As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. Also I haven't done a translation in so long.
Kate: Ngh…! Ha…Roger…
After kissing me roughly as if to scold me and leaving me breathless…our lips parted.
Roger: …Don’t you wanna be in it?
(In the “family photo”? Well—)
Kate: I-I do!
Roger: Alright…Then we’ll all take another photo some other time.
Roger smiled cheerfully.
At that moment—I remembered a conversation I had with Connor.
~~ Flashback ~~
Kate: Thank you for the family photo, Connor. It’ll make a lovely birthday present!
Connor: No problem. I’ll admit I approve of you just a little bit.
Kate: Um…by the way, I was wondering if you look into all of Roger’s lovers?
(Has he challenged anyone else like he did me?)
Connor laughed at my question.
Connor: I wouldn’t go through the trouble. Besides—
This is the first time Roger’s ever told us he had a “lover”.
Kate: Huh…? But, surely he’s had lovers before?
Connor: He’s been in a couple of relationships that haven’t ended on bad terms, but he’s never introduced someone as his lover before.
Whenever he visits home and is in a good mood, he mentions you…
You’re “special”. That’s why I came to visit.
~~ End flashback ~~
(To Roger, I’m special…)
(That makes me so happy…Even though it’s Roger’s birthday, it’s like I got a present)
Roger: However…there’s something I wanna tell you.
Kate: What is it?
Roger: You might get new brothers and sisters—
Kate: I understand! I’ll become friends with them so that they’ll accept me as your lover!
However, Roger’s expression turned dark in an instant.
Roger: —It’s fine to be friends, but don’t get too friendly with them.
He lowered his tone when he said that.
Before I could fully understand what he said, Roger pushed me down on the bed.
Kate: R-Roger…?! Um, what did you mean by that…
Roger: If you heard what I said, then we’re good.
Kate: Mn…!
The egoistic kiss stole my ability to ask any more questions.
(...This deep kiss…it’s like Roger’s consuming me…)
The feeling of being full of the person I love makes me feel so happy and blessed.
However, the fingers brushing against my skin ignited more feelings than this trance.
Kate: R-roger…wait…
Roger: You’re like a restless dog. Can you actually “wait”?
I need to prep you properly so that we can go all night.
He pulled up my skirt and his fingers went down to the spot between my legs.
Kate: Ah, ah…
Wet sounds and my moans filled the room when his middle finger sank in—
--
After going all night, I found myself waking up in Roger’s arms.
I felt a sweet twinge in my chest when I opened my eyes and was greeted by a loving gaze.
Kate: Good morning, Roger…
Roger: Morning.
When he sat up, his silhouette blurred in the morning light and I felt a soft warmth on my lips.
And then the kiss continued to deepen…
Kate: Mnn…ngh…
When his tongue pulled away, a sweet tingling sensation spread through my body.
Roger: We were going at it all night…but you still don’t want to get out of bed.
Kate: L-let’s get up!
Roger: Pfft…you don’t really mean that.
Kate: How did you know…!
Roger: Because I love you. You’re feeling embarrassed because it felt so good you cried, aren’t you?
(Wow…Roger had Connor and I beat in the “1st I love Roger championship”)
(He probably never missed a thing and remembered everything)
Kate: …Yes.
When I nodded, Roger pulled me into his strong arms as if to show how he felt.
Roger: You’re so cute.
When his breath hit my neck, I trembled at the thought of repeating our night together.
Roger’s lips traveled from my nape down to my back.
I felt my body heating up as he continued to kiss me.
Roger: Sorry, little lady. I’m a lot more jealous than I thought.
Regardless of it’s my brother or anyone else…touching your hand, playing with your hair, kissing your shoulder—
Only I can touch you.
Kate: …Understood. Only Roger…
I’m sure I’m not imagining the jealousy.
Roger: I’m your owner, so only focus on me.
(If you say it like that…)
I couldn’t stop the rush of feelings for Roger.
Kate: I want you to know that you’re the only one I’ll ever want.
I turned around and kissed him.
Roger: Mn…ha…Don’t think I’ll be getting out of bed after such a passionate kiss.
Kate: Ha, mn…that’s fine…I want to spend the whole day showing you how I feel.
Roger: Yeah, I’ll accept it all…so bring it.
There’s no doubt—no matter how many times we express our love, it’s never enough.
Feelings overflowed as we wrapped ourselves under the sheets, seeking each other’s warmth.
Xavier cannot see or get enough of you and the knowledge that you're just a floor below and existing in the same building as him is a heavy burden of knowledge to bear. He's usually able to keep his wits about him, but after a particularly grueling day, he has to see you.
It's late - just after 11 - but not too late that Xavier has some plausible deniability. "I didn't realize the time," He rehearses as his feet carry him to your door. "You forgot something at work," He says to himself under his breath as he raises his fist to knock.
You've grown closer to Xavier and he's no stranger to your apartment. It's not strange for him to be visiting, but this time is different no matter how Xavier tries to justify it to himself. Fleeting touches plague his mind and every instance of eye contact is filed away.
You take permanent residence in Xavier's mind despite the innumerable attempts he's made to fight it for the sake of his sanity. With a deep breath, Xavier knocks on your door. He isn't surprised when you answer immediately.
"Xavier," You cross your arms over your chest and he zeroes in at how thin your pajama top seems to be. "Is everything okay?" "I," He begins, but pauses to steady his voice. "I think you might have forgotten something today."
"I forgot... something?" You tilt your head in confusion. Xavier realizes he doesn't have anything tangible to give you and make his story plausible, so he does his best to recover. "Yes, do you not remember asking whether or not we could go to that cafe together?"
"Yes... I do, but - you didn't have to come all the way down to remind me," You laugh. "Yes, well... I figured the best way was to ask you directly, but I could have texted." He runs his hand through his hair, eyes downcast. "Well, since you're here, do you want to come in?"
Xavier's expression blanches - he didn't think he'd get this far. You uncross your arms to lean against the doorframe - a normally innocent action if Xavier's eyes weren't lazar focused on your every movement. Your nipples pebble beneath the fabric and his throat feels dry.
"I shouldn't intrude," Xavier finds himself saying. "Well, maybe you could ... watch some TV with me and stay over? We could go to that cafe tomorrow since we'll both have a free morning?" "Stay over?" Xavier's eyes meet yours and a warm, thick sense of awareness dawns on him.
"Stay over," You affirm mirthfully with a little glint in your eye that doesn't escape his notice. Xavier steps forward and brings his palm to your cheek - an unmistakable display of his intentions he hopes you'll accept. His touch lingers like he's waiting for you to pull away.
