#also somewhat doze mention in the second one but that doesn’t count

[aquared]

out of all the au designs i’ve made so far these guys are probably my favorite here are some doodles

[harrysweasleys]

both a little crazy // d.m

request: Hi! Just noticed ur requests r open! Can u please do a Draco x Slytherin Reader in which the Reader is a bad boss biatch and is TOTALLY savage, but her and Draco hides feelings for each other?

warnings: very brief mentions of torture, language?? not proof read bc i am sick and dont feel like it i am sorry

word count: 3.1k

a/n: don’t mind the fact that i based the reader off of rosa diaz. :)))) enjoy! (also yes i reposted this bc my tumblr wasnt working and tags were wonky!)

——

Your head was held rather high as you entered the Great Hall, your eyes pointed straight towards the Slytherin table in hopes that no one would talk to you as you walked over. It was way too early for conversation, in your opinion. Any attempt would just be sour.

You took your usual seat next to Pansy, who’s head was down on the table as she breathed slowly — quite possibly sound asleep. It wouldn’t be a surprise. She was not one for early mornings either. Quite possibly less so than you were.

The empty goblet in front of you was quickly filled with pumpkin juice before you took a big gulp, hoping the familiar liquid would help bring a bit of energy into you. However, that was a failed attempt as you felt your eyes stay heavy, your head swaying to the side slightly before a loud voice startled you out of your dozed out state.

“Crabbe, shut your mouth,” you snapped, silencing the boy sitting across from you who looked over with wide eyes, his mouth closing slowly, “You just woke up half the bloody hall with your laughter.”

Pansy jumped up from next to you, thick red marks across her forehead that resembled the wooden carvings on the table she was just rested against. You let out a low chuckle, eyes darting towards the entrance to the Hall — what you saw made you stop your laughing and sit up straighter.

Draco, accompanied by a brunette Slytherin, waltzed in with a smile on his face. You looked down immediately, hating the bubbling jealousy that threatened to emerge. You had seen the two together before but it didn’t help the sudden onslaught of negative emotions every time you saw him with her.

Maybe, possibly, you’ve had dreams where you use muggle torture techniques to keep her out of your life.

But no one needed to know that.

“Ah, Malfoy’s brought his admirer,” Pansy sighed, resting her chin on her hand, “What a surprise.”

You scoffed, trying to play it off, “When doesn’t he?”

No one knew of your little crush on Draco Malfoy. And if things were to go your way, no one would ever know. Being sly was always one of your specialties and you were rather proud of that. You didn’t let people in on a lot of secrets and you were bound to keep this one to yourself too.

“Fair point,” Pansy said lowly as Draco walked towards the table with an arrogant smirk on his face. A pleasantly attractive smirk, yes, but it was arrogant nonetheless. And you wanted to bite your own tongue off at the knowledge that the brunette was the one that put it there.

He sat across from you, seated between Crabbe and Blaise, but you didn’t greet him. Pettiness was overtaking your mood and you sat quietly, not even turning up to face him as you picked at some breakfast foods to put into your plate. Your day already felt like it was ruined — as dramatic as that was.

“You ready for tonight’s Quidditch game?” Blaise asked nonchalantly, taking a sip of tea and raising his eyebrows at Draco. You hid a scoff.

“Yep, can’t wait,” you sighed, leaning forwards, “The rain will really up the fun factor.”

You looked up at the bewitched ceiling, the heavy rain clouds pouring down on the students below. The drops obviously never reached anyone, but it was still awfully gloomy. You always hated playing in the rain. You’d end up in bed, shivering and wet with the early signs of a cold.

“Only reason I joined the team was to take down Gryffindor,” Draco sneered, “Will gladly get to do that tonight.”

“That’s if we win,” you scoffed, “Potter’s always got one up on you. You should probably fix that.”

After saying the words, you felt guilt blossom in your chest. You knew Draco’s weakness was the fact that his ‘sworn enemy’ Harry Potter always beat him — you had never really thrown it into his face until now.

You could see the change in his mood from the way his eyes grew slightly darker, glaring at you as if he wanted to retaliate. His shoulders slouched downwards and he leaned forwards on the table.

“Well, what’s got your wand in a twist this morning?” the corner of his lip curved up into a smirk and you had to force yourself to look away from him so you wouldn’t cave.

Shrugging, you kept your voice neutral, “Just saying. Maybe it’ll give you more incentive to win and prove me wrong,” you picked up your cup, avoiding eye contact if at all possible.

He eyed you, confusion laced into the creases of his forehead. You had never snapped at him like this before but you just couldn’t help it. The faint smirk quickly vanished and was replaced with a scowl as he turned down to face his plate.

You bit the inside of your cheek, absentmindedly picking at the scraps of bacon and toast on your plate. This section of table grew awfully quiet at your outburst, an awkward air surrounding all of you.

Being friends with Draco, it wasn’t rare that the two of you bickered. He always carried his nose and chin high, and sometimes you liked to knock him down a peg, no matter how much you swooned over the platinum headed boy. His charismatic charm was just one of the endless reasons he always thought he could get his way.

“Seriously,” Pansy leaned over and whispered in your ear, “What’s up? Why’d you say that?”

A blush rose to your cheeks and your snapped your head to her, “Out of my business, Parkinson.”

Her eyes widened and she held her hands up in surrender, “My bad.”

You let out a huff and went back to eating your meal, very much aware of Draco’s eyes piercing the top of your scalp as you kept your own eyes facing down, attempting with all of your might to avoid any more conversation than necessary.

Tonight’s match should be fun.

——

As usual, Potions class was a complete drag.

Snape was in his usual foul mood, nitpicking every single damn thing. You were used to it by now, having been in Snape’s house for nearly six years now, but it didn’t mean you particularly enjoyed it.

Least of all now, after being paired with Draco for a potions assignment.

If this were any other day, your heart would be doing leaps inside of your chest right about now — however the idea of just the two of you having to work together and talk was slightly nauseating after this morning’s outbreak.

“So,” he sat next to you, sliding awkwardly into the empty seat, “You still mad at me?”

You scoffed, flipping through the pages of you book, “Wasn’t cross with you.”

Fun fact about Draco Malfoy; he always saw right through you.

“C’mon,” he nudged your shoulder, causing you to look up from your book, “Don’t think you’ve ever spoken to me like that before.” His soft voice and piercing eyes were so hard to lie to. You always found yourself tempted to spill your deepest darkest secrets.

“I said I wasn’t mad at you,” you forced a smile, “I’ve got... other things going on.”

He didn’t believe you for a second, “What other things?”

You blessed Salazar and all of the Hogwarts founders that Snape decided to do his rounds, cutting your awkward conversation short and placing a piece of paper on your desk — the name of the potion you’d have to make.

Wiggenweld.

Grinning, you re-opened your book and began scanning through, landing on the very worn down page with said potion on it. You couldn’t count how many times you’ve made this, which was great since you could do it easily and get away from Draco as soon as possible.

“Stop ignoring me,” he pushed, a small smile on his face, “We’ve gotta team up and play well together tonight so you might as well come clean.”

“Stay out of my business and I won’t have to hex you,” you said through gritted teeth, your voice low so no one could overhead. You reckon that’d be quite embarrassing.

He leaned even closer to you — close enough that you could smell some sort of faint cologne and laundry detergent lingering on his house robes. Close enough that you could see the small strands of brown hair in the sea of bleach blond. Close enough that his eyes weren’t just blue; they were turquoise. Green stars scattered amongst a sky of blue.

Close enough that you nearly forgot to breathe.

“I’ll find out eventually, you know?” he looked over the page in your book and began writing the ingredients and steps down on the parchment in front of him.

You fought back a chuckle at his childish handwriting.

He offered to go get the ingredients and you let him do so as you cleaned up your desk, preparing it to become a potion station. You hated working in a dirty environment and so you attempted to make the dingy desk as spotless as possible.

Your partner had been gone for quite a while as you felt slightly guilty. There were quite a few ingredients to Wiggenweld and it’d be tough for him to walk back with everything in his hands. You gazed over to see if he needed help, your heart leapt up into your throat.

Draco was leaned up against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest and a smirk on his face as he chatted to the same Slytherin girl from breakfast.

You bit down on your tongue, fighting a deep breathe that would surely give away your overwhelming jealousy. After taking a good long moment to calm down the rapid, angry beating of your heart, you balled your fists behind your back and walked over to him.

“Give me these,” you snatched the bottles and ingredients from his hands, looking anywhere but his eyes as you turned away from him, “When you feel like actually doing the work, that’d be great.”

Storming back to the table and placing everything down in a somewhat organized fashion, you decided to turn over to Blaise at the table next to you, “Wanna switch partners?”

He let out a low chuckle, looking over to the quiet Hufflepuff boy that was chopping away at the other half of the ingredients, “Mine’s actually working so I’d say no.”

“So selfish,” you scoffed, shaking your head, “Mine’s off being a git.”

Dropping the tool he was using to grate a unicorn horn, Blaise crossed his arms and walked over to you, “Lucy? She’s great.”

You let your hair fall from behind your ears to hide your frustrated blush, “Yeah, she’s real great. Taking his time while he should be here working”

If you had looked away, you would have missed the smirk that overtook his face. However, you noticed it, and it only made the blush on your cheeks grow even deeper.

“Oh, I see what’s going on,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“No you don’t,” you snapped, “Go back to work or I’ll cut your tongue off and use it as an ingredient.”

He stepped back, but the smirk and amusement never left his face. Blaise was intuitive, yes — but you were being incredibly obvious, that much was certain. Him putting the pieces together was your fault, really.

“Oi, don’t attack me. If you’re to go after anyone, wouldn’t it be her?” he nudged his head in the direction of the girl that Draco was now walking away from, “after all, she’s the one stealing your man.”

“Shut your face,” you spoke lowly, glaring him down with all of your might as he walked back to his table with a chuckle. You watched as he went back to work before you decided to do the same yourself, picking up a tiny bottle and reading the label before unscrewing the tiny lid.

Draco’s bright head popped up on the other side of the table, “We getting started?”

Fighting the urge to snap, you nodded your head slowly, “So kind of you to join. Now get to work.”

He brushed your comment aside, stepping closer to you and ignoring your demand to get to work, “Do you know Lucy?”

Biting down on your tongue, you shook your head, “Nope. Your girlfriend?” You hated how bitter and insecure you sounded but at the moment, that was really the least of your concerns. All logic has been thrown out the window.

He rolled his eyes and let out a small laugh, “Bloody hell, no. She’s actually interested in Zabini. But I was wondering—”

“Wait, what?” you asked, nearly knocking a tiny bottle over as you leaned into the table, trying to get closer to him as if your hearing was off. Which, by the sound of what he said, you assumed it might be.

