#i am once again crossposting but!

[fandomchaosposts]

!!!!!!!! Finnick may have died and I'm still weeping for him (rest in peace you'll have a place in my heart next to the Sakhir gp) but Peeta is alive, my ship is cannon and Russell is 4rth 😭😭

[soumuchforthat]

she's all ears

[beesorcery]

🍄 🍂 fungal queen 🪸🍄

(now with a matching hardwon)

[b1tstar]

CRINGETOBER!! DAY 2: SELF INSERT

[twodragonsinatrenchcoat]

terrified for how large the number on that post may be by tomorrow please don't give me any more notes. go give my friends' art more notes please and thank you <3

[runawrites-blog]

What A Pretty Necklace (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: A slip-up leads you and Bucky to discover a new kink to share. Another slip-up gives the other Avengers a bit too much insight into your relationship with him. (Female Reader) Word Count: 3,346 Warnings: SMUT (Minors do not interact), Explicit Sexual Content, Choking, Fingering, Kink Negotiation, Teasing, Gentle!Dom!Bucky, No Y/N, Petnames (Doll, Sweetheart) Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54614755 A/N: From sweet fluff to this, I guess. If you're not of age, do not interact with this or read it, thank you!

---

“What a pretty necklace.”

Bucky stilled at your words, lowering the towel he’d been using to dry his left hand after the two of you had gotten out of the shower, and you felt your face heat up as you realised you’d said your thoughts out loud. But before you could backpaddle he turned to you with a small smirk on his lips that sent shivers down your spine.

“A pretty necklace you say, Doll?” He teased, eyes raking up your towel-clad body and stopping at your neck. “Would you be up to wearing it then?”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” You mumbled, averting his eyes as you felt your cheeks growing hot. “It just slipped out, I swear.”

Bucky just chuckled at that and came closer to you, crowding you against the sink to press a soft kiss to your lips, parting quickly to speak to you. “I may be teasing you, Doll, but I can’t say that I’m not intrigued. Have you thought about this before?”

You nodded slowly, daring to look up at him to find his eyes half-lidded and his lower lip between his teeth as he waited for your answer, and you couldn’t help but confess the truth. “I have. When I see you fight with the arm, when I see you clean it, when I see you do anything with it, I can’t help but imagine how it would feel on my throat.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I kept quiet. I’m sorry if it’s weird and we obviously don’t have to do anything--”

Bucky cut you off with a kiss and you felt your worries melting away as he pulled you close, knowing that if he was kissing you like this it meant he wasn’t upset. Wrapping your arms around him you leaned into the kiss just for him to pull back again.

“I’m not uncomfortable at all.” He said softly, keeping his forehead against yours as his smile turned into a smirk. “And I’d be willing to try.”

“Try?” You asked in surprise, not having expected him to be into this idea at all. “You’d be willing to try breathplay? To choke me? Are you sure?”

“I am. It’s very intriguing, for a lack of better word.” Bucky said, pulling you a little closer to his body, his chest against yours, your bodies only separated by the towels you two were still wearing. “But before we do anything we need to talk about it.”

“Of course.” You nodded quickly, looking up at him before smiling softly. “First, I want you to know that I trust you not to hurt me. The trust is a big part of the reason I’m interested in this.”

Bucky leaned down to kiss your temple gently. “I know that you trust me, Doll. And I am so thankful for your trust. But that is precisely why we need some ground rules if you want me to choke you.”

You willed away the shivers his last words brought on and nodded. “I’ve read up on safe choking before. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to put pressure on the oesophagus or anything like that but rather on the sides of the neck, just below the jaw, to cut off oxygen supply to the brain. And obviously, you’re supposed to be careful because the throat and neck are pretty sensitive places.”

“You’ve really put research into this.” Bucky chuckled lowly before he nodded at you. “But yes, I have looked into it once or twice and I did read that, too.”

“You’ve looked into it, too?”

“As I said, it’s intriguing.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, giving you a serious look. “We also need a verbal and nonverbal safeword.”

“Three taps against your shoulder?” You asked and Bucky nodded in agreement to which you placed your hands on his chest, running your fingers along his exposed skin. “Good, and can’t we use our usual safeword?”

Bucky nodded once more, pressing closer to you. “Need you to say it to me again, Doll.”

“Redwing.”

“Good girl.” He praised and you couldn’t quite keep the shivers from running down your spine anymore. “I will check in on you throughout it to make sure you’re alright and I need you to tell me, based on the traffic light system, how you’re doing. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His praise made your face flush even more but you could tell that he wasn’t finished so you kept listening. “And I need you to tell me if anything feels off, alright?”

“I will.” You said, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek as you pecked his lips. “I trust you.”

“I trust you, too.”

With that, he leaned in to kiss you and you were quick to wrap your arms around his neck, reciprocating. When he picked you up, you squeaked in surprise but didn’t protest as he carried you to the bedroom and simply wrapped your legs around his middle. Once in the bedroom he placed you on your bed and crawled over you, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he watched you panting in anticipation and he was quick to discard your towels to get you two naked. When his fingers slipped down to the heat between your legs he gave a low chuckle.

“Already so wet for me, Doll? Just talking about me choking you gets you this worked up?” Bucky whispered teasingly, the thumb of his metal hand starting to gently rub your clit as he brought his head down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Think you can take my fingers already? I know you don’t just want my metal fingers around your neck. You love them inside you, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, please.” You gasped, grinding your core against the pressure of his thumb, hands coming up to scramble for purchase against his back. “Please, please, Bucky.”

“Anything you want, Doll.”

With that, he plunged his middle and ring finger into you, leaving you gasping at the intrusion, before he began to move them in and out of you. The movements of his fingers and his thumb still against your clit tore gasps and moans from your lips.

“Good girl, taking my fingers so well.”

“Please, Bucky.” You gasped out as he kept up his movements, making arousal coil in your belly. “I need you, I’m so wet for you. Need you so bad. Need your hand on my neck.”

Bucky leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, coming close enough for you to feel his hardened length against your thigh as he kept moving his fingers, thumb circling your clit. Then all of sudden Bucky pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the loss.

“Just a moment, Doll. I’ll take good care of you.”

His voice was gentle as he lined himself up with your entrance as you panted in anticipation, fingers digging into his back when he finally entered you, moaning deeply at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. Your moans spurred him back into action and he built up a slow rhythm as he brought his left hand up to your throat, the right one next to your head to stabilise himself.

“Still sure about this, Doll?”

“Please, choke me.”

His grip on your neck tightened, thumb and fingers pressing into the sides of your neck, just below your jawline and you gasped at the pressure. Bucky’s eyes scanned you for any signs of discomfort as your own fluttered shut, nails digging into his back and legs crossing behind his body to get him closer to you.

“Doing so good for me, Doll.” He whispered out, keeping the pressure against your neck as he picked up the speed of his thrusts. “You look so pretty like this, with my hand around your neck, like you were made for it.”

You couldn’t speak anymore, too lost in the pleasure of these combined sensations, of his dick moving inside of you, his words of praise and his hand around your throat. It didn’t take long for your head to feel fuzzy from the lack of oxygen and you felt your pleasure peaking, these new sensations sending you hurtling toward your climax quicker than you had anticipated. Bucky’s grip only our neck loosening brought you back to reality and you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Still good, Sweetheart?” Bucky asked softly as he examined your face for any signs of distress. “Can you give me a colour?”

You answered quickly, bringing a hand down from his back to place on his cheek. “Green.”

“Good.”

Before you even had the chance to react, the pressure on your neck was back and his thrusts were picking up again, leaving you a breathless mess beneath him. You had half the mind to realise that he was also nearing orgasm by the way his thrusts faltered every now and then, but you couldn’t think of it for too long as you lost yourself in pleasure.

“Good girl.” He rambled on between his own moans, not really stringing sentences together properly anymore at this point. “So good for me, taking me so well. Looks so good when you’re this breathless for me, moaning like this.”

“I’m close.” You managed to rasp out as his thrusts picked up, making you groan softly. “Please, please.”

You didn’t quite know what you were begging for but Bucky seemed to have a pretty good grasp on what you needed to get over the edge. A slight change in angle brought along more stimulation on your clit and you gasped out in surprise, eyes rolling backwards as he slightly increased the pressure on your neck.

“That’s right, come for me. Be a good girl and come for me, Doll.”

You were tumbling over the edge before you knew it, back arching off the bed and moans spilling from your lips as you clenched around him, waves of pleasure rippling through you, only intensified by the lack of oxygen going to your head. Faintly, you registered Bucky spilling inside of you, your name falling from his lips in a breathless moan.

When you came down from your height his hand was already off your neck and you panted softly as you looked up at the ceiling. Bucky rolled off you and brought a hand up to cup your cheek, gently turning your head toward him. His hair was sticking to his forehead and he was breathing heavily as he checked you for any signs of discomfort.

“You did so good, Sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?” He asked softly, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. “How’s your neck? I didn’t choke you too hard, did I?”

“I’m feeling great.” You whispered and turned to throw an arm around his body, seeking out his body and comfort. “I liked it and-- and you didn’t hurt me.”

Bucky simply nodded and pulled you close to his body, allowing you to rest your head against his chest where you listened to his slowing heartbeat as you both came down from your height. But he didn’t stay like this for long because a few minutes later, after giving you a moment to calm down, he reached over to grab the bottle you usually kept on your nightstand, uncapping it and scooting up to hold it out to you.

“You need to drink something, Sweetheart.” He said softly, holding the bottle to your lips and watching as you dutifully took a few deep sips. “Good job. You did so well. I love you.”

You pulled back from the bottle and gave him a small smile. “I love you, too.”

“What do you need right now?”

“You.”

“I can provide that.”

“Would be concerning if you couldn’t.”

He simply chuckled and pulled you close to his body, holding you as you sought out the comfort you needed at the moment. Your eyes grew heavy when he started stroking your hair gently, running his fingers through it and resting his head atop yours. Swallowing, you looked up at him, keeping your head against his shoulder.

“Please, don’t tell anyone I called your hand a pretty necklace.”

Bucky snorted at that and pulled back slightly to get a better look at you. “You mean I can’t use that fact instead of small talk at the SHIELD meeting tomorrow?”

“The team would never let me hear the end of it, especially Sam, Nat or Tony.” You joked softly as you looked back at him. “But it did make for a pretty nice necklace.”

“I have to agree. You looked so good with my hand around your neck.”

“I felt really good, too.” With a smile you cuddled back to him, arms wrapping around his body again. “I think we might need another shower but I don’t want to let go of you.”

“I could draw us a bath, so I can hold you some more.”

“Thank you so much. I love you.”

“It’s just a bath, no need to thank me.” Bucky said in amusement before pressing a gentle kiss to your head. “I love you, too.”

---

As you sat down for the meeting with Fury regarding a new mission the next day, taking the place next to Bucky, you found documents regarding the crime syndicate you’d all been hunting down for the past weeks already on the table. You skimmed through them, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Steve sat down opposite you and the two of you greeted each other like you always did. You were just turning your head to talk to Bucky when Steve pointed at your neck.

“What a pretty necklace.”

You felt your face heating up as your head snapped to Steve before your eyes flickered to Bucky’s left hand and then back at the man to whom you’d been speaking. “What?”

“Your necklace is pretty. The one with the heart pendant that you’re wearing, I mean.” Steve said slowly, confusion clear on his face. “Why did you get so startled out of sudden?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but you were quicker, trying to divert the attention away from the obvious misunderstanding on your part before anyone could figure out what you’d thought Steve had meant. “I didn’t get startled.”

“You did.” Sam piped up, giving you a look of pure interest as he leaned back in his chair. “You got all flustered and embarrassed when Steve talked about your necklace.”

“And you immediately looked at Bucky.” Steve pointed out before his face contorted into a look of slight disgust and he shook his head quickly. “On second thought, I don’t want to know why you got so flustered. Whatever happened with or to that necklace is something I don’t need to know!”

“Nothing happened with it!” You exclaimed, face turning hot as both Sam and Steve stared at you, the former with a teasing smirk and the latter in slight disgust, all the while Tony tried to hold back his laughter. “It was a gift that Bucky got me for my last birthday and the pendant has a picture of him in it. I wear it all the time.”

“And you also do all sorts of weird things with it by the sound of it.” Tony grinned at you as you glared back at him and when Bucky once more tried to speak up he cut him off. “I don’t know where this necklace has been, Freezerburn, but I don’t think I want to know.”

“Freezerburn?” Bucky made a face and shook his head, bringing a finger up to indicate for Tony to be quiet. “First of all, don’t call me that ever again. Second of all, we did nothing nasty with that necklace, so drop it.”

“He’s right. She wasn’t even thinking of the actual necklace she’s wearing.”

You all turned to find Natasha in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on her face as her eyes fixed on you. Clint was behind her and the confused look he gave her rivalled even the one on Steve’s face who by now seemed completely bewildered. Next to him, Tony had turned to you with an interested look while Sam was still smirking at you before he glanced back at the woman in the door.

“What do you mean, Natasha?”

“She did not look at Bucky. She looked at his left hand.”

Natasha had to dodge the pen you threw at her but that didn’t keep her from snickering while Clint tried to fill Wanda and Vision who had just arrived in on what was going on but was struggling to do so without bursting into laughter himself. Your face was burning by now and when you risked a glance at Bucky you found him also blushing furiously though he was still trying to play it off.

Sam took a few seconds to realise what Natasha had meant but when he did he gave Bucky a grin that made your partner glare back at him. “Your hand is her pretty necklace? Does it look that good around her neck?”

“Guys!” Steve exclaimed as understanding dawned on him before he gave Bucky a weirded-out look though you could clearly see the hint of amusement on his face. “I didn’t know that’s the kind of thing you two are into.”

“I think the arm looks like it was made for breathplay.”

You groaned out in embarrassment as Natasha teased you some more, letting your face fall into your hands. “Wanda, can you make the ground swallow me up, please?”

“Theoretically, yes.” The other woman chuckled softly as she sat down. “But wouldn’t that be a tad dramatic?”

While you shook your head, you felt Bucky place a comforting hand on your back. “Doll, I think Wanda’s right there. That does seem a tad dramatic.”

“Honestly, it’s sort of your fault for misunderstanding Steve so badly.” Tony commented, finally having gathered himself enough to speak again. “I mean, why would you assume he meant Bucky’s hand when he complimented your necklace?”

Vision chimed in on that, his voice even as he looked at Tony. “I assume you already know the answer as to why she misunderstood Steve that way, so why still ask?”

“Thank you, Vision.” You looked up before shaking your head at Tony. “It was an honest mistake, Tony!”

Before Tony could answer, Bucky spoke up, his hand still rubbing your back comfortingly. “I think you’ve teased us enough, Tony. She’s clearly uncomfortable, so could you stop?”

“Alright, I’ll stop.” The man said, holding up his hands in defeat but not before giving you a playful look. “But just for the record, your actual necklace is lovely, too.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, nodding toward Bucky next to you. “As I said Bucky got it for my birthday and I love it.”

Steve gave you an apologetic smile before once more complimenting the necklace while you reached out to take Bucky’s free hand. He gave yours a gentle squeeze and when you turned you found him giving you a look that seemed somewhere between amused and embarrassed.

“And you worried that I would tell anyone here about you calling my hand a pretty necklace.”

“It was a mistake.” You defended yourself weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, Doll.” Bucky said and when you looked up at him again he was smiling back at you. “Just maybe for the future, don’t jump to conclusions too quickly.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

While Bucky leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, parting quickly to give you a comforting smile, everyone else settled down in the seats, waiting for Fury to arrive. But the meeting didn’t start without one more teasing comment from Tony which earned him everyone else’s laughter, you flicking him off and Bucky glaring at him.

“Friday, remind me to craft a necklace that looks like Bucky’s hand for her next birthday.”

[brickmvster]

new look | L.K.

(fanart in the middle from tanya.gavva on instagram)

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

synopsis: leon kennedy grows out his hair for the first time in a long time... and you cherish every moment of it.

word count: 1,190

tags: long haired re4r leon, established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff and cute domestic stuff, slice of life, short and sweet

author's note: ya'll know those long hair leon kennedy mods. yeah. yeah those. thank the modders for inspiring me to write this. 😭😭😭 (seriously he is so beautiful with long hair i am Crying)

as per usual, this was posted at a time when i should be sleeping lol. this has been proofread but some grammatical errors may have still slipped by me. apologies in advance, any and all mistakes are mine!

please enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated.

(this has been crossposted on ao3)

Sometimes, Leon goes quite some time without hearing from the government. On the rare occasion he gets extended breaks, he gets a little lazy when it comes to keeping his hair short. Short hair stays out of Leon's face, and prevents any evil residents from grabbing it when he's on missions, but when he doesn't have any hostile enemies to fight and he spends most of his time with you, he likes to let it grow just a little bit – after all, it's nice to save some money on haircuts and it gets some pretty entertaining reactions out of you.

When you first noticed Leon's longer hair, you didn't comment on it; you assumed that he'd cut it fairly quickly. But several days had passed, and his hair only grew longer, much to your surprise (and delight). You brought it up to him one night while he was helping you cook dinner, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes.

"Are you growing out your hair?" You had asked him. Leon looked away, almost in a shy manner that you found absolutely adorable.

"Yeah… I know it's unusual of me to keep it this long but it's been a while since my last mission and I haven't really felt like going to the barbershop, so…" he trailed off, running his fingers through the locks in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

There was a bit of silence before Leon spoke again. "Do you like it?" He asked you, to which you could only chuckle in response, walking over to him and running your own fingers through the strands before letting your arms rest on his shoulders, playing with the hairs on his nape.

"Leon Kennedy. Is that even a question?" You replied incredulously. Leon just smiled, chuckling softly as he placed his large hands on your waist. The two of you leaned in and shared a sweet kiss, momentarily forgetting about dinner altogether.

Leon eventually pulled away first, but his face remained close enough to yours that you could still feel his breath on your lips. Your fingers were still playing with his hair tenderly as your eyes admired the gorgeous sight directly in front of you.

Leon had always been handsome – that was just a known fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Leon Kennedy is attractive as all hell. But with the way his long hair was framing his face, you were falling in love all over again.

"Somehow you've gotten even more beautiful. I didn't even think that was possible." You teased, tucking some hair behind his ear.

"You're really loving this, aren't you?" Leon playfully asked, grinning warmly at you.

"To say that I'm loving this is a massive understatement – I am obsessed." you said with a smirk, saying the words against Leon's lips before pressing yours against his once more, this kiss a bit more passionate than the first one and making you feel light-headed in the best way possible, butterflies viciously attacking your stomach as Leon still somehow managed to sweep you off your feet years into the relationship.

Leon tried to pull away again after several minutes of lazily making out in the middle of the kitchen, but every time he tried you would chase his lips, never keeping your mouths separated for longer than a second.

"Baby," Leon whispered against your lips, and eventually you leaned back, but not without great reluctance.

Leon just kissed your cheek. "We should probably get back to preparing dinner, yeah?" He asked. With a pout, you nodded.

"Right." You said, remembering the poor vegetables that still needed cutting.

Before you turned your attention back on cutting vegetables though, you stepped back and took in Leon's now messy hair after your fingers had run through the strands a million times, giggling to yourself quietly. It looked like a cute little bird's nest.

"God, I am going to be all over you." You muttered under your breath. But your boyfriend's trained government agent ears picked up on your words.

"Aren't you always all over me already?" He replied, teasingly.

You added the chopped vegetables into a boiling pot as you responded. "Well, yes. But even more now. Watch out." You threw a wink his way, and Leon just rolled his eyes, but couldn't fight the fond smile from taking over his lips.

Eventually, the two of you got back into the tranquility of cooking, moving around each other almost as if dancing in harmony, a comfortable quietness filling the kitchen. At some point, though, when the food was simmering and you began cleaning up the kitchen, Leon had left for a moment. You didn't think anything of it, assuming he just needed to be off of his feet for a bit.

But then he came back, his silky blonde hair pulled into a small ponytail, some of the more disobedient strands framing his face in the most endearing way. You were wiping the counter when you suddenly froze, your face feeling as warm as the pot of stew on the stove as you shamelessly ogled at your boyfriend's good looks.

Leon sensed your staring, quickly meeting your gaze. "Something on your mind?" He asked playfully.

You wanted to throw your wash cloth at his ridiculously charming face. "Leon. You look so adorable right now. I'm going to explode."

Leon chuckled. "Please, don't. The counter will get dirty again."

You walked over to him, hitting him gently with the washcloth still in your hand before surprising him with a chaste kiss against his lips.

Eventually, dinner was served, and after the two of you ate, it was about time for bed. You both did your usual nightly routines before jumping into your shared bed, holding each other close. Leon was usually the big spoon, as per your request on most nights, but you weren't passing up the opportunity to hold his head close to your chest and to run your fingers through his soft strands.

Leon hummed contentedly, and it was so quiet you almost didn't catch it; but you did, and the sound instantly brought a smile to your face.

"That feels nice, sweetheart." He said lazily, as he was very obviously trying to fight sleep.

This man will be the death of me, you thought.

"It does?" You asked. Leon nodded.

"Mhmm." Was all he replied with, melting into your touch once more.

Some silence passed, the two of you on the very edge of being pulled into the embrace of a deep slumber, but not for long as you expressed one more thought that had entered your mind.

"You know, with your hair this length, I got some style ideas…"

"Oh yeah?" Leon replied groggily.

"Yeah. I have to see you in pigtails."

Leon's half open eyes were now fully open at your comment. A sharp laugh escaped you immediately.

"Leon, please. Do it for me?"

He shook his head, laughing along with you. But the next morning, he let you put his hair into two cute pigtails with a couple of your hairties. And of course, you took photos.

[peachsukii]

— 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱 | 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭

Devastating news is dropped in your lap about your future career as a pro hero. A few days in the hospital leaves you listless about life in general before being sent back home to reality. Even though your environment hasn't changed, your world has been rocked and coming back down to earth feels impossible. Thankfully, Bakugo's more than patient with you and willing to walk you back into normalcy, one day at a time.

✮ content. mentions of blood/violence. kidnapping/abduction. experimentation. physical & psychological torture. PTSD. implied self harm. talks of trauma. angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort. regret. mutual pining. friends to lovers. insomnia. eventual romance. (very) mild smut, talks of recovery. ✮ word count: 8.1k.

✧. ┊ hollow heart masterlist ⨯ crossposted to ao3

~ TIME: 7:15AM - Hospital (One Hour Earlier)

"I'll help you back into bed and then we can go over your test results." Saki carefully assists you out of the wheelchair and lifts you into the hospital bed, gracefully tucking you into the sheets. "We received the toxicology report and bloodwork results while we performed the MRI. We were unable to decipher what drugs were administered during your time in the compound, but it affected your quirk factor tremendously."

"What does that mean?" you question. Before all of this, you had no idea a quirk factor could even be manipulated, let alone damaged. 

"In plain terms, your quirk being forced to activate caused it to weaken in strength. Your bloodwork thankfully confirmed you do not have any bacterial infections from the injections you were given, however," Saki pauses to grab her clipboard from the countertop. "The EKG results showed signs of an arrhythmia, which is common among drug related issues."

You don't say anything, too weary to form a cognitive thought about everything she's telling you. 

"I know this is a lot to process, we don't expect you to make heads or tails of it today. We'll be keeping you for one more day for observation while we create a treatment plan for your recovery. This means you may not be able to return to pro hero work for sometime." Saki takes your hand in hers. "Get some rest for now. I'll be back in a bit to check on you."

All you can do is nod while settling into the bed, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. The thoughts swirling in your head are making you dizzy alongside the pain killers they've hooked you up to. It doesn't take long for your eyes to feel too heavy to hold open, drifting off to sleep, avoiding the weight of your reality for a little while longer.  

~

A familiar figure approaches you in an empty room, a shadow standing in front of you.

"Hey," a familiar voice greets ⎯ your voice. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

"I don't know who you are."

Yes, in fact, you do. You're too afraid to face the truth. Demons don't vanish overnight, they become apart of you.

"What do you want?"

She moves closer, extending her hand out to you. "Come with me."

Calm down, it's only a dream...right?

You take her hand, walking with her into the nothingness of your mind. She halts, staring forward before turning her gaze toward you. It's the same reflection you saw in the compound that one night, but she looks...sad, not wicked. 

"We're in this together now."

We?

There's no way she's comforting you right now.

"Don't believe me? Think about what I am."

That's when it hits you all at once; she's the manifestation of your trauma. She’s gotta be, there’s no other explanation. Or is she a leftover hallucination from the drugs?

"You can't erase me, I'm part of you now."

You begin to speak as she's fading away into the ether, hiding in your thoughts as you fall into too deep of a sleep to continue dreaming. 

~ TIME: 8:40AM - Hospital (Current Time)

Bakugo's hesitant to ask for clarity. "What...does that mean?"

Saki continues. "The narcotics she was forced to take are unlike anything we've seen in recent years, which is, unfortunately, to be expected from an underground experimental drug ring. It's all homemade and untraceable, but what we can conclude is that it did do detrimental damage to her quirk factor by forcing it to activate against her will for long periods of time. It also explains the mild heart arrhythmia we found during her EKG."

Silence cuts through the hallway, the world going quiet as Bakugo ruminates on her words. If only he was faster that night, none of this would have happened. You'd be safe and sound, lying on the couch together without a care in the world.

That day feels so long ago.

"I know this is tough to swallow," Saki says quietly. "But it's not impossible for her to regain strength. We have a specialized rehab program for quirk degeneration that would benefit her recovery, it'll be awhile until she's back to full strength. The hospital offers a wonderful PTSD therapy program as well." 

"How long's awhile?" Bakugo presses. 

"It's hard to say for certain as it depends on her recovery speed. Some see results in a few months, but it could be a year or more."

A whole fucking year? All because...no, he can't keep blaming himself. But goddammit, he's furious about the whole situation.

"I have a few other patients to get through this morning, but I'll be back soon to check on her and let you know any further updates," Saki adds as she's hurrying down the hall and into another room. Bakugo exhales the breath he was unconsciously holding as he returns to your room and sits in the chair by the window, picking up his book to pass the time. 

He may as well be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders knowing his intuition was right.