You surprise him by nuzzling in to his touch with a soft, barely audible hum. It drives him insane. "Tell me to go back to my apartment," He says, hanging to his last thread of rationality as his restraint begins to slip. "I'd rather you come inside," You look up at him.
An inferno begins to bloom in his chest to spread warmth throughout his entire body and settle into his fingertips. He captures your lips in a hungry, all-encompassing kiss., pouring his longing and restraint into a physical act to get you to see how much he needs you.
His lips are hot and starving, insistent as he slots his lips against yours. Xavier walks the both of you back into your apartment just enough that he can kick the door closed with a slippered foot and turn you back around to press you against it.
"You're so warm," Xavier murmurs against your lips, giving the both of you a moment to catch your breath. "Tastes so good - so sweet." You don't have much of a chance to reply because his lips are descending on yours once again, his tongue parting them.
Xavier's hands are soft in contrast to his lips as he cups your face, cradling you gently as he devours you. His tongue presses against yours, slick and dominating like he can't taste you enough. You gasp as you feel his thigh slip between yours and press against you
"Is this okay? Is this something you want?" Xavier breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours to ask. "Can you tell me what you want?" "Don't know," You answer honestly, dizzy and robbed of breath. "I just want you to keep going." He doesn't need to be told twice.
Xavier hooks his arms beneath your thighs and easily pulls you up to drape them around his waist. His hands find your ass and he squeezes. "Do you still feel like watching those movies?" He teases, a small smirk playing at his normally tight lips.
"N-No," You shake your head as Xavier walks the both of you to your couch. "I want you to kiss me like you've been wanting to." "Are you certain? You want me to kiss you exactly the way that I've been wanting to?"
You nod, a little confused at how that statement would need clarification. A small, amused laugh escapes Xavier's lips and you squeak as he drops you on to the couch and drops to his knees in front of you.
Xavier hooks his fingertips into the waistband of your pajama pants and fixes you with heated, glassy eyes and parted lips. "Lift your hips for me so I can kiss you like I've always wanted to," He commands gently, an unspoken but unwavering dominance radiating from him in waves.
You obey as if if entranced, captivated by him and this quiet confidence you've only seen in battle. He takes the movement as permission and pulls them down your legs until they're off entirely. "Spread them?" It's framed like a question, but you know he isn't asking.
Xavier wastes no time. He presses each hand against either thigh, fingertips biting into your skin as he leans forward to press his mouth directly against your heat through your underwear. Your heart skips a beat as he inhales, a shuddery, quiet 'fuck' escaping his lips.
One tiny taste and he's addicted, your scent and flavor so inviting, he can't even be bothered to remove the fabric. He drags his tongue across the fabric, groaning as the tastes the wetness that's seeped through.
Xavier makes the neediest noises - like he's making it his mission to vocalize just how much he needs you. He's moaning against you, tongue and lips frenzied with saliva soaking through your underwear. It's desperation that borders on frantic, like he's afraid you'll disappear.
Wanting to taste you directly, but not bothered with the time it'll take to remove your underwear, Xavier simply shoves them to the side. When he gets his tongue on you, his eyes roll into the back of his head and a whimper rips from his throat, muffled but audible.
Xavier notices you gripping a couch cushion and without pulling away from you, removes his hands from your thighs to bring your hands to his hair. He squeezes them, indicating that he wants you to guide his head; use his face.
It doesn't take long until you're tugging, biting your lip to avoid waking up your neighbors as your thighs tremble around his head. Xavier doesn't relent, his mouth fixed on you until he's sapped every last bit of your orgasm from you and you're nothing but a shaking mess.
"B-but what about you?" You ask as you catch your breath. "It took me less time than you did," Xavier admits, shakily standing to gesture towards the wet spot at the front of his pants. "May I use your bathroom?" You can't help but laugh and when Xavier pouts, you laugh harder.
You offer Xavier a fresh pair of his own sweatpants from another less salacious visit and guide him to your bed. He immediately cuddles against you, soft breath steadying and quiet as he falls asleep.
In the morning, he shows you how many other ways he's been thinking of kissing you and promises he'll take you to the cafe some other time.
Imagine being Xavier's kitchen vlogger significant other.
Imagine the title of the vlog was simple. Making Pancakes With My Boyfriend (He Said He's 'Gifted' at Cooking 😭). Uploaded a day ago with 736k views and 5.1k comments.
Imagine the video opens with the soft shuffle of morning kitchen noise. The whir of a kettle, utensils clinking, sunlight streaking across countertops.
Imagine your voice then cuts in with a casual, jolly tone. "Hello hunters! Welcome back to the channel! It's your favorite home cook, back with another easy recipe. And today well make a simple pancake."
Imagine a soft laugh can be heard as you appear on screen, wearing your usual apron and a matching clip that barely keeps your hair off your face. You wave at the camera with a spoon in hand.
Imagine there's a comforting intimacy to the setting same kitchen, same lighting, same slightly chipped countertop you always forget to fix. "But today's episode is special." You say, voice light but unmistakably giddy.
Imagine the way you gesture off frame and a figure strolls in with the confidence of someone walking into a battlefield and thinking it's a catwalk.
"Everyone, meet Xavier. My boyfriend." You pause dramatically. "Also known as the man who said, and I quote, 'How hard can pancakes be? I'm naturally good at things.'"
Imagine the way Xavier smile like this is a cooking competition and he has already won. He's in a relaxed hoodie, sleeves half rolled, hair a bit mess and he waves like he's been doing this for years. Not like this is the first time he's ever appeared in one of your videos.
"I did say that." He agrees without shame. "And I stand by it." You snort. "You also thought tofu was just 'off brand cheese.'" He places a hand on his chest. "Slander."
Imagine the camera cuts to both of you at the counter. You're reading out ingredients while Xavier is... Already off script.
"Flour." You say. He dumps in a generous amount. You stare. "That's... Not a measuring cup." "I'm eyeballing it." "You're using a coffee mug." "Precision is for cowards."
Imagine the way you sigh, the dramatic, long suffering kind of sigh and look straight into the camera. "This is fine. Everything's fine."
Imagine the way he hummed beside you, oblivious, happily cracking eggs like he's being scored on flair. One of them lands perfectly in the bowl. The second one... Well doesn't.
"Shell adds texture." He says utterly serious. Then a cut in a close up of your face. Emotionless. Defeated.
Imagine fast forwarding, the batter is now somehow made, despite his attempts to 'improve' it with cinnamon, sriracha, and a near tragic near addition of garlic powder.