“What?” he stopped, “I’m trying to help her get with Zabini. He keeps talking about her.”

Suddenly, you felt like a complete idiot. The blush on your cheeks resurfaced and your heart did a leap against your ribcage.

“Oh,” you looked down, letting out a humourless chuckle, “I’m so sorry.”

Of course, you had jumped to conclusions. That’s what you always did. And now here you were, looking like a complete idiot and making your feelings blatantly obvious. The one thing you had been trying to avoid.

“Sorry? For what?” he was now the one to be confused, “What’s going on?”

“I—,” you blinked rapidly, looking over at him and trying your best to come up with any sentence that could make sense, “Nevermind. Let’s just get back to work.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly put off by how oddly you had been behaving all day so far, but he didn’t press the subject. You knew he’d ask you about it later, but that was for another time. You couldn’t exactly blame him either. If the tables were turned and he was the one behaving oddly, you’d be on his rear about it too.

You made a promise to yourself to talk to him after tonight’s game. The conversation might end up going against your one goal, and it might end up going really badly for you, but you had to tell him. It was time.

——

The Quidditch match ended up being a breeze. You guys ended up victorious by a landslide, Draco catching the snitch with a massive grin on his face. The relief spread through your body like a tidal wave as you watched him hold up the tiny golden ball — but what was even better was watching Gryffindor stalk off the field with glum expressions.

A real victory.

The Slytherin team gathered down on the pitch, surrounding a boastful Draco as he held his head high. A part of you wanted to go down, give him a hug and apologize for the rude comments you made this morning — but the other part of you thought that he was fine celebrating without you. You’re the one who made him feel like complete crap this morning; why would he want to celebrate with you?

You smiled from afar, walking into the Slytherin tent. You were alone, obviously. Everyone was still shouting and cheering on the pitch and you highly doubted the partying would end anytime soon.

The perfect escape for you.

You hung up your broom and removed your uniform, bundling yourself in a comfy sweater and leggings so you could walk back up to the castle without getting too cold now that the sun was gone.

Hoping no one would catch you sneaking off before party plans were made, you began to open the tent door, only to be interrupted by a voice.

“Not sticking around?”

You spun on the spot, facing a rather sweaty and satisfied looking Draco. You cursed his good looks under your breath, knowing that you’d have a hard time saying no to him while he looked like this.

“Not feeling well,” you lied, shrugging and looking down at the ground.

He stepped closer to you, “Right, you’ve been odd all day. What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing again.”

You took a deep breath, biting your lower lip as you gazed back up at him, looking into the eyes that made butterflies fly wildly in your belly.

“I spoke to Blaise and I think I know what your problem is,” he stepped even closer, the space between the two of you now only a few inches.

Letting out a small laugh, you shook your head, “That little git.”

He pursed his lips, placing one of his warm hands on the side of your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat and you leaned into his touch, not sure where he was going with this but enjoying every second of it.

One step closer, and he was nearly flush against your body. He was radiating warmth, his entire body still high off of the win, and you swore he could feel your rapid heartbeat.

Why else would he be smirking like that?

His smirk didn’t last long, however, as his lips pressed against yours.

Many people say their first kiss with their crush is soft, delicate — this wasn’t the case here. His lips pressed against yours with feverish passion, bringing the temperature in the small tent up by at least ten degrees. His lips were hot and wet as they moulded against yours, both hands cupping the sides of your face as he locked his body up against yours.

How many times you dreamt of this, you couldn’t count. But by Merlin, was it better than you could have ever imagined. You felt as if you were dancing with him, letting loose and moving to a rhythm of heartbeats. It was truly a beautiful feeling; one that you hoped you’d get to experience again.

“Well,” he muttered against your lips after pulling away, “Guess I was right.”

You wanted to retaliate and give him a sarcastic comment, but your mind was too numb and flummoxed to do so.

“Sorry I was acting all crazy,” you sighed, looking up into his blissful eyes, “Perhaps it’s true when they say jealousy makes people do crazy things.”

“It’s alright, love,” he smirked, placing hands on both sides of your waist and pulling you even closer, “We’re both a little crazy then.”

It felt like hippogriffs were fluttering around your belly as he kissed you once more, hands tightening their grip as he deepened the passionate act.

This would be awkward to explain when the team walked in, but for now, the two of you were perfectly content as you were.

Finally together.

——

taglist

@grierpilots​

@hxfflxpxffs​

@mikumana​

@msmimimerton​

@pit-and-the-pen​

@diary-of-an-onliner​

@theweirdsideofstuff​

@thoseofgreatambition​

@theweasleysredhair​

@haphazardhufflepuff​

@starlightweasley​

@mytreec​

@thisismysketchbook​

@obsessedwithrandomthings​

@valwritesx​

@ickle-ronniekins​

[sugar-petals]

BTS Tarot Reading ➝ What Kind Of Porn Do They Watch? (18+)

↳ NOTE - due to several requests, a steamy and detailed one. ☕️ we’re asking the cards about the erotica they fancy in a wider sense. 

warning ⚠️ 18+ // bdsm mentions, worship, kinks left and right. we’re going graphic in all types o’ ways, lads.

♡ DISCLAIMER // tarot is speculative, there is no guarantee for accuracy. believing in the cards is a choice. all portrayals are fictive and for entertainment purposes only.

SPREAD #1:

yoongi

⌈ THE WORLD ⇁ Jesus... Someone’s obsessed with girls in the nude. That card has a stark naked woman wrapped in very little satin on it so you know what our funky little guy is up to. Luscious aesthetic fotos might be just around his corner. Big duh, he’s a photography major. These folks are all about body appreciation. He’s also on a personal vendetta against lingerie 😂 Yoongi won’t get hard looking at even the most HD panty and bra ads. Only the skin in its full splendor will do, no editing. He loves pictures of nipples peaking through shirt fabric, it’s all over his phone. Yoongi likes his gals without underwear 24/7 just like he dislikes underwear himself. If we’re talking porn, the woman on the card is holding two very long rods so may I connect the dots: Threesomes, handjobs, blowbangs, spitroasting. Friction, friction, and more friction. To Yoongi’s brain, handjobs are a great um new version of holding hands. Sex standing up also, keeping it vertical. Yoongi doesn’t care about girth, inches count. Nice and elongated with a perfect plunge, something to hold onto. Yep, he’s pretty deliberate when searching that up. Yes, he loves the look of it. However, and you’ll be surprised: Even if he likes poly porn, it’s still nothing too extreme. This card is more about pleasure than pain. If a guy likes rough and degrading sex, you get swords and wands in his spread. THE WORLD is more about perfected skills and success. So, he likes the more accomplished porn stars. With a preference for curly blondes and redheads, that’s sort of the hair color on the card. Natural B or C cup. Medium height, not too curvy. Oversized booty not needed. In terms of nationality: We have three representative animals on the card. Eagle, lion and bull, plus a light blonde man’s head. So, anything that America/Germany/Albania/Mexico/Namibia (and so on, lot of countries with eagles as their national bird my dude), England, Spain and Scandinavia have to offer. Honey sugar is going international, baby.

hoseok

⌈ QUEEN OF WANDS ⇁ Did I just mention that guys who like rough sex in porn get wand cards in their readings in Yoongi’s segment? Well, there we have our candidate, with a very obvious card since it’s a court figure. Now, the thing is, this is not the guy being rough. The QUEEN OF WANDS is as notoriously femdom as can be. The very fiery and raw and fun version. So, with a degree of lightheartedness, but still being very fit — even buff — and hands-on with the sub. If you get the QUEEN OF SWORDS, that’s the more cool and calculated domme who signs you up for torture and humiliation, and she really looks like a domme. She’s all over the internet because she has the grit. Now wands combined with a tarot queen... it’s more about the stamina and she is approachable. Hobi does not like watching cruel girls, he likes challenging ones. Upbeat porn stars who can take a lot but most importantly dole it out assertively like pros are Hobi’s schtick. He’s unapologetic about that. With him it’s like, please not the local newcomers that turned legal a month ago. The queen cards are all about mature women. Mommy kink, hint hint. The kind of mommy who’s gonna whip out the spreader bar or cane (= wands again) and give a playful type of punishment. See how desert-like that imagery is, Hobi wants to sweat big time when he gets off to this. Now since wands also make for a damn good pole to dance on, go figure. This whole card has me wondering if, well alright, he is a Cardi B hard stan 😅 If Hobi blasts Money to get in the mood, I’d not be surprised. Anyway. Back to pole stuff: If you go through his youtube search history, you will find astounding things. I think he watches the more professional and athletic performers in competition though. High production value is key. Finally, an interesting card detail: There’s a sunflower on it. This is definitely his kind of tarot imagery.

jimin

⌈ KING OF COINS  ⇁ This card always looks like a scene from a medieval movie so you might have an erotic film enthusiast here. The more chaste type of genre, pentacles are very grounded and not hypersexualized. The intimacy is slow and more about security and pleasure. It’s graphic and detailed, but gives you a sense of relaxation. With a bit of romance in the plot, that might absolutely be Jimin’s thing. Castles and wine and nobility. Interesting type of erotica. Historical and classy. As expected of a prince, mind you. He might enjoy books of that genre also. And we know Jimin is an avid reader, right up there with Namjoon. Now, even with more risque and contemporary stuff that he googles up, we have similar dynamics going down on screen. With Hobi we had femdom because it’s a queen card, now with Jimin we get the classic male dom type of porn because that’s how the King usually rolls, unless it’s the KING OF CUPS who’s touchy-feely and subby. Meanwhile, the KING OF COINS is your local sugar daddy. Leaning towards being a soft dom, he’s not aggressive. And Jimin surely has a little crush on that concept. Ye know, if all the other members have female cards and Jimin gets the sugar daddy, we might be dealing with mxm action. Because if this card was a porn star, he’d be a really, really rich producer and a bear who’s done this since the frickin’ 90s. He’s treating his subs very gently and lets them sit on their lap, the imagery is sort of like that because the King is balancing a pentacle on his left thigh. Sex and comfort all in one are life for Jimin. A sexy detail I only noticed at a second glance, the King also has a shortened golden staff with him, which has a rounded tip. If that’s not a butt plug… whenever I see props like that in tarot, I interpret it as a sex toy. So, good vibes in here. And a bunch of aphrodisiacs, the KING OF COINS is a foodie. Which you know, might just be a food porn type of reference. Jimin’s taste in sexy things is quite something else.

jungkook

⌈ THE EMPRESS ⇁ If there’s one thing I like, it’s the Tarot giving me the important archetypes during readings of that kind. The Queens, the Kings, the Major arcana (see Yoongi’s and Jin’s segment). You can really draw a lot of hints out of it. Now with the EMPRESS you have a similar case to Hobi’s, just a lot more softcore. Jungkook has a refined and pretty vast taste in erotica, if not the most refined in Bangtan next to Jimin who likes that kind of dignified touch to it as well as we saw. Jungkook knows his stuff when it comes to searching things up, he is a first class netizen in that regard. In terms of genre: The EMPRESS is your highkey feminist and wholesomeness legend, so — you won’t find any super creepy things in some hidden file on his PC, and things by female producers instead. No slut-shaming or name-calling here, everyone gets their pleasure in their own right. Thanks to online sex ed, Jungkook has a map to the clit and he’s not afraid to use it. He’s the type to watch solo videos ad nauseam. He’s fascinated. Masturbation until it gets all messy with the juices flowing, and you bet he wants to see the girls buzzing themselves off lying on their back. Maybe even outdoors in a field. Cum play is a must, cunnilingus is a must, he loves unprotected sex and creampies, he loves breast massages. And yes. Anything that involves sex with pregnant and chubby women. Similar to Taehyung, it’s all about the focus on the girl, he doesn’t bother much with the guy performers. And given Yoongi’s reading on top of that, we have three members in BTS who are all about worshipping the female body right here, breasts over ass, and he likes blondes, too. The EMPRESS card is like… the entire porn industry who does the MILF and BBW genre is financed by Jeon Jungkook’s website subscriptions. Cue GOT7, with Jungkook it’s girls, girls, girls. The thirst is going strong, and he’s unashamed times ten, sex is sex. 