~ TIME: 9:17AM - Hospital

It wasn't long until Midoriya showed up to the hospital with your mother in tow, quietly peaking into the room to see if you were awake. Bakugo looks up from his book, giving them a silent nod of acknowledgement. He gets up from his seat and ushers them out into the hallway to avoid disturbing your much needed sleep. Your mother locks her arms around Bakugo before he can reciprocate, squeezing until she couldn't anymore. 

"Thank you, Katsuki," she mumbles into his chest. She lets go of him, taking a step back to compose herself. "Do you know when she'll wake up?"

"She's not in a coma," Bakugo explains. "Just restin' up. Nurse told me the painkillers make her sleepy."

The immediate look of worry drops from your mother's face. 

"Oh, okay. Do you know anything else?"

Midoriya glances at Bakugo ⎯ his expression doesn't give Midoriya confidence on your condition. 

"Her quirk factor's been damaged. Otherwise, she's fine." Bakugo tries to keep it together while giving a minimal explanation. He knew the more information he'd pile on to your mom, the more she'd spiral and endlessly worry about your condition. "Said there's a program to help her strengthen it again. I'll let her fill in the blanks for ya when she wakes up since I haven't gotten a chance'ta talk to her today."

"That's great news!" Midoriya chirps, trying to lighten the mood. A brief pause falls upon the three of them when a noise comes from your room, a groan and the sound of rustling sheets. Your mother takes a step back and peeks inside to see you moving around, signaling that you're awake - alive. 

"Honey!" she cries, running to your side to scoop you up into an awkward hug. "My sweet girl, I am so glad you're alright."

You're barely awake enough to register who's speaking, let alone touching you. Your eyes flicker open to see the boys at the foot of your bed while your mother's face is burrowing into your shoulder. 

"M-mom?" you question. "Not...not so tight. Everything still hurts."

She lets you go, apologizing under her breath and moving to cradle your face in her hands. "I'm sorry sweetie, I'm happy that you're safe."

"It's okay," you murmur, groggy from all the medicine flowing through your system. 

Midoriya walks to the opposite side of the bed to place a hand on your shoulder and offers you a bright smile. "How are you feeling?"

You know Midoriya means well, but that question may as well be an invisible gun, locked and loaded with all your traumatic memories ready to fire at any time. It's only a fraction of a second, but one glance in Bakugo's direction tells him all he needs to know. Your eyes hold a certain type of despondence to them - not rage or fear, but grief. 

"I'm alright!" you affirm, a fake smile plastered on your face. "Dizzy, but okay."

Bakugo's heart sinks. 

He knows you're lying through your teeth.

"Tell me everything," your mother pleads as she takes one of your hands in hers, carefully running her fingers over your palm like she used to when you were a kid. She winces at all the bruises littering your arms, tears pricking the corners of her eyes from seeing her little girl in such a weakened state. As if she was summoned, Saki appears in the doorway once more, returning from her round of checkups.

"Oh! You've got a full house," she jokes as she treads over to your mother. "Hi, I'm Saki, Y/N's nurse. You must be mom, pleased to meet you. The boys have been very kind and understanding while your daughter's been in our care."

"What can I say, they're both one of a kind." She wavers, thinking of how to phrase the dreaded question rattling in her head. "Can you go over all of the test results with us, please?"

Saki takes a minute to rummage through her stack of files and flips one open. 

"Of course, have a seat."

Medical Chart Patient: Y/N Age: 23 Gender: Female Hero Alias: Y/H/N Admitted @ 11:30PM - BP 132/81 (Hypertension) - Upper thigh wound - Patient conscious but severely dehydrated & dazed - Victim of a drug experimentation ring, unknown substances consumed for 30+ calendar days - Started IV of nicardipine/vitamin c/saline to lower BP & re-hydrate - Dissolvable stitches & adhesive for thigh wound - Administered 5mg of morphine IV for pain relief 2:40AM - EKG, MRI & Bloodwork/Toxicology performed - BP 121/62 (Elevated) - Administered additional 5mg of morphine IV for pain relief - Started second round of saline solution via IV to flush leftover substances 7:00AM - BP 114/58 (Normal) - EKG Results: Irregular heart rate - mild heart arrhythmia detected - MRI Results: No abnormalities or long-term internal damage Bloodwork Results: CBC (WBC: 3,200 RBC: 2.9, HGB: 10.1) Metabolic Panel (Glucose - 45mg) Unknown substance found in sample, potentially causing health degeneration  Diagnosis: Patient is clear of any long standing terminal illness, no internal injury found during testing. Return for a follow up EKG and determine if beta blockers are needed for arrhythmia. Unknown substance found in toxicology report - appears to be non-lethal but has acted as a poison to the patient’s body, causing an infection. Bloodwork revealed low levels of Glucose as well as lowered red & white blood cell counts. Quirk factor has been affected, rehab is needed to regain strength. Patient recommended to finish a round of antibiotics during detox. Patient should refrain from working until further notice. Follow up with a psychological evaluation for further treatment regarding potential withdraw and PTSD. 

"Do you have any questions?" Saki queries, eyes trailing back and forth between you and your mother.

"So..." Her words start sinking in as you struggle to find your own. "My quirk regressed due to the drugs, gave me a blood infection and a potential heart problem. And I can't continue to be a hero?"

The room stills, your question anxiously hanging in limbo. Saki's response cuts through the dead air like a knife. "That is correct."

Everyone around you begins to press further, but it all becomes TV static to your ears as your vision tunnels on the tiniest specks in the linoleum flooring, finding anything else to think about. The weight of your current reality is catching up to you and the only response you can muster is to shut everything out. 

Seems like you're fresh out of miracles.

~ TIME: 9:49AM - Hospital

After the nuclear news about your health, your mother decided it was best to head back home, leaving you in the loving care of the boys. 

"If you need anything, please call me, honey," she sighs over your shoulder in an embrace. "I'm happy you're back, safe and sound. Don't worry, you're a strong woman, sweetie. You'll get back on your feet in no time."

Yeah...strong. 

What if you didn't want to be strong? What if you want to fall apart and let it all go?

"I love you. Please call me when you get released and let me know what's going on. If you don't," she shifts her focus to Bakugo. "I'll call Katsuki, he doesn't sugar coat anything."

"Mom!" you whine, shaking your head in embarrassment. "I'll call you, promise."

She nods while walking to the doorway, Midoriya tailing behind her to drive her back to Musutafu. He gives you a nod as he disappears into the hallway. A few seconds pass until you have the guts to look in Bakugo's direction at the end of the hospital bed. His eyes are cautiously studying your body language, trying to decode how you're truly feeling, but goddammit, he's terrified to ask. 

"Kat?" Your voice is meek, barely above a whisper. 

He can practically hear his heart begin to fracture at the crack in your voice. He knows what's coming. And honestly? He's not sure if he can handle seeing you in such a broken state. Your dream was shattered in front of everyone you love.

"Yeah?" 

You can feel your lower lip start to wobble as you hold the words on your tongue, eyes screwed shut and the sheets tightly balled in your fists. 

"Can you...hold me?"

Bakugo reaches for the collar of his shirt and pulls on it timidly. He can't be gutless right now, you need him, now more than ever. You hear the shuffle of his feet approach the side of the bed, followed by the sheets being gently lifted to make room for him to sit down. When you finally look up with glassy eyes, his head is tilted with one arm extended in your direction, welcoming you without any further uncertainty. You blink a few times, tucking your legs inward and carefully stretching them over his lap, scooting closer until you're curling up into his chest. Strong arms make their way around your body, encasing you with a comfort you've hopelessly missed. The embrace he wraps you in feels like a homecoming and  stronger than any armor you could wear.

"S'only you and me," Bakugo whispers, cradling your head against him. "I got ya."

It hits you like a hurricane, the storm of emotions surging through you with an intensity you've never felt before. There's no use in holding it in anymore. And so, you let the rain fall, sobbing, snotty and sniveling, shrinking into a scared little girl in his arms.

He's always despised the rain, but in this moment? Bakugo's found a new hatred for it.

~ The Following Day: Discharge - Hospital @ 5:53PM

Two days in the hospital and its felt like an eternity. A handful of antibiotics and withdrawal medication, a recommendation to a psychiatrist and quirk rehabilitation treatment plan later, they're ready to send you on your merry way. The boys have been a blessing in the last two days with Midoriya taking care of your mom while Bakugo's been by your side for whatever you need, no matter how big or small. Bringing you comfy clothes, sneaking in snacks, and reading a book out loud until you fell asleep being the short list of niceties.

How the hell are you ever going to being able to pay him back for all these selfless sweet nothings?

"Ready to go, Lite-brite?" Bakugo double-checks while taking a second glance around the room, a backpack thrown over his shoulder. "Izuku's at the checkout desk to get all your paperwork for the agency."

You nod. "More than ready. Let's get the hell outta here." 

Bakugo holds out his hand for you to take. Without meaning to, you pause. 

"What?" He pouts, taking a half-step back to give you space. "Don't wanna hold my hand?"

"Of course I do." You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. "Didn't mean to make you think otherwise."

He hopes you don't notice the obnoxious amount of sweat coating his palm under yours, or the intense thumping of his heartbeat through his fingers. Thank goodness you two are still in the hospital ⎯ he might actually faint over holding your goddamn hand. As you two approach the lobby, Midoriya waves at you from the checkout area, signaling for you to come over to the desk. 

"I ran copies of your paperwork over to the agency earlier, so you are free to head home. They told me they'd call you later to review everything and want you to get some rest," Midoriya informs. "I called your mom as well to let her know you're heading home. The agency did recommend that you shouldn't stay at home since the kidnappers have your address. They're in custody, but better safe than sorry."

"Then she's stayin' with me," Bakugo declares, tapping his fingers along the back of your hand for assurance. "I'll look after her."

"That's for the best. Oh, right!" Midoriya exclaims as he reaches into his bag and hands you...a new phone?! "Here. We were able to take all of the stuff from your old one and transfer it, too."

You're staring at it in disbelief as the lock screen flashes a picture of the three of you.  

"I'll pay you back," you say with a bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Izuku. You didn't have to do that."

"Don't worry about it! Kacchan and I split the cost."

Bakugo rolls his eyes and turns his head away from you. "S'no biggie, y'dont owe us shit. C'mon, let's go home."


~ Bakugo's Apartment: 6:45PM

Walking into Bakugo's apartment for the first time in over a month fills you with tranquility, the aura of his home welcoming you with open arms. Would you have loved to go back to your own place? Of course, but you have no idea if anyone from the drug ring knows where you live, like Midoriya said. It's one more stressor you don't want to think about until you need to. 

"Are ya hungry?" Bakugo questions with a hand on your upper back. "I can make you somethin'."

You flash him a smile, but it fades away as fast as it appears. "Not right now, I desperately want a hot shower."

"Knock yourself out, y'know where everythin' is. Grab whatever clothes you need from my room. Leave yours in the bathroom and I'll wash'em."

Oh...right. You didn't bring anything with you except the clothes on your back. 

It's not like you haven't worn Bakugo's clothes in the past, but it feels way more intimate than ever. Imagining him doing your laundry makes you blush something fierce, suddenly self-conscious about it. You have to force yourself to shake the thought away. He's folded your underwear for years and vice versa. You’ve showered here plenty of times. Hell, you’ve slept in his bed numerous times. 

What's the big deal?

"I know that face," Bakugo comments. He caught on to the anxiety emanating from you the second you walked through the door. Being apart for a month didn't seem to weaken his ability to perceive your true emotions. "Quit your worryin', wouldn't offer if I didn't wanna do it."

"Alright," you mutter lowly. "Sorry, still feeling a little out of it."

Bakugo pats you on the head. "Don't be sorry. Go shower, I'll make some dinner for us. You're gonna be starvin' afterward, and y'should eat before takin' any more meds."

You might not be hungry, but can't deny he's right.

“Alright. Thanks, Kat. Mind if I leave the bathroom door cracked?” 

A brief wave of sadness crashes through him at your tone. What did they do to you to make you so paranoid? He knows it’s gonna take time for you to acclimate back to a daily routine, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch you walk around with a cloud over your head. 

“‘Course not. Yell if ya need me.” 

You slink back into Bakugo’s bedroom, waltzing over to his dresser to pick out a set of clothes to wear. It takes an embarrassing amount of convincing to open his underwear drawer, barely looking and blindly grabbing a pair for yourself to change into. You pick out an old All Might t-shirt as well and head off to the bathroom before you change your mind and make things even weirder than they needed to be. You pause at the sink to stare into the mirror, unable to stop yourself from making a mental checklist at every little detail that’s changed in your appearance. The lifelessness in your stare makes your stomach sour, unable to keep eye contact with yourself longer than a few seconds. It reminds you of the last time you looked in a mirror for too long, that shadow-self taunting you to set her free. You can't risk encountering her again ⎯ not today.

Bakugo waits for the shower to turn on, only continuing to shuffle around the kitchen in search of ingredients when he hears the water running. He hasn’t gone shopping in a few weeks, living off of protein bars and shakes instead of his usual prepared meals. His appetite waned while you were gone, unable to bring himself to eat consistently like he used to. He’s about to turn the stove on when he hears your voice echo faintly down the hallway, dropping what he’s doing and hurrying to the bathroom door. 

“Need somethin’?” Bakugo calls out, loud enough to be sure you hear him over the sounds of the water and ventilation fan. 

“This is gonna sound so needy,” you whine, feeling ashamed to keep asking him for help after all the trouble him and Midoriya have gone through. “Can you…stay in here and talk to me? Being alone is giving me stupid anxiety.”

He sighs, slipping through the door and perching himself on the vanity. "You're not needy, don't say shit like that. What do y'wanna talk about?"

What the hell do you talk about? What he did while you were gone? The weather or the news?

"Uhh...what's for dinner?"

Good enough.

"Was thinkin' something basic like chicken and rice. Don't wanna make you sick by eating somethin' too rich off the bat."

The pause in conversation is gnawing on your nerves. Bakugo clears his throat. "That sound okay to you?"

"Mhm."

Popping open the bottle of shampoo, the familiar scent invades your senses and forces nostalgia upon you that you didn't even know you had tucked away. A handful of memories come back in flashes; movie nights, late night dinners, 3AM phone calls, early morning workouts, afternoon coffee runs during patrol breaks...it hits you like a train, crushing you mentally to know you're using everything that's his, consuming pieces of him that you've craved after being apart for so long. Something as simple as goddamn 'Pine Trees & Campfire' shampoo is destroying you all over again. You try to stop the hiccup in your throat from being heard, but it's too late.

"You alright in there?" Bakugo asks when he hears it, worried he upset you. "I can make whatever y'want, I'll run to⎯"

"That's not it," you interject awkwardly. You can't tell him that you're distraught over a stupid fragrance, no way in hell.

"Do you...want me to help you?" He stumbles through the words, embarrassed to be thinking about your bare skin and the potential of seeing you in such a vulnerable light, the only thing keeping you hidden from his sight being a thin layer of steam and suds.

"I..." you start while continuing to rush through the rest of the shower routine as a distraction, but it doesn't work. Of course it doesn't ⎯ there's no shoving this down anymore. What good would it do now to lie to him about how you feel? You might as well tell him the truth. 

"I realized how much I missed you."

Bakugo's head falls into his hands, heat radiating from his face and warming his palms. There's so much you two need to talk about. You've both gotten through the confession portion, but the weight of it all is becoming too much to bear. He's, for lack of a better word, dying to hold you, kiss you, to bask in your presence like old times. 

"Yeah, missed bein' able to call you to talk about stupid shit and hear your voice. Did a few times the first week. Old habits die hard."

The bathroom falls quiet when you turn off the shower, the subtle squeak of the metal rack as you pull the fresh towel behind the curtain being the only sound filling the room. It sends Bakugo into an unexpected cold sweat. You're about to walk out in nothing but...that. 

Should he leave? Do you want him to leave? Is he...allowed to see you in only a towel?

His eyes shoot to the floor the second he hears the curtain rings clink together, white-knuckling the edge of the vanity like his life depended on it. 

"Katsuki," you laugh, gripping the top of the towel draped over your body. "Don't be such a nerd about this."

Bakugo's eyes whip back to you, eyebrows scrunched together with his cheeks slightly puffed. He's adorable like this, a strawberry hue spreading like wildfire across his features. 

"I-I'm not!" he argues. "You wanna walk around in nothin'? Be my damn guest."

Shit, that's not what he meant to say.

You start to snicker, devolving into a cackle that has you in tears, holding your side and wiping at your eyes. 

"Stop laughin' ya brat!" he shouts, not able to keep a straight face himself once he sees the real you come to light, the radiant girl he loves. It brings him comfort knowing he can still make you laugh until you cry happy tears after the hell you've been through. Your giggles are music to his ears - an angelic choir. He launches himself off the vanity and heads for the door, mumuring "Get your ass dressed already" as he's shutting it behind him. 

After staring at the pile of clothes for too long, you throw on the chosen shirt and pair of boxers, savoring the warmth it fills you with as the fabric lays atop your damp skin. Maybe things will be easier than you think and you won't turn into a phantom that listlessly wanders through life. Maybe, just maybe, Bakugo's the key to finding your old self and stepping back into her shoes. Exiting the bathroom, you're about to head into the kitchen when you overhear Bakugo fidgeting with something in his bedroom. You patter down the hall and peer into the room, curious with whatever he's messing with. He catches your silhouette out of the corner of his eye and nearly jumps out of his skin.

"God, you're like a fuckin' mouse!" Bakugo yells, dropping the box in his hands. "Thought y'were still in the bathroom, scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry," you apologize with your hand over your mouth, holding in a laugh and covering up the sneer tugging at your lips. There's a small box on his dresser, a coral colored jewelry case of some kind. "What's that?"

Bakugo groans dramatically and slumps his shoulders. You've caught him red handed.

"Dammit. It's somethin' I bought a long ass time ago." 

His fingers graze over the cotton material delicately, reminiscing about that day from years prior. The two of you had gotten the approvals for your apartments in Tokyo, ecstatic that you were able to find places within a mile walking distance of one another - Midoriya, too. After meeting with the realtor in the city, you two were free to wander around for the day. Bakugo remembers how adorably ecstatic you were, tugging him toward the train station to go to Shibuya and celebrate, a.k.a window shop through the square, play arcade games until he berated you for wasting money, and bar hop to indulge in the best food and drinks for hours.

Who was he to say no to you?

While roaming through the shopping district, you'd stopped to fawn over a piece of jewelry in a window display, your wonderstruck stare that had him melting as you squealed with delight. "Wow, look how pretty that is!"

Bakugo's too spellbound on how gorgeous you appear in the golden hour sunlight to focus on the words you're saying. He's transfixed by the luminous glow reflecting on your skin, convinced this sunset was handcrafted to your intensify beauty. He finally tears his gaze away from you to see the necklace shining back at him in the window. 

"Lockets are so sweet, I love their sentiment," you swoon mindlessly. "And this one has a teeny carnelian in the middle. They're meant to keep you driven and motivated."

He couldn't deny it looked nice, a small rose gold heart locket with the stone nestled in the middle. Bakugo looks at the price tag and winces ⎯ $300 for something so...dainty. 

"Damn, did they dig this outta the dirt themselves for that price?"

"It's how you know it's real and won't leave a green ring around your neck. Carnelian actually reminds me of you, Kat. Nothing gets in the your way of your dreams, your ambition is truly unmatched."

Bakugo's body heats up, such a casual compliment enough to have him bursting into invisible flames. 

"S'there a rock for nerds like you, too?" he grins, playfully poking at your side.

"Ha-ha," you huff sarcastically. "C'mon, I'm starving. Let's go to that bar around the corner."

He takes a mental note of the store name, the street you're on, and the name of the locket on display. He'll come back for it in a few days, hiding it away for the right time to give to you. Maybe at your birthday, or whenever your hero ranking jumps into the top 40. Or he'll keep his feelings locked away with it, letting it waste away in the back of a drawer somewhere with no intention of it ever seeing the light of day.

"Are you gonna tell me, or should I act like I didn't see it?" 

Your voice shakes Bakugo out of his daydream, realizing he's been standing there staring at the box for god knows how long. You two have somewhat confessed to one another, what's he got to lose? 

"C'mere," he instructs, motioning for you to sit with him on the bed. You blink at him curiously as you follow his lead, plopping down on the mattress next to him. His mouth forms a tense line before exhaling heavily. "Turn around."

And you do, albeit puzzled, but compliant. Bakugo opens the box and fumbles with the necklace, untangling the chain from where it laid on the satin pillow inside. He leans into your back, hands coming into view from behind and the weight of something resting on your chest. After a few tries with shaky fingers and mumbled 'fuck's, he gets the clasp to successfully close, pulling your dampened hair out of the way and letting the chain lay across your nape. 

"Bought this after that trip to Shibuya with my first check. I went back'ta get it after you wouldn't stop lookin' at it. And..." he pauses. "Ya said it reminded you of me, so it felt special."

He's had this locket hidden away for years?!

"I didn't put anythin' in it, figured we could find somethin' together."

No one's ever loved you this deeply, so blisteringly profound as Bakugo. How could you be so blind to it all this time? His pining for you is clear as day. All those times you questioned it and how you could've been together this whole time.

You swing around and collide with Bakugo, sore arms wrapping securely around his shoulders. His arms instantly encircle your frame as the two of you topple sideways onto the bed, entangled in one another. You stare up at him through your lashes with a soft pout stretched over your lips.

"You really are force to be reckoned with, huh?" you tease. "Thank you, Katsuki. I love it."

You move up to comfortably lay your head next to his on the pillow, noses practically touching as you navigate the stars in each other's eyes. You can hear Bakugo swallow roughly ⎯ he’s nervous. He goes to say something, but you place a finger to his lips, shaking your head nimbly to cut him off. 

"And you."

Your hand moves to caress his cheek as you inhale a trembling breath, taking in all of his gorgeous features. He melts into your touch. The usual flames in his eyes have dimmed into embers, ruby irises flickering under the bedroom lighting. Every ounce of your body feels like an inferno, the equivalent of Icarus flying too close to the sun. The only difference? You don’t mind the burn, you welcome it this time. 

The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place as your lips connect with Bakugo's, the world fading away around you two and transporting you into a luscious dreamscape full of stars. Everything from the last month begins to dissipate into nothingness, his kiss draining the negativity from your soul and replacing it with sickly sweet love. The two of you have waited for what feels like an eternity for a chance like this, and despite the circumstances, it has brought you two together in a way that you've only fantasized about. The fact that it's actually happening? You may explode, overwhelmed by the emotions traversing the avenues of your heart. 

Bakugo pulls away to catch his breath, unable to fathom the reality unfolding in front of him. You're here, in his bed, wearing his clothes and the locket he thought would never be seen hanging from your neck, snuggled up and kissing him like he's the last person on earth. His head is in the clouds, way beyond the stratosphere and floating through deep space. He's convinced this is nirvana, the perfect slice of heaven. But one thing is missing, three little words he's dying for you to hear, straight from his heart. 

He snakes an arm around your waist and tugs your body to be impossibly close to his. Bakugo pecks your forehead, nose and cheek and hovers over your lips. You can feel the infatuation exuding from him, comforted by the way his chest rises and falls with yours in quick successions.

He feels like home.

"I love you," he finally confesses, his throat tightening as the phrase spills out of him. It's no longer out of fear, it's the enthusiasm of finally being able to say it with confidence. 

You can't help but chuckle while remembering his text, leaning forward to kiss him before answering. "Why don't you remind me how much?"

The way Bakugo's cheeks glow scarlet at your question makes your heart swell. His sudden bashfulness is exhilarating. He takes a deep breath as his fingers rub circles on your lower back absentmindedly, staring at your lips until he has the strength to make eye contact again. 

"I should'a told ya ages ago how I felt. And from now on, I won't let a day go by without tellin' you."

Even though you knew how he felt about you, hearing Bakugo say it aloud makes the swarm of butterflies in your stomach flutter violently. The feeling is almost uncontainable, overflowing in ways you didn't think was possible.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Like a stupid fucking amount," you smirk, relishing in the way his irises gleam when you quote his original confession. He tilts your chin upward to slot his lips onto yours once more, eager to consume every drop of adoration pouring out of you. It's innocent, tender, the spell he's been dying to put you under for years. The mood shifts into something more sensual when your hand roams to the hem of Bakugo's shirt, slipping underneath to run your hand up his back, desperate for skin contact and sinking into a deeper kiss. You're tingling, a new sensation beginning to build in your belly when he experimentally sucks on your bottom lip, opening your mouth for him to swipe his tongue along yours. You squeak in surprise at his advance, but melt into him all the same, a groan rumbling in his chest at your pliancy. His hand starts to wander down your figure and sneaks under the oversized t-shirt, mimicking your touch and tracing your spine with his finger tips. 

Oh my god. 

This is real. 

This isn't a dream. 

He feels so fucking good pressed up against you, intoxicated by the way his fingers ghost over your skin, sending sparks of electricity rushing through your veins. You want him viscerally, no, need him. Maybe it's the touch starvation talking, but you could consume him whole and it wouldn't be enough right now. He's everything you've ever wanted, and even thought you literally have him in the palm of your hand, something about this continues to feel illusive. 

You're lost in him. Everything fiber of your being is screaming Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki. 

In the heat of the moment, you pull away from the kiss and press your lips to the underside of his jaw, slowly leaving a trail of featherlight pecks down to his collarbone. You can feel Bakugo shiver under your touch, his fingers applying firmer pressure on your back. His reaction gives you the courage to push further, delicately sucking on the pulse point in his neck. The noise that floods out of him makes your thighs clench, one that you've never heard him make. His whole body twitches, fingers moving to squeeze your side in an attempt to keep himself together. 

"Fuck," he sighs harshly above you, breathing heavily and immediately biting his lip to prevent any other flustered sounds from spilling out as your lips continue their plush assault. When your hand inches slowly down his back and to his hip to graze the waistband of his sweats, Bakugo freezes. His hand rockets to your wrist to stop you. He breaks away from your embrace and the sight of him is enough to knock you out; eyes half-lidded, out of breath, lips swollen and face flushed cherry red. 

God, he's so beautiful. 

"W-wait," he stutters, removing his grip from your wrist and sliding his fingers to tangle with yours. "I...I don't wanna rush this."

Oh.

"N-not...shit. Not that I don't want to," Bakugo continues while biting the inside of his cheek to calm himself down. "I wanna earn you, every part of you."

Oh. 

That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to you.