"You're not allowed to improvise anymore." You warn. "I am merely evolving the culinary arts." "No."
Imagine then Xavier, bold as ever, insists on flipping the first pancake. He swirls the pan with flair, flicks his wrist... And the pancake lands halfway on the stove. He looks stunned. You're crying laughing behind the camera.
Imagine the second try actually works. Perfect arc. Lands flat. You both scream like you've just won an Olympic medal. "I told you." He says smugly. "Natural talent." You mouth 'no you didn't' silently to the camera, wiping your eyes.
Imagine with a slightly smaller mess and a plate full of warm, imperfect pancakes. The two of you sit across from each other at the table. He has a syrup on his sleeve and a dollop of whipped cream on his cheek, courtesy of your earlier counterattack.
"This was fun." Xavier says, tone softer now, less chaotic. You smile at him. "Even if you tried to kill us with chili pancakes?" "Especially because of that." You laugh again, more tired now but contented.
Imagine the way he leans over and kisses your temple, gentle and lingering. You almost forget the camera is still rolling.
Imagine back in frame. You wave at the camera, Xavier's head resting lazily against your shoulder. He looks sleepy now but still smug, proud of his work.
"That's it for today, guys. Please give it a thumbs up if you enjoyed watching my kitchen slowly descend into chaos." "And subscribe." Xavier says, suddenly alert. "For more of my culinary excellence." You roll your eyes. "Sure. If you want to see us try to bake next time."
Imagine the way the screen fades into soft melody again and a few bloopers roll. Mostly you catching falling pancakes, Xavier dramatically reacting to a burned one and a whispered, "Wait... Do pancakes expire?" From him that nearly sends you wheezing off camera.
Imagine the top comments:
Ztrope: I've never seen someone cook with this much misplaced confidence. i am IN LOVE 💀💀💀
1sht1kll: not him flipping it onto the stove and acting like it was the pan's fault 😭😭😭
Ladsslave: This was 18 mins of romantic comedy and i need an episode 2 NOW
2days3days: The way he kissed your temple like he didn't almost poison you with sriracha pancakes 🥹
Abcdefg: I want what y'all have. even the chili flakes. even the egg shell.
Ztrope: first that streamer, then that daily life vlogger. NOW this?! Were are these people getting their man?!?!
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°
: i told myself I'll do one for zayne first bur got hooked up with Xavier first 🤣🤣🤣
I can help! Still want to read ikevamp and you have patience? You are in fact able to go into the app store and download the jp app!
Now I do have an android phone so I don't know how different this is to apple.
But you can search any cybird game, and when you select a game just tap on the name "cybird" and you can see all of their apps (I find this easier than just looking for the Japanese version)
Then from there you can download it! (I will be redownloading it soon)
The app layout is exactly the same so if you know the current lay out by heart than hitting buttons to get through the game isn't an issue. Now for translating
I have only ever used this one. I don't know if there are better ones, but this is the one I have used. You need a LOT of patience and to be able to understand broken English quite well. The translation IS NOT PERFECT. I won't be. You will have to take everything with a grain of salt and sort of have to figure out things yourself. BUT THAT IS ANY TRANSLATION APP.
When you download it, you will have to make you allow the app to display over other apps
You will have to use the screen record action with it. You do need patience doing this. It takes a long time to get through the daily 5 chapters because you have to stop on every slide and let the app translate.
Now what if you don't have patience?
That's the hard part now. As far as I am aware no one has translated Leonardo's sequel. The JP fandom as sorta left tumblr from what it seems. I don't hear many updates from the jp server honestly.
BUT. If you are interested in learning more about Drake and Galileo, you 100% should look at @cirilla-fiona-riannon
I am so so so so SO SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND.
They have translated other ikemen games as well, but I'm talking about ikevamp. They have translated most of Drake's events and a good amount of Galileo's.
Reading these events is what made me fall for Drake honestly, not his route.
Here is a link to the ikevamp translations. Like I said it is mainly Drake and Galileo, but it will help wish getting to know the characters more since we won't be getting that in en now
If anyone can recommend other translation apps, or if you know of translators on other sites, please let me know!
Hey guys, I know the timing is terrible, but I had the idea to create a fangame for IkeVamp now that it's getting abandoned. If you're interested in helping/playing, please dm me or comment.
The thing is, I'm currently at the airport on my way to China for a voluntary program. Tumblr and Discord are banned there, so unless I can get a VPN working, I can only get back to you in two weeks.
Concrete plans will follow later, but I hope that we can write out new routes/sequels/events. I doubt I want to code the closet.. but what i do want to do is include OCs. See you in 2 weeks (or earlier, I hope)!
1. How do I get the JP version. 2. Who does translations cuz I don't think I can learn Japanese well enough to read it. 3. It's my fault for downloading love and deep space. 4. I'm gonna need to be in all my fanfic writers tag lists because NOOOOOOOO FAUST IS MY COMFORT CHARACTER 😭💔😭💔😭
1. How do I get the JP version. 2. Who does translations cuz I don't think I can learn Japanese well enough to read it. 3. It's my fault for downloading love and deep space. 4. I'm gonna need to be in all my fanfic writers tag lists because NOOOOOOOO FAUST IS MY COMFORT CHARACTER 😭💔😭💔😭
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: a snippet of vulcan medican officer shouto x starfleet captain reader, inspired by all the star trek au brainrot i had going on a couple weeks ago lmao. shouto is our handsome chief medical officer who just wants captain reader to stop getting herself so grievously injured every time the ship makes port, trying to prove to herself that she is worthy of the ship's command. (6.1k)
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: afab fem reader (she/her pronouns), hurt/comfort, self-worth issues, implied child neglect, unreliable narrator, pre-relationship, some gore (reader sustains significant physical injury), sfw.
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: tos is the only star trek i have seen all the way through, and the last time i watched any star trek was when i was down with the flu for a week in college lmao. i did some wiki digging and some googling but i did take some notable liberties with their comms units and other details are probably hella inaccurate to canon so my apologies to the trekkies!! dedicated to @/volatilematters for drawing me the most amazing vulcan shouto.
It was the crackling of your comms unit that roused you, the ping of an incoming call slicing through the fog of your sleep. You blinked awake, realizing you’d fallen asleep huddled in the corner of your cell, your neck stiff from being wedged awkwardly against the wall as you dozed.
You hurriedly accepted the comm, smiling blearily as First Officer Iida’s anxious expression filled the piece of your wrist unit’s screen that wasn’t obscured by your manacles.
“Captain,” he said solemnly, inclining his head.