➝ we also have members who don’t really bother with erotica or have a complicated relationship with it.

SPREAD #2

taehyung

⌈  ACE OF WANDS reversed ⇁ He’s not about beating off until the world ends. Taehyung gets bored by porn or heated literature and doesn’t feel very motivated to search it up. He would rather come up with his own ideas to write but doesn’t have the energy. Sex drive: On hold, even if he tries to look something up it doesn’t feel very fulfilling to him. Most of it fails to turn him on, it’s not his kind of taste. He gets frustrated when he masturbates and would rather rest, dream, and doze. The only thing I can see him watch somewhat frequently — hold your horses — is lesbian porn. I’ll explain. The ACE OF WANDS is pretty much your most glaring handjob symbolism card. A hand gripping a stick. Yoongi’s THE WORLD card has very similar imagery, I mean even two wands and a girl, bisexual explosion much. He would be a big fan of the upright ACE OF WANDS card lmao! But the reversal is like, um no silly guys jerking off in here, pls. Keep your cum to yourself. That means: Zero dicks in Taehyung’s zone, girl-on-girl stuff is his very last resort for quality that he is desperate for but cannot find. And not the stuff where the producers just replace the guys with heavy arsenal sex toys, double-ended dildos, fucking machines, endless strap-on action without any clit stimulation on either side and whatnot. Taehyung is like ugh, cherie, why, give me the juicy stuff, give me the basics. What he wants is just pure scissoring, fingering, oral, little gentle bites, a lot of caresses and kisses. And slow, slow sex. Probably the amateur kind. He hates how brutal and exaggerated most things online are. Tae is looking for softness, a lot of lesbian action is what delivers in that regard so he takes all he gets. And it goes further than that, Taehyung knows the finest yuri recommendations, I’m telling you.

seokjin

⌈  THE STAR reverse ⇁ The opposite of Yoongi: not keeping it very naked in here. The upright card shows a nude woman pouring water from two cups. Hence a strong connection to the card of sexuality, TWO OF CUPS. Everything is very gentle and positive in that scenery. But then, the reversed card rather shows us that Jin doesn’t feel too thrilled watching other people film or write or photograph sex. Like in Tae’s case, he becomes bored, it’s all the same to him. Nothing’s ever new to him in porn. He feels negative and guilty rather than refreshed or entertained. He also doesn’t like a lot of kinks that very literally connect to, well, the pouring water. Squirting, cum play, watersports, sex in the pool or showers, lube overuse, creampies, bukkake, fake cum — Jin is rolling his eyes at that, he thinks it’s a circus. He’s surely given it a try, but ended up feeling worse and even more pent-up or dissatisfied. At best, you will find him on unknown websites looking for the most amateur videos there are. Because: THE STAR quite unequivocally hints at porn stars. If you reverse the card, it becomes someone not very well-known. He roots for the underdog. Accordingly, Jin’s reaction to mainstream videos goes this way: ‚Pipe down, you non-artists!’ 😆 Cause maybe, he does do it better aye, without the awkward angles anyway. He doesn’t want the body cult, like, put that airbrush and silicone out of my face bro. Not because he’s against surgery, but the idea behind sexual extremes and the shady high standards. It’s too polished for him to get turned on. And robotic/staged. Likely because he’s had an IRL sexual experience (gasp!) that set a different ideal to him, so the more glossy porn feels off. Home video has all he needs instead. I think it’s especially because you get so see more body hair there. The woman on the THE STAR card is all sleek, so the reversed card is the opposite, Jin wants that unshaved goodness.

namjoon

⌈ EIGHT OF CUPS ⇁ Now you’d think — and I thought, kinda — we’d get the master of erotica right here. And he’s had one hell of a reputation for that. Think of the ever-infamous Yaman TV interview where BTS were super upfront and revealing about their taste and what they watch privately. With especially Namjoon having the lion’s share. But this card says otherwise if his current state is concerned. The EIGHT OF CUPS shows a man wandering off into the night, leaving eight cups behind him. I think what that means is, he’s moved on. Namjoon’s cravings aren’t as strong as they used to be, nor does he have the time. He knows it won’t fix his loneliness or answer the questions of life. He might be on the search for different things to fulfill him, or ignore much of his hormones in favor for his career. Not that he didn’t dabble in it, he sure did, but that chapter is slowly closing and what’s next he doesn’t really know yet. He thinks about family and being a father, so the smaller and more risque pleasures become less significant. Desire, too. Ye olde soul syndrome is kicking in. The card is also centered around introspection, a quest for self, all these higher topics that aren’t the most grounded and don’t leave much space for being horny. Joon is simply to preoccupied and on the move. He sees porn as a distraction from his real self at this point, and he’s not the type to feel satiated after masturbating to something, similar to Jin and Taehyung. Instead, I think he carries that energy elsewhere, hence the wanderer going from A to B onto a mountain. In short, Namjoon naturally grew out of it by becoming more, well: Namjoon. He’s left a lot behind, he’s choosing self-development over temporary fun, and he will ponder a lot on the topic, the hows and whys and whats more often than not. So, he’s passed the baton to Yoongi and Jungkook if you will, and keeps a low profile as of now. 

tarot mlist | ko-fi

----

for anon:

[banashee]

This is another one of my @badthingshappenbingo​ prompts.

Prompt: Chronic Pain

Please mind the tags and warnings in the authors note!

-

 (Pain)fully Human

 Being one of the very few Avengers without superpowers royally sucks sometimes. It really does, even though Clint is used to it.

 It's fine, he keeps telling himself, but he is no longer 20 and getting up in the mornings is a lot harder these days, and a lot more painful.

 Clint is in his late 40s, which isn’t even old, really, but it sure feels like it when you’ve been working hard for most of your life, tagging along with actual superhumans and rescuing a city and occasionally the world every few weeks. Not to mention the injuries - they can be real nasty, and when the weather gets cold, Clint can feel them in his bones. He doesn’t complain though, not really.

 He will complain about everything and anything else all day long if you’ll let him, because at heart, some part of him is a grumpy grandpa and has been ever since he was a teenager, but he rarely, if ever, voices any real distress. It’s easier to deflect because what is the alternative? Admitting defeat or the fact that his days in the field are definitely counted? No way.

 Clint can deal with a lot, but feeling useless - or worse, being useless - isn’t one of those things.

 This is why he forces himself to keep going even when every muscle in his body cramps and protests, and it’s why he forces himself out of bed despite being exhausted. Pain is part of the job, he learns early on, and there are quiet periods where he can heal and relax.

 When exactly the pain stops disappearing, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

 At first, it’s just smaller aches that linger, especially a bad back and a few old wounds. Over time, it gets worse - it is a creeping process.

 Some mornings, Clint can’t get out of bed without being in excruciating pain. He can barely stand, let alone walk. Those days, he can’t even make the short way from his bed to the bathroom without struggling. He clings to the bed frame with watering eyes, cursing up a blue storm and collapsing back onto it, gasping for breath.

 Clint remains sitting on the edge then, shaking like a leaf and breathing through the pain until it fades away just enough for him to be able to carefully get up, slowly making his way through the day. Some days are bad enough that he can’t even leave the house to do anything - the fatigue, the frustration and his mental health spiralling out of control are simply too much.

 He’s always had trouble with Depression and Anxiety, but the constant exhaustion and pain only make it worse.

 Clint doesn’t ask for help, not even when he spends days in bed, only getting up to go to the bathroom and drink a bit of water.

 As long as he had Lucky, those days were somewhat bearable. Clint would spend them cuddled up somewhere warm and soft with the deep, even breathing of his dog nearby, dozing on his chest while he could bury his hands in soft fur. It truly is Clint’s favourite way to seek comfort. Lucky always had a knack for reading his human’s mood. Especially on the bad days, he stays close, trying to help him in the sweet, loving way dogs do. Lucky is amazing in so many ways, and Clint just hopes he can repay his beloved companion enough.

 When Lucky first came to him, he was still kind of young, but now, he is much slower and calmer than before. His once entirely golden fur keeps growing greyer by the day, and their walks get shorter and shorter as time passes on. Instead, Lucky likes his sleep and getting belly rubs for as long as possible. Clint happily gives him all this, and much more.

 He owes this dog his life, and that is no exaggeration. If it wasn’t for Lucky, he probably would have given up on life years ago.

 But unfortunately, no dog lives forever and once his beloved companion is gone, Clint’s bad days get worse. They get worse in an emotional way, for sure, but he could swear that the pain itself doesn’t ease like it used to.

 His therapist strongly recommends getting another dog, because it is proven that emotional support animals can be very helpful, but he puts it off. Clint feels guilty, doesn’t want to replace Lucky, especially while he is still grieving. It feels wrong, but deep down he knows that his therapist is right.

 “You don’t have to replace Lucky. He was special to you and I understand that, but I also think it would be good for you to allow another dog - or cat, or whatever animal you’d prefer - in your life. It helps.” his therapist had told him for the 20th time, and finally gotten through to him.

 A few days later, Clint visits the local shelter and finds himself sitting on the floor, surrounded by dogs of all shapes and sizes. Part of him would like to adopt every single one of them, because honestly, who wouldn’t?