He notices your eyes beginning to well up with tears and panics, thinking that you're taking this as a rejection rather than his true intentions. "Hey, I didn't mean⎯"

You interrupt him with another sweet peck to his lips. "I know. You're right, and I'm sorry for smothering you."

Bakugo didn't mind that one fucking bit, he's waited years for the chance to kiss you. Shit, he wants you to touch him, to explore every scar and muscle that adorn his figure. He wants to memorize the way your delicate fingers set him ablaze as you roam his body with your touch. And he can't dare to think about the seductive journey of mapping out every inch of your skin, worshiping you from head to toe for hours. He screws his eyes shut momentarily to collect himself for a third time, shoving that thought into the back of his mind to save for a rainy day.

"Nothin' to be sorry about, sweetheart." Bakugo pulls you into him, cushioning your cheek with his chest. "M'happy like this for now. Don't wanna spoil all the surprises right away."

Sweetheart.

Your heart pitter-patters in your chest at the new pet name, loving how it sounds falling from his lips. 

"But if ya ask me with those puppy dog eyes'a yours, I might turn into a kid on Christmas morning and unwrap everything in one night." He snickers, the vibrations mixing into the strong bass of his heartbeat in your ear. The pulse becomes a comforting lullaby of sorts, blanketing a sense of calm over you and letting you drift into a blissful daze. 

The trance is broken by the rumble of your phone incessantly buzzing against Bakugo's dresser. Reluctantly, you push yourself out of his grasp and lurch to grab it from across the room, the caller ID making your stomach plummet. 

~ INCOMING CALL: AGENCY

The time has come. It's now or never to hear what they have to say. You click the "Accept" button and raise the phone to your ear. 

"Hello?"

"Hello, this message is for Y/H/N. If this is correct, please press 1."

They couldn't even bother to call you themselves, but sent a recording instead?

"What is it?" Bakugo asks as he sits up in the bed. 

"Bastards at the agency sent a recording, it's not even the board members themselves."

He gives you a look of disgust, appalled they'd treat one of their fellow heroes like a number in their system. Well, maybe he shouldn't be surprised, all things considered. Those suits only care about appearances at the end of the day. 

"Throw it on speaker," he insists, patting the bed for you to sit next to him. You plop down on the mattress, press 1 on the screen and click the speaker icon. 

"Y/H/N, we are pleased to know you've returned safe and sound. Deku and the others went a bit rogue to rescue you, but we are willing to excuse it this one time due to the success of their tribulations. Thank you for sending over your paperwork from the hospital. We've contacted Deku, as he's one of your emergency contacts, for further information to allow you to properly rest. He informed us you'll be under Dynamight's care until we can confirm your home is safe to stay return to. We will be reaching out to him momentarily in regards of this matter and how to proceed in the coming weeks. As of now, your status in the hero database has been changed from "Missing in Action" to "Leave of Absence." You will be paid 75% of your normal salary during this time and your ranking will be reset. In order to return to physical hero work, we require a written recommendation letter from your doctor and therapists, including progress reports and evaluations regarding your quirk's strength. You will, unfortunately, need to re-apply for a position and re-take the agency's entrance exam. In the interim, you may complete office work at your leisure after three months of leave. We will be following up in a week for updates on your health and then monthly going forward. If you have any questions, please reach out to the agency's HR department. Thank you, and we wish you luck in your recovery." 

A few seconds of static linger in the air before the line ends. The phone feels heavy in your hands, a weight you can't hold on to for much longer. 

Shh...stop thinking. Push it down. Lock it up. Keep that dread buried six feet under. 

As much as you don't want to listen to your inner critic, she's right. For now, you've gotta suffocate that existentialism and shelve it for another day, preferably one when Bakugo's not around to witness another breakdown. You notice him staring at you with the similar face he made in the compound, one filled with worry about the impending doom and gloom. It's obvious he searching for something to say, anything to get your mind away from being told you're potentially losing your job. 

"It's okay, Katsuki. You don't need to say anything," you assure as you take a deep breath. "Are you still offering to make dinner, or should we order something?"

Is that a good sign? He can't determine whether or not you're upset or accepting the inevitable. Bad news be damned, Bakugo's confident he can take your mind off of things, even if it's for a few hours at a time.  

"Whatever you want, I'll let you pick."

As much as you'd kill for some fast food to mask the panic building in your chest, a home cooked meal, specifically a Katsuki Bakugo home cooked meal, sounds incredible right about now.

"Cook me the best dish you've got in your arsenal, that's what I want."

Bakugo's lips upturn into a grin, fired up for the challenge to impress his best...no, girlfriend. 

"Lemme go to the store on the corner an' pick up a few things. Go get comfy on the couch in the meantime." He takes your cheeks in his hands, squishing them together playfully to leave another kiss on your lips. "Dinner and a movie, right where we left off."

"Where we left off and then some," you joke, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Kat. For everything."

"Don't mention it," he waves you off, a dusting of pink crossing the bridge of his nose and coloring the tips of his ears. "Be back in twenty. Try not to miss me too much.”

With a nod, you let him go. He stops at the door of his bedroom, turning to face you. 

“I love you,” Bakugo repeats. "Wanted to remind ya, in case you forgot."

“You’re so cute, I love you too. Don’t trip and fall off the face of the earth on your way there.” 

“I'm not cute!” reverbs through Bakugo’s apartment as he shuts the front door. You lay back in his bed, twirling the sheets in your fingers as his scent lingers in your space. You could get used to this, a life full of sweet nothings with him by your side. Dreams can begin to replace your nightmares, and hope seems fathomable once more. It won’t be an easy journey, you’ve got multiple glass ceilings to break through before returning to normalcy. And she’s here to remind you of every hurdle along the way. It’s only been a few hours since your release from the hospital, but this is the best you’ve felt in a long ass time. 

Until your reality comes crashing down around you. You've really gotta stop asking for trouble.

Everything contrasts, your throat constricting and limiting the breath reaching your lungs. The doctor warned you about the potential side effects of drug withdraw, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly how these symptoms would appear. How could they know if they couldn’t identify the drug itself? You try to grab your phone, but you can’t find the damn thing in your hazy vision, frantically patting around on the bed in search of it to call Bakugo for help.

Don’t panic, breathe. 

"I can't!" you pant between shallow breaths.

Yes, you can. Don't let it take you back into that cell. 

Is this the psychosis they warned you about? It's terrifying, but therapeutic in the same breath. You’ve gotta trust that intuition ⎯ it may not be malicious in nature anymore.

Lay on your back, hands and feet against the bed. Let me pass through and you’ll be safe, don't be afraid of me. 

You ground yourself to the bed and breathe deeply. In and out. In...out. In. Out. After a minute, your breathing stabilizes, eyes opening cautiously to surprisingly clear vision. 

See? We don't need to be enemies.

What the fuck was that, a panic attack? It felt too quick to be one. The creak of the front door opening and rustling of bags distracts you from spiraling further about it, Bakugo's voice carrying down the hall. "Lite-brite, I'm back. Grabbed ya a few treats, too."

Are you able to move? You flex your fingers, your toes, and then roll your shoulders back as a test. Everything seems to be back to normal. No use in worrying him further, the episode's passed and you're okay, that's what matters. You'll tell him after dinner when the night winds down. You can't ruin the mood he's crafting for you two after everything he's done. You can unload that another time, and pray it doesn't happen again anytime soon.

"Everythin' okay while I was gone?" Bakugo presses while tossing the bags on the counter.

One more white lie won't hurt.

"Yeah, all good," you yell down the hall as you make your way into the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

⇢ HH tags; @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr @musicbecky @bakubae-by @berryvioo @tragedyofabrokensoul @queenpiranhadon @simp-plague @jenn-majima @dienamights @curiositykilledthecatx3 ⇢ bkg tags; @slayfics @maddietries @starieqq  @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @napbatata @Yoyolovesdaiki ⇢ all tags; @kirishimaeijiromyman @strwbrrykthv

[sugaurora]

Dream Come True

Since your brother had warned you years ago that his best friend Seokjin was off limits, you’d only allowed yourself to safely fantasize about him in your dreams. You’re not sure why tonight his lips feel so much softer and his hands so much warmer than usual, but you’re also not about to complain.

Pairing: Med Student Seokjin x Plus Size Female Reader

Genre: Brother’s Best Friend; Friends to Lovers; Smut

Word Count: 16,800+

Tags: Profanity; Explicit sexual content; unprotected sex; Seokjin is a soft, sweet, gentle guy and I’m so gone for him, big dick seokjin, inexplicable amounts of cum???, dirty talk, cumplay, breastplay, oral (m and f), fingering, of course they kiss a lot because that’s my brand, brief blood mention, wound redressing

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi!

Crossposted to AO3 and Wattpad

Writing Masterlist

“Oh! Y/N? I didn’t know you were here, love.”

Ahh, there he was again—the man of your dreams. And you had to be dreaming because, thanks to the rules, Seokjin could only meet you alone inside your dreams. You heard him loose a light groan of frustration, his voice so close by you should have been able to reach out and touch him. The world of your dreams was still dark though, the always breathtaking vision of him not yet fading in.

“Your brother would kill me if I let you sleep here all night.”

Dream Seokjin was right. Your older brother, Yoongi, had laid down his law years ago: his best friend was off-limits. No dating. No kissing. And definitely no fucking. Understandably, he didn’t want anything coming between him and the bestie he’d had since kindergarten, especially not a sour relationship with his little sister just in case things went south. So the only times you found yourself alone with Seokjin were here inside your unconscious dreams. Thankfully, your mind was kind to you and let him visit often. Unthankfully, it was so kind that seeing the man during your waking hours was sometimes a little torturous. It was why, even though Yoongi had given you permission to crash in Seokjin’s bed tonight, you’d ended up on their uncomfortable couch instead. Better a stiff back than the torment of smelling your one true temptation all night long.

You heard a light pop as Seokjin clucked his tongue. “The pull-out’s been broken for weeks. How could he let you fall asleep here?” The scene of this dream still had yet to form in your mind’s eye, even though Seokjin’s sweet voice still sounded so temptingly close.

Jungkook liked to joke that you spent your spare time fucking out your frustration over the cockblock. As your best friend and roommate, he might’ve been a little right in analyzing your bad habits. Though it was rich coming from him, a masochist in his own right. A photographer with a keen eye for gorgeous men, he’d called your brother his ultimate muse since the first day they met. But like most people, Yoongi never gave him the time of day and Jungkook had been nursing a pining blueball of his own ever since.

At least being barred from pursuing the man you truly wanted had never left you shy about pursuing your sex life. Maybe the constant temptation of someone you couldn’t have made you much more likely to seek out satisfaction elsewhere. Even if it meant you were never truly satisfied, leaving a trail of fuckbuddies who still wanted a bit more of you in your wake. Your habits probably weren’t helping to convince your brother that anything between you and Seokjin would ever be a good idea, and even though you would’ve enjoyed a chance to prove him wrong, you loved Yoongi just enough to respect his wishes. Mostly.

Seokjin had always had a different allure from your usual flings. Your history together since childhood stretched long and had formed in you a crush that ran beyond skin deep. You’d gotten reckless more than once, losing your sense and attempting to buck your brother’s request. And time and again, Seokjin had proven he wasn’t interested. No amount of revealing outfits, spicy innuendos, or inappropriate proximity seemed to phase the man. Considering how Seokjin spent almost all of his time consumed with school anyway, you should’ve given up ages ago. If only that one memory would stop resurfacing and making you wonder at the what-ifs. Still, he never seemed to notice you in that way, never acted like he would be interested in anything romantic with you.

Dream Seokjin though? Oh, that was a different story. He was always interested.

“I’m going to take you to sleep in my bed, alright?” he asked in a gentle whisper as though he were sharing a secret. Seokjin’s unforgettable scent that you’d been trying to avoid invaded your dreams despite all your best efforts. Fresh cotton, earthy cedar, and that subtle, sweet scent of fruit that always clung to him surrounded you, making you curse your own memory for being so potent. Your dream finally faded into vision just as you felt the soft pressure of his fingertips against the back of your neck. You were still in your brother’s living room, though the space was dimly lit and all you could see were Seokjin’s bare, broad shoulders, his skin the color of rich honey, damp and glistening in the barely there light. His dark brown hair hung around his face, slightly heavy as though still a little damp from a shower, curling just above the dark-rimmed glasses he usually traded his contacts for at night. You groaned internally, unsure why your subconscious had intended to be so kind, yet so cruel for the evening.

“Hey, it’s just me,” he said in that same soft rumble, the edges of his familiar, plush lips curving into the gentlest of smiles. “Go back to sleep, love.”

Love. Seokjin had called you that for years. Sometimes, when your pining got a little out of hand, hearing the nickname stung. But he’d been you and your brother’s friend before anything else and, no matter how much he’d made himself scarce since starting med school, you had no doubt he truly did love you.

Suddenly it felt like you were floating, though that feeling was overshadowed by the radiating warmth of Seokjin’s bare chest. You felt the impression of him skin-to-skin as his arms hooked you beneath your knees, his large hand splayed against your back, the blanket you’d curled around yourself falling away. In the waking world, you’d never considered whether he was strong enough to carry you. Compared to your svelte brother, you had inherited a much plumper body type, all soft rolling curves, rounded wherever you could be. Seokjin may have been taller, but you were surely heavier. To be fair, Seokjin had never lacked in athleticism. He’d been a track star his entire college career and still spent more than his fair share of time sculpting strong, lean muscles in the gym. He said it helped strengthen his constitution so he would rarely get sick at the hospital and it gave him the stamina to focus for his long hours of study. It may have also given him a fair shot at lifting you without much difficulty. Of course, even if he couldn’t, in your dreams it wasn’t surprising that he could do anything.

You were curious how this strange dream would play out though. You’d spent countless nights dreaming of him in endless scenarios, from pirating on ships and flying through outer space to driving in race cars and solving crimes between the stacks at his university library. Sometimes he spent the dream pleasuring you in any way you could imagine and other times you went on nonsensical adventures together, ridiculous in the way only dreams could be. But in your current dream state, you couldn’t recall one quite as ordinary as this. You curled into him as he carried you, letting the delicious warmth and fresh air of his scent envelop you as he moved and enjoying the feeling of the flex of his forearm muscles against your legs.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” you heard him say in gentle reassurance.

Fuck. As if you hadn’t suffered enough that day, clearly the night intended to be torturous as well. The race track where you worked was a lot closer to your brother’s apartment than the one across town you shared with Jungkook. So you’d sent a pleading message, asking if you could crash on their couch for the night. Since Seokjin was spending a night shift at the hospital, your brother had offered you his friend’s empty bed. And since you’d needed to avoid that torture, you’d chosen to use their wonky couch instead to etch away enough of your exhaustion to be able to function like a normal human being in the morning. Yoongi’s room was quiet, his door closed when you arrived. So you’d showered away the funk of the day in Seokjin’s en suite and borrowed one of his oversized t-shirts, saying a thankful prayer for his massive shoulders because it fit perfectly.

It occurred to you too late that his scent likely lingered on the clothes, triggering your poorly buried desires. Now Seokjin was in your dreams, smelling like heaven and touching your bare skin. Any dream with Seokjin was a good dream and, just like any other, you intended to enjoy the fantasy as much as you could. But no matter how much you enjoyed it at the moment, your misjudgment in borrowing his clothes meant you were going to wake up horny and disappointed.

You hadn’t realized your vision of him had faded out again until you felt your body being lowered into soft, cushioned sheets and a new blanket being drawn up over your body. You heard Seokjin curse softly under his breath, the darkened vision of him fading in once again. Why was he so hot when he cursed? Perhaps because it was so rare? The room was lit only enough that you could just barely make out his broad silhouette at the edge of whatever bed he’d lain you on. Could see his bare chest not far away from you in the dark, planes of skin that you longed to touch so temptingly close. Scratch that. Why was he so hot in general? Your narrow vision slowly faded and you thought the dream might be ending already, your body quickly slipping back into a deeper sleep. Then you heard the faintest sigh and felt the surface just next to you shift, the weight of Seokjin’s body settling into the bed beside you. You felt soft fingertips stroke your forehead, brushing lightly against your skin.

“I really hope someone’s told you how pretty you are when you sleep,” he said quietly. He faded back in then, hand outstretched in front of your face, lips slightly parted as he stared down at you in a look of subdued reverence.

It was enough. Even if you were cognizant that this was all a dream, that none of it could ever be real, you didn’t want to let your chance fade. Understated as it was, it was honestly the closest to the real Seokjin you’d ever dreamed of; thoughtful, doting, and kind in the selfless way you’d appreciated about him your whole life, in the way it took you a long time to accept that you deserved. Slowly, you leaned up, watching his eyes widen slightly as you did so.

“S-sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll…” His words trailed off as you lifted your hand and pressed it against the side of his face, letting your thumb trace the soft skin of his cheek. He breathed in quick and sharp in response. Real Seokjin was visually striking. But the close-up of this dream Seokjin was starting to drive you mad. Between the level of detail your mind conjured, from the tiny mole just below his collarbone to the exact pink shade of his lips to the muscled lines of his bare chest, it was all enough to make you wish this fantasy would never end. Sometimes in these dreams, you kissed him roughly, took control of the moment, and loosed your sexual frustrations within the safest setting you had available. But since this Seokjin was so much more like the real one, tonight you wanted to meet him gently, experiencing a delicate pleasure you could never have in real life.

You let your lips meet his jaw first just below his ear, savoring the barely there shudder that rippled through his skin at the contact. You made a slow path of light kisses up and along the length of his jawline, savoring each time you connected with his skin. Finally, you let yourself indulge and pressed your lips firmly against the warmth of his mouth. You were happy you had taken your time to enjoy him. His lips felt the softest they ever had, better than your imagination had ever conjured before. You wondered if you’d wake up with one of Yoongi’s stuffy cardigans smashed against your face.

He didn’t respond at first and you worried you might’ve dragged the fantasy out too far, that perhaps the dream really was over, your brain overheating from bringing to life so much high-definition detail of Seokjin’s exquisite mouth. Then you felt a strong grip circling your waist, fingers skirting around to the small of your back and pressing you forward and into him. There was a shift in the bed underneath you as he leaned further into your kiss. Slowly, tentatively you felt his tongue seek lightly for entrance. You indulged, allowing this dream whatever access it wanted, not knowing when your subconscious would be this kind to you again.

You tasted the sweetness of his mouth as your lips parted, as Seokjin’s tongue grazed your own ever so lightly. He tasted like mint and sugar and you exhaled at the feeling of him pressed so close, your own hand still cupped just below his jaw, the raw pound of his pulse beneath your fingertips so surprisingly tangible. He breathed a delicate moan into your mouth and you felt him pull back just a little, still close enough that his breath ghosted against your lips as he spoke.

“We can’t…” he said, words tight and restrained. Because above anything else, Seokjin was a gentleman. A gentle man. He had never been anything but kind, fitting between you and your brother’s rash abrasiveness like a soothing gel. This close, you could see the desire floating in the rich, dark brown of his eyes, belying his words. Even here in your unconscious mind you knew this was wrong, that you weren’t allowed to be with Seokjin in this way.

You let your next kiss be your answer. Here, you could. Here, in the safety of this fantasy, you could have each other exactly as you wanted. As you greedily took up his lips again, as he responded with a greed of his own, tongue meeting yours, hand at your back pulling your body closer still against the bare of his chest and causing the blanket to slide away from your body, you knew you’d be masturbating to the fantasy of this kiss for weeks to come.

Seokjin’s light touch came to rest atop your thigh as he kissed you, sending sparks skittering against your bare skin and up between your legs. Since you’d only been able to find one of his t-shirts, you’d gone to sleep on the couch with that on and nothing else. And it seemed that had transferred to your dreams, his fingers dangerously close to the hem of a shirt with nothing underneath. Since your brain had put so much energy into recreating every detail about him, conjuring up pants likely wasn’t high on your subconscious’ list of goals.

“Y/N,” he said softly, pulling away from your kiss and instead brushing his lips against your cheek. “You’re not drunk or something, are you?”

You laughed air through your nose. What a weird thing for a dream to say. Though, what a very responsibly Seokjin thing to say. You pressed in for another deep kiss, desperate for yet another taste of his tongue. You wondered what you had eaten during the day to deserve a dream so vivid, so satisfying as the taste of him filled your mouth, the smell of his freshly washed body, the clean scent of his shampoo and soap filled your senses so strongly you would swear he really was right there with you.

Your own hands traveled down, fingers tracing the defined lines of his bare chest, over each of the stomach muscles he had chiseled to perfection. And hurriedly, before your alarm knocked you out of this bliss, you slid down to cup the firm impression of him on his lap that your kissing had produced, warm even through his shorts. It had always helped to fuel your dreams knowing how enormous his cock was. You’d seen the thick outline of it enough times over the years, straining against his basketball shorts or sweatpants, to know it was more than enough to satisfy you, to be able to imagine it well enough in your dreams.

“Y/N,” Seokjin moaned softly into your mouth and hearing your name in his voice, in that sensual and yet almost embarrassed quality you had never heard before sent a throbbing ache between your legs. His hand shifted from your thigh, fingers sliding upward to squeeze gently around your breast through the soft cotton of his shirt. Ok, maybe not weeks. As his thumb brushed lightly against your nipple. As his body began shifting, leaning you down into the bed. As his mouth got hungrier, intensely kissing you with a baser passion. As you felt his knee land between your legs, felt it press against the bareness of your heat there, you decided you would be getting off to this dream for months, maybe even years.

“Seokjin,” you panted, though your voice sounded too real, too raw, too desperate. Dream you never sounded like that.

He pressed his teeth ever so lightly into your lower lip in response. His hand moved from behind you as he laid you down and gripped your thigh, likely intending to reposition you beneath him for a new, more erotic purpose. You’d never get to know how or why. You hissed in response as his fingers closed around your fresh injury of the day and a sharp pain shot through your thigh, cracking through every layer of pleasure that the dream had built.

“Y/N?” Seokjin said in a panic, body instantly off yours, sitting back on his heels and staring down at you in shocked concern. “What is it? Are you alright?”

You froze. You felt your body seize up, fear blocking out the pain for a moment. Seokjin froze too. You stared up at his face in the dim light of his bedroom, at the dark hunger still swimming in his eyes even as worry set in, the flush in his too-warm skin, the bruising swell on lips you’d studied for years. At the blankets of his bed folded back beside you both. At the wall behind him lined with his collectibles and rows of medical books. At the clothes you’d forgotten to grab after you’d showered, left in a messy pile at the edge of the dresser just outside his bathroom. At Seokjin in front of you.

Seokjin. Real Seokjin. Your brother’s best friend since kindergarten Seokjin. Real Seokjin whose hand had been squeezing your breast, whose hard cock had been pressed against the palm of your hand, whose tongue had been dancing inside your mouth.

“Y/N?” he asked in a nervous breath, cementing the reality in front of you.

You gasped and jumped back until you ran into the headboard behind you. Seokjin was off the bed immediately.

“Shit, shit, I knew it. You’re fucking drunk. You don’t taste drunk.” His eyes widened at the implication of his own words, hands flying to his lips, then to his hair, ruffling his fluffy strands. “Shit, I’m so sorry! Fuck!”

It was so strange to hear Seokjin, who was usually so soothing and patient with his tone, spout off in this panicked cursing. The absurdity knocked you out of your shock and a sharp pain faded back in, forcing you to reach for your thigh again. You felt a warm dampness and looked down, noticing dark red had begun to seep through the flimsy bandaid you’d stuck on after showering.

“What…what happened to your leg?” Seokjin asked as his gaze followed yours down. You watched as his years of training began to overtake his panic at the other situation. “Wait. Let me get the first aid kit.” He was out of the room before you could say another word.

What the fuck had just happened? You replayed the events in your mind with a new, awake perspective. You had fallen asleep on the couch. Seokjin found you on the couch and brought you in here to his bed. But you thought it was a dream. You kissed him. It would be so embarrassing except…Seokjin had kissed you back. And as far as you could tell, he wasn’t drunk or half-asleep. He’d definitely kissed you. His hand had definitely just been squeezing your tit, right?

He returned with the first aid kit and, after switching on the lights, he set to work, peeling off your band-aid and assessing your cut.

“This happened at work?” he said with a disappointed huff.

You shrugged. “It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Accidents happen.”

His grimace deepened, though the downturn only rounded the plush of his lips and drew your mind back to his kiss. “I already worried about you before when you worked at the shop,” he continued. “Now you’re already getting hurt at the track.”

That was enough to make you peel your eyes away from his lips and stare out across his bedroom instead. Unlike your brainy brother and his best friend, both of whom had run to medical school as fast as they could, you’d followed your childhood love of cars right into mechanic repair, much to your parent’s chagrin. It didn’t always pay the bills, so you’d picked up odd jobs over the years—barista, fitness instructor, delivery driver. But finally, finally this year you’d landed your dream job—working on race cars. You’d been at the track all day, getting to know the team and the workings of the raceway, and spent half the time touching cars you’d only ever watched in videos. It had been all your fantasies realized until another careless rookie somehow sent a tapered awl careening in your direction. Luckily, it had only grazed you before pinging off the lifted tire chassis just behind you and skittering to the floor. Still, it had sliced right through your jumpsuit and left you with a nasty cut on your thigh. After tightly wrapping it in some clean rags, you’d powered through the rest of your day, but by quitting time your body was at a new level of exhaustion. It was why you’d ended up here in the first place.

This new job meant everything to you and Seokjin knew it. Hell, he’d been there with Yoongi and Jungkook to celebrate when you’d gotten the offer. You didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt hearing that he didn’t approve after all, especially when you were so used to him being the first to back up your decisions, no matter how unorthodox.

“Hey, don’t misunderstand me,” he said and you forced yourself to look back in his direction. His eyes still didn’t meet yours though and you hissed a little as he rolled antiseptic onto your cut. “I know you’re passionate about what you do. I didn’t mean I thought you should stop. Just that I worry. I’ll take care of you no matter what, but I just want you to be careful out there, alright?”

“Take care of me?” you laughed. Seokjin was studying specifically to be a pediatric doctor. “You take care of children, Seokjin.”

His eyes finally slid up to yours and there was something new and unreadable floating within them. The sight sent a nervous shiver prickling down your spine.

“I know the adult body too,” he said quietly.