You gave him a nod, suppressing a wince as the motion jarred your shoulder, pulling at the wound and sending a wave of hot pain radiating down to your fingers. You suspected it was dislocated, although that was immaterial at this point. You’d figure it out later in the privacy of your own quarters, when the rest of your crew had been seen to.
“Tenya,” you said, pulling on a grin. “It’s a relief to see you—what have you been able to pull together?”
Iida’s eyes slipped sideways to what you could tell was an inventory, a list of items you intended for the UA to present to your Xentauri captors. “Midoriya was able to put together a translator based on the audio snippets you took with your wrist unit. It’s calibrated for their language, so we should be able to communicate effectively.”
You nodded again, pleased with your crew’s progress. You suspected you were only in this mess in the first place because of your communication gap.
Xentauri-II.1ba, as it was officially charted on Federation mapping, was a newly discovered life-supporting planet that had yet to be thoroughly investigated. The Federation had first deployed a small science team to research conditions, but only weeks in, the unit had dispatched an emergency signal. Your ship, the UA had the closest to receive it, and once decoded by Comms Officer Midoriya, the signal had pointed to the team being in severe danger, possibly under attack.
You’d immediately rerouted for Xentauri-II.1ba, and taken a small shuttle down to the research base with a few handpicked officers to investigate. Whereupon you’d of course been attacked by the planet’s inhabitants yourself.
You’d attempted to negotiate, but without a mapping of their language to yours yet established, your efforts were in vain. The Xentauri had taken your rescue crew prisoner too, hauled you back to what you guessed to be their capital city, and thrown you in with the research team.
They hadn’t seemed to want to kill you after the fight deescalated. Or known enough, for that matter, to relieve your crew of your communicators. Which pointed to a possible diplomatic solution still at hand.
“Perfect. What else?” you prompted Iida.
“Records of Federation history reworked to suit their level of technological advancement, a few non-invasive crop samples Ibara thinks will work well in their arid soil, some textiles and worked metals that roughly match their own dress that Midoriya thinks they may like, blankets, and—well, Shouto hasn’t given them up yet but we’re asking him for some species-agnostic hyposprays to represent our intention to help.”
Your stomach flipped at the mention of your Chief Medical Officer. You were going to be giving him a wide berth for the foreseeable future until you were certain he wouldn’t be able to note your injuries. He was the last person who needed to catch on to your weakness.
“He doesn’t want to give them over?” you asked.
Iida frowned. “He has not said as much, but I am getting the distinct impression he does not look well upon the Xentauri.”
You tossed Iida another tired grin. “How can he dislike them when we’ve never encountered them before? He’s just mad about the cleanup he’s gonna have to do on the crew. Tell Shouto it’s Captain’s orders and I want at least five.”
Iida made a noise of assent, pushing up his glasses. “I will. We should be there in precisely twenty Galactic standard minutes. Is there anything else you wish me to assemble before the podship departs?”
You shook your head. “You’ve done a good job, thank you, Tenya. Let’s see how the negotiation goes now that we have Izuku’s translator. If we have to do it in phases, please prioritize the return of the research team first, then the crew. I will go last—is that understood?”
Iida looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but predictably, he nodded. He was loyal to your command, reliable to a fault. You were so often thankful for it.
“Understood, Captain. I will see you shortly,” he replied.
“Thank you, Tenya,” you said, before ending the comm.
Mina perked up in her own cell, a few yards away from yours. “Party bus incoming?”
You laughed, giving the xenobiologist a wink. She’d been good company the last day or so, easily able to keep her spirits up despite your capture and able to help you reassure the rest of your crew that things were well in hand. You were especially thankful, as she had been inches away from not being here. You’d moved in front of the knife meant for her without thinking, catching it in your own shoulder instead of her throat. It super sucked for you, but it was better a shoulder wound than a dead friend.
“Your shower and breakfast beckon, m’lady,” you joked.
Mina groaned appreciatively, scrubbing a manacled hand through her candy-pink hair. “I think I’m gonna take an old fashioned one. Real water and everything.”
You made a sympathetic sound. A water shower sounded luxurious, and some part of you desperately craved one too. But hot water was not good for most injuries, particularly a dislocated shoulder and what you were also certain was a broken ankle. Not to mention the stinging effect it might have on your stab wound and the litany of cuts and bruises that banded the rest of your body.
You were going to have to wait a little longer until you’d healed up to partake.
“We should wake the rest of the crew,” you said, motioning to the couple of uniformed lumps in Mina’s cell and the few beyond.
Mina nodded, and set about poking your teammates awake, calling excitedly to the next couple of cells down.
Both your crew and the Federation research team were awake by the time the Xentauri guard came to fetch you, exactly 20 minutes on the dot, as Iida had promised. They said something in their twining, sinuous tones, shuffling to the doors of your cells. They were humanoid but strange to look at, their skin waxen grey and necks elongated like Earthen giraffes, sprouting into wide, ridged faces almost like the Ferengi. A set of eight fingers—as long and spindly as their necks—protruded from the cuffs of their shirts, made from a light material like a linen, though their thinness belied a ferocious strength.
It reminded you a little of looking at Shouto, his terrifying Vulcan strength buried under a deceptively beautiful visage.
The Xentauri’s strength was on full display as a guard reached out and hauled you unceremoniously to your feet. They shepherded you impatiently out of the prison, into the harsh blue cast of the Xentauri sun.You stumbled along with them, swearing under your breath every time you took a step with your right foot. Pain lanced up your leg, lodging in your throat, and you grit your teeth, sweat building quickly beneath your uniform.
It was almost a relief to be forced down when you finally reached your destination—a sandy expanse of earth outside or a huddle of buildings erected from a purplish, glittering rock. Your head swam, and your vision whited out for a moment as you hit your knees.
When you recovered, you could see the crew of the UA was already assembled in the lot. Iida stood at ease in front of a small group of expedition officers, flanked by Izuku, Tokoyami, and—you paled to see it—Shouto.
Your Chief Medical Officer looked predictably perfect in the light of the Xentauri sun, the blue catching in the silver of his hair, fading into the blue of his uniform. It played over his broad shoulders and glinted off of the cool metal of the phaser strapped to his thigh. It also underscored his expression, which was pissed—or as pissed as a Vulcan could look, anyway.
It was undetectable if you weren’t already intimately familiar with their baseline expressions. But you were familiar enough with Shouto’s—had been his schoolmate once—and so you caught the tiniest narrowing of his eyes at the corners, the barest hint of a scrunch between his perfect eyebrows as that heterochromatic gaze flicked over you.
Oh yeah. Pissed big time.