 But then, he falls in love with a black lab.

 This dog is keeping to herself, sitting calmly behind the other dogs as if waiting for a quieter time to greet the new human in the room. One leg is missing, and there are some grey hairs scattered across her sweet face and especially around the snout.

 “Hello sweetie, who are you?” Clint asks, carefully crouching down near the lab. She comes closer, curiously sniffing his outstretched hand, wagging her tail and then allowing him to pet her. Even more so, she practically melts into the gentle touch and Clint has already given his heart to this dog.

 His grief over Lucky is still there - always will be, to some degree - but this sweet, gentle soul seems to be the perfect companion for him now.

 “This is Betsy. She’s an old lady, as you can see, and she’s been with us for most of her life. She was not treated well in the past.” the staff member explains, and it’s clear that she wants the best for Betsy. The young woman smiles at Clint with a knowing smile as she watches him interact with Betsy.

 Clint is head over heels in love, and having to leave without this old lady dog almost breaks his heart all over again. Betsy seems to agree, because it very much looks like the love is mutual.

 Luckily, a few visits and a lot of paperwork later, Betsy comes home with Clint.

 He carries her up the stairs, and once they enter the apartment, the dog is met with an overwhelming urge to sniff and explore everything, and she happily does so for all of two minutes before she trots over to where Clint has collapsed on the couch - the pain is flaring up again, but he smiles at Betsy and pats the space on the couch next to him. A moment later, Clint finds himself with a lapful of very happy dog, and he just knows that this was the right decision.

 Betsy is incredibly loving, calm, and mostly happy when she has food and cuddles available at all times - both of which are plentiful here.

 The first night, Betsy sleeps right next to Clint, burrowing into him and the blankets. From what they told him in the shelter, this is the first time ever she gets to be in a bed - or a couch, earlier that day. She seems so happy and grateful about every little thing, and Clint just knows he would kill for her in a heartbeat.

 Their shared journey only has begun, but the bond is already strong. Both of them are in desperate need of company and love, and they definitely found both in each other.

 As time goes on, the bad days get more and more, and it takes one particularly bad day where Clint almost misses a shot in the field for him to come to a final decision.

 No one but him notices his mistake, but it sends cold dread down his spine.  After the debrief, when he finally makes it home, Clint has a full blown panic attack the second he closes the door behind him. He comes back to himself with Betsy pressing herself close to him, and he leans his cheek into her dark, smooth fur, stroking Betsy’s head in an attempt to calm down.

 The two of them are cuddled up on the couch, warm and secure, when Clint makes the decision. Today had been a close call - just a split second later, just a breath of air in the wrong direction, and people would have died. It can’t happen again - Clint is the best there is at his job, but it’s been too long. He’s in too much pain, getting too unreliable. It’s the last thing he needs, and damn it, the other Avengers deserve the truth. He owes them that much, not only for the obvious reasons, but because they are friends.

 Clint doesn’t talk to Steve. As much as he likes and respects him, the last thing he needs is Captain America trying to be kind and understanding when he himself doesn’t look a day over 30 and could casually weight lift a truck before breakfast.

 Instead, he seeks out Tony in the downstairs laboratory.

 Tony works just as always, chatting away to JARVIS and humming along to Black Sabbath - some things never change. Others do, however. Grey streaks are more and more visible in his dark hair and beard, and it might not be noticeable as much, but he moves more carefully than he uses to.

 If nothing else, Tony will understand, so this is why Clint tells him bluntly,

 “Hey. Just so you know - I’m retiring.”

 “Alright. How come?” the other man asks, letting his screwdriver roll across the table.

 “Getting all old and creaky.” Clint aims for a joke, but he gets a raised eyebrow in response.

 “Excuse you, you’re younger than me. If you’re old and creaky, what does that make me?”

 Clint shrugs.

 “Not the guy who almost missed a shot in the field.”

 There it is. Out in the open. A beat of silence passes between them.

 “What? When? I never even realized…” Tony looks at him directly now and he is no longer joking.

 “Last mission. It still went okay, but… It nearly didn’t. I can’t go out there in good conscience and risk people's lives because I can’t do my job right anymore.” Clint shrugs again, sad this time.

 “That wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

 Tony just nods, letting the silence wash over them for a while. Neither of them is good at the whole talking thing and honestly, they’ve known each other for so many years, there is more than a little understanding between them.

 “Those mortal, squishy, human bodies have their disadvantages, huh?”

 A bark of laughter bubbles up his throat. It feels strange, but he definitely needed that.

 “They sure do. Honestly, fuck that.” Clint laughs some more, and Tony looks satisfied with himself. He totally got the reaction he wanted, and their conversation is a lot lighter after that.

 “Hey.” Tony says later, keeping Clint from walking away just yet.

 “Don’t be a stranger, okay? Us mere mortals gotta stick together.” He goes for a shoulder check, but Clint pulls him into a quick but tight hug. Tony returns it though, clinging on for just a second before he releases his friend with a shoulder slap and another few bad jokes.

 As far as conversations went, this one wasn’t half bad, Clint thinks, and makes his way back home.

 Betsy is waiting for him, and happily greets him as soon as he walks through the door.

 “Hey honey, I’m home.” he tells her, happily letting her lick his face and then they curl up in their favourite spot.

 Clint’s bones are aching and protesting from the movement of the day and old injuries are giving him trouble again. It’s getting cold out, and it only manifests what Clint already knew - he did the right thing.

*+~

Prompt 7/25: Chronic Pain

Warnings:

- breif, non-graphic mention of suicidal thoughts - off-screen death of a dog (due to old age, no cruelty!) - discussions of chronic pain and it's issues over the years - discussions of mental health, bad days

[zuppizup]

Study Break

Summary: Rayla offers to help Callum learn the Elven language.

Pairing: Rayla/Callum.

Word Count: 1017

AO3 Link: Study Break

---

A little idea that popped into my head, which then became an ode to the modh coinníollach, the conditional tense that just cannot be understood by mortals.

If you have studied the Irish language, you know what I mean.

If you have not, I can never explain.

---

“Ok, so what does this one mean?”

Rayla yawned, sitting up and glancing at the book Callum held out to her.

“Hmm, it means...” She gazed into the honey coloured sky, thinking.

Callum was sitting with his back against the rough rock of the Spire, a spell book of Ibis' on his lap. It was written in Elven, which Rayla had been helping him with.

She was lying with her legs sprawled across his, dozing contentedly in the evening sun.

“It’s hard to explain.” She leaned back on one arm, thinking. “It’s... it’s a way of speaking that doesn’t really exist in the Common Tongue. It means you would do something every day if something were to happen. It’s the conditional every day tense.”

Callum furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, trying to explain. “So, the spell you did so we could breathe up here-”

“Ventus Spiralis?” Callum interjected.

“Yeah, so the rune implies a conditional every day usage. You only have to cast it once and it works all the time, if you are somewhere with thin air. Unlike, your little wind breath spell that only works as long as you have air in your lungs.” She smirked at him.

“Hey, you weren’t so dismissive of Aspiro when it saved you from those leeches.” He batted her legs playfully.

She grinned, rolling her eyes as she leaned back to lay on the ground once again, arms crossed behind her head.

Callum watched her fondly for a few seconds. This had become a ritual of sorts. Her resting after a day’s training while he continued to study. Their current spot on the Spire had become their favourite. It afforded them a majestic view of the sky while still somewhat sheltered from the strong breezes that could howl across the Storm Spire.

It also had the added benefit of being relatively private.

Rayla would always touch him in some way while they relaxed. Hold his hand or lean against shoulder, though this particular set up was his favourite. He rested one hand on her calf as he looked back at the book, frowning. “I still don’t know what you mean though.”

Rayla sighed, thinking. “So, say if you wanted to explain that you are generally hungry in the morning. In High Elven, there’s a tense that exists that is the conditional everyday form. Rather than say “Every morning when I wake up, I tend to be hungry” you’d say, “Every morning I do be hungry”.”

Callum laughed. “Every morning I do be hungry?!”

She playfully smacked his leg. “Are you mocking my culture?”

“Well, it’s not exactly the whole ‘sophisticated elves' stuff we hear about in Katolis.”

“Well, it sounds better in High Elven!” She sat back up, poking him in the ribs. “It doesn’t translate well.”

“Do you speak High Elven?” He grabbed her finger, squeezing it affectionately.

She shrugged, squeezing back. “Na, not really. I read better than I speak. I wasn’t really into school. Ethari used to threaten to tie me to the chair if I didn’t finish my homework.”

Callum grinned at her affectionately. “I would have loved to have seen Little Rayla go to school.”

She tried unsuccessfully to hide her grin.

He slipped his hands around her waist, dropping his book. “I bet you drove your teachers crazy.”

She laughed, not denying the accusation. “And I bet you were a little teacher’s pet who read all his books before term even started.”

“Maybe.” Callum chuckled heartily, leaning forward to kiss her quickly before turning back to the book. “So, this rune is a conditional every day rune then? That means this spell is a spell to heat the air once it goes below a certain temperature?” He looked at her expectantly.

Rayla gaped at him exasperated.

“What?” He glanced up from his book.

“Eugh, nothing.” She lay back on the floor.

“Aw, I see.” He lay the book down, leaning over her.

“What?” She sulked.

“Bored?” He tickled her sides. “I thought you’d be impressed I’m embracing elf stuff."

She snorted, sitting up as she grabbed his hands. “Elf stuff?”

Callum nodded solemnly. “I believe that’s the technical term.” He slipped one hand around her waist, holding his other before them. He took a deep breath and paused, then drew a shimmering rune.

“Calida Aura”.

Rayla looked around expectantly. “Nothing happened?”

“Well, it’s a conditional spell.” He kissed her cheek. “Once the sun goes down and the temperature drops it’ll kick in.”

“Eugh, you’re so annoying. Is there any of this- “she gestured to the book, “you can’t do?”

“Are you kidding? You’re the youngest Dragon Guard ever. And Ibis told me you’re some super prodigy Moonshadow elf, which you neglected to mention.”

Rayla threw her head back and laughed, blushing pink. “So, you’ve got the book smarts and I’ve can do the physical stuff... between us, we manage to make one relatively normal person.”

Callum kissed her, pushing her hair back from her face. “Hey, with our combined skills, our kids would be pretty awesome.”

Silence drew out between them for a few seconds while his words hung in the air.

“Eh… I mean…” Callum flushed beetroot, lost for words.

Rayla struggled to suppress a grin, looking at him teasingly. “Yeeeeees…?”

“I just, eh… you know, em… so I dunno… maybe someday… but like… waaaay in the future…”

“…Yes?”