Your eyelids fluttered as his words flew straight down to your core and Seokjin looked down again, hands stretching a proper bandage. He patted the side of your thigh, encouraging you to lift so that he could wrap it properly.

“Why are you here?” you asked as you adjusted for him. “Yoongi said you had a shift at the hospital tonight.”

Seokjin’s eyes went wide for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued to bandage your thigh. “Low patient census so the preceptor sent most of us home. Your brother didn’t tell me he’d told you to come by so I had no idea you were here. I guess I walked right by you when I came in.”

Finally, he finished his work on your leg and you noticed the reddening blush spreading across his cheeks. You realized your repositioning for the bandage had given him a clear view between your legs, where you currently wore no panties. You lowered your leg and Seokjin repacked the first aid kit, determinedly looking anywhere but at you. You pulled the blanket across your lap in a belated effort to spare him the discomfort. You may have been confident in your body, and you may have craved Seokjin in a very carnal way, but forcing him to unwillingly stare at your vagina wasn’t high on your list of seduction tactics.

“I’m really sorry about earlier,” he said, voice wavering with embarrassment. “I hope you know I’d never, ever take advantage of you, especially not when you’re under the influence. There’s no excuse for-”

“What?” you questioned, cutting him off. “Seokjin, I’m not drunk.”

He paused, blinking up at you in confusion. You sighed, deciding it would be best to just be honest about it.

“I dream about you sometimes so,” you paused, chewing at your cheek for a few seconds. “So I thought I was dreaming.”

His face screwed up in disbelief, his perfect eyebrows pressing far too close together. “That doesn’t make it any better!” he whisper-shouted, voice pitched a little higher. He glanced at the doorway, then scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yoongi is going to absolutely murder me.”

He reached down to gather up the first aid kit and backed off of the bed, rushing to head toward the exit.

“Wait,” you called out after him. He was clearly uncomfortable and part of you wanted to let him leave if only to help him feel a little better. But Seokjin had kissed you back. His hands had been ready to explore your body in the dark. And after spending the past few years thinking you’d imagined him ever having a moment’s interest in you, you couldn’t let the night pass without at least finding out the truth. “What if...what if I want to keep dreaming?”

His footsteps slowed to a stop and he stared at you from just before the doorway, studied you for a long moment, the tips of his ears slowly growing redder.

“What about Yoongi?” he asked, voice quiet and sincere.

You blew out a laugh, though you could hear your nerves in it. “Well, I mean he’s not in my dreams. My nightmares maybe.”

“No, I mean...he said...and you…”

You patted the bed in front of you, encouraging him back to the space he’d hurried away from a moment ago. “What did he say, Seokjin?”

Seokjin stayed silent for a few seconds, staring back at the doorway as though it was his only path to salvation. You watched his free hand clench into a fist then slowly unfurl as he flexed his fingers and reached for the door, pushing it closed with a click that seemed to signify something definitive. He tossed the first aid kit onto his dresser and turned to face you on the bed, choosing to lean back against the wall instead of joining you among the covers.

“That no one’s good enough for you. That he thinks no matter who you finally settle for, they won’t be good enough for you.”

You blinked. Your brother had said that? The same one that gave you a hard time for dating or sleeping with whoever you liked? For not being ashamed of how much you liked to have sex? The same brother that shit on every reckless choice you made, whether it paid off or not?

“You’ve been off-limits to all our friends since you were in middle school,” Seokjin continued, rubbing a nervous hand along his arm. “I’ve even heard him threaten a few after they snuck out of your room.”

Alright, so maybe Yoongi had been a little more overprotective than you’d been aware of. But he’d also told you directly to stay away from Seokjin. Had he told his friend the same thing about you?

“What about you? Did he say I was off-limits to you?”

Seokjin hesitated. “Well, no, not in so many words.”

“Then why do you think that includes you too? You’ve been his best friend forever.”

“Would I stay that way though if I had an interest in his little sister?” he asked, though it sounded like it wasn’t the first time the question had come up for him. “I guess I’ve always been too chickenshit to find out.”

You held back a laugh. “If anyone isn’t good enough in this situation, it’s both of us for you.”

“What are you talking about, good enough?”

You shrugged. “You’ve always been the nice guy who’s friendly with everyone. You’d give the shirt off your back to any stranger who needed it,” you said, trying to focus on the conversation and ignore the fact that currently Seokjin had no shirt on to give away to anyone. “Yoongi and me, we…we’re the too blunt, too direct people that everyone avoids. We’re lucky to have someone like you in our lives. Someone that finds us tolerable.”

He chuckled softly, fingers stroking lightly under his chin in a moment’s contemplation. “You know, I wouldn’t even be in medical school if it wasn’t for you.”

“You mean if it wasn’t for Yoongi?” you tried to correct. After all, they’d applied and gone through this far together.

“No. I mean you.”

You cocked your head in confusion and once again patted the bed in front of you. On the practical side, it felt like the kind of conversation you should be having closer together. And on the emotional side, you suddenly wanted Seokjin within your reach, to seek comfort in his touch now that you were finally having this conversation.

Seokjin bit his lip for a moment before moving slowly toward the bed and sinking down in front of you, crossing his legs in front of him and facing you.

“You’ll remember I wasn’t the most confident kid.”

“You?” you asked in surprise, then slowly nodded in agreement after a little more thought. “Alright, I guess that’s true, though you’d never know it now.”

“Awkward, nerdy, thick glasses, more bad haircuts than a kid should be forced to live through.” He sighed. “It was rough there for a while.”

You giggled, memories of each of those haircuts rolling through your mind.

“When I got to high school I really wanted to make a change, to join a sport and make more friends,” he continued. “I thought track would be perfect for my build and stamina, but I was so scared to be teased or bullied, especially if I wasn’t any good. I remember Yoongi being home sick and me coming to walk you home from school. I told you I wanted to chicken out of the tryouts the next day. Yoongi would’ve told me to suck it up and just go. And I wanted so badly for you to tell me it would be okay to just give up.”

The memory of that conversation resurfaced in your mind too. And with it, one of a long list of your very poor life choices. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” he said with a stifled laugh. “You took off running. Telling me to catch you. Running right into traffic.”

You put an embarrassed hand to your mouth. Yes, you were only in middle school at the time, but your sense of self-preservation should’ve been much stronger than to make a decision like that.

“It uh…it made sense to me at the time?” you said with probably not enough mortification.

Seokjin let out a warm laugh, as though the memory was less terrifying and more heartwarming.

“I’d never run so fast in my life to get you out of the middle of that street. That multi-lane street,” he groaned. “We definitely almost died at least three times before I got you across and onto the sidewalk. And I remember you staring up at me and saying-”

“See, you’re a really good runner,” you said slowly. Seokjin breathed another laugh and his face warmed as his smile spread.

“Yeah. You were there for my tryout too. I remember all the adults getting upset at how loud you cheered like it was a football game or something,” he chuckled. “I made it in because of you, love. I got scouted because of you. And that track scholarship was the only reason I got to go to college in the first place. It’s the only reason I get to have this career that I already love so much.”

“Well, there’s tons of dumbass kids like me that are gonna need a doctor like you, especially if they don’t have any track stars there to rescue them from their mistakes.”

You both broke out into laughter at that and the sound of it filled Seokjin’s bedroom, warm and comforting like the perfect cup of tea on a cold winter morning.

“I forgot all about that,” you said, wiping away a tear from the corner of your eye. “You never even told me off for being an idiot and running into traffic. You just kept saying…”

“Be careful,” he said in the same soft, patient voice you’d been listening to since you were a kid, deeper, more mature now, but with the same soothing quality. Even then, even when you’d almost gotten both of you so seriously hurt, Seokjin was too kind a spirit to muster any scolding beyond looking after you.

“So if anyone needs anyone, it’s definitely been me that’s needed you. That’s not the only time you’ve been my much-needed confidence booster,” he said. You noticed then that he’d clasped his fingers together, fidgeting as he rubbed them against each other. “And I…I definitely find you more than tolerable.”

You took his cue, sliding forward across the bed until you sat just in front of him and slipping your hands between his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” he murmured. He glanced behind you for a moment. Or maybe he was trying not to focus directly on your face when he spoke. “So you, uh, you really dream about me?”

“Oh, all the time,” you said casually. It was out now, so what was the point of being coy about it?

Seokjin blinked and scrunched his nose in the endearing way he always did when he got nervous. “I’m kind of afraid to ask what they’re about.”

You flicked through images in your head, some of which were enough to bring a little heat even to your cheeks. But you supposed it was now or never.

“A lot of things. We’ve been on a lot of adventures. Done plenty more stupid things. But most often? I dream about what it would be like to go on a date with you. To kiss you, cuddle with you. Put your enormous cock in my mouth. Sit on your dick.” You looked down at the plain, soft T-shirt you wore. “Though, in my dreams, I’m usually dressed in something a bit more flattering.” You glanced up at Seokjin before you continued and bit your tongue as you watched his eyes slowly widen. He’d always appreciated your straightforwardness, but this level of honesty may have been a little too far, regardless of how true.

Seokjin’s deep groan echoed lightly around the room.

“Wow, love. Your dreams sound a lot like mine. Even your clothes.” His eyes flicked down to your body draped in his shirt. “Especially in my clothes.”

You blinked, feeling happy, and yet a little frustrated at the admission. “I’m so confused. You haven’t acted interested at all in all this time.”

He actually snorted. “I couldn’t show it. I’ve had to run away from you so many times. Every time you wear something short and let me see those delicious thighs for free. Every time you lean over to smell my cooking and I fought with my own DNA to take my eyes off your chest. Every time…well every time you’re around I go a little more insane honestly. I use school as an excuse, but that’s not the only reason I can’t be around for very long when you come over. You’re so hot it makes my dick hurt.” He groaned again. “I’m ashamed of some of the places I’ve had to rub one out just to get you out of my head.” He pulled his hand away from yours, placing it over his mouth as though saying the words had burned him on the way out. “It never worked anyway,” he mumbled through his fingers.

Oh.

“It can’t just be Yoongi that kept you from telling me this. How come you’ve never said anything?”

“I…I didn’t think I was your type. Race cars, tattoos, cigarettes, bar fights. Not guys who don’t know anything about cars, who spend every weekend studying, gaming, or working. Not…me.”

Now it was your turn for reminiscing. “You remember my eighteenth birthday?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. You didn’t miss the newest rosy blush that sprouted across his cheeks.

“I’d spent half the day arguing with my parents about going to auto tech school, not even knowing if they were going to kick me out over it. It was the most miserable birthday of my life. And then you and Yoongi took me on that midnight boat ride.”

Seokjin’s smile returned as you recalled the memory, brightening up his whole face. “You caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been so put to shame before by someone who’d never been fishing a day in their life.”

“And then we came back and climbed onto the roof and you guys had baked me a little cake and you sang me happy birthday under the stars. It was…perfect.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice noticeably smaller, smile turning a darker shade of reminiscent.

“Seokjin.”

“Yeah?”

“You kissed me.”

He stayed silent, worrying his plump bottom lip between his teeth.

That night, your brother had gone inside to get you all drinks. Seokjin’s long frame was sprawled out next to yours on the roof, bodies comfortably close as you both stared up at the star-dotted sky. He’d told you that he never doubted you’d always get exactly what you dreamed of. And that he and Yoongi would be there for you to support you down whatever path you wanted to follow. And then he’d sat up, his beautiful face hovering just above you against the glittering backdrop of stars, and given you the softest kiss, hot in a way that seared through your every layer, imprinting itself on your soul. You’d threaded your fingers into his hair and melted into his kiss and tasted the sweet of cake frosting and happiness and him. Your brother had come back just after you’d leaned apart and, though you’d never been able to forget it, neither of you had spoken about it since.

Seokjin hung his head, seemingly weighed down by the recollection. “It was the next day that Yoongi told me no one would ever be good enough for you. I never knew if he saw us or if he could just tell how close I was getting to you and he didn’t like it. I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ruin anything, so I…I just backed off.”

You nodded. “I don’t think it was long after that that he told me you were off limits too.”

“So see, even I’m not good enough for you, Y/N.”

“Seokjin, you’re not just Yoongi’s friend, you’re mine too,” you said, a little more defensively than you meant. “You know that right?”

“Of course I do, love,” he said hurriedly. He lifted your hands then, planting a soft kiss against the back your yours.

“You’ve supported me my whole life, through every misstep and triumph and doubt you’ve always been there for me. Studying, gaming, working, and being a great friend. I don’t care about all that other shit. I care about someone who’s kind to me, who respects me, who likes me for who I am exactly as I am. That’s my type. And that’s always been you.”

“Always will, love,” he said quietly, punctuating his words with another kiss to the back of your other hand.

“So,” you started, a little emboldened by his touch. You leaned toward him with a cautious grin. “You kissed me and then spent all these years running away from me only to go rub one out, huh?”

He groaned and pulled one hand away, pressing it against his mouth as pink blossomed in his cheeks again. “Why did I tell you that? That’s so embarrassing.”

“Oh, I want to hear more,” you said, sure your grin had turned mischievous. “I told you about my dreams. Tell me what else we do in yours?”

He swallowed and you watched as thoughts he’d clearly buried for a long time resurfaced on his face. He rubbed his fingers nervously against his lips and his eyes betrayed him, drifting slowly down to land on yours.

“I spend a lot of time dreaming about your mouth. Kissing you for hours. Biting your lips. Tasting your tongue. Though I suppose I’ve had some of that experience now.”

You leaned forward and met your lips to his again, starting out with the lightest press to test that he still wanted this. You felt his lips part slightly, felt him lean into the kiss, and you sank into him further. You swiped your tongue slowly across his lower lip and just as he leaned into you, preparing to reach for more, you pulled away. Seokjin looked a little dumbstruck, exhaling softly as he stared down at you, fingers of the hand still gripping yours clutching you tighter.

“Dreams can’t compare,” he said breathlessly.

You chuckled and sat back on the bed, slipping your hand from his and widening the space between you. It was selfish, but the look of desperation that flashed across Seokjin’s face as he watched you move away was worth it.

“What else?” you asked teasingly.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, or maybe to taste what you’d left behind, and a wave of heat swept across your skin as his gaze drifted lower on you.

“Kissing your neck.”

You leaned your head to one side, encouraging him to come and take an active part in his fantasy.

Seokjin didn’t hesitate, sliding forward on the bed this time and meeting your mouths together again. He cupped your cheek as his lips moved away from yours, kissing down your jaw until he landed on your neck. He kissed the skin there so lightly, so tender, and the effect was brand new for you. You had never had someone turn you on with so little while making you feel so precious. He kissed down to the base of your throat, pulling aside your shirt so his lips could roam across your collarbone, and finally returned to your neck with another tender kiss that became a slow lick that became a teasingly soft bite. Your mind was spinning at his achingly slow contact and you couldn’t hold back, letting a soft moan escape your lips. The sound seemed to shake Seokjin from whatever spell he’d been drawn into and he leaned away slightly, warm breath ghosting across your now damp skin.

“Keep going,” you encouraged, arousal already thick in your throat.

“I dream about touching you everywhere, beautiful,” he confessed, his own voice gone husky with his desire. “Your body drives me insane. You do.”

“So touch me, Seokjin. Just like you dream. I want you to.”

You nudged his face up, capturing his lips in another smoldering kiss. His hand moved up then, sliding under your—technically, his—shirt and cupping the full swell of your breast in a gentle squeeze. His other hand joined a moment later at your other breast and you arched into his touch, sighing contentedly into his mouth. He leaned back and released a shaky breath as his lips parted from yours. You started to pout until you felt the tug of him lifting your shirt, sliding it over your arms and off of you. His lips went back to your neck, maddening wet kisses pressed against your throat as his hands found your breasts again. He teased your nipple in slow circles with his thumb and you could feel his smile against your neck as your breath hitched in response to each stroke, wider still at the soft moan that broke free as he gave one of them a light pinch.

His satisfied groan rumbled against your neck. “If you knew how often I dream about putting your fantastic breasts in my mouth,” he said, tone gone dark and syrupy. His lips traveled down your neck again, your chest, a trail of hot kisses against your skin until he reached your breast and took a slow lick at the nipple he’d pinched. His hand still gently caressing the other, he circled the tender bud lazily with his tongue, leaving you panting, body arching into him.

“Your whole body. You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he said, making a wide, wet swipe with the broad of his tongue before pulling in your nipple again in a gentle suckle. You slid a hand forward, burying your fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck and tipping your head back. Your body trembled at the sensation of his mouth on you this way, naturally arching into his touch as he satisfied cravings you’d held close for so long.

Seokjin swapped breasts then, wrapping his lips around your other nipple and freeing his hand to travel further down your body. He caressed the soft of your belly and settled on your uninjured thigh, giving the thick of you there a firm, hungry squeeze.

“Touch me. Please,” you begged immediately and although he technically already was, you had a feeling Seokjin could tell exactly where you wanted to feel him right now. He hesitated for a moment, hands and tongue slowing to a pause. And though every part of you was aching for him, you waited for him, waited for his decision on how far he wanted this to go, ready to meet him where he needed. You felt his resolve harden as his hand continued its path downward, squeezing your inner thighs before finally sliding between your legs. Immediately, his fingers met your bare heat and the wetness that had been building since your kisses had first begun.

“Y-you got this wet for me?” he panted against your nipple.

“Seokjin, you’re the hottest man I’ve ever known. You’ve been shirtless the whole night, kissing me and sucking on my nipples and calling me beautiful. Yes, I’m fucking wet for you.”

Seokjin lifted his head from your breasts, angling up instead to kiss you, the firm warmth of his chest pressing against your own as his fingers stroked your wetness, back and forth. You inhaled sharply as he swept his fingers across your sensitive clit, breathing more of Seokjin, thinking that you could never tire of his tongue exploring your mouth again and again. You would never get enough of tasting him, of kissing him, of being this close to him. You slid your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer as his fingers alternated between stroking your aching slit and making slow, agonizing circles around your swollen clit.

“Hottest you’ve ever known, hm?” he said, breaking from your lips.

“You already know it, you just like having your ego stroked,” you offered back, though your words had a needy edge thanks to his busy fingers. “Got your hairstyle under control and we haven’t been able to stop you since.”

Seokjin only chuckled shyly. Though it was true that his confidence had grown to a healthy level over the years, his humility had grown along with it. Which was why, even though he knew what you said was true, and even though his fingers were between your legs, he still had the beginnings of a new blush spreading across his cheeks at the compliment.

Finally, he sank his fingers inside you and you leaned forward against him, burying your head in his neck and panting a whimper that ended in a fragmented moan. Seokjin paused his movements, much to your disappointment, and made a nervous glance back at his bedroom door.

“I think Yoongi and his date are asleep in his room,” he said softly into your hair.

His date? Yoongi hadn’t mentioned he had a date over when you asked if you could come crash. His bedroom door had been closed, so you’d assumed he was already asleep when you got here. You clenched down involuntarily around Seokjin’s fingers inside you and decided you really didn’t want to think about your brother at the moment.

“It’s alright,” you said. You reached down and cupped Seokjin’s hand with your own, pressing his fingers deeper inside you. “We’re only dreaming, remember?”

With another shy laugh, Seokjin curled his fingers, sending a ripple of pleasure through your body and coaxing another of your moans into the little dip just above his collarbone. His mouth found a new home at your earlobe, licking and biting softly as he found his rhythm in the wetness of your pussy. His other hand hadn’t forgotten its mission, not-so-gently squeezing the soft flesh of your breast and rolling the firm sensitive bud of your nipple between his fingers.

Before you lost yourself entirely to his touch, you reached down for him through his shorts, this time slipping your hand past the waistband and finally curling your fingers around his cock. He was so hot to the touch, the skin soft and smooth in an almost jarring way compared to how hard he felt. As you palmed the veined length of him slowly, you accepted that your imagination was highly inaccurate; Seokjin was more enormous in your hands than your dreams had ever managed to capture. You tried hard to focus your movements on him, but between his thumb circling your clit, the pads of his fingers rhythmically knocking against that sweet spot inside you, and his damn mouth, wet and teasing on your ear, you felt overwhelmed, only managing a few half-hearted strokes as your pleasure rapidly threatened to spill over.

“Seok…”

It hit you before you were ready, his name interrupted by your shuddering moans as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you. Seokjin didn’t let up, his fingers still stroking back and forth as you rode through your climax, his tongue still circling your ear. Once you finally stopped trembling he slipped his hand from between your legs and leaned back a little, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. You looked up to meet the dark, polished amber of his eyes. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear the smile on his face was just a little bit smug.

“You’re so sensitive, love,” he said, purring the words like a satisfied cat.

“You seem a little too pleased about that,” resisting the urge to nuzzle your face into the warmth of his neck.

He stroked the fingers of his dry hand along your shoulder and down your arm. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

You pulled yourself up onto your knees and motioned for Seokjin to move further back toward the head of the bed. He obliged and you kneeled between his legs, leaning forward to kiss his lips. Seokjin’s hands went to your hips, but you backed away a little, instead kissing down his neck, pathing along his chest until you reached one of his dusky brown nipples. You teased the tiny bud with your tongue, listening to his soft whimpers at the attention. You pressed down on a soft bite and smiled at Seokjin’s responding half-moan, half-exhale.

“I’m not the only sensitive one,” you said. Seokjin only chuckled lightly in response and placed his fingers atop your head, making a gentle stroke across your hair.

You backed away again and curled your fingers under the waistband of his shorts, sliding them down past his hips. You blinked for a few moments, unsure when your hands had frozen in place in your mission to finally disrobe him. You just remembered staring, your mouth falling open at the sight of the biggest cock you’d ever seen, bobbing tauntingly against well-defined abs and the sluttiest slim waist.

“Y/N?” Seokjin asked, and the strained concern in his voice broke you from your reverie.

“S-Seokjin,” you managed to stammer, though you didn’t tear your eyes away from his lower head. “No wonder you’re so ripped having to carry this around all day.”

He breathed out a shy laugh.

“Your dick is…” Magnificent? Insane? The biggest, most glorious, breathtaking cock you’d ever seen? It all felt ridiculous and yet…the right words wouldn’t surface. Maybe there weren’t any words good enough. Yes, you had seen plenty of cocks, but apparently, you had never seen the cock until now.

It took you a second to realize his hands were moving down, trying, but naturally failing to hide his third leg. “You don’t have to…” he mumbled. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable so we don’t have to…”

You blinked, still working through your shock. Nothing in your imagination could’ve prepared you for this. But as his words finally sunk in, you looked up at him in confusion.

“Uncomfortable?”

“Yeah. It’s…some have said that before. So you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“Are you kidding?” You brushed his hands aside, taking in the thickness, the deep pink of it, the tantalizing pearl of precum pooled at the tip that had you all but salivating. You wrapped your fingers around him and gave his full length a long, satisfying stroke and he whimpered at the movement. “I want nothing more.”

Seokjin’s hands were still close by yours, his gaze once again drifting past you.

“I just…I don’t know that I can…that I’m...what I mean is I haven’t really…”

His sudden communication struggle left you feeling unsure of what signal he was trying to get across. As much as you didn’t want to, you took your hands off of him.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“I want to!” he said, then bit his lip in embarrassment at his own enthusiasm. “Believe me, I want to. I…”

You let his words marinate, taking in the concern now pressed between his eyebrows.

“You’re worried you won’t fit? Because yes, your cock is massive, but I know you’ve studied enough anatomy to know that I can get you in me with no problem.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

You wanted to tell him you couldn’t wait for him to hurt you, but something about the uncertainty etched across his face had you changing your trajectory for once.

“You won’t hurt me. I don’t know what happened with your other partners, but we’ll go really slow, alright?”

Even with that, Seokjin still looked unsure. As kind as he was, it sometimes came at the cost of him hesitating to say what he really meant for the sake of others. Luckily for him, you’d never suffered from that affliction.

“What else? You’re worried…because I’ve had a lot of experience and you haven’t had much?”

He nodded.

“I do like sex, Seokjin.”

“I love that you enjoy sex. I love that you live so fully in your own body. I’ve always loved that about you.” His eyes drifted downward, settling on the sheets next to him, though you had a feeling he was looking at nothing beyond his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m messing this up. I’ve just thought about you for so long that I…I’m kind of terrified to disappoint.”

You leaned down, laying next to him and curling your body against his long frame. As you settled into the curve of him, Seokjin wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close against him, warm bare skin to skin.

“I mean, on the whole, sex is just sex,” you said. “And based on the fact that you’re even worried about it, I guarantee you’ll give me a better experience than anyone else.”

He made an unconvincing nod, turning his face to kiss your forehead once, twice, again. He was nervous, you could feel it radiating off of his skin, see it in the tightness of his jawline, and thanks to years of reading his moods, you could feel the hesitation in the air around him.

You spoke softly into the crook of his neck. “There’s no one else in this dream, right? Just you and me.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“You know me. And I know you. So there’s no pressure, no expectations. We can just enjoy being me and you, yeah?”

He turned to face you, finally focusing his eyes on yours. You waited, stared back into the beautiful brown of his, and let him search for whatever answer it was that he needed. Finally, he leaned forward, kissing you again, sweet and slow. He leaned away for a moment, slipping off his glasses and tossing them onto his nightstand before joining his lips with yours again. You sighed into his kiss and Seokjin’s arm wrapped around you tight as you kissed, and kissed, and lost yourself between his lips.

“I want you, Seokjin,” you panted when you finally broke away for air. “I want you so bad I can’t think straight.”

“Want you too,” he said in quick response, then immediately sought out your mouth again, tongue dancing with yours for what might’ve been hours. You both lie there, tangled in each other’s arms, kissing and making up for lost time and seeking solace and building trust together.

You hadn’t realized your hand had found its way back to the hard length of him until he gasped lightly into your mouth and you felt the heat of him in your grip. You nodded at him, making sure it was still what he wanted. When he nodded back, you slid your leg over his hip as Seokjin rolled onto his back. You leaned down to kiss him one more time, then up again as you lifted your hips to find the best angle to guide his enormous cock into you.

As the tip of him met your aching entrance, you had to remember to temper your eagerness with the reality that you would probably need to go very slow to adjust to the size of him. Between how wet he’d gotten you with his fingers and the glide from his ample precum, there was hardly any resistance as you slid him inside you. Except for…

“Fuck,” you hissed. “Your cock is so fucking big, Seokjin.” You had barely gone past the head, but it was already a tight fit. Seokjin hadn’t responded and you looked up to find his focus between your legs, watching as he slowly disappeared inside you. Plush lips slightly parted, he was already panting and looked about three seconds away from losing his mind.

