurred.

This time, Megumi is also present, and he reminds you a little of Kento as he watches Yuuji's animated re-enactment of the battle, rolling his eyes at obvious embellishments, adding a solemn word now and then. Kento leans forward on his elbows, listening attentively, as always.

When Yuuji is finished, Kento sits back, contemplatively sipping his coffee.

"What you've described is certainly concerning. I'd take this information up with the research committee as soon as you've filed your report. They may want to know details like that."

Yuuji nodded fervently.

"Already on it. I've been looking it up and there was a similar surge in cursed energy in Okinawa a few years ago. Pretty much leveled a small village. I'm not taking any chances with this one. I've texted Ijichi about sealing technique specialists and requested a team to map out energy signatures in the surrounding area. Anything I may have missed?"

You take note of the small smile that graces Kento's face, the pride that spills out along its sharply defined edges.

"No. You've done well, Yuuji. It's exactly what I would have done under those circumstances."

"Oh?"

Yuuji's surprised expression quickly morphs to something else, a deepening realization that silences him and brings a tight, tender quality to the set of his mouth.

Kento has called him by his first name.

********

On the slow stroll back to your home, you link your arm with his. The night sky is flecked with faint stars, unusual to see in the normally smog-laden sky over the city. You speak into the comfortable silence.

"Yuuji handled that well."

"He's a born leader. I've always thought so. He has the confidence and drive to be the strongest, not just in technique. Not to mention the magnitude of what he's already accomplished."

He pauses, one finger idly tracing over his eyepatch.

"I noticed it on our first mission together. He was not just a young sorcerer, going through the motions, trying to survive. He genuinely felt for the victims of the curse. It ... reminded me of Haibara, a little."

He gives your hand a small reassuring pat.

"Not that I've ever confused the two. They're fundamentally different. But Yuuji ... Yuuji had a light inside of him. He made me take note. He made me see him, and his spirit."

Your fingers entwine with his, tugging his hand up to your lips.

"Your spirit is quite marvellous too, you know."

He eyes you sideways, slyly.

"It is?"

"Of course."

"Would you like to elaborate?"

"Fishing for compliments, are we?"

"From your lovely tongue, always."

Your laughter echoes in the silent street, stretching out along the sidewalk, shimmering in the puddles that had formed after the rain.

"You are beautiful, Nanami Kento, and you're- "

You never finish that sentence, as his hands draw you closer, his lips finding yours in the glow of the street lamp. In that moment, you can think of nothing else apart from the man who strides with quiet confidence beside you, on every conceivable path to an unknown future.

He is a red-painted center, kindling in the palm of your hand, the tiger that inhabits the secret garden of your heart, the flame in a gilded brazier that never goes out.

************

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