You tried to project an air of strength and confidence as he looked you over, though you imagined your stay in Xentauri prison had not been kind to you. You knew you were covered in dust and debris, and you watched Shouto’s gaze snag on the rend in your uniform over your stab wound. It was a mess of dried blood surrounded by some very heavy and very gross bruising.
Dignity and command, you told yourself as your vision fuzzed a little again. You could totally still project dignity and command.
Izuku stepped forward with the translator, offering some opening words that, on this side of the lot, came out in the Xentauri language, sibilant and twisting. One of the Xentauri, dressed in a purple linen that nearly matched the stone of the buildings around you, stepped forward, replying in a hiss of words.
You listened with half an ear as negotiations commenced, trying to keep your focus on staying upright. The Xentauri sun burned through the fabric of your uniform, and the air was biting and dry. You pointedly did not look at Shouto again, keeping your eyes trained on Izuku and Iida as they produced the bargaining chips you’d ordered.
You were pleased when, as you expected, the Xentauri accepted with little delay. You could only just catch snatches of Federation Standard as Izuku and Iida spoke between the translated layers of Xentauri, but you were able to gather that the Federation’s arrival was perceived as an attempt to undermine Xentauri territorial sovereignty.
Once it was made clear that you were not on any sort of political venture, however, you were ceded back into Federation custody with no more ceremony than a box of pastries. They seemed eager to receive the gifts you had pulled together, and not very interested in further violence.
You watched, relieved, as your crew were set free of their restraints and helped back towards the podship by their teammates. You shook out your own hands happily as a Xentauri guard freed you from your manacles as well.
You clambered to your feet, biting back a small scream as you put weight on your right leg. And then you forced yourself to pace evenly over to where Iida stood with the remaining crew, inclining your head gratefully. You waved away the rest of the crew, huddling up with your First and Communications Officers.
“Well handled,” you told them. Izuku flushed beneath his freckles, always pleased, and Iida saluted you. “I’d like ten minutes for a sonic shower and a change of uniform, then I’d like all heads of departments at the bridge for a debrief.”
Iida nodded. “I will arrange it.”
“Thank you,” you said, ignoring the way your head throbbed. “I’m certain you have also already drafted a report to Star Fleet. I’d like to review it collectively to ensure the Xentauri are fairly represented and to request permission for continued negotiation with them for Federation Science re-access to their planet.”
Iida saluted.
“After that, please consider yourself off duty,” you said. “Thank you for your overtime to get the crew back. We can transition ship command back to me and I will cover your remaining shift into my upcoming—-”
“You will not,” Shouto’s low tone cut through your order.
You startled at his proximity, the statement issued from just above your right temple. When you titled your head to look back at him, your shoulder lanced with pain and your vision swam faintly again. You forced it all down, shooting Shouto an impatient look.
“Respectfully—”
“You are not cleared for duty,” Shouto said.
It was lucky the rest of the crew had already hastened towards the podship or you might have strangled him for his lack of deference. But Shouto had a knack for timing—he never disobeyed you in front of the crew, never even came close to a whisper of undeferential behavior unless it was with Tenya and Izuku, both of whom you knew he trusted completely. He was too canny.
“I don’t need to be cleared, it’s just a couple of scratches,” you informed him archly.
“I believe I am qualified to make that assessment on my own,” Shouto told you, his heterochromatic gaze fastening to your face as he stepped around you to join the circle of your officers. You were altogether too aware of the breadth and height of him as he moved, a tiny thrill of fear zipping down your spine.
Shouto was the only person on the ship with the authority to strip you of command should he see fit. And you were determined for him to never see fit.
“What luck there is no need for you to,” you said, sweetly.
A scarlet eyebrow rose a scant millimeter, which to Vulcans amounted to a look of polite incredulity. “That would be in violation of Regulation 8.667-f of the Medical Standard. Which requires a medical officer to clear return for all officers sustaining injury on duty, including command. Especially when you have clearly been stabbed.”
Damn him.
“Details,” you told him. “Plus I’m sure you’ll be busy clearing all your other patients. I can duck in a little later to see if Hagakure—”
“My staff will see to the other crew,” Shouto said. “You are my priority, Captain.”
A little thrill zinged through your veins again, fear and something else you did not care to examine.
Iida and Izuku did not help matters by nodding in agreement, Iida giving you a short bow. “We will see to the situation on the bridge, Captain, until you are cleared for return. Please make sure you are in good health.”
You valiantly fought down a scowl as you dismissed them. “My gratitude.”
Izuku and Iida saluted and turned for the podship, leaving you alone with the most annoying Vulcan in the galaxy. You watched them go, not turning to Shouto until they had cleared most of the way.
“You first, doctor,” you motioned him towards the ship as well, determined to walk behind him so he wouldn’t catch any sign of a limp in your step.
Shouto didn’t move, however, blinking down at you. His handsome face was impassive, the strong line of his jaw and plush mouth perfectly, deceptively at ease.
“Do you so object to walking with me, Captain?” he asked.
You shook your head. “I will cover the rear.”
Shouto blinked again. “I am the only one with a phaser between us.”
If you didn’t feel on the verge of passing out, you could have torn out your own hair. Did he need to be so difficult!
“I insist,” you said, trying your best to look polite and innocent.
Shouto’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Either you are deliberately avoiding mention of another injury or you are injured so badly as to have forgotten it. In which case a mandate of relief from the captainship would almost certainly be required while you recover your memory—”
You reached out and slapped a hand over his mouth, hissing, “I did not forget an injury.”
“Then you must inform me,” he said into your fingers. His tone sounded more entreating than commanding, and for some reason that annoyed you. There was no reason to be concerned.
“Nothing confirmed, possible dislocation,” you said vaguely, pulling your hand away. It tingled a little with the echo of how his mouth had moved against it.
Shouto’s gaze dropped from your face down your body, his mouth pursing in a sweet little downturn. “Where?”
You gritted your teeth. “Shoulder. Possibly one ankle.”
Shouto immediately dropped to his knees in front of you, startling you. You took a reflexive step backwards, letting out a cry when it jostled your right foot. You just barely managed not to go down hard, recovering yourself only by the sudden grip Shouto had on your waist, supporting you.
He was, of course, immediately able to tell which ankle had pained you. His long, elegant fingers reached for the hem of your right leg, rolling it up in a gentle motion. You watched the top of that red-and-white head tilt, and heard the soft intake of his breath as he caught the swelling that had reached the edges of your boot.
His expression could almost be termed thunderous, even on a human, when he looked back up at you. “You were going to walk on a broken ankle,” he said accusingly.