Desire renewed, you lifted your hips and used the slick of you to slide down a little further. Your tactic worked, slipping in as much as you could handle, backing off, and slowly sliding him in again, his cock a little wetter from you each time. You took him slow inch by slow inch and feeling the gradual stretch of him inside you was almost as satisfying as watching Seokjin’s eyelids flutter as you sank down onto him. It took a little time and patience, but after what felt like a million inches later, finally you met the base of his cock.

“Holyfuckingshit,” he whined, words barely recognizable as they slurred together. You watched the knot in his throat bob, veins in his neck straining, head lolling back.

You had never been so full in your life. Even without moving, the feel of him pressing against your walls, taking you right to your limit, had molten heat collecting at the base of your belly.

“See? You’re just right.”

He finally leaned forward, staring up at you with half-lidded eyes. “You feel so good around me, love.”

You pressed your hands forward, finding your balance against his abs and slowly rocking your hips, moving the thick length of him in and out of you. Even at the slow pace, your breath grew shaky, the full stretch of him against your dripping pussy already tightening the coil inside you.

“So tight, beautiful,” he said, voice scratching low between his panting breaths. “So good.”

Seokjin’s hands slid up your thighs, landing on your hips as you guided yourself up and down. As your pace picked up, he quickly began to unravel. His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into the soft of your skin. And slowly, his whimpers became throaty moans that rippled through you like little arcs of lightning, rolling in time with the press of him deep inside you, knocking against each perfect sensitive spot.

“Are you okay?” he asked between quick breaths.

“Better than ever. Please don’t stop.”

The mattress had begun to squeak lightly beneath you both as your rhythm built, but considering Seokjin’s dark stare, the expanse of his pupils taking in your bouncing body as if you were his own personal sunrise, you thought he’d long since lost any concern about what anyone outside this room might hear. You pulled one hand back to circle your clit, speeding you toward what felt inevitable.

“No, let me,” he said and for a moment your passion-addled brain wasn’t sure what he meant. He leaned up, lips closing around one of your breasts, tongue teasing your nipple. Then you felt his hand leave your hip and nudge yours aside. His fingertips grazed your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to send your head spinning.

“Seokjin…fuck. I’m close,” you said, spilling the words out over your moans. You tilted your hips forward just a little and shuddered as the new angle had Seokjin’s cock hitting you in the perfect spot.

“Y/N,” you heard him pant between your breasts and hoped the adjustment was just as good for him. “It’s been…it’s been a while for me.” He leaned back his head and you looked down to see the muscles in his neck flexing, teeth clenched in his effort to hold back. You weren’t so far behind him that it would matter anyway.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

“No…condom,” he managed to grit out.

As if you wanted it any other way. Your only response was to squeeze down, impossibly tight around him, and Seokjin’s growling moan let you know he got the message. His fingers tensed where they gripped your side and he sat up further, lifting his hips and thrusting his cock into you with a renewed force. The plush of his mouth met your neck, your jaw, and finally, your lips again.

“Not without you, beautiful.”

He leaned back into the mattress, taking you down with him, lips never parting from yours. His free hand slid to cup your ass as he thrust his cock in and out of you faster still, his fingers between you circling your clit. You slid your hands up into his hair, gasping between drags of his lips and the moans pouring out of you every other breath. Each time his cock slid deep inside you could feel the cliff’s edge looming, the dizzying height leaving you a little afraid of the drop.

“Come for me, love,” he breathed inside your mouth, voice deep with a decadent richness you could almost taste. “I’ve dreamed about it so many times. I want to hear what you really sound like when you come on my cock.”

It was over for you. You moaned his name and perhaps a few expletives as your orgasm crashed into you, body quivering against him as pleasure rippled through your core and out to every corner of your being.

“Y/N,” Seokjin panted as he fucked you through every wave of your orgasm. You felt his hips shudder and tasted the growling moan on his lips as he buried himself deep inside you and finally spilled everything he had. His orgasm seemed to last for ages and you rode along with his every thrust and hip roll, your body close to teasing another tip past the brink as you drank in his pleasure.

Eventually, you felt his hips relax. He stared up at you, lips parted, shiny and inviting, eyes half-lidded and watching your body as it bobbed gently from the matching effort of both of your breathing. He slid both his arms around you, pulling you forward against his chest into an enveloping hug.

“Am I too heavy?” you asked, lips brushing against the searing skin of his neck.

“Don’t you move an inch, love.”

You lay there on top of him, planting soft kisses against his neck, surrounded by his intoxicating smell, mixed with the heady scent of sweat and sex you’d both created. You still felt so full even as he slowly softened inside you, the feeling of his cum leaking out around his cock adding to your satisfaction.

“So much better,” he whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the side of your face. “Better than I’ve ever imagined.”

Finally, you felt his softened cock slip out of you and an unexpected, warm gush followed, sending a noticeable dribbling mess down your inner thighs.

“Holy shit. Do you always come this much? Though, I guess with a dick that big…”

His fingers roamed down your back before making a soft stroke across your ass. “You felt so good, love. I couldn’t hold back.”

“Well,” you say before playfully grazing your teeth against the skin of his neck. “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

“I…I...” he stammered.

You let your lips brush against his cheek. “Unless you’ve had enough of me? No more dreams you’ve been dying to fulfill all this time?”

The hand at your ass paused and Seokjin bit into his bottom lip. Watching him sort through his thoughts with such a familiar, endearing habit was starting to melt you a little from the inside. It drove home how much you had missed spending time with him, that your busy lives and mutual pining had kept you apart far too much over the years.

“I do like you on top, but I’ve…I’ve thought about you a lot from behind too.”

Oh?

“Behind?” you said, both amused and pleased at his sudden straightforwardness.

He went quiet and you lifted your head, giggling as he tried to turn his head to hide his embarrassment.

“Seokjin, come on. You really don’t have to be shy about telling me how you want to have sex.”

“It’s not the sex. It’s…it’s you. I never planned on telling you how much I was into you and I…”

You quieted him with a light kiss.

“And since when have you been such a planner? Aren’t you the one who taught me to live a little without thinking to be happy?”

That got a laugh out of him. “I think I taught you a little too well, didn’t I?”

You nudged his shoulder in mock offense, even though he was probably right. “My point is, don’t worry about whatever you planned. It’s me. And you know me. So you know I want to hear everything. Just tell me.”

He hesitated again, having another of those internal battles, and you waited for him to decide how much he really wanted to share.

“Iwanttoburymycockinyouandwatchyouramazingassbounceagainstme,” he let out in one long, strained breath. He risked a nervous, sidelong glance at you once the words were out, gauging your reaction to his admission.

“Let’s get you ready then,” you said simply, following up with another kiss. Seokjin’s hand gripped your ass and you knew he intended to keep you right there, indulging in your lips while he hardened between your legs. But you’d already decided on other plans.

You sat up and turned your body to face away from him, meeting instead with the sticky mess that was his now wet, shiny cock. It fell limply to the side of his thigh, though even softened it was an impressive sight.

As you ran your tongue across the head, meeting the salty tang of the mixture of your arousal, Seokjin whimpered quietly from somewhere behind your ass. You smiled to yourself and took it as a sign to continue your work. You could admit to yourself that it was a selfish move since he’d clearly wanted to make out with you. But if one of his biggest fantasies was hitting you from the back, one of yours was definitely getting his cock in your mouth. Why not satisfy both goals tonight?

It didn’t take long for his length to start to thicken in response to the caress of your tongue. Gripping him at the base and slowly inching your mouth down him as much as your jaw would allow, the satisfying moans you coaxed out of him let you know that he was more than happy with your choice. Seokjin’s hands were on your ass and thighs as you worked, squeezing and stroking your skin between his slowly increasing breaths.

“Is...Is it weird that I like watching my cum drip out of you? It’s so hot.” He groaned. “You’re so hot, Y/N.” You felt his fingers spreading your pussy wide, felt another dribble of the mess he’d made leak again from inside you. How on earth was there still more?

“N-no, of course not,” you panted at the stimulation. “It turns me on more how attracted you are to me.”

“Look at you. My cum is still coming out of you.” His fingers spread your lips further apart and you felt a soft gush as more leaked from inside you. “I want to fuck it back inside of you, love. I’ve never been this turned on in my life.”

You moaned at his words. “I…I never thought you would talk to me like this.”

“Sor-”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

You’d intended to go back to choking on his cock, but your plans were interrupted, a full-bodied moan tumbling from your lips as Seokjin slid at least two of his thick fingers inside your cum-soaked pussy.

“H-hey,” you breathed, though it didn’t stop the teasing rock of him inside you. “I said this was about getting you ready.” You let your hand continue where your mouth couldn’t, fisting his wet cock in a firm squeeze and coaxing another soft moan out of him.

“I was ready as soon as you got your lips on me, love. If you keep going much more, I’m probably not going to come where you want me to.”

You made a teasing wave with your ass, swaying back and forth in front of him. “Go where you really want then.”

Seokjin slipped his fingers from between your legs and slid from underneath you, positioning himself onto his knees behind you. As his hands landed on your hips, you felt another inexplicable dribble of his cum run down the side of your thigh. In as many partners as you’d had, you’d never had this kind of experience before.

“How long has it been for you that you had so much cum to give me?”

“It’s not time. I always…it’s always a lot. I’ve always been that way. If you like it…let me fill you up, beautiful.”

He bent forward and planted a light kiss on your shoulder that made you shudder, his lips slowly pathing their way down your back. You felt the bed shift beneath you and one of his hands leave your hip, and then the erotic press of the thick head of his cock between your folds.

You pressed your hips back in response and with all the lubrication he met no resistance. His cock slipped inside you and you leaned down a little into the bed involuntarily, raising your ass toward him, weak at the feeling of him inside you again at this new, satisfying angle.

Seokjin’s movements started slow and gentle, his thrusts hesitant as though you still needed time to adjust to the size of him. But you were far past the need for gentility. You wanted this man and his mammoth cock to turn your insides out.

“You can be rough, Seokjin,” you said, catching the desperate edge in your voice. It was taking all the strength you had not to slam yourself back into him, but this was Seokjin’s fantasy and you didn’t want to take over. A little guidance would have to do.

You looked back at him over your shoulder. He took a few moments to respond and you watched as he resurfaced from what seemed like a very deep focus on your rear end.

“…What?”

You licked your lips. “You wanted me from behind so you could watch my ass bounce, right? I bounce more if you fuck me. Hard. I like it.”

Seokjin groaned, fingers tightening the grip on your hips. “Shit, Y/N. You can’t talk to me like that.”.

“No? I’m just following your lead. You don’t like it?”

“I...I like it too much.” He breathed out in frustration. “I’m already ready to blow again because of your mouth on me, your pussy around me. Now your words too. You drive me crazy, love.”

“So don’t be gentle with me then. I can take your cock, baby. Fuck me, please?”

The moan you exhaled as he finally pressed himself into you to the base echoed around Seokjin’s bedroom. He pulled himself out and forcefully pushed back into you, this time letting his moans match with yours. As he found his pace between your legs, the music of the room only grew louder: the gasping breaths and satisfied whimpers between you both, the sticky, wet noises of your slick as his thighs met your ass again and again, the quiet squeak of his mattress in time with the movement of his hips, and the thrum of your heartbeat in your throat as he buried his cock deep inside you, filled you to your limit over and over.

As his hands made bruising grips on the thick flesh of your ass, you arched your back, letting go of yourself as he guided you closer and closer to your limit. Instead, Seokjin took the opportunity to pull you up toward him, the surprising change in angle making you clench down, though he continued fucking into you all the same.

“My cock fits in you so nicely,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot on your skin, voice a dangerous new level of addictive. “Keep squeezing me just like that, beautiful.”

You whined as his teeth sank into your earlobe, as one of his hands made its way to your breast, cupping it in his hand and teasing your sensitive nipple between his fingers.

“What…” you breathed, your brain finding it a little difficult to form words between all the stimulation. “What happened to staring at my ass?”

“I can feel your ass. Your whole body.” He planted a long kiss on your neck and another on your shoulder. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

His lips found a home on your neck, kissing, sucking, licking, and driving you mad. You felt the searing, sweat-lined heat of his chest against the skin of your back, the light pinches and caresses as his hand kept up its toying with your breast. His other hand made its way between your legs, fingers swirling around your clit, and the coil of pleasure building inside you warned that it wouldn’t last for much longer.

“Am I fucking your pussy hard enough, love?” he asked softly, breath tickling the skin he’d left damp. “Will you let me hear you come on my cock again, baby, hm?”

Your head was spinning, hardly able to believe your ears. “Kim Seokjin. You have a filthy fucking mouth. I’ve never heard you talk like this in all the years I’ve known you.”

“You’re a bad, bad influence, love. Answer my question?”

“Yes, Seokjin,” you breathed, leaning your body back against his and surrendering to everything he was offering you. “Yes, I’m so close. Please.”

“Please what?” He pressed his lips against your skin and you could feel the spread of his smile there. You lifted a hand, cupping the side of his face.

“Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

And true to his word, he didn’t. Your eyes rolled back as Seokjin’s vigor renewed, his cock pounding into the perfect spot inside you again and again and again, his thighs hitting your ass with enough force that your breasts shook each time he buried himself inside you, his greedy fingers rolling back and forth across your swollen clit, calling every ounce of your pleasure to him. It was all too much, the edge of release taunting you from a breath away.

Seokjin made a sudden half-groan, half-cry and your eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“Fffffuuuu,” he hissed, letting the curse trail off as his hips made you quiver. “Your pussy is squeezing me so tight. I..I…”

The guttural sound of his pleasure cresting, raw and vulnerable, was what finally sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed into you, shockwaves rippling through your entire body. Seokjin clung to you, hips jerkily thrusting his cock inside you as you squeezed down and milked every drop of seed he filled you with. Your hands went to meet his, gripping him just as close as you rode through your satisfaction together.

You’d never felt so full in your life. Even with him still buried to the hilt inside you, you could already feel hot cum leaking from around his cock, your womb overflowing. Seokjin held you for a few minutes as your breathing slowed, kissing your neck, your chin, your cheek. When you finally slid yourself from his grasp, your exhausted body leaned forward and collapsed ungracefully onto the bed. You felt all used up in the best way possible.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter from behind you. You glanced back to see him staring down at your ass, likely mesmerized by the mess he’d left there. You lifted yourself onto your knees and used the last of your energy to wave your rear end teasingly for him, hoping he could enjoy the show.

“I want to burn this image into my brain,” he said, swallowing hard, the knot in his throat jumping. “It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life “

You glanced back at him, biting into your bottom lip suggestively. “So take a picture.”

He blinked. “W..what?”

“Go on. I want you to look at it later and think about me.”

“I…” he didn’t continue, mouth hanging open instead.

“No plans, remember? Go on,” you encouraged. Seokjin was off his bed a moment later, grabbing his phone from his nightstand and angling it toward your ass. You turned away, not necessarily wanting your face in the picture, but if he minded that part he didn’t say anything.

You heard his phone land somewhere on the bed with a soft puff a few seconds later, his arm suddenly sliding underneath your body.

“Come here, love.”

He helped you up onto your feet and pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight hug. Respectfully, neither of you had anything to say about the inconceivable amount of semen currently dripping down your thighs and leaving tiny drops on the floor at your feet. You nuzzled your face into his chest, content to be in his arms again.

“You’re amazing, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said with a confident giggle.

He put his fingers to your chin and tipped your head up, kissing your lips this time with a deep satisfaction, as though he’d finally accepted he’d left you well pleased.

“I could probably fuck you again in five minutes if we keep this up,” he said after finally leaning away from your lips. “But I’m also tired as hell.”

Oh yeah. That was what you were supposed to be doing right now, getting some rest. Your own exhaustion hit you then, reminding you that even mind-blowingly good sex couldn’t make it go away.

“You’re about to pass out. Let’s get cleaned up and get some sleep, love.”

You tilted your head. “You could tell?”

He tapped your nose lovingly with the tip of his finger. “I’ve known you since you were two. I’d be ashamed if I couldn’t. You’re about to fall over on your feet. Come on.”

After a quick shower in his en suite involving a healthy amount of sweet kisses and Seokjin palming your ass like he never wanted to let go, you were spent. Truthfully, you could’ve fallen asleep on him, standing there soaped up under the spray of the warm water. He’d gone out to change his sheets while you toweled yourself off, and while part of you wanted to do some kind of mental recap of the night’s events, the majority of you just wanted to find the sleep you’d been searching for before all this had begun.

You walked out of his bathroom to find him throwing a fresh blanket over the bed. His eyes flicked to you as he noticed your movement, lips lifting in a half-smile as he brazenly admired your naked body.

“So, can I still sleep in your bed?” you asked, your voice husky with your fatigue.

Seokjin’s smile turned warmer, spreading across his beautiful face. He crossed the room and lifted you into his arms just as he had before, carrying you to his bed and laying you down in his sheets. Only this time he climbed in next to you, pulling you into his arms. He reached up and turned out the lamp on his nightstand before burying his face in your hair.

“I forgot how exhausted I was,” he said with a sigh, heavy with contentment.

Reaching up for him in the dark, you slid a finger across the plush of his lips. “Even tired, you still have such a dirty mouth when you fuck.”

“Y…Y/N…”

“Sweet dreams,” you said with a quiet giggle, settling into his arms and let yourself drift away surrounded by the scent, the warmth, the feel of Seokjin.

You rose from sleep on wings of pleasure.

Seokjin’s body was curled against yours, warmth radiating from bare skin to skin. You felt his breath at your neck, felt his stiff cock pressing against the curve of your back. And most importantly, you felt one of his greedy hands kneading the soft flesh of your thighs while his other arm was wrapped underneath your body, hand cupped beneath one of your breasts making gentle squeezes. You felt him between your legs, not quite grazing your sweet spot, but close enough to ignite the beginnings of wetness he had been coaxing while you’d been slowly waking from sleep.

“Nn…Seokjin?”

“Good morning, beautiful,” he purred into your ear, and if you had only been a little wet before, the sound of Seokjin’s morning voice full of gravel and desire had just taken you the rest of the way. You arched your ass back against him, savoring the rumbling groan he made in response to the contact.

“Good morning yourself.”

He pressed a kiss into your neck, grinding his cock against you, and his hand squeezed at your thigh again. It felt good to wake up in Seokjin’s arms like this, to have his attention so fully, to know he was this attracted to you. But no amount of teasing morning dry-humping could’ve prepared you for his next direct request.

“Can I eat your pussy, love?

You froze, unused to having someone ask the question rather than either avoiding the act entirely or diving in as they pleased. Although, considering what he’d said about his past experiences…

“Has…has someone told you no before?”

“No, I just didn’t want to assume that you…” He trailed off and you felt his face dip a little lower into the crook of your neck. “I wanted to wait until you were awake,” he mumbled.

You barely managed to stifle a giggle. “We had sex half of last night. You really think I wouldn’t consent?”

“You could change your mind,” he said, the pout in his voice vibrating close against your skin. “I wanted to be sure.”

You turned over in his arms. Backlit by the orange and yellow beginnings of sunlight peeking in through his blinds, the sight of Seokjin this close threatened to take your breath away. His dark hair was still roughly tousled from the night and an interesting mix of sleepiness, arousal, and embarrassment hung in his eyes as she stared down at you. You let loose a half laugh before pressing your mouth to his in what you hoped was a confidence-inspiring kiss.

“Yes, Seokjin,” you whispered against his lips. “I’d love it if you ate my pussy.“

He didn’t waste any time, face lighting up at your permission. A quick kiss to your lips was followed with another to your neck, your collarbone, traveling slowly down your body until you felt his warm breath on your slit. You were already aching for him as his hands gripped each of your thighs, careful not to touch your injury as he spread them apart and gently kneaded with his fingertips.

“So pretty,” you felt, more than heard him say, the vibrations of his deep voice at the apex of your thighs. Looking down and watching him between your legs, Seokjin’s handsome face staring at your core with such reverence, you felt more aroused than you had in your life, tempered by a bashfulness you hadn’t felt in years. Only he could do that to you, make you feel like someone so sacred over something so erotic.

He first met your lower lips much like he would your upper ones, a gentle kiss against your folds that sent a satisfying shiver up your spine. Soft kisses turned to slow, teasing licks, gentle grazes with his tongue that coaxed quiet sighs out of you. Your body relaxed into the sheets, the tension in your muscles evaporating as Seokjin somehow used his mouth as a painter would, turning you into a masterpiece all his own. This felt so new somehow. Something that was usually so hard and fast, that others wanted to get out of the way. Not Seokjin. Not patient, meticulous, giving Seokjin.

When his pillow-soft lips finally landed on your clit, you whimpered in pleasure, your fingers reaching out and sliding into his hair. But there was nothing hurried in it, nothing taut. Only feeling, craving, only the slow, sensual build of something earthly and carnal.

Sunken so deep in the bliss he was giving you, you hadn’t registered the sound of your lustful moans until Seokjin’s fingers tightened against the flesh of your thighs. You realized only a moment before falling that he had no intention of satisfying you with anything besides his mouth. And suddenly your body bloomed with light, with heat and a pleasure like you’d never known. You lifted your hips as your orgasm vibrated through your body and Seokjin’s tongue met you through it all, lapping up your release with eagerness.

He kissed along your inner thighs as you came down, up the soft, round of your belly, lingering at your breasts before finally meeting your mouth with a long, satisfying kiss.

“Where the hell have you been hiding those pussy eating skills?” you asked in a breathless whisper when your lips finally parted.

“No skill,” he said, and you could hear that hint of smugness in his smile. “You just taste delicious, love.”

“Bullshit,” you said, but Seokjin only slid to your side and hugged you close in response, his noticeable erection pressing once more against your lower back.

After a few moments of letting the afterglow settle, you moved to get out of Seokjin’s bed. Before you choked on his cock again, which you fully intended to do, you were in desperate need of a glass of water. But his arm around your waist only tightened, holding you back. He pressed a light kiss to your shoulder.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, words humming against your skin. “I don’t want to wake up yet.”

You raised one of your hands, laying it on top of his at your waist. “I’m just going to get a drink. What makes you so sure I won’t come back?”

“Will you?” he asked, and a breathless vulnerability hung between his words. “I mean, I want you to, but…” He huffed in frustration. “Look, I know this was only meant to be a dream, but it wasn’t just sex for me, Y/N.”

You turned over in his arms, making sure to meet his eyes as you spoke.

“You think I only dreamed about you for sex? You were in my dreams, Seokjin, not just your dick. You and your terrible jokes, and pretty smile, and brilliant brain. You, the kindest person I’ve ever known. You, my friend. I only dreamed about you so much because I never thought I’d really get to tell you just how much I like you.”

“I like you too.” His words came out rushed and you both laughed at the awkwardness.

You sighed. “I can’t believe I really spent all this time thinking you weren’t into me at all.”

“I did kiss you, you know.”

“Yeah. And then never again. I…I guess I didn’t know what to think. With Yoongi’s warning maybe I thought…I thought you didn’t like me after that or something.”

His fingers reached up, trailing along the skin of your arm in nonsense circles. “I like you,” he repeated slowly. “If you…want to try this, I’ll talk to Yoongi, so…”

You pulled his hand away from your arm, sliding your fingers between his. “We’ll talk to him. My brother’s an asshole, but not usually without good reason. Now that I know this is mutual between us, I want to know why he decided to try and keep us apart all these years.”

“Now that I get to kiss you, I don’t know if I care.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop kissing me like you’re not sure?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been hesitating, holding back.” You put your free hand to his cheek. “I’ve been kissed by you before, remember? I know what it feels like when you really mean it.”

Not one to ignore a request, Seokjin crushed his lips to yours. There was a new eagerness in his mouth this time, tenderness and need and the hint of starlight that you remembered. Your thumb stroked his cheek as he drank deep from your lips, as he finally made you believe in this kiss.

“Does this also mean I’ll get my friend back?” you said after you’d finally parted.

“Hey, what? You never lost me.”

“I kind of did,” you argued. “You buried yourself in school, I started working a hundred jobs and…I miss us. I miss late-night karaoke and video games and watching terrible movies until the sun comes up. I miss telling my bad ideas to someone who isn’t just as reckless as I am, aka Jungkook, or someone who won’t call me an idiot and walk away, aka Yoongi. I miss cooking and playing sports together. I miss…you. So much, I didn’t even realize it.”

“I miss you too. I’m sorry, Y/N. I got so focused on trying not to cross a line with you, I accidentally pushed you away.”

He pulled your fingers from the side of his face and kissed the back of your hand lightly a few times in continued apology.

“Do you have work today?” he asked.

“Later tonight, yeah,” you lamented. “You?”

“Nothing. Studying.”

“Well, I’d be happy to lie in your bed on days you study,” you offered to lighten the mood. “I’ll only distract you about fifty percent of the time. Maybe give you a little stress relief.”

His other hand gripped your ass, giving your cheek a healthy squeeze. “I’d better keep studying at the library, and you’ll be at the race track most days anyway. But I’d be happy to have you ass up on my bed on nights when you’re free. And…maybe a date here and there?”

“Is that you asking me out?”

He gave you a blushing nod. “If you want to see where this goes.”

You responded with a tight hug. “Of course I do.”

“And I want to hear about all your dreams,” he said shyly. “Learn everything you like.”

Your mouth was at his again and there was no more hesitation in his kisses, finally fully indulging in you, fully accepting that you wanted this with him.

“Is this going where I think it’s going?” he panted against your lips.

“Only if you promise the same as the kissing. You don’t have to fuck me like you think I want you to.”

The steel hardening in his dark eyes as he stared into yours sent electricity skittering across your skin.

“I wouldn’t fuck you then. I’d make love to you.”

A warmth settled in your chest at those words, unwrapping something new and exciting and yet so familiar between you both. “Do that then, Seokjin. Please.”

There was nothing left to say. Seokjin’s lips were on yours, his hands at your hips, molding your bodies into one blazing point of heat. He rolled on top of you, knees gently pressing your thighs apart, the thick tip of his cock finding your soaked entrance easily. Without ever parting your lips he was inside you in one dizzying thrust, thick, and long, and hard, and buried in you so deep you thought you might faint. Both your moans mingled with the wet of your kisses, as his cock paced slow alongside your pleasure. You slid your arms over his broad shoulders, burying your fingers in the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck while your body turned to jello beneath this man you loved so much.