“I mean, I’m not saying any time soon... because that would be crazy! But, but, you know, just... em, maybe... if everything worked out, em...”

Rayla broke into peals of laughter. “Callum, shut up!”

He hid his face in his hands, blushing furiously. “I’m sorry.”

She giggled uncontrollably, hugging him close. “You are such a dork.”

He risked a glance at her. “But a lovable dork, right?” He grinned lopsidedly.

She rolled her eyes. “You have your moments.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I love you, Rayla.”

“I love you too, dummy.” She leaned forward and kissed him.

“Even after all that?” He winked, still pink cheeked.

She rested her forehead against his. “Even after that.”

[neverlandparker]

Far From Home, Far From You // [p.p] FFH SPOILERS***

Pairing: stark!reader x peter parker (i don’t specify if she’s related to Tony by blood so it’s completely up to you if you want her/you to be directly related or adopted!)

Word Count: 3.6 k

Warnings: contains ***FFH SPOILERS!*** angst, a few swear words, and mentions of death. (but as always, there’s the fluffy parts too don’t worry, I’m not that mean haha) 

A/N: hey everyone! :) i’m back!! so I watched ffh twice and I loved it even moreeee the second time and I thought I just had to write something based off it. So here is my baby - it was a labor of love - (quoting tom here) i’m so proud of this fic & I hope you love it too! please please please rb and let me know your thoughts whether in the hashtags, comments, or send me an ask! as always, I appreciate every single one of you! thank you from the bottom of my heart!

ps credits!!! I used some of the quotes from the original script of ffh and made references to the book, “The Kissing Hand”. All credits go to ffh script writers and marvel studios & the author of “The Kissing Hand,” Audrey Penn!

- xoxo, Claire ❤

Summary: y/n and peter have been through a hell of a year together - wars, battles, and death - they’ve encountered it all. so when y/n suggests peter should go on that school trip to Europe with his classmates and it doesn’t go as planned, what happens next? also ft cuddly peter and the kissing hand!

...

Rain pattered softly against your bedroom window as you spent the dreary afternoon curled up against Peter’s body which was radiating warmth, cuddled together with a giant blanket on your bed - his arm thrown across your body, pulling you closer to his chest as you listened to the rapid but steady thump thump thump of his heartbeat. His legs were tangled up with yours and he was tracing patterns on your shoulder with one hand - his other was joined with yours in your connected hands - one of the many ways in which he displayed his endless amount of affection for you.

“I really do miss him” you murmured softly to yourself, sighing, looking out of the compound window, as you watched a countless number of rain droplets hit the window and slide downwards, the pitter-patter sound it made somewhat comforting. 

And when Peter stirred, you were slightly startled. You had thought he had dozed off.

He groggily cracked one eye open, and after covering his yawn and rubbing his sleepy-dazed eyes, he looked at you with so much adoration you thought your heart would burst.

“I do too. I miss him too - so much.” more than you know.

“What if - “ he stopped chewing on his lip suddenly nervous, his gaze traveled down to his shirt, fingers finding the hem of it and twirling it around. 

“What if -” but he stopped just as quickly as he had started. 

“What if - what if something goes wrong...w-when I’m not here?” his voice trembled, insecurities getting the better of him, and he sighed, “I’m leaving, Y/N. I’m leaving for Europe in 2 days. I’m leaving - you...god - why did I think this was a good idea?” he buried his head in his hands, and after a few moments, he looked back up, “I-I just don’t think I want to save the world this summer. I know that makes me sound like such a jerk. But I really -” his voice cracked, “I just really need a break. I mean - with everything we’ve all been through, I kinda just wanted to get away. Just away, anywhere, any place, and I guess at that time, Europe seemed to be a good idea. But -” he took a deep breath, “But - but now things are….different. What if something goes wrong or someone gets hurt when I’m not here? What about you - ” he was about to keep rambling on, stuttering, reverting back to his old nervous habits, but you quickly sat up and rubbed your hands comfortingly across his shoulders. 

“Pete. Peter. Look at me. You’re not a jerk for wanting a normal life. I mean - heck - my dad -” a sad smile broke out across your features, “he - he - warned me about this - about the Avenging lifestyle -” you gave a soft chuckle, “Nothing is going to go wrong here, okay? We’ve got it under control. And in the rare case we don’t, we always have backup. It’ll be alright - I promise. With everything that has happened - “ you paused and sighed running your hands through your hair, “I think you deserve a break - you really do. Go have fun in Europe with your friends. It’ll be fun. You’ll be far from home and far from….me...and I’ll miss you - a lot. But you know…..I think….I think it’ll be good - for you.”

He gave you a little nod, head still hung low.

You brought your hands to cup his chin, bringing him to look at you.

“Hey hey hey - Peter - Pete, please don’t worry about me, ’kay? I’ll be alright. I’m always here if you need me. Just one call away.” You pointed to your phone, and paused for a second and then swallowed to continue, “Uh - I want to share this with you - uh,” your voice started wavering again, and you swallowed, “this is something my d-dad - Tony - and I used to do before he went out on his missions.”

...

“Daddy!!!!!!!”

You charged towards him, still half-asleep, morning bed head intact, dragging your blanket behind you, as you made your way down the stairs, two at a time and ran towards where you saw him by the door. 

“Y/N! Sweetheart! What are you doing up?”

He turned around and immediately bent down to wrap you - his adorable five year old daughter - in a giant hug.

Then he heard it. 

He heard your sniffling. 

“Hon - you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Are - a-are you l-leaving?” you managed to get out between sniffles. 

You had hoped he was only busy around the house in the morning but when you saw him by the door, you had panicked and bolted down the stairs to him. 

He sighed. 

Anthony “Tony” Edward Stark liked being Iron Man. He really did. It made him feel powerful, unstoppable, and able to defend himself and the people he loved. It was like his own way of righting his past sins and faults. 

But the part he hated?

He hated leaving you. 

His sweetest little girl - he loved you so much and it killed him to leave your side - even if it was only for a day. 

So knowing some lines from the book - The Kissing Hand - that he had just read to you by your bedside last night, he sighed.

“Y/N sweets, I’m - I’m really sorry but daddy’s going to be leaving for a while...but I’ll come back sooner than you know it - okay? Always. Time is going to go by so fast, you’ll never even notice I’m gone.” 

You let out a little laugh between your sniffles and he smiled a bit. 

He took your little hand in his and turned the palm side up and placed a gentle kiss in the center. 

“Daddy is going to teach you a trick to help remember me okay? Just do this when I’m not around and you’ll feel me be with you okay? I’m always with you even when I’m far away. Always with you... right….here.” he poked your chest and you giggled.

“Hey! I’m ticklish!”

“Whenever you feel alone, anxious, hurt, or far from home, just press your hand to your cheek and think of me. Sometimes and someday, you’ll be far from me, and when that day comes sweets, you will remember me, okay?”

You pressed your hand to your cheek and closed your eyes. 

“I love you 3000 daddy”

“I love you more munchkin.”

…

“So Peter...whenever you feel alone, anxious, hurt, far from home, just press your hand to your cheek and think of me. And when you’ll be far from me, when that day comes, you’ll remember me.”

You kissed the palm of Peter’s hand and brought it up to his cheek. He leaned into your touch as he sighed, bringing his hand up to cheek, putting it on top of yours. 

He loved the feeling of your hand in his. 

He smiled, and tilted his head to place a quick peck on your hand that was cupping his around his cheek as you giggled. 

“Now you’ll have something to remember me by too.” he smiled. 

“Always.” you said softly as you brought your hand - still warm from Peter’s touch - to your cheek, letting your eyes drift shut, as you felt an uncontrollable smile tug at your lips.  

...

Peter limped towards the descending jet in the tulip fields, the force of the powerful engine jets sending colorful petals of flowers flying wildly about in all directions. Normally, he would have taken this moment to admire the way the flowers swayed and billowed against the wind, taking note that it was a lovely sight that he would want to someday share with you - his pretty girl.

He shook his head, blinking back tears that threatened to spill. 

How could he have trusted him?

How could he have been this stupid?

And when the door of the private jet flew open and he saw Happy’s concerned face as he met his gaze. He felt his whole being tense up. His first instinct was to run toward him - so fucking glad there was someone who he really knew. Who he trusted.

But to trust his senses? 

Honestly he didn’t know if he could even trust himself right now.

Not anymore.

Looking at the man who so much reminded him of his mentor, he felt suffocated, heartbeat pumping all to fast, senses dialed to eleven, every single hair on his body stood on end. And worst of all, he felt like there was a hand around his heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until it became near impossible to bear anymore.

His regrets weighed down upon him and by the time he realized that happy was calling out to him across the field, he shook his head to clear the feeling and made his way over but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. 

You. 

You came.

And Peter - god - Peter wanted nothing more than to run into your arms. To be able to feel your comfort again, to embrace you in a big hug, to press kisses to your forehead and nose, and be able to tell you that was everything was alright, but how could he when he had messed up so so bad? 

Especially not before…not before making 110% sure it wasn’t another trap - wasn’t another one of Mysterio's sinister plans. 

He couldn’t bear to see you hurt or taken from him. It was his worst fear.  

Were you real? 

Was this real? 

What was real?

He didn’t think he knew what real was anymore. 

Not after that.

Not after what Mysterio had shown him what he had. The illusion he had been so naive to so easily fall into would continue to haunt the rest of life, an unforgettable memory in the worst possibly imagined way. He had been shown being attacked by clones of himself, being trapped inside a snowglobe with no way to escape, and ….. god - Tony - Tony Stark, crawling out of his grave, with iron suit and all, and Mysterio told him that if only he had been good enough, Tony would still be here.

He would still be here... if only he had been good enough. 

Those same words rang in his head again, taunting him, as he screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head from side to side, desperately willing, begging, pleading it to go away. 

Upon making eye contact with Peter as you scanned the field, you felt relieved, but choked up when you saw the condition he was in. Covered in dirt, grime and blood, his face was severely battered, nose and jawline littered with bruises, cuts, and open wounds. You clasped a hand over your mouth, stifling a sob as you pushed past Happy and ran full force towards him. 

However, when you reached just within arms reach, just as you were about to engulf him in a tight hug, his eyes widened and he took several large retreating steps back, eyes darting between you and Happy as if he didn’t recognize you more than mere strangers. You felt a dagger of pain straight to your heart as you realized the shaken and vulnerable state he was in. 

What the hell did this guy do to him?

“Please -” Peter pleads, “Prove to me you’re real. Tell me something only you would know.”

You and Happy share a look, both knowing things you don’t want the other to know but you currently didn’t have much of a choice. You decide to go first. 