“Oh? Is it broken?” you tried, pasting on an expression of surprise.
Which immediately turned to a yelp of genuine surprise when Shouto rolled nimbly back to his feet, sweeping his arms under you, avoiding your right shoulder.
“Shouto—!” you squeaked, your voice strangled.
“You knew,” he said firmly, tucking you close to his chest. Your face heated at the press of him along your side, warm and firm and harder with muscle than a medical officer should have been allowed. He smelled like sterilants and some warm, expensive cologne, a little unearthly in profile. Possibly composed of Vulcan plants.
It made your lightheadedness somehow even worse, and if he didn’t put you down now you were afraid you might pass out for real.
“It’s probably just a minor fracture,” you insisted, as he carried you towards the podship. You shifted, ignoring the flare of pain in your shoulder as you did, trying to clamber out of his arms. He refused to be dislodged, ducking deftly through the door of the podship and nodding at a crewman as the officer closed it behind the two of you.
You couldn’t bear to look at the crewman’s face, burning with embarrassment at being carried over the threshold like a fucking princess.
Then Shouto had the audacity to buckle you into the podship seat himself, like your arms were broken too, and arranged himself stiffly in the seat next to you.
His mouth was turned down in a frown when you glanced at him, and the expression did not so much as flicker the entire flight back to the UA. It was only when you tried to insist you could walk to medbay yourself that Shouto gave you the flattest, most flinty-eyed look you’d ever seen from him. He knelt before you again, helping you unfasten your jumpseat buckle, and ignored your protests as he pulled your uninjured arm up over a strong shoulder, gathering you up in his arms again.
You squeezed your eyes as he moved through the halls, both to avoid seeing the judgment on your crew’s faces and because the way the walls were starting to spin in front of your eyes was making you a little nauseous.
You appeared to be the first of the captured crew to make into medbay, so it was blessedly empty of people as Shouto bore you through it. He carried you right into his office and set you on the gently medbed in the corner, your least favorite spot on the entire ship.
Then he stood in front of you, and put hands on his hips. You ignored the way it made his biceps pull and flex under the fabric of his uniform.
“I am going to have to cut your boot off of you,” Shouto informed you. “Your shirt as well. It’s stuck in your wounds and I will need to reopen them a little to cut it out.”
Your cheeks heated with the idea of being bare before him, but he was a medical professional. And also that was disgusting—you wanted to get your shirt out of your own body as fast as possible. “Sure—that’s fine.”
Shouto hummed to himself, a low, soft tone in the back of his throat as he moved to a drawer of equipment beside the med bed. “Thank you,” he said, drawing out a device with a wickedly thin, circular blade attached.
You did not like the look of it, and hoped that famous Vulcan precision was everything it was cracked up to be.
Shouto knelt before you again, carefully applying the saw and pulling the fabric of your boot gently away from your skin. It whirred softly, and in a matter of moments you felt the loosening of the fabric, and your boot thunked heavily to the floor.
“I will do your shirt now,” Shouto told you.
You nodded, breath catching in your chest as he leaned over you. Those long fingers slid under the collar of your uniform, easing it away from the fragile skin of your neck. You flushed hotly when Shouto’s fingers met the edge of your bra strap, too, and he paused, going strangely still.
You thought you caught the hint of a blue flush at the top of one high cheekbone, and you quickly bit out a “sorry” at him, cheeks burning.
Then the saw whirred to life again, and Shouto angled it down until it had cut a clean line down your shirt. He pulled it off of you, very gently inching it away from where it had stuck into your stab wound and various other cuts with your dried blood. He murmured a warning before each, and you bit back a groan as it re-tore open the skin in those spots, determined not to look like a little baby.
Shouto tossed your shirt in the biohazard bin with perfect aim, his eyelashes sweeping down across his cheeks as he took stock of all the injuries that had collected across your torso.
You looked down at yourself, noting several deep cuts you hadn’t noticed before and a contusion in the shape of one of the Xentauri’s feet. You also noted how much blood had soaked into the cups and straps of your bra from your stab wound, and chalked it up to a lost cause. When you looked back up, Shouto looked kind of angry again.
“I will administer painkillers via hypospray and a topical antibacterial to your stab wound first,” he said, his low voice flat.
You nodded your assent, and Shouto went to the drawer again, gathering up the things he’d need for you. “Then I will assess your remaining injuries via tricorder. I may need to manually reset your shoulder. Your ankle should be healable with the osteogenic stimulator. Is this acceptable?”
You nodded again tiredly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”
Shouto fumbled the hypospray, whipping around to stare at you. A blue flush crawled all the way up his pointed ears.
You could almost hear the rush of your own blood to your ears when you realized how you’d just sounded. “I mean—uhhhhh. That wasn’t to imply—”
“If I did what I wanted with you,” Shouto said, drawing himself up. “You would never leave medbay again.”
You blinked, unsure if that was the threat it sounded like. Meaning, he wouldn’t let you go back to command for your own good? Or he wanted to murder you himself? Or—?
You burned with embarrassment. You had long wanted Shouto’s approval, or at the very least to avoid him seeing right through you to the poor little wretch you’d been before Starfleet, unable to take care of your own mother, surrendered into state care for your uselessness.
You’d wanted it even back at the academy, realizing how smart he was, how straightforward and empathetic. You trusted his judgment more than anyone else on this ship. And so you wanted him to think you were a capable captain, someone worthy of his respect, too. Not some idiot who could barely handle herself who needed to be kept from command to protect the rest of the crew.
You stayed silent, shame burning through you. You would just have to try harder in the future, make him see that you could be relied on to take care of this crew, including him. You would prove yourself capable.
Shouto moved around you with the ease of long practice, pressing the hypospray to the back of your neck. Then he held the tricorder over you, his mismatched gaze tracking across the screen, that microscopic scrunch appearing between his brows again.
“You have been stabbed, dislocated your shoulder, fractured a finger, broken your ankle, torn your MCL. You have also sustained significant bruising on your right torso, left thigh, and right shin,” he said. “You have a variety of small cuts and other abrasions across roughly five percent of your epidermis.”
His voice sounded kind of funny, and his handsome face waved in front of you like a flag in the wind. A weird feeling of giddiness and relief swept over you, and you realized the painkillers he’d just given you were starting to hit.
“Ohhhhh that feels so good,” you said, stupidly, feeling yourself slip forward. Your head lolled onto Shouto’s shoulder.
You could feel his inhale, and then his arms came around you. “I—Yes, I can do it from this position, then. I will need to reset your shoulder. I need to apply a local anesthetic.”