Just like with his kiss, this was on a different level. You’d had plenty of sex before. Hell, you’d had sex with him just last night. This was an entirely different experience. Seokjin rocked his cock in and out of you with slow decadence, highlighting each second as its own special moment, as something to be treasured.

“Seokjin,” you found yourself whining, finally pulling yourself from his kiss, gasping for breath.

“Yes, love?” he said, voice honeyed and thick. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you breathed, not even sure what you were saying anymore. “Just you. Please.”

A growl escaped him and he buried his face into your neck. “Every time you say please to me, I lose a little more of my mind.”

“Please,” you rasped again, barely able to catch your breath, your grip in his hair feeling a little less anchoring, a little more desperate.

Seokjin’s hands slid under your hips, tilting them slightly and driving him inside you deeper, knocking against the very spot that made you cry out louder for him. The grind of him against your clit as he sped his thrusts inside you and the echo of his deep moans sent you on a spiral, chasing you toward an end you didn’t know if you could handle.

“Love,” Seokjin said in the gentlest whisper just beneath your ear.

It was your name. It was what you shared with him right now. It was the feeling you’d had for him your whole life, what you’d been missing for too long, what you craved with him more than anything. It was that single word that lit magic within you, your body trembling, Seokjin’s name tumbling from your lips as you came undone beneath him. He leaned to capture you in another kiss and swallowed your cries as you came, groaning into your mouth as he met his own release alongside you, as you clenched down tight around his cock, as he spilled inside of you and your womb swelled again with his seed.

Finally spent, he slid his body off of you and you felt the now familiar warm gush between your legs as his cock slipped from between your legs. He pulled you close, kissing your cheek gently, though you could still feel the pound of his heart against his chest as it rose and fell.

“We’re going to have to start putting a towel down or something,” you said as the mess he’d left behind started to collect again underneath your bottom. “You only have so many sheets.”

“I can buy more,” he said simply. “I want you dripping for me every time, love.”

With as much as he came, that wouldn’t be a problem.

“I never want my cum anywhere else but inside you ever again. Your pussy, beautiful. I need this pussy.”

You giggled and nuzzled your face into his neck. “There’s that filthy mouth again.”

Seokjin only chuckled in response and pulled your body closer.

After a visit to the bathroom, and borrowing a new shirt and a pair or shorts, you left Seokjin to once again clean up and headed into the kitchen to hunt down a cup of water and maybe get some coffee started.

On the upside, a pot of coffee was already brewing as you walked in. On the downside, it was Yoongi you found standing in front of the kettle.

“Sounds like it was a good night. And morning,” Yoongi said flatly.

“In spite of you, yes,” you quipped. Yoongi shrugged. Immediately your suspicion meter was rising. No smartass comment? No irritated huff? He looked almost...embarrassed?

“Oh.”

You heard Seokjin in the hall followed by a second very familiar voice muttering a quick, “Sorry.”

You turned to find a shirtless Jungkook walking alongside Seokjin toward the kitchen. You whipped your head in Yoongi’s direction, but he refused to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck?”

“I knew it’d happen sooner or later. You idiots are actually perfect for each other, you know?” You hadn’t missed that your brother was avoiding one topic in favor of the other.

“Then why’d you keep us apart all this time?”

“He was scared,” Jungkook offered. “He didn’t want to lose either one of you.”

“Shut up, Kook.” His eyes narrowed and you could see the reasoning wheels of a future psychiatrist turning behind them. “You two weren’t ready for each other yet. Y/N, you were still figuring your shit out, you barely had your own two feet under you. Jin, you’ve barely made time all throughout college to look at other people, let alone date someone. I didn’t want to be the third wheel without knowing the whole thing wouldn’t break down. I knew I had to step in after I saw you two trying to suck each other’s souls out on the roof. I figured you’d work it out when it was time.”

You and Seokjin exchanged a shy glance.

You’d probably never say it to his face, but Yoongi was right. If you and Seokjin had gotten together all those years ago, would either of you have been ready? Would you have lasted through the stress, the struggle of navigating your newly adult lives?

“Well, it looks like there’s four of us now,” Jungkook said with a smile way too cheerful for the moment. You snickered at your friend’s post-coital joyfulness, though how he’d managed to get past your brother’s defenses would have to be a long conversation later. Considering he was supposed to be at an important photoshoot all day yesterday, he’d better have a damn good explanation for how he even ended up here.

Seokjin pulled a pan from the cabinet, giving it a tiny spin in his palm.

“Breakfast?”

You leaned across the counter while Seokjin pulled another skillet from the cabinet and Yoongi started rooting through the fridge.

“So,” you said to Jungkook, leaning your face casually against your hand. “Did you take any good pictures yesterday?” you asked, barely holding back your smile as you watched the tips of Seokjin’s ears go a vibrant red out of the corner of your eye.

Taglist: @firesighgirl @yoosmekihyun @persnyako​ @angelsuni-ficwrecks @ikuyootori

[c0wgurlz]

Trouble On My Left, Trouble On My Right

Chapter 2: Operation, Find Caroline a Cowboy

gif by @bodybebangin

Kayce Dutton x Reader/OC - Friends to Lovers

He doesn't even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust.

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Chapter 1

Sorry it took me so long to update! I'm a teacher and my free time is fairly limited. We're at a point in the school year now though that is much less stressful, so expect fairly regular updates, at least for the next few chapters.

Comments are so appreciated! I'd love to know what ya'll like and what ya'll think I could improve upon.

As always: I do not own Yellowstone (2018) or any of its characters. This work is not monetized.

THIS FIC IS CROSSPOSTED TO AO3. It is not posted to any other site. I am lookingcold on AO3 and that is all. I do not give permission for my work to be posted by others to any other platform.

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We don’t talk for the rest of the walk, but the silence is comfortable, like it always is between us. Kayce and I have never asked too much of each other, have always read each others’ moods as if they were our own, and that apparently hasn’t changed from the five years we’ve spent apart. It’s glaringly obvious to us both that neither is up for idle chit chat. 

And while I’m really not up for small talk, the silence does, unfortunately, give me entirely too much time to overthink. What felt like such a natural decision, what felt like fulfilling my duty this morning, now feels foolhardy, and quite possibly too risky. Now this isn’t to say that I’m doubting my choice. Helping Mr. John, helping Kayce, helping the family and ranch that raised me, that picked up my pieces and glued me back together over and over, is a no brainer. Helping the people and the place I love most in the world feels as natural as breathing. But smoothing over a murder? That’s- No, I’m not doubting my choice, but I’m sure as hell doubting my sanity. When I said the Duttons needed a criminal defense lawyer, not a PR specialist, I wasn’t exaggerating. And if I’m being honest, this job feels more like that of an accessory than a public relations consult.

The front porch of the big house comes into view well before I’m ready. This dinner may be a reunion of sorts, but it’ll undoubtedly be a business meeting as well. Steeling my nerves for such talks doesn’t come quite as naturally to me as it once did. I feel like a knight with rusty armor. Weak at critical points, weak where it matters. More aptly, I feel like a little girl again, staring into the headlights of a train with no way to move and no way to stop it. I’m no coward, please don’t think that of me, but you know that feeling of impending doom? The one that makes your spine tingle and your stomach drop to your knees? Dread is probably the best word. That’s all I can feel as I stand at the bottom step of the Dutton’s porch. 

I must hesitate for too long, or stare off into space, or look absolutely fucking terrified, because in a flash Kayce is back down the two steps he’d already taken and by my side. He doesn’t say anything, you’d think we’d taken a vow of silence, but just looks at me imploringly, resembling a curious puppy so much I almost crack a smile. And then Kacye, sweet Kayce, wraps his calloused hand around mine and tucks it against his chest, over his heart, before tipping his head, ushering me up the stairs. Once I’m half way up I get a fond, “Atta girl,” and what woman doesn’t love being praised like an obedient mare. I snort in response and kick out my foot to trip him, but only a little bit, on the last stair. Can’t have hime getting too full of himself.

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Dinner is nice, but rather awkward if I’m totally honest, mainly due to the fact that Beth and Jamie are in attendance. Let’s just say Gator clears the table well before dinner should truly be over. To my surprise, we don’t talk business, but rather I’m questioned, interrogated really, over what I’ve been up to the past five years and why haven’t I called and would it really kill me to send a text every few months. Beth is the one who leads this inquiry. Jamie and I were never particularly close, so he remains silent for the most part, and he leaves in a huff shortly after Beth throws a fork like it’s a trident directly at his forehead. Can’t say I blame him, even I can only handle so much of Beth when she’s at her worst.

My interrogation is blissfully, or so I thought, cut short by Mr. John when he asks, “So, ya’ll have any plans tonight?” He folds his napkin meticulously, trying to look nonchalant but missing the mark by a shameful amount. If I thought that feeling of dread had left me, I was wrong.

I narrow my eyes and prepare to defend myself against an interrogation of a different kind. Before I can grit out a suspicious, “No, why,” however, Beth pipes up. “Actually Daddy, since you asked,” at this she turns to me, “Caroline, how do you feel about heading into town and getting gloriously drunk and then gloriously fucked? You’ve been gone far too long, so you’ve got to be re-initiated, re-tainted if you will.” She looks me up and down, assessing. “You’re far too shiny, like a little cherub.”

Jesus Christ, I think she’s suggesting I fuck a townie. And Mary and Joseph I haven’t even so much as kissed someone since my divorce - ok, well maybe a peck or two here or there, but that’s besides the point. Here I was, so worried about talking business, about skirting around the subject of murder, only to be blindsided by an age old Dutton scheme. Operation: Find Caroline a Cowboy. Well if Beth thinks I’m about to get biblical with some rando she is absolutely, positively looney tunes. Now, how to communicate all of that in a tactful way? Taking a shallow breath, I part my lips and prepare to spout some placating, buzzword bullshit. Something along the lines of, “Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m actually really tired. Maybe later this weekend?” or “How about we just kick back in the bunkhouse tonight, save the salaciousess for this Saturday?” Before I can even utter a word though, Kayce butts in on my behalf.

“Do you maybe think you could save the corruption for later, Beth? I’ve already promised the boys that I’ll bring Caroline around for cards tonight.” While his voice is calm, casual even, Kayce gives himself away the moment he begins to bounce his leg, the tap tap tap of the heel of his boot loud in the otherwise quiet room. He’s uncomfortable, maybe even irritated, which aren’t we all at least a little bit when speaking to Beth, but there’s something else. A boyishness to his demeanor that I haven’t seen since high school. There’s also the fact that we had decidedly made zero plans to visit the bunkhouse tonight. So. Interesting.

I’m certainly not the only one to notice his odd shift in behavior, as Mr. John’s lips curl into a smirk and Beth’s face arranges inself into a pleased, self-satisfied expression. She frequently wears the look of someone who knows enough to destroy literally any given person’s life, but this look is more playful, one of a cat that’s pinned a mouse by its tail. Ignoring Kayce, she turns her attention back to me. “Caroline, sweetheart, don’t even think about screwing any of those cowboys. I know old habits die hard, but trust me when I say not a single one of them is worth a ride.” Now, to be clear, Beth knows, I know, Mr. John knows, and even Kayce knows that Beth has only ever screwed one of said cowboys out in that bunkhouse, still, her dig elicits the desired reaction from Kayce. And furthermore, she makes it clear that she’s not just trying to set me up with any old cowboy. I’m on to her. Operation: Find Caroline a Kayce.

With a cringe of disgust and a flushed face, he exclaims, “Fuck’s sake Beth, I’m not taking her out there to pimp her out.” He’s stopped smoothing the tablecloth, but now he’s exasperatedly running his hand through his still damp hair. Shit, Kayce. You think he’d have learned by now how to not play into Beth’s hand. Some people just have to learn the hard way I suppose. 

Beth’s eyebrows lift and the corner of her mouth quirks. “Well you’re not a very good bestfriend then, are you?”

“Fuck you.” Kayce mutters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms petulantlly.

“Maybe you should be saying that to her.” Beth points at me with her napkin, dropping it onto her plate as she rises from the table. “This has been fun. Possibly the best family dinner we’ve had all year.” Planting a kiss on Mr. John’s cheek she says, “Love you Daddy, have a drink with me later, will you? I think we should talk.” Then, rounding the table to me, she strokes my hair, almost motherly, “Caroline, sweetheart, clear your schedule Saturday. Me and you are going to paint the town red.” Finally, reaching Kayce, she sighs, “Goodnight, dummy. Let me know if you’d like help finding your balls.” And just like a tornado, she’s there wreaking havoc one moment, and gone the next.

The dining room is uncomfortably silent for a beat after she exits, until Mr. John blessedly breaks the awkwardness yet again. “Beth’s antics aside, I don’t think ya’ll should be going out anywhere tonight. We’ve got several important meetings lined up tomorrow morning and I need both of you sharp. Especially you Kayce, tomorrow will require you to tell a very particular version of events and I can’t risk you fucking that up. Alright, Son?”

Looking slightly cowed, Kayce nods his head in agreement. “Alright.”

Having determined this hell of a dinner has gone on long enough, I begin to make moves to excuse Kayce and myself. “Dinner was delicious Mr. John, thank you for having me. And thank you for such fine company.” I may be lying out of my ass, but my momma didn’t raise me to be rude.

Mr. John exhales a dry laugh and rises from the table. It’s moments like this where his and Beth’s resemblance is striking. “No need to thank me, honey. You’re family, you’re welcome at my table anytime.” Pushing in his chair he surveys Kayce and I with calculating eyes. “Why don’t you two head on home, you both look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

Gee Mr. John, I wonder the hell why?

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Our walk back isn’t nearly as silent as our walk to the house. To say Kayce is pissed would be putting it lightly. “What in the actual fuck was all that? I mean, Beth was no surprise, but what shit is Dad trying to pull?”

“Kayce, your daddy barely said a word.” I’m more focused on the words left unsaid.

“He didn’t have to say anything Carrie, he sat there like a smug bastard and let Beth say it all for him.” Kayce may as well be pitching a fit the way he kicks at the ground, arms hugged tight to his chest like a wronged toddler. Honestly, the image is kind of amusing, so much so that I have to stifle a laugh. I must not do a good enough job, because I can feel the glare that Kayce shoots through the side of my head. “What?”

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, I’m quick to hide my growing grin. “Well first off, I’m gonna overlook the fact you pulled out my forbidden nickname. But second, do you remember that Christmas when we were thirteen? How Beth hung mistletoe from literally every single doorway, and how your daddy actually enforced the kissing rule?” I raise my eyebrows high, daring him to conveniently “forget” an awkward moment from our childhood as he often pretends to do.

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he sighs his agreement. “Yeah I remember, we must’ve kissed two dozen times. At the time I thought dying would’ve been a kinder fate.”

Asshole. I punch him in the arm, hard. “Wow. Thanks a lot. The sentiment is shared.” Rolling my eyes and checking for invisible dirt beneath my nails, I continue. “Anyways, what they’re doing now, Beth and your daddy, is just an enormous escalation of what they did then. I don’t think Mr. John will rest in his grave until I give him a grandbaby - with you.” I look at Kayce pointedly. It’s no secret that Mr. John, and Beth by extension, have been holding out hope that me and Kayce would fall madly in love and have lots of babies. When Kayce married Monica the teasing and hinting stopped, after all Mr. John would never disrespect their marriage in such a way, and when I married Judd it was almost like a fence went up between us, between myself and the Duttons that is, but now that both of our spouses are out of the picture? I’m certainly not surprised the trouble has started back up.

I expect Kayce to splutter and turn a darker shade of red. Despite his gruff exterior he’s always been reserved and easy to embarrass. He surprises me though when he mutters, “Maybe we should just give him what he wants then. Get him and Beth off our backs.”

I shock myself with the cackle that bursts its way out of my body. It bubbles out partly because of the utter glee I get from Kayce having a sense of humor for once and partly from the insanity of such a suggestion. “So you’re telling me, that your solution to getting your daddy and Beth to leave us alone, is to have a baby together? Yeah, because they definitely would have no interest in our love lives after a stunt like that.” I bump his hip with mine. “I can just hear Beth now, ‘I’m thinking a Fall wedding, you look horrible in bright colors and nobody wants to wear a suit in eighty-eight degree weather.’ We’d never hear the end of it.”

Kayce shrugs, shooting me a wry grin. “Hey, if we marry each other at least we’ll know what we’re getting into. No surprises.”

“Yeah, and no sex,” slips past my lips before I can swallow it down. What a stupid fucking thing to say. Good job Caroline, talk about fucking, or not fucking, your best friend some more why don’t you. Now I’m the one who’s blushing. Pink from the roots of my hair to my chest. And what a fatal mistake I’ve made by opening my fat mouth. My whole life I’ve had to be one step ahead of Kayce, embarrassing him before he can embarrass me worse, yet here I am giving him a golden opportunity.

His grin only widens. “I hate to break it to you Carrie, but to make a baby people have to have sex.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, adding insult to injury. “You know when a man loves a woman…”

I elbow him in the ribs before he can continue. He laughs at my embarrassment just as much as he groans from the pain. “Oh shut up.” Now I cross my arms, increasing my stride so that his arm falls from my shoulders.

He doesn’t even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust. If Kayce had always been shy and reserved in his day to day life, where I had been bright and obnoxious in mine, the topic of sex is where we switched places. I think calling myself a prude may be a tad harsh, but I certainly have never been one to broadcast my sexual business. Kayce on the other hand has never shied away from flirting, or kissing, or having sex in nearly every one of Mr. John’s pastures - you don’t get someone pregnant at nineteen by keeping it in your pants after all. 

Playing the game I had with Kayce in the bathroom earlier today had felt safe, probably because I was the one in control, but this battle of wills feels altogether different, like someone is poking at an insecurity, at a bruise I didn’t even know I had. It’s confusing at best and humiliating at worst. Throwing his words back at him, I huff, “Now Kayce Dutton, you know this conversation is entirely improper, so I suggest you drop it. And also,” I whirl around on the step I’ve just taken. Thank God we’ve reached the foreman’s house because I don’t know how much longer I can participate in this back and forth before I’m forced to will myself out of existence. “Who says I’d even want to have a baby with you? Good authority or not. I know ya’ll’ve gotten new ranch hands since I’ve last been here, all of whom I haven’t gotten to size up yet. You never know, maybe one of them is babydaddy material.” I poke him firmly in the chest. “Don’t assume I haven’t got options.” Before Kayce can respond I storm up the remaining steps and into the house, kicking my boots off perhaps a bit too aggressively before striding into the kitchen. What I plan to do in the kitchen, I don’t know, but I still don’t know which room I’m staying in and the living room feels too cozy to stew in, so the kitchen it is.

Kayce saddles in much more calmly, but his fierce expression gives his true feelings away. “Are you serious?” He grunts, and if I wasn’t so embarrassed, mad, confused, hurt - for some reason that alludes me, I might have found the rocky timbre of his voice sexy. 

“Serious about what?” I avoid his gaze petulantly, pouring myself a glass of water for a lack of anything better to do.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He groans, tipping his head back and rubbing at his eyes. “Are you really picking a fight over whether or not we should get imaginary married, have imaginary sex, and have an imaginary baby? You do hear how crazy that sounds?”

“So now I’m crazy?” My voice is cool, and serious, even though at this point I realize I’ve lost the argument. Even though I’ve realized there never should’ve been an argument in the first place.

Any fight Kayce had left in him drains away. I see the moment that it leaves his body, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing. “Caroline, honey, what’d I do?”

Almost as if there’s an invisible string connecting us, my body relaxes too. I blow out a breath, dump my water down the drain, and come to stand in front of him. No island between us. “You didn’t really do anything, just poked at a sore spot, that’s all.”

Sensing that this may be a conversation best saved for later, Kayce graciously changes the subject. Scratching at the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing towards the bathroom with the other he murmurs, “Well uh, if you still wanna have that spa night we should probably get going, we’ve got a early morning tomorrow and if I’m gonna let you take my spa virginity we’ve gotta do this thing right.” That earns him a hard exhale, the ghost of what could’ve been a laugh. But he must know not to expect much else, that I’m still nursing my bruised ego, because he carries on. “So why don’t I go get that bubble bath started and you can sort through your uh lotions and potions, decide on how best to pretty me up. And then maybe we could talk, about anything you want.” He begins to walk backwards, making his way towards the bathroom. It’s odd to hear the soft pad of his socked feet on the hardwood and not the click of his boots, but also kind of nice, endearing.

“Okay,” I breath, “Yeah, that’d be - that’d be nice.” I move to walk past him, into the hall where I’d left my bags. “I think you’ve got a bit of a sunburn so I’ll see if I’ve got an aloe mask for you. If you plan on putting yourself back on the market you’d better start taking care of your looks.”

I’m very purposefully facing away from him, so I don’t see the melancholy on his face so much as I hear it in his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s likely to happen. My days of chasing tail are definitely over.” I don’t reply, not too keen on opening that can of worms further, and so an uncomfortable silence settles over us. It’s only broken when Kayce sighs, “Well, I’ll uh, I’ll be in the bathroom whenever you’re ready.”

Still looking down, I pause the mindless shuffling I’d been doing through my bags, “Alright, just give me a few minutes.” Having found the masks I was looking for well before now, I finally rise from out of my crouch, left knee popping in protest. “Like you said, you deserve a proper first spa night,” I turn my body to reveal my profile, pretending to check the label of the plastic tub in my hands, “I’ve gotta make sure I pull out all the stops. You know I don’t half ass anything.” Feeling generous, I finally offer him a small smile, turning to fully face him.

The relief in his eyes catches me off guard. “Don’t I know it.”

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I don’t know what I expected when Kayce said he’d go run a bubble bath. Too absorbed in my own thoughts, I didn’t consider that such an activity is typically done alone, certainly not with a friend, and even more certainly not with a totally platonic, albeit sexy, boy bestfriend. When I finally make my way into the bathroom however, I’m greeted by the sight of Kayce settled into the comically large clawfoot tub, chin tucked to his chest so that bubbles cling to his beard, eyes unfocused and contemplative. “Didn’t realize I invited Santa Claus.” I joke, at a loss for anything else to say. Too scared to say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question.

At the sound of my voice his head jerks up, the sudden movement sloshing water just shy of the lip of the tub. “Santa Claus?” He furrows his eyebrows. He really does look like a puppy.

“You’ve got bubbles,” I gesture to my chin, miming a full beard.

He chuckles, “Oh, yeah, I guess I just got bored and,” he shrugs, “I’ve gotten used to playing with Tate in the bath. You’re lucky I didn’t break out the bubble mohawk.”

“The bubble mohawk?” I giggle, “I don’t know, I think I’d like to see that actually. Just make sure I’ve got a camera on me when you do break it out, yeah?” Lining my “lotions and potions” up on the counter, I look away, still trying to figure out what exactly is going on here, or what Kayce expects me to do, to say.

He must sense my hesitancy because he volunteers, “I hope I got the water hot enough. I know how you women like to scorch your skin off, but I’m afraid I’m just a bit too delicate.” He’s pushed himself into a full sitting position now. The water pools just under his chest and it takes everything in me to meet his eyes.

“So we are taking a bath together then?” I huff. “Because that’s not weird at all.” Still, I move to pull my blouse up and over my head, clipping my hair up so that it no longer hangs down my back. “And if you’re not actively in pain, then no, you don’t have the water hot enough. But that’s alright, I’ll manage.”

Ignoring my comment about the water, his eyebrows furrow once again in confusion. “Why’s it weird? You’re the one that suggested it.”

“No. I didn’t.” I shoot some side eye at him, because who in their right mind would suggest such a thing. Hopping around to remove my socks before balling them up and tossing them into the hall so that they don’t get wet, I continue, “And it’s weird because usually when grown adults take a bath together it’s only because something else is gonna follow.”

Rolling his eyes, he insists, “Yes. You did. You said you normally take a bubble bath for spa nights, so here we are, taking a bubble bath. And it’s not weird. I’m wearing my underwear, and I assumed you’d wear yours too. It’s no different than going swimming together.” He sounds way too exasperated for a conversation that is this stupid.

Remember how I said Kayce and I have never had trouble reading each other? Yeah I take that back. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I sigh, “That was not a suggestion. That was a statement. But thank you for the clarification. Now before I literally die of embarrassment, would you like the lavender hair mask,” I forcefully lift one colorful jar into the air, and then another, “or the apple?”

Looking as fed up as I feel, Kayce responds gruffly, “The lavender.”

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Tag List: @cheneyq @targaryenpower @starset21 @darlingmunson30 @ilovemrytleturtle @screechingtriumphtiger @chlo-feigh @twoheartedfool @softi92 @hannahufflepuff @its-moonblr

[a-ikuoliver]

[prologue] — after another date ruined by your needy roommate, fifteenth to be exact, you hatch a revenge plot that'll either end with you moving out or finally scratching the itch that's been driving you insane.

w/c: 1.2k warning/s: f!reader, making out notes: i am having so much fun imagining annoying this man to death — don't expect serious storytelling here lmao inspo/acknowledgements: loosely inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days + what's your number (rom-com/chick flick vibes)

series masterlist | next chapter [tbd] ->

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

fourteen. that's how many times your roommate had called you mid-date, mid hookup, god, even mid-masturbation in the time you'd been living under the same roof.

"what could you possibly want?" you hope he can't hear your panting, hope he doesn't hear your dates chuckle, hardly muffled by your hand pressed over his mouth, your other tucking the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, reaching between your thighs for your dates belt with your now-free hand.

"is that any way to speak to a friend in need?" you roll your eyes, his voice thick over the phone as he lazily spoke, you could practically hear that infuriating smile he always had plastered on his lips through the technology. your hips jump, the deep sound zapping through your nerves; already pent up from kissing after… you can't even remember how many months without a date ending like this.

breathless, you respond in a tone you hope has at least a little venom threaded through it, more than a little irritation, "spit it out, aiku."