“Remember the kissing hand?” you say in a gentle tone and you can see Peter’s expression relax and soften as he met your gaze. 

Whenever you feel alone, anxious, hurt, or far from home, just press your hand to your cheek and think of me. And when you’ll be far from me, when that day comes, you will remember me.

You’re real. You’re real. You’re REAL.

“Remember when we went to Germany? You paid per view a video in your room. They didn’t list the titles but I could tell by the price it was an adult film at the front desk. And you know how I knew –”

“Okay okay fine! It’s you, it’s you, stop!” Peter yells as you stare between Happy and Peter, confused. 

“You’re real!” he lets out in an exhausted sigh and hurriedly limps over. 

And he finally lets himself fall into you, fall into your embrace, let himself be surrounded by the comforting scent of your shampoo.

His eyes turn teary as he flexes his arms, bringing you even closer, both arms wrapped securely around you so tightly. 

You were aware of his super strength had the ability to do some serious damage but he was always the most utmost gentle with you, treating you with so much care you thought you would sometimes just melt in his hands. 

But right now, he needed to. make. sure. To make sure. To make sure the an illusion could not possibly recreate you. Recreate this. He needed to know that you were real. And that you were. 

You’re real. Not fake. No illusions. Real. Real. REAL. 

No depth of any illusion could make you - well, you. Truly you. 

He had realized it was so different being not only so far from home, but so far from you. You were his home and nothing - nothing - could ever recreate that. 

With that, as if realizing that his grip was almost suffocating, he quickly loosened his grip, mumbling a “so sorry,” not quite letting go, but not as tight as he had been squeezing you in the crushing hug as he had before. 

…

Once Peter got on the jet, he almost sagged with relief. You and Happy immediately got to work, tracking coordinates - anything, to locate Mysterio as well as sitting Peter down and cleaning up his wounds. He sucked in a sharp breath as you unzipped his suit, only then truly realizing the extent of his injuries. He was thankful for your gentle touch as you successfully managed to bandage up his ribs and tended to his wounds with a few grunts and low curses as he mentioned he was hit by a train. It made your heart shatter, seeing him in this broken state, so battered and crestfallen. Happy took over with stitching Peter’s several back injuries up as you came to sit in front of him, silently observing him, heart aching at the sight. 

He always tries to do the right thing and that’s what mattered...why did it always have to be him?

He gives so much and gets back so little. He is too good for this world. In fact, he deserves the world. Heck, the world doesn’t even deserve him. 

You snapped out of your thoughts, hearing Peter’s distressed grunts as you looked up seeing that Happy was still in the process of stitching him up. 

“Just relax.” Happy says, his brows pinched, trying to concentrate on the stitches.

“Don’t tell me to relax!” Peter snaps, reaching his breaking point, his voice filled with angst before he stood up, “How can I relax when I messed up so bad? I trusted Beck, right? I thought he was my friend, so I gave him the only thing that Mr. Stark left behind for me, and now he’s going to kill my friends and half of Europe. So please - do not tell me to relax!”

“I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have shouted…” he takes a shaky inhale, “I’m sorry - I’m s-sorry I didn’t mean to” he sighs, “I didn’t mean to yell.” he sighs, hanging his head, defeated, “I just - I just really miss him. Everywhere I go I see his face. And the whole world is asking who is going to be the next Iron Man? I don’t know if that’s me, Happy. I’m not Iron Man.”

“You’re not Iron Man. You’re never going to be Iron Man. Nobody could live up to Tony. Not even Tony. Tony was my best friend, and he was a mess. He second-guessed everything he did. He was all over the place. The one thing that he did that he didn’t second-guess was picking you. I don’t think Tony would’ve done what he did if he didn’t know that you were going to be here after he was gone.”

Peter pinched his nose, nodded, and placed his head in his hands.

“I just really miss him - and and-d nothing can ever bring him back.” his voice was barely above a hushed whisper, raw with emotion, and you felt the pulling of your heartstrings as your lip trembled and tears clouded your vision. 

“I miss him too - everyday - so so much it hurts” and by that time you realized that tears were streaming down your cheeks, your knees were threatening to give out, “he’s never...oh god - he’s never coming back” 

“Y/N….I - I don’t know what to say….I’m sorry - I’m s-so so sorry” and just like that,

Both you and Peter collided into each other gripping each other in a tight embrace willing for all the bad things to go away, sinking to the floor - the both of your bodies racked with sobs, chests heaving, crying over what was lost.

It felt as if it was only now, the full weight of your dad’s death hit you and it slapped you both in the face and hurt like no other. It hurt like hell. 

For Peter, he had lost a mentor that was almost his second family, the only one who got his brilliant mind, genius jokes, and hero work, and you, a father, one whose connection with you ran so deeply it split your heart in two to witness the agony that was his death. And now Peter was in your arms, mere hours after being hit with a freaking train and barely hanging on, so so broken and you felt yourself being filled with despair. It felt like another knife had been driven straight into your heart. Straight through your very own soul.

“Y/N, everyone is telling me to step up to tell me to fit in his shoes but I …” his voice cracks, “I just can’t - I can’t” Peter buries his head in his hands again, eyes shut tightly, willing this to all be some kind of horrible awful nightmare. He takes a shaky exhale, “I can’t do this - I can’t be him”

“No Peter. Look at me,” you gently cupped his face in your hands, ”Listen. The world needs doesn’t need the next Iron Man. You know what it needs? It needs you. They need you. You’ll never be the next Iron Man - no one can - but it’s because you’re better than him. I think -” you had to stop yourself from letting out another choked sob, “- No, I know - I know for sure that h-he would be proud of you.”  

You wiped away the tears that were now dripping rapidly down your cheeks, 

“He would be so proud. So so proud” you whispered, voice trembling. 

At last, the broken boy looked up, revealing his watery, red-rimmed eyes. 

“How can I fix things when I already s-screwed them up so bad?”

“You fight.” you utter through trembling lips and watery eyes. 

“How?” he breathed, his breath raged from crying. 

“You get back up. Like you’ve done over and over again. Like you did against that mad titan and some of the most evil beings in the universe.”

After a moment of silence filled with sniffles, Peter looked up.  

“Thank you” he said hoarsely.

A watery smile broke out across your features, your gaze on him loving as you fought back a sob.

You were so proud. So so proud of him. 

“Kissing hand?” he prompted, with a look that said it all.

You just gave him a watery smile, nodded, and held out your hand, unable to open your mouth or make out words because you were afraid that if you did, you would end up in tears all over again. 

He took your hand in his as he did your “kissing hand,” that you and Peter had come with a few days ago before he left - with him bringing your connected hands up to his cheek, looking at you with that heart-eyed gaze before tilting his jaw to give your hand a kiss. 

Whenever you feel alone, anxious, hurt, or far from home, just press your hand to your cheek and think of me. And when you’ll be far from me, when that day comes, you will remember me.

He never failed to make butterflies erupt in your stomach, as a light blush dusted your cheeks, your gaze meeting his. You smiled - a lovey dopey smile - as you watched him suck in a deep breath,

“I’m going to kick his ass.”

And this time, he looked to you with a new gaze with fiery determination and the look he gave you conveyed everything you needed to know in that moment. 

Your chest swelled with pride and admiration for him as you witnessed Peter Parker - the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man from Queens with a heart of gold get back up once again - facing the inevitable, but never once daring to back down from a challenge.

Whenever you feel far from home, just press your hand to your cheek and think of me. And when that day comes, when you’ll be far from home, far from me,  you will remember me. I’ll always be with you - even when I’m not right there, right here, right now, by your side. I want you to know that I love you so so much. I love you 3000. 

…

A/N: wow!! thank you thank you thank you for reading!! please! please let me know your thoughts - I love to hear them! I love you all, thank you for your endless support <3 

tagging some wonderful people (as always, a huge thank you to YOU!❤): @acciopeter @akaspiderman @badhollandfluff @blackberrywidow @blushypetey  @coffee-and-hollands @darlingtaurus @flowercrownparker @hawkinsholland @holland-peters @hollandsosterfield @h-osterfield @iloveyouironman @i-am-steve-rogerss @lavenderholland @lostinspidey @marveley @marvellousparkerpeter @marvelplease @marvelsswansong @mcuspidey @mysteryavengers @obsiidio @parkeret  @parkerprotectionprogram @peterparklr @petersbackpack @peterstrainingwheels @playboyparker @plushparker @poetrypeter   @rachramblesstuff @retroparkers @scarlettspidey @screamholland @sergeanttpoliteness @sparklyp-parker @spideypeach @spidey-caps  @spxderbarnes @sunshinehollandd @thisbitchemptylove @thotsterfield @tomshufflepuff  @twilightparker @uglypastels @underoos-shield @uwu-peter-parker-uwu @heavenllywrites

...

[wedreamedlove]

[FIC] Run, Rabbit, Run (4/6)

Rating: M Characters: Yamada Jiro/Iruma Jyuto Word Count: 6847

Summary: “A hound and a rabbit; the outcome’s clear.” “Aah, this is why delinquency doesn’t pay off. Didn’t you know? In all the fables involving a rabbit and a hound, the rabbit always wins.”

AO3 | Index: PAGE 1 - 2 - 3

It was the sound of running water that woke Jiro up.

He blinked dazedly and it took a few seconds to remember that he had fallen asleep facing the couch, which explained why he couldn’t see anything. Jiro drew back and sat up, breathing picking up from those small actions alone. For some reason, his body felt sluggish and every time he exhaled his breath was uncomfortably hot as it passed through his dry throat.

Normally, Jiro would have gone to the kitchen to get himself a cup of water but he just felt so tired. Not to mention, Jyuto seemed to be in the bathroom and he didn’t want to run into the dirty cop this early in the morning when he wasn’t in the mood and didn’t have the energy to deal with him. Images of the other man from yesterday morning flashed through Jiro’s mind before he stubbornly shoved them out.

Jiro leaned back, tilting his head until it rested against the couch, and threw an arm over his eyes to cover his view of the ceiling. The coolness of his arm felt nice against his warm and stuffy head but, although he felt slightly better with his eyes closed, his injury was throbbing again and there was an ache in his head that was starting to assert itself, probably from the knocks he had taken over these few days.

After a while, the bathroom door opened and Jiro dropped his arm and straightened up, putting on an air of there being nothing wrong. He must have dozed off because he didn’t recall hearing the water stop, but a glance over at the bathroom showed that Jyuto had taken a morning shower. Once again, the dirty cop showed how he had no shame in walking around the apartment naked and he also didn’t spare a glance over in Jiro’s direction as he disappeared into the bedroom. Jiro felt somewhat annoyed by this.