“Do your thing,” you said into his neck. He smelled really good.
Shouto’s next breath was uneven, and long fingers grasped you just above your bicep, the cold touch of the hypospray at your shoulder joint. “I will proceed.”
You closed your eyes. “Whatever you want.”
A feeling of numbness overtook your shoulder, and then the hypospray disappeared. A large hand braced against your back and Shouto said, “I am going to reset it now.”
You nodded. “Sounds nice.”
There was a strange feeling of pressure, a slide that you did not like, and then—a sense of relief. “Oh, it’s back in!”
“Yes,” Shouto confirmed. Then, hesitantly, “I will need to move you to work on your stab wound and fractures.”
You heard yourself make a grunt of disapproval. You did not like the sound of that. Moving sounded like the worst thing anyone had ever asked of you, actually. “Y’ can ignore them, ‘ll get ‘m later.”
Shouto paused. “I would be professionally negligent not to fix them.”
You frowned. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll get ‘m. Thank you.”
“They…matter to me,” Shouto said. There was something in his voice you didn’t like, something a little dark like you had displeased him. You didn’t want to displease him.
You were interrupted from responding, however, by a soft knock at the door. Shouto hesitated, then called for whoever it was to come in, and you heard Hagakure’s bright tone from over his shoulder.
“Oh! Is that the captain—?” she said. “Is she—?”
“I gave her Metorapan,” Shouto said. “Please close the door behind you.”
“Oh nothing but the top shelf for our captain, huh,” Hagakure laughed. “Explains why she’s all over you right now. She say anything crazy yet?”
It took an inhuman amount of effort to lift your head from Shouto’s chest to glare over his shoulder at her. Only to find she was missing from view, the chameleon skin of her alien species picking up the light reflections in the ship’s environment. She had to consciously remember to be visible sometimes.
“I am not all over him,” you said. “And as I was just explaining, I am done an’ ready to debrief now.”
Hagakure shimmered into view, her mouth turned up into a grin. “With an open stab wound?”
You blinked. Shouto covered you almost completely from view. How could she—?
“Mina says it was meant for her but Captain took it right in the shoulder instead. Didn’t even go down, just tried to negotiate with the Xentauri right through it,” Hagakure reported.
Shouto’s sigh ruffled your hair. “I am unsurprised to hear it.”
You felt another frown pull at your mouth. He probably thought you were an idiot for almost getting one of your crew injured. You hated how incapable you were, too, but you’d at least saved her from the worst of it, and you’d learn the lesson for next time. Next time, you would prove yourself for sure. You would earn the command of this ship, not just on paper but in practice too.
“How is the crew?” you managed, forcing the feelings down.
“None so injured as you,” Hagakure said. “They said you took the worst of it for them, and kept things from escalating. A couple of minor fractures here and there and some bruising but otherwise everyone is safe. The research crew on the other hand, is a little worse for wear—bet they wish you had been there for their arrest too.”
You snorted. Nobody wished that.
“Nothing we can’t fix though,” Hagakure said. “I’ll send you the report Mina gave, Shouto, on Cap’s injury so you have it, and send the treatment records for your review when we’re done.”
“Thank you,” Shouto said.
“I wanted to check if there’s any help you need from me, before I go back to supervise?” she asked.
Shouto shook his head.
You shook your head also, detaching from Shouto reluctantly. The room was cold without him against you. “Thank you for the report on the crew. Can you comm Tenya on the way out to let him know I will be there shortly to debrief?”
Hagakure stared at you. “You’re still stabbed, Captain.”
You blinked and looked down, noting your lack of shirt as well. When had that—? “Oh. That.”
Hagakure made a noise like she was suppressing a laugh and let herself out, the door closing firmly behind her.
Before you could make your excuses to Shouto, he’d eased an arm behind your shoulder and was tipping you over to lay on the cot.
“You cannot be cleared to return to duty until your injuries are addressed and the Metorapan wears off,” he told you. “You will need to sleep it off for a few hours after we are done.”
As he had anticipated it, his hand flew to your shoulder as you tried to sit up, pressing you back down. “I don’t need a few hours,” you said.
“You will have them regardless,” Shouto replied.
“I’ve already taken too much time,” you said, giving him a quick smile. See how ready you were to return to work?
Shouto’s perfect mouth pulled downwards a scant inch, and your eyes tracked the movement. “You are a very bad patient, as usual,” he said.
You rolled your eyes. You were a very bad everything. You didn’t also want to be a bad captain.
Shouto’s mouth opened, his eyelashes fluttering in surprise. “Is that what you think?” he asked, and you realized you’d maybe said that last bit aloud. “You believe you are a bad captain?”
A sudden flicker of fear flared to life in your chest.
To admit doubt was also to be a bad captain. You could not show hesitation, not when you were meant to be the leader of this starship. Shouto himself could not trust you if he knew you were not perfectly sure of yourself at all times.
“No,” you said.
Shouto watched your face. “No?”
Your head throbbed, and a bone deep exhaustion settled over you, tugging at your eyelids. But you watched him back, trying to blink through the feeling.
“I,” you started, then stopped yourself when you realized it wouldn’t be quite true to say you were a good captain. Shouto wasn’t stupid. “I do my best to protect th’ crew. Will always do my best to protect every member of th’ UA.”
A tiny little frown marred the perfection of Shouto’s face again. You reached up, smoothing it, and watched as a bluish green flush overtook his features again.
Vulcans blushed blue. You were probably grossing him out. You took your hand away.
“You take care of most of the crew,” Shouto allowed. “Every single member of the crew but one. There is a notable exception.”
Shit. Who had you failed? How had you failed? Normally you knew, were perfectly and objectively aware of every single time a strategy of yours had not gone as intended, had worked to make up the learning after and never make the mistake again.
But it was Shouto’s job to pull you from command if you were unfit. And if you were negligent enough in your duties like this, not even see the the things you were missing—
“D’you plan to relieve me of command?” you asked. Your face burned again, the question having slipped out before you were ready.
Shouto looked shocked—surprise taking over more of his features than you had ever seen on a Vulcan before.
“What?” he asked.
“Because I let them get hurt. Who is it?” you asked.
Shouto appeared speechless for a long moment. “People will always get hurt on missions like ours. You have protected the crew better than anyone I could think of. Your strategic thinking in times of crises is your area of expertise, and I have no doubt in your abilities. If I were to relieve you of command, I would see double the numbers of crew members in here after every mission.”
Your head swam, and you flushed with embarrassment, squirming uncomfortably with the praise. It didn’t answer your question. Why was he being so hard to understand?