"need your key, i locked mine inside." your body slacks on top of the brunet beneath you, defeat filling you, your head falling forward with a silent groan, "you're kidding, right?"

fifteen.

he chuckles at your despair, a deep sound that echoes down the line, sounding just as unapologetic as he truly is, "sorry, pretty, you'll be good, won't you?"

tonight might be the night you kill him.

you'd had roommates before, accustomed to the arguments about chores, about mess, about bills, about noise, meeting eye-to-eye with oliver on every issue. the only problem with your apparent heaven-sent roommate? his habit of interrupting your dates, of cock-blocking you, leaving you at some level of unsatisfied the entire time you shared the apartment — some weeks it was bearable, more like a dull ache in your stomach, others having you about to claw and scratch at the walls.

"call me? we can do this again some other time?" leaning over the threshold, you press a final, sultry kiss to the brunet's lips, sliding a slip of paper with your number in it into his pocket as you did; your hope at a rain check diminishing the moment you step back, your date already tucking his belt back into its loops, thick fingers that were just gripping your thighs already tapping at his phone screen, the familiar pink and white flame symbol beneath his thumb.

you watched number fifteen slip through your fingers, probably the most attractive of all the men aiku had ripped away from you.

the final man, you decide.

you're almost certain your passenger rating had suffered dearly from all of your frustrated, angry mumbling as you sent hushed rant after hushed rant to your friends about how absurd your roommate is on your way back to the shared apartment (omitting some of the details about your intense need after making out for twenty minutes, mostly for the sake of your driver), most of them responding with meaningless gushing about how he at least was kind enough to give you free shows, the muscular expanse of his back something burned into all their minds after aiku crashed your pre-gaming session once after returning home from a game. one of them (uselessly) advising you to just bed aiku instead.

by the time the car had turned the final corner to your place, you'd stewed in your anger for too long, tossing your keys at oliver a little too hard when you face him, just after nine. he catches them (only infuriating you more, sure a vein is about to burst). he looks good, still in his clothes from the gym if you had to guess, a black shirt that clung to his biceps, and shorts that made his thighs more like tree limbs than human ones (only infuriating you more). he quirks a dark eyebrow at you, twirling the keys around his finger before sliding them into the lock.

"do you plan this?" trailing in behind him, dragging your feet as you do, you tug your keys back out of the door, too annoyed, too frustrated to even care about your roommate lifting the tight shirt over his head, gripping the collar at the back of his neck to pull it off, shoulder blades flexing and rippling with every movement, no matter how minute.

"plan what?" oliver shouts from his bedroom, keeping the door ajar, awaiting your answer as he changes.

"do you know how many men you've scared off?" you throw yourself down onto the couch dramatically, "have you bugged my phone or something? hack it so you can call me the moment i’m with a guy?" 

oliver's face splits into a grin, his expression only described as proud, mismatched eyes glimmering as he tightened the watch on his wrist, "hack you?" 

reaching for a decorative cushion, one you’d bought months ago to make the flat less of a bachelor pad, you bury your face in it, half to muffle your loud groan, half to avoid looking at him, now in slacks and a shirt you’re sure is a size too small, following every sharp plane of his shoulders, chest and hips, the top three buttons left undone to show off the tanned muscles beneath that he spent hours working on. the maddening sound of his laugh still invaded your senses, despite the stuffing around your ears.

it's like it was a talent, to sense when he was unwanted, when you were inches away from sating your craving, when all you wanted to forget all about his stupid face, his stupid deep voice, his stupid smug laugh. 

"maybe you have a sixth sense, like that kid who sees ghosts." 

"i think of it more as happy accidents." oliver dodges the cushion, his hand coming up to fix his hair as the other tosses the cushion back towards you, landing square on your chest as you groan childishly again at him. 

stupid face, stupid voice, stupid laugh, stupid reflexes. 

you track him as he moves around the apartment, eyebrows drawn down in a fiery glare as he tosses his shed clothes into the washing machine. the apartments tidy, you note, catching a glimpse of his spotless bedroom from the corner of your eye, his bed sheets crisp and pulled tightly over the mattress, pillows fluffed, every inch vacuumed and dusted.

the oliver you knew was never this clean, he pulled his weight but it’s not as if your apartment looked this brand new often. the oliver that had left no less than four sweaty shirts in the back of your car when he'd change after begging you to pick him up from training on your way home from work, the same oliver that had a varied collection of abandoned water bottles typically adorning his bedside table. this was different than tidy, there wasn't a sign of mess anywhere in the apartment, counters freshly cleaned in the kitchen, still sparkling beneath the kitchen lights, not even a speck of dust along the top of the tv screen. 

it was immature, completely, utterly foolish, there's no other word for your decision, but it's impossible to talk yourself out of it as you study him, returning from the immaculate bedroom smelling musky, woody, expensive.

a happy accident he called it? your celibacy while he dates and fucks anyone he wants? while you suffer week after week with your ache growing stronger, your toys hardly working for you anymore.

you refuse to see that arrogant, satisfied smile plastered on his face again.

“got a hot date tonight, aiku?”

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[kels-valley-blog]

one tries to fly away: a cringefail farmer x harvey fic

first time posting fic on tumblr, so not sure what i'm supposed to be doing :D anyway i was possessed this afternoon and wrote this fic featuring @clarisinne's cringefail farmer and harvey. i liberally mixed metaphors in this fic, which i am not sorry for in the slightest.

crossposted on ao3--please enjoy!

---

Harvey divided his life in two, in much the same way a historian splits history. For the historian, the ages are separated by the death of a Galilean man. For Harvey, there was before and after her.

For both Harvey and historian, time was reckoned by the coming of a savior.

He didn’t recognize her as such right away, partly because he wasn’t entirely aware of his own misery. He knew he was sad, sure, and he distantly felt the years piling up on his shoulders. But these feelings were familiar, and he had long since stopped noticing them. He didn’t remember a time when loneliness hadn’t been his faithful companion.

(A bird born in a cage does not miss the sky.)

Harvey, for his part, had made quite the comfortable life for himself in his cage. He’d decorated it with the few joys and achievements he had. The iron wires that wrapped around his life were predictable and study. Most days, he forgot to miss his long-dead dream of flight.

She had entered his life like a fireball, a meteor burning bright against his sky. Out of control, she hurtled from the heavens, crashing against his comfortable imprisonment and crushing some of the cage bars quite badly. She disturbed him.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about being disturbed.

He had seen her, fluttering around the town, bumping into everything and always popping back up with a flushed smile. She drew his eye—a spot of color against the dark and drab world. When she burst into the clinic, braids flying and eyes bright, he had no choice but to let her in.

(Looking back, that had been the moment when his life shifted from one age to the next.)

And she was clumsy, and loud, and she seemed to slam doors more often than not, and she rattled Harvey’s world in a way that no one had before. She dragged herself into the clinic at all hours, nursing all manner of cuts and bruises and broken bones. She brought him jars of pickles and lukewarm coffee carried from the farm, and sometimes the crushed remains of a plant she’d foraged on the walk into town and shoved in her pocket. And she was kind, and earnest, and lord she was cute sometimes, and—

And oh.

That feeling was new.

(A breeze blew through the bars of the cage.)

But he didn’t get ahead of himself. He was nothing like her—he would never be. She was, quintessentially, free, and he would always be held down by something: his job, his eyesight, his own fear. What use did a skylark like her have for someone as leaden as him? 

She did not seem to care about the weight on his shoulders—or perhaps she was just not aware of it. Maybe she hadn’t yet realized that this heaviness he carried was as much a part of him as his hands or his heart, and that he would never be able to join her in her carefree life.

Well. He would enjoy this for as long as he could, anyway. It was nice to have some fresh air, after all this time. For now, he would just be as good of a friend as he could manage—try to smile at her, try to keep her from dying in the mines, try to listen when she spoke. (These weren’t hard tasks at all—with the possible exception of keeping her from dying. That proved surprisingly difficult.)

And everything was nice, once again: a status quo, maintained. Harvey knew where he stood with her. He had been lonely for so long that this new type of heartache could blend in easily enough. He was fine. He just wanted to help her, wanted to double-check that she hadn’t hit her head in the mines, wanted to make sure she didn’t have any brain injuries—

She told him that she liked him. She ran away.

(The door to the cage cracked open, just a bit.)

And they didn’t fall in love right away, which didn’t surprise him—but she didn’t realize her mistake either, which did. She was just as awkward in courtship as she had been in every other aspect of her life, and she still carried with her that wild energy that always made his heart beat a little faster. What was a man supposed to expect from someone like her? How could he predict the way the wind would turn next?

They went on a date, and she fumbled over her words. She looked at him, sometimes, like he was worthwhile, and that made him feel all sorts of funny—like he was tumbling from a great height and wasn’t quite sure when he would land. 

He quite deliberately didn’t let his mind wander to their future—the worst thing he could get right now was false hope. For all he knew, she would soon come to him, tell him that she was sorry, but he was just too boring and sad and cloistered, and she had a whole life ahead of her. She would fly away, and he would stay here.

Then she tackled him, and she crushed a bouquet into his arms. She choked out a half of a garbled question and then promptly hurled into the grass beside him.

Well. If Harvey hadn’t been in love before, he certainly was now.

And that was the feeling, wasn’t it? That creeping sensation of warmth that had plagued him for months now. It was love, plain and simple. He was so unused to it that it had been hard to identify. And yet, there it was, stubbornly spreading its wings.

(For the first time in a long time, he let himself look beyond the bars that surrounded him.)

She hovered there, nervously within reach and clearly fighting the urge to run away. And yet he dared to hope that she might truly feel the same—that she might love him, in her way. That perhaps, she was just as scared as he was.  She didn’t know it, of course, but she had been the first one to truly reach out to him in so long—that freckled, calloused hand held out like a lifeline, to pull him up out of the fog that hung near the ground. 

He was frightened, sometimes, by the sheer intensity of his feelings. It was a lot for a man to handle, especially one like him, unaccustomed to how happiness felt. The brightness blinded him sometimes. 

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

By this point, he had recognized her for what she was, and understood that nothing was going to be the same from this point out. Even if she did decide that it was all over, he would be better for having known her. He wouldn’t be able to go back to the cold metal of his containment, not knowing that there was a whole world just beyond. 

And then, in the absurd twist that he should have come to expect from his life, she took it into her head that he was leaving her (as if he wasn’t head over heels for her, as if he hadn’t been for months.) She poured out a litany of fears and insecurities, a deluge of pent-up pain that didn’t give him a chance to speak against the onslaught. She stood toe to toe with him, and she challenged him to tell her exactly how he felt.

He answered with his lips against hers.

(The cage shattered around him when she kissed him back.)

Harvey soared.

fin

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 25

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 5.6k

Chapter rating: NSFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, SMUT

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 25: Harmony

You’d both been awake for a while, the soft patter of rain against the windows providing a comforting backdrop to the tranquil morning. Neither of you spoke. Lost in your thoughts, the silence was warm. Your head rested on his chest, the gentle thud of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby that threatened to lull you back to sleep as his hand traced delicate patterns on your back.

You nestled closer, melting into him somehow more than before. His fingers traveled down along your spine before roaming back up, settling at your nape, tangling in your hair. The sensation was both grounding and comforting, a silent communication. You shifted, legs intertwining with his as you looked up at him, your eyes finding his.

He tilted his head, lips meeting your forehead in a tender kiss. The warmth of the gesture sent a ripple of contentment through you. 

“You know,” you started, your voice still thick with sleep. “About Yokubari, I’m not opposed to letting you try again once you feel you’re ready... And about Wado Ichimonji,“ you trailed off for an instant looking for the right words. He quirked an eyebrow, evidently amused at the thought that you were already thoroughly thinking about swords the moment you woke up. “If you’re not ready to let me study it, I can wait.” You felt the low rumble of his chuckles beneath your palm as you carried on. “I know it’s special to you, our deal doesn’t really matter.”

He smiled down at you. Your breath caught at the sight. He was pretty like that. You could see the almost imperceptible freckles on his cheeks, the warmth in his gaze, the satisfaction on his lips. 

“You don’t have to wait.” His hands roamed down against the curves of your body, stopping at the back of your thighs, right before the slope of your rear. His fingers dug into the softness of your skin as he pulled you closer, shifting you so you settled perfectly on him. His lips almost caressed yours as he spoke on, “My swords are yours.”

You frowned at his words. “I’m serious, Roronoa Zoro.” You pushed yourself up, palm firm against his chest as your gaze locked with his. 

He snorted and your frown deepened.

He lifted himself to his elbow, lips meeting yours gently. “So am I,” he murmured, words not far from lost against the backdrop of rain and shuffling sheets.

“No, really,” you protested in a small whine as his hand tangled in your locks once again, as his teeth sank into your lower lip, begging for more. “This is a serious matter.”

He sighed when he realized you weren’t backing down, his breath hot against yours. He slowly sat up, dragging you along so you straddled him. He considered you for an instant, back leaning on the headboard. A chill passed you as you felt the covers fall away from your shoulders, soft cotton caressing bare skin. 

For a moment you thought of pulling them back up but the heat in his gaze as he took in the sight unashamedly stopped you, warmth flushing your skin instead. He reached for his swords at the side of the bed. You hadn’t noticed he’d moved them there in the exhaustion of the previous night’s activities. His grip instinctively found Wado Ichimonji, stare never leaving you in the movement.

“Here.” He presented the sheathed sword to you. “As I said, my swords are yours. You can study it.”

Your fingers traced almost reverently the lacquered wood, your eyes sparkling in anticipation at the thought of delving into the intricacies of the steel. Your attention flickered back to him. “Are you sure? You said it’s special.” 

He looked distant for a moment but neither his smile nor the resolve in his gaze shifted. “It belonged to a childhood friend,” he started to explain as his fingers wrapped against yours. “We made a promise.” He glided both your hands along the scabbard, stopping close to the guard. “That one of us was going to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” His smile faltered, sorrow flickering on his features. “But she died when we were still young.”

“I see.” You didn’t offer sympathies for you knew he wasn’t looking for pity nor consolation, you all had ghosts in your past.

His hand dragged yours to the hilt. “You can study it.” He slowly started to unsheathe the blade.

“Now?” You asked in bewilderment, although unable to hide the hint of excitement in your voice. The metal gleamed in the diffused morning light, your eyes glued to it. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to suppress the giddiness steadily rising at the thought of studying the sword. Your gaze flickered back to his. “But I don’t have my notebook or anything to write down my observations.” 

He chuckled, hands leaving yours, settling on your thighs as he leaned further against the headboard. “You can study it again later,” he said with a cock of his head, amusement clear in his tone. “I want you to tell me what you see.”

You quirked a skeptical eyebrow at his words. “You better not be lying, swordsman,” you mumbled with a squint to your eyes. “I swear if you keep this sword away from me later…”

You expertly sheathed the blade, a clean slate to start your observations. With a deep breath, you centered yourself as you held Wado Ichimonji with a reverence born of admiration. You distantly felt Zoro’s hands drift along your outer thighs, thumb drawing soothing circles, but the sword demanded all your attention.

Your eyes trailed alongst the pure white of the scabbard. “It’s an elegant sword,” you muttered as the tips of your fingers examined the brass fittings. “Beautiful in its simplicity.”

He hummed as your hand glided to the hilt. You traced the guard, it was thicker than you would usually go for, heavy against your palm but flawlessly flowing with the balance. “Does the weight of the tsuba impact how you handle the sword?” You asked him, attention flickering back and forth between the sword and the swordsman.

“Not really,” he answered, touch traveling to your waist, coming back down. 

You smiled as you noticed the teeth marks in the silk wrappings of the handle. “Fair, I haven’t even unsheathed the blade and I can already tell the balance is flawless.” Your fingers traced the tight knots, nails catching in the dips and dents left behind by the countless battles he’d fought. “You know I can rewrap the handle for you, the cords are hanging on by a thread in some places.”

Zoro’s low laughter rumbled through his chest. “You think I’d let anyone rewrap my sword’s handle, witch?” he teased, amusement twinkling in his gaze

You couldn’t help the smirk breaking on your lips. “Not just anyone, swordsman.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ll have you know I have every qualification to do so. But I understand if you want to keep it as it is. Every mark tells a story, right?” 

His fingers continued their soothing pattern on your waist, skin against skin. “Exactly,” he agreed. “But you’re right. It is hanging by a thread, and if anyone’s to rewrap it, it might as well be you.”

You gave a satisfied nod, unable to deny the warmth that coursed through you at his words. Your attention returned to the sword. In a slow motion you unsheathed it, gently dropping the saya at your side.

Your breath stopped at the sight of steel, heartbeat quickening. “Wado Ichimonji,” you whispered, tips of your fingers tracing the groove separating the deep black and pure white steel in perfect balance. “Straight line through the path of harmony.” You gave it a twirl, eyes moving to the sharpness of the edge. “Magnificent. It holds its name well.” 

You balanced it on the tip of your finger a marveled smile gracing your lips as you took in the perfection of its balance.

Your thumb caught on the edge, a bead of blood forming from the small cut momentarily diverting away your attention from the sword. As you brought it to your lips you noticed how his hands roamed across your stomach, your ribs, stopping short of the curve of your breast. Noticed the lust in his gaze, the growing stiffness against your ass. 

“Now, now, swordsman.” You smirked against your finger, tone teasing. “Does seeing a naked woman handle your sword turn you on?”

His smirk matched yours. “Maybe it does,” he admitted, his voice holding something primal in its depths. 

It sent a burgeoning heat between your legs. You moved to set aside Wado Ichimonji, not wanting to risk any damage to the blade but his hand stopped you.

“Don’t.” He brought the sword back between the two of you. His hands slid down your sides, gesture deliberate and possessive as he pressed you more firmly against him, pinning your hips in place. “I want to hear you continue.” One of his hands shifted lower, thumb tracing your slit. His smirk widened as he felt slick against his fingers, felt you twitch as he found your clit in soft circles.

”I won’t sully Wado Ichimonji’s reputation this way,” you protested. 

He simply continued to look upon you, his gaze not leaving yours.

”This blade was forged by the great Shimotsuki Kozaburo, swordsman,” you carried on, voice faltering slightly. “It is a legendary blade, just as much as Shusui is.”

Still nothing, obstinacy evident on his features.

You stifled a whine as you considered it. He pressed a little harder, touch begging for more sounds of pleasure. “You’re impossible,” you complained in a mewl. Your hips almost bucked in answer to his teasing but his grip was firm, grounding you in place. He continued and your eyes fluttered close. Only when he was satisfied by the shameless moan leaving your lips did the intensity of the pressure he exerted on your bundle of nerves relent.

“Go on,” he demanded, the circles against your clit barely perceptible.

“Shit swordsman.” You opened your eyes, drinking in the hunger in his. You swallowed hard at the lust painted on his features, the allure of curiosity mixed with the pulse of desire. “Fuck, fine.” It took all your efforts for your attention to settle back on the blade, low waves of pleasure threatening to divert your focus at any moment. “Its simplicity is deceiving,” you started once again with a determined nod, voice shaky. “It’s the perfect blend between form and function.”

He hummed in encouragement, prompting you on.

“You see how the blade is perfectly separated between the bright white of the sharp edge and the dark black of the shinogi-ji, the dull edge, by the bo-hi, the blood groove.” Your fingers traced the delimitation with reveration. “It tells us a great deal about the steel contents. Mild steel can be made into a bright white like this by cold rolling it. That means the steel was rolled below its recrystallization temperature.” You were overly aware of the heat of his gaze on your lips as you carried on. “This process produces steel that is much harder and of higher strength than steel that is hot rolled.”

You felt his nails dig in the plushness of your flesh, the pressure of his thumb against your clit slowly increasing.

“T-the black half of the blade,” you stuttered, your train of thoughts lost to you for a moment. “The black half of the blade is more of a mystery. At first, I thought it might have been heat treating or a chemical finish. But—” he lifted your hips, fingers sliding inside you with ease. “— fuck swordsman.”

Your hips rolled and your head lulled back for an instant, a needy whine escaping your parted lips. 

“Continue,” his voice dripped with satisfaction as he compelled your attention back to the blade. 

He curled his fingers, the squelch loud in the silence and you let out a string of profanities, mind going blank. Still you carried on.

“But the separation between the two is too sharp for it to simply be a treatment applied to the steel.” The sword shook in your hands as you twirled it around, bringing it closer to your gaze, attempting to observe further. “Then I thought, maybe it had already started becoming a black blade.” 

You let out your haki, probing at the dark steel almost tenderly. It took all your efforts to keep your concentration steady, to allow the black tendrils to flow along the intricate layers, the carefully crafted blend of ores. “Stunning,” you breathed out as you delved deeper. 

“What is?” He asked. His voice caught in his throat as the words left his lips, worship thick in its gruffness as he continued to look upon you. 

“While there are residual traces of haki, the difference in color comes from a truly brilliant mix of metals.” You let go of your haki, the world suddenly fading into insignificance as pleasure slowly threatened to take over the edge of your mind. 

“The amount of skills to achieve such beauty.” Your voice rose an octave as you struggled to continue. “An outstanding display of mastery.”

He rolled his hips against yours and your nails dug into the silk cords of the handle, undoubtedly leaving small crescents alongside the teeth marks etched into it. “S-shit, Zoro. I-I can’t,” you whimpered, as he lined the tip of his cock to your entrance.

His touch trailed up, igniting embers in its path. His slick fingers caressed your cheek lightly before brushing against your lips, moving the malleable flesh to his desire. You could faintly taste your arousal as his hand traveled back down.

The hand at your hips slowly started guiding you down along his length. Your moans mixed together in damp air as he sheathed himself fully inside you. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he murmured, touch sliding along your arm, joining your trembling hand which barely held onto Wado Ichimonji. “The things I wanted to do as you studied Shusui.” 

Your gaze locked with his, your mouth opening in protest. But the raw desire painted on his face stopped you. 

“Please,” he whispered, the plea uttered so low it was lost in the rhythm of the rain.

 “The Hamon is a suguha, a straight temper line. Fitting of the balance and harmony the blade demands.” The string of words left you quickly, your lips moving instinctually as your mind bordered on the edge of ecstasy.

“Good,” he praised, his tone filled with pride and desire. “What else?”

Your hand started trembling almost violently, the katana waving in the air dangerously before his grip settled it once again. 

“A straight Hamon usually has some amount of irregularities due to the natural properties of the clay. But if you look closely, you’ll notice that the line is almost perfect. It indicates that the clay used was strained repeatedly in order to reduce the number of impurities.” 

His fingers dug into your flesh painfully as his hips stuttered against yours. He moved you slowly, your walls fluttering around him and a low moan on his lips.

Your eyes closed and your mind went dizzy as you struggled to keep your breath under control. “The mastery needed to create such a perfectly straight temper line is baffling. When attempting to create a suguha, the thickness of the layered clay needs to be perfectly uniform in order to achieve harmony between strength and resilience. It must have taken hours if not days to achieve this level of perfection, all the while juggling the dampness of the clay.” 

His hand shifted from your hip, his thumb meeting your clit once again. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cried out. “Fuck.” Your mind felt blank and fuzzy, and the tightness at your core was delightful. “The edge is sharp, immovable, ready to cut through any obstacle in its path.” You were struggling to put words in the right order. “Strong, determined, unyielding.”

Your grip left the blade, fingers instinctually finding purchase on his chest, nails digging as your back arched and your thighs trembled as you teetered on the blissful edge. You dimly registered Zoro carelessly setting aside Wado Ichimonji, his hand quickly tangling in your hair, bringing you close, your breaths mixing, your noses touching.

”I want to feel you come around me.” His tone was low, primal.

“Zoro,” you gasped his name, a prayer on your lips as the world faded into oblivion, your toes curling as rapture took you over. 

He swore under his breath as he felt you twitch around him, deep moan intertwining with your high-pitched cry, your trembling lips barely brushing together.

“Make me a sword,” he demanded as you came down from your high. His hands went to your sides, caressed the curves of your breast, dropped to your hips once more. He moved you with more purpose this time around chasing his own pleasure, drawing out a soft gasp from you at the sensitivity of the sensations. 

“You already have three perfectly good swords, swordsman,” you mewled, your fingers exploring the ripples of his chest before threading along his neck, tangling in his short locks, nails digging in his scalp. 

“Make me a sword,” he demanded again.

He slowly dragged you up and down along his cock and you rolled your hips, matching his flow.

”I don’t make swords that won't be used.” 

He smirked at your stubbornness, peppering kisses along your jaw, unto your throat. “I’ll use it.”

You frowned at that. “You already have three swords,” you reiterated with a huff, your tone clipped with annoyance. “And you only have two hands.”

In a flurry he switched your positions. You felt the softness of the mattress against your back as he kneeled between your thighs, the roughness of his fingers upon the plush flesh of your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed back into you in a languid motion, the entirety of your weight on your shoulder blades.

”I’ll find a way to use it,” he said as he slid back out to the tip. “Make me a sword.” He punctuated the statement with a snap of his hips.   

The angle made you see stars, your breath catching and your moans sticking to the back of your throat. “I-I-“ you started to object once more, but he didn’t waste time into setting a ruthless rhythm, hard, fast, rough, just the way he liked it. The sentence on your lips died, instead staggery gasps and pleas flowed in the silence.

”Make me a sword.” His eye traced your features, drank in the pleasure painted on them, roamed to your breast and the captivating way they bounced with each of his thrusts. 

You smiled at the entranced look in his gaze, rolling your hips and meeting his, one of your hands going to your nipple, pinching and rolling, your back arching even more than before. You let out a deliberate moan and his movements stuttered for an instant, a desperate grunt disappearing too quickly in the air.

He smirked at your brazenness. ”Make me a sword.” His demand was now almost a chant. He somehow picked up the pace, his fingers finding your clit once more. 

Your breath stopped and you stiffened as the world seemed to turn around you, your eyes shutting tight and rolling at the back of your head, the promise of orgasm in your reach once more.

”Breathe,” he reminded you, the movements on your clit softening. 

And you let out an unsteady sob, your body both seeking his touch and wanting to back off as your lidded gaze met his again. You frantically twitched around him, your shaking thighs trying to close further against his hips. You were so close.

He stopped. 

His smirk was almost maniacal as his stare took in the myriad of expression that crossed your face. You opened your mouth to say something but he cut you to it.

”Make me a sword, witch.” His fingers dug in, inevitably leaving fresh bruises as he himself struggled with restraint.

”You can’t be for real,” you barely managed to utter. “You already have three incredible swords. There’s no way I can make you a better sword than those.”

He let out an annoyed click of the tongue at your words.

“I want you to make me a sword.” His gaze was intense as he spoke, making sure you understood what he said before his thumb started moving against your clit again.