But, in what felt like no time, Jyuto came back out perfectly dressed for work. The other man came to a stop beside the couch and looked down at  Jiro while he pulled on his gloves.

“What?” Jiro snapped, automatically bristling in defense.

“I thought I told you to pick up the table.” Cool green eyes flicked over to the living room table which was still lying on its side, having been flipped last night by Jyuto himself.

“Why don’t you?”

Jyuto slowly crossed his arms.

Jiro dared to glare at Jyuto but he was also aware of how the exhaustion weighing on his body warned him that it would be a dumb idea to engage in another fight with Jyuto at this time and so, hiding his fatigue and aches, Jiro rose to pick up the table. He dropped it carelessly in an approximation of where it used to be.

He crossed his own arms and didn’t sit back down, choosing instead to face Jyuto. “Happy?”

“Immeasurably,” Jyuto deadpanned.

But then Jyuto continued to stare at him. Jiro raised his eyebrows in a taunt after a few seconds of this.

“What? Finally realize who you’re dealing with?”

“No, merely contemplating how silly you look with your bed head.”

“Wha—!?”

Jiro slapped a hand over his uncooperative hair as Jyuto chuckled and walked to the front door.

“Do your best to be good for once today.”

An expletive leapt to the tip of Jiro’s tongue but he managed to swallow it back down, remembering the response he got the last time he swore at Jyuto. Instead, he just glowered at Jyuto’s back until the other man finally left the apartment.

Jiro waited for a few minutes, wanting to make sure Jyuto was gone, before he went through his own morning routine. It took longer than expected though and left Jiro winded enough afterward to realize, with a sinking feeling, that he must be sick. Dammit, of course he would have to get sick while he was in a situation like this.

The wound on his side was also hurting even more after he removed the shirt he haphazardly wrapped around it last night. The shirt gotten stuck to his skin when the blood and plasma dried overnight and so Jiro had to wet it first before peeling it off slowly. But twisting his body to do that only ended up aggravating the injury. At the end of all this he had to lean against the bathroom counter and wait for a wave of dizziness to pass.

His plan had been to go out today to buy bandages and medicine, but at this rate he wasn’t going to be able to walk out of the front door without collapsing. Unfortunately, even after opening all the drawers in the bathroom, he didn’t see anything that looked like medicine or a first aid kit. He would have searched through the kitchen cabinets and the bedroom again for anything if his surroundings would just stop spinning.

Jiro stumbled over to the kitchen table and slumped down in a chair. He felt even more exhausted than he did when he woke up and decided he’d take a breather here before going outside.

He was just going to… close his eyes for a second… just for a few seconds of rest.

---

Jiro startled awake when he heard the front door opening. He shot up from the chair, disoriented at the lack of light in the room, and then had to slam his hand down on the table to stop himself from toppling over when his vision somersaulted.

“What are you doing over there in the dark?”

The utter lack of amusement in Jyuto’s voice would have made Jiro snicker if he wasn’t still trying to get his bearings. Who knew that all he had to do was sit around innocently in the dark to immediately alarm the dirty cop. He heard - more than he saw - the dark shape of Jyuto come over to the kitchen before the lights were turned on.

Jiro squinted in pain at the sudden brightness, but managed to bite out his words through clenched teeth. “Nothing.”

He was feeling better than he did in the morning, but he was still tired and the shot of adrenaline he got after he realized Jyuto came back was making him feel jittery. Jiro mentally grabbed onto the corner of his composure and, at the same time he straightened up and shoved both hands into his jacket pockets to hide their trembling, he dragged that composure around himself tightly, not letting a hint of his current state leak out.

Jyuto eyed him in clear suspicion.

Jiro grit his teeth as the silence began to drag on. He didn’t understand why the dirty cop was just standing there, but he really wanted to sit down. His legs would have been shaking right now if he hadn’t locked his knees. However, at the same time, he was afraid that once he sat down he wouldn’t be able to get up again.

Finally, Jiro blurted out whatever came to mind to break the silence, “What are you doing here?”

“Where else would I be?” Jyuto gave him a look that seemed to say just how little he thought of Jiro’s intelligence.

“I don’t know! Accepting bribes in a shady alley or something?”

The look upgraded from doubting his intelligence to deeming him stupid. “Yes, because those with money would choose to loiter in an alley.”

“It’s just that you’re back… early.” Jiro hazarded a guess, since there wasn’t a clock in the apartment. From what he remembered though, the last two times Jyuto came back was extremely late at night. He glanced out the window to see that it hadn’t been long since the sun set, leaving a deep blue to swallow the buildings around them, but there were some lights here and there in other apartments that were turned on early to ward off the dark.

“It was a quiet day today,” Jyuto replied slowly, almost thoughtfully, as he continued to stare at Jiro. “Get ready. We’re going out to eat.”

What. “What?”

Jyuto flicked his eyes over the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? We’ll get something outside.”

“What?” Jiro repeated again. Maybe it was because he was sick, but his brain couldn’t keep up with the current conversation at all. Did Jyuto just invite him out to eat? Was he still asleep and this was just a dream? Oh god, how sick must he be to dream about Jyuto of all people?!

“I’m buying dinner,” Jyuto explained with surprising patience.

“No thanks. I don’t want to be seen outside with you.”

“It’s charming how you think you have a choice.” Jyuto’s voice dropped into a cold tone.

Ah, there was Mad Trigger Crew’s 45 Rabbit. It was absurd for Jiro to feel relieved at that voice, and yet he was. The conversation earlier had him questioning his reality, but now he realized it was just another of the dirty cop’s cruel amusements. If it wasn’t for the headache building at the back of his head and the sweat on his palm as his body flipped between being hot and being chilled, he would have continued to protest.

As it stood, with his health, Jiro could only grind his teeth in a show of annoyance before making his way to the front door with Jyuto watching.

However, as he stepped around the kitchen table and crossed in front of Jyuto, the other man shot out a hand to grab him. Jiro had been on his highest guard though and reflexively sprung to the side, whirling to face Jyuto. It would have been a beautiful move if Jiro’s abrupt movements didn’t send his brain spinning; his vision tilted and he took a few stumbling steps, barely catching his balance.

Knowing the jig was up, Jiro raised a hand to press it against his pounding head while he looked at Jyuto warily.

Jyuto crossed his arms. “As I thought, something has been off with you since the morning. Well, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Jiro immediately replied.

“… We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

“Leave me alone!”

“The hard way it is then,” Jyuto murmured and uncrossed his arms as he took a step forward.

Jiro automatically took one backwards, earning him a raised eyebrow from the other man. Jiro scowled back in response and dropped the hand he had against his head to free up both arms before he continued to move back for every step Jyuto took.

By now Jiro had been in Jyuto’s apartment long enough to get a sense for the dimensions of the space though and, after he took another step back, he knew one more step would bring him up against the wall of the corridor. But he had a plan. Jiro twisted on his foot, feigning to make a break for the front door. However, the moment he heard Jyuto lunge forward to stop him, Jiro spun back and threw a punch.

The dirty cop’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, which Jiro was gratified to see, but then it was Jiro’s turn to be taken aback when Jyuto chose to take the punch in his solar plexus. Jiro hadn’t expected his hit to actually land since he reluctantly knew that Jyuto was better than him at fighting, especially in their current situation. But Jyuto took the punch, face grimacing somewhat in pain, before he grabbed Jiro’s elbow in return, yanking Jiro into him. His other hand grabbed the wrist of Jiro’s other hand and kept it held down.

Once again, the two of them were mere inches apart.

Jiro tilted his head back to glare at Jyuto, shoulders rising and falling from his ragged breaths, only to flinch and close his eyes reflexively when the other man dropped his head. Was he going to be head-butted? That was what Jiro was going to do, since both their hands were deadlocked, but it looked like Jyuto beat him to it—

—was what Jiro thought except he just felt a light tap against his forehead. His eyes flew open to see a blurry outline of Jyuto’s face.

“You stupid brat, you have a fever.”

“……”

It took Jiro a couple of seconds to realize that Jyuto was measuring his temperature with his forehead. Confusion and sudden embarrassment at the other man’s actions flooded through him.

“It’s just a fever,” Jiro squeezed these petulant words out.

The green eyes in front of him narrowed before Jiro felt his hands get shifted into a one-handed grip. He reeled back, automatically wanting to escape from that hold, but the moment he moved a leg it buckled beneath him and Jiro would have crumbled down if Jyuto didn’t wrap an arm around his waist and haul him up. Instead, Jiro pitched into Jyuto’s chest.

“Stop fussing,” Jyuto said sharply, along with a warning squeeze of the gloved hand around both Jiro’s wrists.

It was an unnecessary warning though because Jiro wasn’t in any condition to put up a fight anymore. Exhaustion draped over him at the same time his adrenaline left him now that the threat of violence seemed to have passed and because they were standing still. In addition, he was feeling dizzy again and slightly nauseous. He could only try to catch his breath as Jyuto pulled up his jacket.

“It’s infected.”

Jiro drew back enough to look down at his weeping wound. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jyuto echoed in disgust. “Is that all you have to say? This can easily worsen into something serious. Do you not have any self-preservation? No, don’t answer that.”

“… I was going to take care of it.” Jiro dropped his head against Jyuto again, having felt his stomach flip after looking down at his injury.

“You can barely stand. How exactly would you have taken care of this? Do tell.”

Jiro corrected his earlier words, “I would have managed somehow.”

Jyuto made another disgusted noise and tugged at Jiro’s arms. “Come here.”

Jiro put up some resistance, just for the principle of it, but he was easily dragged to the bathroom. Jyuto finally released him when they entered and gave him a light push on the back towards the sink.

“Get up onto the countertop and take off your jacket.”

“Why?”

Jyuto frowned. “Do I need to explain every little thing? To treat your injury, clearly.”

The other man was almost out of the bathroom door before Jiro stopped him.

“No, why are you doing all of this?” Jiro clarified.

Jyuto paused at the bathroom door and said, without turning back, “I don’t want to have to deal with the two other Buster Brothers for sending you back half-dead.”

Jiro doubted that was the reason because a small infection like this wasn’t as serious as Jyuto was making it out to be. But he didn’t have the energy to pursue his questions any further, not to mention Jyuto had already disappeared after saying that. Still, in the end it was probably for the best that he got his injury treated and so Jiro pulled himself up onto the countertop and closed his eyes. His nausea was fading now that he wasn’t moving, but he felt somewhat clammy as if there was a cold sweat breaking out on him.

The next thing he knew was hearing the clack of something hard being set on the ground. Jiro opened his eyes blearily to see Jyuto crouched down in front of him with a first aid kit beside him, which the cop then opened. He watched as Jyuto grabbed what was needed efficiently from the box before the other man removed his gloves and soaked a cotton ball in antiseptic solution.