“But you said there was someone I don’t protect. Like a routine failure.”
Shouto raised a hand, his long fingers skirting around the edge of your stab wound. “The only person you do not look after is yourself.”
You blinked, subsiding under his hand. Yourself? That was his problem?
Shouto’s handsome face spasmed again and you could tell you’d said that aloud too.
“Yes, that is my problem,” he said.
“Oh well that’s fine then,” you answered, although you were a little mystified.
Look after yourself? What was there even to look after? You had a good job, and your own sonic shower, and hot food whenever you wanted it, provided you weren’t temporarily behind bars on some backwater planet. You had the chance to earn the trust of people you respected, some of the best in the galaxy in their professions, and—many months into your mission—several blossoming friendships with Iida, Izuku, Mina, and Hagakure. You had a literal starship at your command, a place you were beginning to belong.
The only thing you could want for was Shouto’s respect too.
But you would earn that in time. You would.
“You already have it,” Shouto said, his voice low and intimate. It made you flush again, your heart beating kicking up somewhere into your throat.
“I do?” you asked.
Shouto inclined his head, looking you in the face.
“I will make it clear to you more in the future,” he said, then leaned over you, reaching for some device. You reveled in his warmth and closeness for a moment, until he pulled back with something you recognized as an osteogenic stimulator. “As well as other areas of my regard.”
You blinked, wondering what that meant.
“It is not a conversation that is right to have when you are not in possession of your faculties,” Shouto said. “But perhaps it will convince you to take better care of yourself.”
You blinked again sleepily, having trouble thinking straight now that the immediate problem had been addressed and you’d been horizontal for so long. Shouto did not think you needed to be relieved of duty. Shouto respected you.
You watched him work blearily, his long fingers fiddling with some of the settings on the simulator. It was strangely hypnotic to observe, and another wave of exhaustion washed through you, weighing you down to the table.
“In the interim I will take care of you. Until, and even after, you are able,” Shouto promised.
“That…sounds really nice,” you said absently, wondering if maybe you could just catch a couple minutes’ rest while he worked.
“You can sleep. I will be here when you wake up,” Shouto said, trailing the simulator down to your ankle.
His touch was sure and gentle, and his voice was too.
Maybe it would be fine then, to just take a short respite.
You closed your eyes. And under Shouto’s careful watch, you let yourself rest.
a door closed gently in the morning, an excuse at lunch that even you didn’t believe. you drifted through your home like mist, choreographing your disappearance with practiced steps - ducking around corners, shrinking into silence each time you caught the rustle of his newspaper or the soft clink of his watch as he adjusted it for the third time.
you wore invisibility like a cloak, moving as a ghost through the rooms you used to share with ease.
because your skin had betrayed you again - four angry blemishes rising red and bright across your cheek and jaw, blooming like a constellation born to shame you.
it wasn’t the worst you’d had, sure. but it was enough to make you recoil from the mirror, to keep your face turned away, to lower your face when nanami passed too close.
you couldn’t bear to let him see you like this.
not with the wedding two weeks away, not when the final fitting was tomorrow. not when he was the nanami kento - precise, composed, impossibly, effortlessly elegant - and you felt like a child masquerading in grown woman skin, unraveling just when you should have been most beautiful.
you braced for the change, waited for it like rain preparing to ripple through the clouds, for the shift in his gaze, the falter in his tone, for the quiet moment where his warmth would begin to dim as the fading sunset, and the words you’d feared might surface:
this isn’t working, i didn’t sign up for this, maybe we rushed things.
but of course, he never said any of that - instead, he let you vanish until dinner, when you padded back to the bedroom with a bowl of noodles and a bruised kind of shame, closing the door like it could keep your insecurities contained.
half an hour later, it opened.
you were curled cross legged on the bed, hoodie drawn up over your mouth like a veil, the ceramic bowl empty on the nightstand.
nanami stepped inside with the quiet certainty of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be heard, to be seen. he closed the door behind him. the silence shifted.
you stilled, your eyes stayed low: fixed on the wall in front of you. your shame flared redder than your skin.
“i’m only going to ask once,” he said, voice calm accompanied by the kind of steadiness that cuts through any lie you could form. “are you avoiding me because of a breakout?”
your heart stuttered.
you didn’t answer, just sank deeper into the hoodie, into the fabric, into yourself. the sting behind your eyes crept closer to the surface.
he sighed - not with anger, but with weariness. the kind born not of frustration with you, but with the invisible wall you’d built between you both. with the absurd, aching notion that a few angry patches on your skin could shift the foundation of his love for you.
“darling,” he said, the word felt like gravity sucking you into him.
you heard his steps, slow and deliberate, as he crossed the room. felt the bed dip beneath his weight, his hand reached up and gently tugged the hoodie from your face. you turned away of course, instinct as sharp as breath.
but his palm found your jaw, and turned you back, “no,” he murmured. “let me see you.”
you hesitated, then lifted your eyes.
he saw everything - the irritated pink, the heat of humiliation, the unshed tears clinging to your lashes like dew. and in return, gave you no wince. no judgment. just his gaze - gentle, grounded - and his thumb, brushing reverently over the most inflamed of the blemishes.
“i’ve seen you exhausted,” he said. “in pain. crying. afraid. do you really think something as small as this would ever make me hesitate?”
you tried to laugh. it came out watery, brittle.
“kento… don’t say that. it’s not just a breakout. it’s me, i always fall apart before big things happen, and you’re… you. i thought maybe you’d-”
“call it off?” he offered, a brow lifting, eyes calm, you nodded, breath catching, gaze falling.
for a moment, he was quiet.
then, softly, he muttered, “unbelievable.”
you flinched - when he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, to the angriest mark on your face. a kiss - comforting.
“kento-”
“again,” he said, kissing the blemish near your jaw. “and again.”
you squirmed, laughter startled and sharp, pushing at his chest. your face burned now for a different reason.
“stop -!”
“no,” he said, finally brushing his lips against yours. “i’ll stop when you understand this: i didn’t choose you because you were flawless. i chose you because you’re you. skin and all. hormones and all. all of it.”
your heart ached. the kind of ache that cracked you open just enough to breathe as if a weight has been lifted off your chest.
he exhaled, softer now, and pulled you into his arms. folded you beneath his chin, like something precious, something sacred.
“you’re marrying me in two weeks,” he murmured into your hair. “don’t run from me again, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere.”
you nodded, a sound caught in your throat, small and raw, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like roots into earth.
divider by @/cafekitsune // art by ThisUserIsAngry on twt // not proofread.