”Fuck,” you cried, toes curling, head rolling from side to side, hands tangling in the sheets until your knuckles became white.

For a moment you marveled at  the mastery he held over your body, the way he held effortless control over you, the raw strength that allowed him to shift and dominate you in any way he desired. But your thoughts faded into nonexistence as he started pounding back into you, and tears of pleasure threatened to stain your cheeks. 

“Make me a sword,” he punctuated each of the words with a sharp snap of his hips.

 But even in rapture and even as your mind struggled to cling to reality, your stubbornness remained intact.

”You don’t need another sword.” Your voice was unsteady, shaky and drawled out. You were close, the ruthlessness of his fingers on your bundle of nerves making you see double.

”For fuck’s sake, witch,” he let out an annoyed growl, stopping again. “Can you stop being stubborn for once in your life?” His brows were furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat threatening to ripple down his skin. He was close too but just as obstinate as you to get what he desired. 

You cried out in a staggered sob as your pleasure was denied once again. You could feel your slick drip down your thighs, your ass. Your walls twitched desperately against nothing. “You’re being an asshole, swordsman.” You twisted and writhed in search of any sliver of friction.

He smiled, cocking his head cheekily. “Then stop being stubborn and agree to it, witch.” His earrings glinted in the movement.

He easily slid back inside, his pace deliberately torturously slow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you couldn’t help the swears flowing out of your lips, his hold on your waist was firm, keeping you locked in place, at his mercy. ”Fuck, fine.”

His smile turned triumphant as you relented. “You’ll make me a sword, witch?” He asked for confirmation, as he softly pinched your clit, shifted the pattern.

You contorted in his grip, your body searching to contract at the slightly too harsh stimulation. The sheets around you twisted, coming undone at the corners of the bed.  “Yes, fuck, yes I’ll make you a damn sword, you bastard.”

“Good,” he huffed, almost relieved and relenting the pressure on your clit faintly, allowing the tightness at your core to build more steadily. “So fucking good for me.”

His pace picked up, unsteady now that he’d achieved his goal, his own breaths ragged and heavy. Your name passed his lips again and again, deprived and demanding of your attention.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice holding a desperation that sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your body shuddering in his grasp. Your back arched on the verge of the unnatural, your legs yielding their hold around his waist, shaking uncontrollably, your thighs seeking to close themselves. He followed moments later, a deep guttural groan as he found his own release.

He dropped down next to you, satisfied smile on his exhausted features, the bed bouncing in the carelessness of his movement. His hand caressed the dampened skin of your abdomen mindlessly as both of your breathing slowly stabilized.

”So.” You turned your head to face him. His eyes were closed and the happiness on his face made your heart skip a beat. “What kind of sword do you want?” 

“Dunno,” he mumbled sleepily. “I trust you.”

”You can’t ask me to make you a sword like that and not give me an inkling of what you want, swordsman,” your tone was tinged with a growing frustration.

Zoro opened his eye lazily, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I just want something that feels right," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Something that feels like an extension of me. Just like Wado Ichimonji… or Shusui. Whatever you deem best for me."

You sighed, rolling onto your side to better face him. "That's a lot of pressure, you know. Creating a sword that perfect."

He shrugged, eye closing again. "You'll figure it out. Your swords are near perfection."

His unwavering confidence in you sent a feeling unknown through your chest. You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw, the scar on his eye with your fingers. "You have too much faith in me, Roronoa Zoro."

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss on a healed scar marring your palm. "Not enough," he countered, his voice soft but firm. "You're an amazing swordsmith, you know that?"

Your heart fluttered at his words. "You're just saying that because you're half-asleep. I still have a lot to learn."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "Maybe," he conceded. "We’re all forever learning. But I mean it."

“At least give me something to work with, swordsman.” You shifted up to your elbows, your tone serious. “A blade style, the length, fuck even the color of the handle’s wrapping is fine.”

He sighed, your annoyance somehow starting to rub on him. “Told you a trust you.” He leaned up catching your lips, attempting to shut you up, his teeth biting and his tongue lapping, demanding entry.

There was a knock on the door. The sound startling you both. 

“Open up,” Nami shouted. “I know you’re in there.” 

You felt the rhythm of your heart quicken as you tried to scramble out of bed. His hand grabbed your wrist stopping you. 

“Just ignore her,” he said gruffly, not bothering to move.

Nami knocked again, louder than before.

You wrenched your wrist out of his hand with a scoff. “You can’t be for real.” 

“(Y/n)” The navigator’s tone held a warning. “I’ll get the innkeeper to open it if you don’t.”

You blanched, knowing the threat was not empty coming from her. Your eyes went wide as you took in the state of the room, the clothing strung all over the place, your ruined underwear on display. Fuck, it reeked of sex. 

“Nami,” you shouted getting up and falling down with a thud to the floor as your legs gave in. “Shit, give me a sec.”

Zoro laughed softly observing you struggle to gather yourself. “Need some help?”

You glared at him, picking up the skirt at your knees and rose back up unsteadily. “Get fucking dressed, swordsman,” you barked at him as you watched him stretch comfortably into the cushiness of the mattress. 

You pulled on the short garment, fingers trembling against the zipper tab and your back straightening and your thighs clenching as you felt hot seed drip down between your legs. He chuckled, contemplating you for a moment longer before he decided to comply.

You scanned the room in search of the rest of your clothing. “Have you seen my shirt?” You asked him as he zipped up his pants.

A wicked look passed his gaze, but he seemingly abandoned the idea. “Here.” He threw you his overcoat. 

You looked at him with a bewildered expression. “This isn’t my shirt, swordsman,” you stated.

He snorted. “It’ll do a better job at covering you up than that skirt or your shirt.” He gave your thighs a pointed look. 

Heat rose on your cheeks as you slowly caught on. “Fuck.” You hastily wrapped yourself in it. 

He moved to open the door, not bothering with covering himself up more than the bare minimum. 

“Just fucking wait a minute,” you shouted at him, opening the window in a hopeless attempt to air out the room. 

He ignored you. The creak of the hinge was loud in your panicked ears. You quickly gave the comforter a fluff, hoping to hide the blaring wet spot on the sheets.

”What is it?” He asked unceremoniously, not veiling his annoyance at the interruption one bit. 

“Nami, sor-” you stumbled behind him, the words dying on your tongue as you took in the sight. Nami, Luffy, Robin, Franky, Usopp, Chopper. They were all standing before your door. 

“So you did make up,” The navigator spoke first, her tone dripping with amusement.

Luffy grinned, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Why didn’t you guys come back earlier if you already made up?”

Robin’s knowing smile widened as she took in the scene. “We thought you two might still be fighting.”

Chopper looked the both of you over, his eyes lingering on the bruises and marks peppered all over your skin. “Did you guys fight a wild animal or something?” He asked with genuine curiosity, already reaching in his bag for bandages.

Franky audibly snorted.

”We’re fine, doc,” you quickly reassured the little reindeer. “We didn’t fight anything.” You uttered the words at the same time a Zoro cheekily said, “You could say something like that.”

Usopp’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the state of disarray. “Uh, maybe we should give them some privacy,” he suggested nervously, blush slowly rising on his cheeks as he tugged at Chopper’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Franky let out a hearty laugh. “Nah, nah. We should at least get to have SOME fun too.”

You felt your face burning with embarrassment. “What do you all need?” you asked, trying to sound composed despite the circumstances.

Nami crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “We just wanted to make sure you two were okay. And maybe give you a hard time.”

Robin chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It seems like you’ve both been quite… productive.”

“Seems like you guys had a SUPER night,” Franky added.

Nami’s smirk widened. “We need to leave soon. The repairs are done, the weather’s clearing up, and we’re moving out.”

Zoro nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the intrusion. “We’ll be there.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Can we please just get ready and go?”

With a satisfied nod from Nami, the crew started to disperse, but not before she gave you a sly wink. “Don’t take too long,” she warned. “If you’re not there by tomorrow morning, we’re leaving you behind.”

As the door closed, you turned to Zoro, who was watching you with a lazy grin. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile.

He shrugged, pulling you close again. He kissed your jaw, down your throat. Pinning you against the door. You dimly heard Franky’s booming voice from down the corridor. Something about everyone owing him a thousand berries. 

His hands shifted the fabric of his overcoat, fingers gathering the mix of his cum and your slick as he held you more firmly. His gaze was blown with lust as he brought them to his mouth, licking them clean. 

“You love it,” he said leaning forward, capturing your lips, the taste of your arousals heavy on your tongue as he deepened the kiss. 

Despite yourself, you couldn’t argue with that. 

You smirked against his lips, playfully switching the both of you, pinning him to the door instead. He quirked an eyebrow but he indulged you in whatever you planned on doing.

”Nami said to be there before tomorrow morning.” You glanced at the window, the soft glow of the afternoon sun shining through the light rain clouds. Your fingers skillfully undid the button of his pants, pulled down the zipper before diving in and meeting his hardening cock. He let out a shaky groan, his head slamming back against the wood of the door as he gazed down at you amusedly. Your thumb passed his tip and the moan that escaped his lips was downright addictive. “I think we have plenty of time, swordsman.”

When you finally made your way to the Thousand Sunny it was with Zoro carrying you on his back and Wado Ichimonji in your grasp as you pointed the sword in an attempt to direct the swordsman to the ship. The sun was low on the horizon, slowly rising for the new day. His overcoat was wrapped around your shoulders and he strode unbothered by the light rain and droplets rippling on his skin.

Your voices were loud as you approached, clearly stuck in a habitual standstill.

“You can’t just tell me to make you a sword and not give me a single guideline,” you almost yelled at him, pointing the katana left.

“And I already told you I trust you,” he retorted turning right.

“For fuck’s sake, wrong side, swordsman,” you sighed, hitting his shoulder lightly. “The ship’s in fucking view.”

He turned.

”Now do you want a chokuto style blade or a tachi or a wakizashi or something else entirely,” you huffed and punctuated each of your suggestions by flailing the sword around.

“Whatever you deem best,” he answered noncommittally. 

He passed the gangplank of the Sunny.

“You can’t be for real,” you complained, gesturing him to go back. “What about the handle, do you want silk? Leather? A specific color?”

“I like silk,” he mumbled under his breath, the loud thuds of his footsteps against the wood plank almost eclipsing his words.

“Fucking finally,” you shouted in victory, somehow excited now that you had a detail down, even though it was an extremely minor decision. “What about the color? Hm?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, readjusting his grip on you with a small hoist. “I don’t know, green?”

“Green, huh?” You pondered, the image of a sword already starting to form in your mind. “I like green.”

“You guys!” Luffy beckoned you to him. He was excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked at the log pose. “You’re finally back.” The pirate captain pointed at the violently flickering needle. 

Nami sighed in defeat.

“Look how fast it’s going,” he mused. “I wonder what’s there!”

His infectious laughter made you smile, a wave of happiness and contentment washing over you. You supposed it was the start of a new adventure.

-The end

a/n: Thank you for reading to the end! I hope you have enjoyed this silly little story of mine as much as I have enjoyed writing it! I’m not going to lie, I will miss these two idiots so much! Ahhhhhh I’m getting teary eyed thinking about it. I can imagine them bickering in punk hazard, their bodies switching! And I can imagine the sweet fluffy downtime these two would get on the polar tang, interacting with the heart pirates as they head to Wano. And oh the whole learning about new smithing processes in Wano, maybe even learn how to smith seastone! Anyways I find it bittersweet to have to let them carry on in my imagination but I think this is a good place to stop. I may or may not write a few bonus chapters for this story, explore some events in different arcs. So keep an eye out for that if it’s something you’d like to read (you can even request some and I’ll happily indulge you!) Thank you again for reading 💕

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Masterlist

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight. 

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say. 

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.  

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan. 

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered.  You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

 A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

 ===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention. 

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence. 

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.” 

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing?  “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”  

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

 “I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

 === 

 “I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning. 

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.” 

[apopcornkernel]

some thoughts on jason, post-reread of teen titans #29

the curious thing is that geoff johns writes jason wanting to be remembered, memorialized with the other dead titans—he throws tim into donna's statue, yells, where's MY statue? so i wonder—have i been wrong all this time? would he have actually appreciated bruce's horrific glass case?

another thing. if jason, according to this issue, knows that batman didn't arbitrarily "replace" him, so to speak, then why did he go to all that effort to beat tim up? ... in the comic he says smth about tim being nowhere near good enough to be robin/to measure up to jason's robin... perhaps he was lying to himself and Did feel resentment for the replacement despite his statements to the contrary. and jason notably keeps children away from his gig but perhaps he reasoned with himself that tim was trained by batman ans he could take it. perhaps he just wanted to have an excuse to vent his frustration and anger and grief onto the boy even if he knew it was wrong, even if it went against his moral code. or perhaps (see panel) he was even pulling a leslie and hoped the beatdown would also decommission tim and get him out of the vigilante lifestyle? EDITED TO ADD: im feeling more of the first explanation tbh. i talked about it with a friend and its really so easy to forget how young jason is. i think he was genuinely just very upset and deliberately took it out on tim despite knowing it wasn't exactly tim's fault. hey maybe some selfish part of him wanted bruce to never move on. maybe some part of him recognizes tim as a driving factor for it and resents tim ror that. girl idk. i don't even want to say that this comic is ooc or not because revived jason media is all so wildly varying in characterization so once again this is a reminder that i am simply Working Within The Confines Of The Text

of course, it could always be mischaracterization/shaky writing of character motivation. but i think there's merit in looking at complicated comics and examining the messy dynamics, especially since this issue has been more or less accepted as unmissable canon.

speaking of complicated comics, i actually also have thoughts on dick and jason's dynamic based on how they were written in nightwing: brothers in blood. remind me to crosspost from my private twt acc!

one last thing: i actually love that jason is aware of bruce's "spiral into darkness" and STILL continues to enact his plan. it's the whole false equivalence of "bruce kills the joker == bruce loves me", "bruce doesn't kill the joker == bruce doesn't love me", or at least not enough. he's refusing to accept bruce's grief as penance. jason has already named his price, and he will not recant it. he will accept nothing less than the death of the joker 😋😋😋

[acerathia]

pink camellias || Chapter 8: lotus flower

Chapter Summary:

lotus flower: purity, enlightenment, self-regeneration, and rebirth

Wordcount: 2.8k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

crossposting after uhhhhhhhh

Normally, if you escaped a place, particularly some form of prison cell, you would expect some resistance to your escape. But as there was none, a bad feeling had crept up your throat, until you understood what the situation was when you finally opened the door to the outside.

There weren’t any guards waiting for you to push you back whatsoever, rather, the whole open area outside was filled with the smell of smoke and blood, corpses slowly piling up against the walls. At the sight of this full-on fight, you hesitated to step through the door, too aware of your vulnerability and weaknesses. You had no armor or a proper weapon, you doubted you would fare any good if you just jumped into the brutal fray in front of you.

The Captain stopped close behind you, his eyes glancing over the battlefield, analyzing the situation in seconds. And he seemed to have found something displeasing, as a snarl formed itself on his face before he pushed past you, his steps so sure and steady.

You just watched as his broad back shoved and pushed, until he was out of your sight. Normally, you would just follow him, or get into the fight, keen on showing your own prowess. But for some reason you didn’t trust yourself back onto the battlefield, you reasoned it’s because you didn’t know these people fighting, even if they were part of the same army as you, according to the colors they were wearing. And how dare you disturb their harmony and strategies.

So, you stayed close to the wall, trying to avoid fighting if possible. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, waited for the battle to be over. All while realizing how fast, yet slow such a scenario could be. Because watching all these people die in a blink of an eye, yet the war would take on for a long time after that.

Before you could even delve too deep into these thoughts, a horn sounded. The fighting slowly came to a rest and people started to look up one of the walls. You did too. And you vaguely recognize the person standing there, green hair fluttering softly in the breeze. He had soft features, a brilliant smile filling them with sunshine. The effect of his presence was almost felt immediately. Yet, you couldn’t help but notice the specks of blood amongst his freckles. For some reason, these signs of battle made you rather trust him more.

He began to thank everyone, telling them their efforts were the reason they were able to do this in the first place. And that congratulations were in order, as this was officially the last battle, the war was over. He began to clap, and applause and shouts slowly started, forming a wave throughout the whole mass of people, until everyone was already celebrating.

You too felt the elation seeping into your muscles, relaxing you to the soul. Thus, your knees began to tremble, the pain of the wound slowly spreading once again. With a breath, you let yourself slide onto the ground, finally taking a rest. You didn’t notice how tense the whole situation had made you until it ceased to exist. Still, you couldn’t help but stay perked up as you glanced around, looking for the shining golden hair.

But the whole place was in a flurry, making it difficult to see anything, much less spot someone in between all these people. You were about to stand up when someone else let themselves fall onto the ground beside you. You slightly flinched, as you hadn’t noticed someone getting closer to you. Your muscles tensed up as you looked to your side, only to see the person you had been looking for.

Immediately you felt said tension melt away once again and you leaned against the wall. He wordlessly handed you a botbag, and you wanted to reach for it. But instead of handing it to you, he grabbed your hand with his and poured a bit of water into your palm. He then used his fingers to clean the dirt off your hand as best as possible. And you let him, let his callouses carefully drive over yours, over your softer skin at the back of your hand, over the small scars accumulating there. His touch stayed careful no matter where he brushed against your skin. And after he was done, he repeated it with the other hand of yours again.

After that, both of your hands were as clean as possible in such a place as this, but he still didn’t surrender the water to you, rather he let a couple of drops fall onto his fingers before he slowly brought his thumb closer to you, at such a slow rate to give you time to pull away. Yet you don’t, and his rough skin meets your cheek, your chin, your nose, swiping softly. All while he stared intently at the different spots of your face, keen on not letting anything slip away. And you, you watched him, watched the small frown between his eyebrows, the purse of concentration of his lips, the slight narrow of his eyes, his lashes fluttering softly against the dimmed, calm red of chrysanthemum.

These exact eyes shot up to meet yours, and you blinked in surprise. His thumb brushed once again over your cheek before he pulled away, avoiding your gaze with the movement. Now he was ready to actually hand you the botbag, and you took it, water moving inside of it. You looked at it before once again looking back at him. He had put a grumpy face on, but the way his shoulders leaned against the wall told you how relaxed he actually was. You couldn’t help but smile as you took a couple of slips of water. Your shoulder brushing his as you looked back to the joyful crowd.

Despite the joy filling the air, you were glad to hear about the departure back, because if you were being honest, you didn’t want to stay any longer in this wretched place. You reported your presence to the captain of the division, which had stormed this place. Meeting him made you feel some sense of déja-vu, almost like you had met him before. He introduced himself as a marquis, and you thought you might have glanced at him in some gathering. Not that it mattered in the current situation. Especially with the way he immediately sent you to the set-up infirmary at the sight of the bloody knot around your thigh. He hadn’t seemed alarmed at the other blood covering your clothes, so he seemed to have a keen sense. You were glad that another capable person was on this side.

With no complaints you visited the infirmary, where they told you to get clean first and to change out of these clothes. You reckoned it would be better to just burn them. But you would gladly take these clean clothes and change into them. So, you followed whatever the nurse had told you to do, before coming back again, feeling much better and lighter.

The nurse told you to sit down, and you did. She rolled up your pants to examine the wound. Without any explanation she handed you a piece of tissue, and you frowned at it, as you didn’t know what you were meant to do with it. She seemed to have noticed your confusion, as she curtly told you to put it into your mouth to bite on it. After you did so, she poured some clear liquid over the wound, and you couldn’t help but flinch as your wound began to burn. This sensation spread through your veins and you thought you felt it down to your toes. Still, it was something you could endure without fuss.

It seemed that simply thinking that jinxed your fate, as the nurse pulled out a needle with one hand, while the other hand pushed her fingers into the wound, grabbing something. And the pain turned more hot, more intense with her pinching, but all you could do was bite onto the tissue in your mouth and close your eyes. You could feel the point of the needle penetrate your muscles, and you tried your best to not tense your thigh, lest it made it worse. Still, you couldn’t help the occasional tremor coursing through your muscles.

After a couple of stitches, she took a step back, and you took the time to breathe in relief, the wound still feeling hot, but at least the sharp pain had stopped. Or at least you thought so. Because the nurse came back and poured the same burning liquid over your thigh again, but this time the burning was less severe, so it had to be over. You looked at the nurse, expecting her to tell you how to care for it, yet she pinched the skin around your wound once again, this time closing the edges of it together. You ripped your eyes wide open as you realized that you had to endure the same thing once again. A low moan escaped you, tired of sitting here and taking this stabbing. But nonetheless, you continued to sit there with your jaw tightly gripping the tissue.

You had no idea how long these couple of stitches took, but your skin felt sore, so you were too keen on getting up when she finally finished. But she stopped you, wrapping your thigh with a clean bandage all while explaining to you that you should not strain yourself too much or allow it to get wet, lest it opens up or gets infected. She also reminded you to change the bandage regularly. You nodded and thanked her, before finally escaping the tent. You felt worn down after this treatment and you felt your leg refusing to fully carry you.

Luckily, the way back wasn’t strenuous, as someone had lent you their horse instead of walking the whole distance on your feet. Soon, you arrived at the main base, but instead of allowing you to help get everything together, the first order you got was to pack your things, as the hurt ones were the ones to go home first, to give them more time to heal properly. At this order you couldn’t help but frown, you were hurt, but it didn’t incapacitate you to that degree. Still, you just couldn’t refuse, rather, you were glad for the possibility of going home. After everything, you did miss your home quite a bit.

You were quickly swept away, and before you knew it, you were back. Standing in front of the mansion in the capital. Until then, it was too late to realize that you had forgotten to ask the Captain about his name, or how to meet him again, and this realization crushed you a bit. You would have liked to meet him outside of a battlefield, but alas.

After a breath, you finally step through the gate, at least you tried to before the guards stopped you. You sighed, wished to just have gotten in through the hole in the wall, but you indulged them.

“Stop right here! The marquis is not expecting any visitors, nor beggars,” he added after letting his gaze swipe over your slightly dirty clothes.

You raised your eyebrows, because you were aware that these clothes looked well-worn the most. At least he didn’t utter any worse words, ones you would not be able to forgive as easily.

Before answering him, you straightened your back and shoulders. “Well, he doesn’t need to. Let me in, or you shall regret it.”

He scoffed at you, turning to the other silent guard in a way to mock you. Looking back at you, he sneered. “Begone, you wretch.”

You felt heat rising in your chest, your hand finding the hilt of the sword at your side. His gaze reminded you too well of someone, and you wanted him to stop. But contrary to the other one, the one missing his life, you had another possibility of getting rid of it. So, you smiled slightly.

“Now, you shouldn’t say something you might regret,” you said, noticing a group of people finally arriving.

You hoped they would, as someone would have for sure caught sight of you and recognized you despite your clothes. The gate opened and the head butler shoed these two away.

“Welcome back, my lady,” he bowed before you, his entourage following his example.

Glancing at the guard, you smirked at him before stepping into the ground. His shocked expression was worth the wait.

Immediately everyone began welcoming you with excited chatter, and you smiled and listened to them, telling them how glad you were to be back.

And initially, you wanted to go inside and clean yourself and change into something more suited before meeting your father, yet there he was, in front of the door, his cane in his hand. You stopped a couple of steps in front of him before falling into a curtsy. Slowly standing up again, you expected him to be angry, to tell you off. But instead, he let his cane drop, his arms wounding around you in an embrace.

“I’m so glad to have you back, my dear daughter,” he sighed, and you immediately melted and returned the hug.

For a moment you both just stayed like this, before he stepped back again, letting his hands rest on your shoulders.

“Despite that, I am furious with you. You shouldn’t have done that. Thus you’re under house arrest indefinitely,” he explained, his jaw tense as he let his gaze swipe over your face. “Now go and rest.”

You pouted, but you obliged, because you should have seen that coming. No sane person would let your actions go unpunished. But you also didn’t mind, as the rest and free time was the perfect thing to do now.

“Also, no sword training.”

Now, you gaped at him with an open mouth, before grabbing your chest dramatically. “No, why would you do this to me, father,” you whine.

He only sighed. “You cannot change my mind.” With these words he softly shoved you into the building.

Well, there was truly nothing you could do against his decision. So, you went back to your room, to find the bathtub already filled with steaming water. Before you could even comprehend your own next steps, your maids had already grabbed you and pushed you carefully into the water, taking your clothes away to be washed.

The warm water calmed your sore muscles, and you moaned silently in delight. You enjoyed being submerged in hot water, until they grabbed you once again, slathering your hair in various concoctions and scrubbing your skin till you felt like new, and raw. Still, their fingers were kind to you, and you let yourself trust them with yourself. All while they paid attention to care for the wound in your thigh.

After the whole procedure, you got wrapped in a bathrobe and led back into your room. There, they began to prepare you for bed, even if you didn’t plan on sleeping just yet, you were supposed to rest, and dinner was going to arrive in your room.

But the moment the bathrobe disappeared, you gleamed a peak at the mirror, and then upon seeing your own reflection there, you froze. Your skin was littered with scars, some shimmering faintly, yet others bulging across your body, marring you. You had been aware of them, of course, how could you not, you had felt each one of these. But for some reason it was quite different to feel them than to see them. Your fingers grazed one on your shoulder, and their feel against your fingertips was foreign. With this sight, numerous consequences went through your head, too many to process.

Someone carefully grabbed your hand, their palm covering the back of your hand. You looked to one of your maids, feeling a bit lost. She stroked your skin with care.

“It’s going to be okay, my lady. You’re a shining star, still,” she told you, and the others nodded in agreement.

And once again, they took over, preparing you, and you suddenly felt much more exhausted than you had anticipated. Something weighting heavy in your chest. So, you barely noticed being dressed and getting dinner.

Only once you began to eat your focus returned to you. In front of you there was a steaming plate of your favorite dish, and you couldn’t help but to smile. With each bite, you felt the care in your food, and you felt yourself tearing up. Everyone still cared about you, still liked you. Even if you had changed, even if you had done unspeakable things. They still cared, despite you being another person, despite you not being the same lady they had served before.

Tears dripped down your chin, but you didn’t stop eating, you chewed and enjoyed and were thankful for everything you had.

And before falling asleep after, you thought that maybe, maybe everything was still going to work out.