Then Jyuto leaned forward, pressing a hand against Jiro’s chest to hold him still. Jiro automatically tensed at the touch, and there was a corner of his mind that registered the heat that immediately sunk into his chilled body from Jyuto’s palm, before he snapped out a hand to grab the wrist of Jyuto’s hand, the one with the cotton ball, before it could touch his injury.

“What are you doing?” Jyuto glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes.

Jiro’s mind blanked. “Uh, your hand is hot.”

The other man rolled his eyes, irritation lining his voice. “Because you have a fever.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It feels nice,” Jiro blurted out, his mind still on vacation.

There was a beat of silence.

“… Has the fever burned your few remaining brain cells away?” Jyuto asked slowly.

“Ha ha,” Jiro said dryly, but he didn’t release his grip on Jyuto’s hand.

The cop’s eyes traveled from Jiro’s fingers around his wrist to Jiro’s wound and then to Jiro’s eyes. “This needs to be treated.”

“I know,” Jiro said through gritted teeth. He continued to hold Jyuto still though.

“Let go then.” Jyuto aimed a pointed look at their hands.

See, he would have liked to do that too if he could. But whenever Jiro imagined the painful sting of alcohol against his injury, which was already extremely tender and swollen, he could feel himself becoming even more lightheaded and queasy. He mutely shook his head.

“If you’re this scared of treatment, how are you so reckless?” There was sheer exasperation in the other man’s voice.

“Those are two different things.” Jiro defended himself. “I don’t feel anything at the time, but somehow everything looks ten times grosser and worse when it’s all over.”

“Don’t be a child. Or do you need someone to hold your hand?” Jyuto smiled with cold amusement and drew back the hand that was against Jiro to offer it, palm up.

Jiro barely hesitated as he released Jyuto’s wrist and then slapped his hand down on the offered one, grabbing it tightly as if he was afraid Jyuto was going to take it back. He was so intent on doing this that he missed the other man’s eyes widening; however, it wasn’t possible for him to miss the tremor that went through Jyuto’s arm.

“You offered,” Jiro reminded quickly, glancing at Jyuto and refusing to let him draw back in disgust.

A complicated emotion surfaced in Jyuto’s eyes. “… So I did,” he finally murmured before he looked down. His eyelashes covered the expression in his eyes for a second, and then the next time Jyuto looked up his face was carefully blank.

Jiro couldn’t continue looking at Jyuto though when he saw the cop lean forward again to treat his wound. Jiro raised his head and stared hard at the wall across from him. He tightened his hold on Jyuto’s hand and then loosened it immediately afterward, finally realizing how absurd the situation was right now, only to strengthen his grip again when a burning sting erupted in his side. He jerked reflexively.

If it weren’t for their held hands, Jiro would have already squirmed away from cotton ball or leapt off the countertop. As it was, he inhaled sharply and then let out the air in a sharp hiss through his teeth. Surprisingly, Jyuto said nothing and just continued the treatment in silence.

After a while of wiping the wound the other man spoke again, “The stitches that tore need to be replaced.”

“No.” It was an immediate response.

“Be obedient,” Jyuto chided.

“Has saying that ever worked on anyone?” Jiro curled his lip into a snarl, but there was no real aggression in his words. In fact, his voice bordered on whining, despite how hard he tried to keep it normal. “Does it have to be stitches? Can’t you just bandage it or something?”

Jiro was confused when he felt another tremble through the hand he was gripping and he looked down to see that he was running his thumb back and forth across Jyuto’s knuckles in his anxiety. Was the cop cold or something though? Why did he keep on shivering? Before Jiro could think too much on it, Jyuto yanked his hand out of Jiro’s hold.

“Fine,“ the other man said curtly. He dug out a bandage roll from the first aid kit beside him, stood up, and then brusquely pushed aside one of Jiro’s legs so that he could stand closer to the counter.

Jiro jerked his head up, instinctively wanting to snap at Jyuto for invading his personal space, but he recoiled when he noticed how close they were. He immediately averted his eyes and lowered his head, biting the tip of his tongue hard to erase the sight that lingered in his mind. When he had looked up, his eyes had to travel across the broad column of Jyuto’s throat, past his Adam’s apple, the sharp line of his jaw, and his defined chin. Jiro’s eyes had only reached Jyuto’s lips before he felt a warm breath skim past his cheek and he realized that, because Jyuto tilted his head down as he prepared the bandage roll, the distance between them was even smaller. His lips were right there.

That was when Jiro turned his head away. His mouth was dry.

The second before he did so, he caught Jyuto glancing at him but Jiro couldn’t tell what was going on behind those impenetrable green eyes.

There was a pause and then Jyuto spoke, “Raise your arms.”

Jiro obeyed in silence and watched as his injury was wrapped. He tried his best to ignore the breaths that brushed faintly against the top of his head and the occasional touch of Jyuto’s fingers against his skin as the bandages went around and around his chest; he fixed his eyes at the base of Jyuto’s neck, staring hard at the golden collar chain pin.

Eventually, Jyuto’s hands stilled as he finished. “Now, try not to tear this again.”

Jiro noticed a strange note in Jyuto’s voice, but he didn’t dare to look up at the other man. He decided the dirty cop must be smiling with ridicule and snapped out, “Says the person who took advantage of it twice.”

“You brought it upon yourself.” Jyuto’s voice sharpened.

Jiro scoffed, “What, by defending myself?”

“For reacting to every trivial provocation. Your pride is going to get you killed.”

Jiro thought he could hear real anger in Jyuto’s words but it was ignored for his own anger which erupted; Jiro raised his head to retort, only to freeze when he remembered their positions. This time, because Jyuto turned slightly to speak to him, their faces were mere inches from each other. They were at a distance where their breaths tangled every time they exhaled. Jiro clutched onto his anger though and kept his nerve. He could see Jyuto switching between his heterochromatic eyes before deciding to focus on the green one.

“Nothing’s wrong with having pride,” Jiro continued on quickly, afraid that Jyuto would try to refute him before he could finish, “That’s what makes a man. If there’s nothing you wouldn’t give up on, what kind of life is that? Don’t you have principles you’d stand to the end for?”

He expected a contemptuous response from the other man, but instead Jyuto just stared at him. The nonexistent distance between them let him see, unexpectedly, how Jyuto’s gaze wavered.

Those green eyes in front of him shook. Jyuto opened his mouth. Closed it. The cop averted his eyes.

“… No. If I did then adulthood taught me to shift my expectations. Clinging onto pride will just get you killed in my line of work.” Jyuto’s voice was quiet.

Jiro’s anger deflated like a popped balloon. He didn’t know how to react to this side of Jyuto he had never seen before. But his lack of a reply didn’t matter because Jyuto was already pulling back and turning away.

The cop packed up the first aid kit briskly and then left these words before exiting the bathroom. “Tidy yourself up. I’m going to get dinner and medicine. Take some after dinner and then go to sleep.”

---

Jiro opened his eyes to an apartment dyed in a deep, dark blue. There was a full moon tonight, but the sky seemed to be cloudy because Jiro could see the shadows growing and shrinking repeatedly in the short time he laid there, awake. His throat was dry and it was the need for water that woke him.

Earlier, after his injury was treated by Jyuto (and it was still strange to think back on that), the cop really did go out to get dinner and medicine. There wasn’t much, if any, conversation between the two of them apart from Jyuto ordering him to clean up after dinner, which Jiro did to get away from how strange Jyuto was acting. And then, after Jiro took his medicine, he was tired enough to pass out immediately on the couch.

Jiro swallowed but, when his throat remained dry, he had to resign himself to getting a drink of water. He concentrated his ears in the direction of Jyuto’s bedroom. There was no sounds though. It was hard to tell the time without a clock, but judging from the weight of the dark it seemed late after midnight and so the other man was probably asleep.

Deciding that it would be safe enough to get some water, Jiro gingerly got up off the couch and went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. He was feeling much better compared to how he had been in the morning. His fever seemed to have gone down and his wound wasn’t as tender.

Jiro opened a water bottle and it was only after he drank enough to satisfy his thirst and was screwing the cap back on that he heard a sound which didn’t belong in the quiet of the apartment. Jiro paused… and then strained his ears.

Before long, the noise came again. It sounded like someone muttering.

It was coming from Jyuto’s bedroom.

Jiro’s instinctive reaction was to completely ignore it. He didn’t want to concern himself with whatever was going on with Jyuto. There was no relationship between them except a kidnapper and their captive; this was on top of them being division enemies.

He had just placed the water bottle back into the fridge and was about to head back to the couch when another sound came again.

It was a choked groan this time.

Jiro stopped and closed his eyes. Nope, it wasn’t his business. None of his business. Hell, the dirty cop deserved— an image of Ichiro flashed through Jiro’s mind and he snapped open his eyes, hissing out a sharp breath. “Goddammit.”

He wasn’t dumb. Reckless he would admit, but he wasn’t stupid. There were things in Ichiro’s past that he wouldn’t ever talk to Jiro and Saburo about, like what he went through when Jiro and Saburo were being brats and what he experienced when he was in The Dirty Dawg. But Jiro didn’t need to know what Ichiro went through to know that sometimes his brother suffered from nightmares which would leave him shaky and pale the next day. It frustrated Jiro to be unable to do anything more for him other than waking him up, but Ichiro reassured him that just that was enough.

In any case, no one should be helpless and tormented in their dreams.

Jiro sighed to himself again, somewhat in disbelief at his own thoughts and what he was going to do. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to wake Jyuto up. He should be rewarded with infinite good karma for this.

He quietly opened the bedroom door while thinking this and peered into the room, still standing outside for now. There was enough light from the moon to see relatively clearly into the room.

Jiro found Jyuto sleeping in the bed, slightly curled, with a deep furrow between his eyebrows and a light sheen of sweat on him. The blanket had pooled down to the other man’s waist, probably from his movements in his nightmare, and for a second Jiro’s eyes followed the line of his body and the definition of his muscles until a strangled, pained noise snapped Jiro out of his momentary distraction.

“No…”

Coughing quietly, Jiro bit the tip of his tongue lightly out of embarrassment and tiptoed over to the bed. He cleared his throat and called out softly, “Jyuto.”

There was no response.

Jiro hesitated, not sure if he wanted to get closer because he didn’t know if the cop was the type that would wake violently from a nightmare.

“Jyuto.” He tried again, louder.

Nothing, except for Jyuto frowning harder and gritting his teeth.

Jiro decided to throw caution to the wind. He stepped closer, as clouds covered the moon and threw the room into darkness, and reached out to touch the other man’s shoulder—

It wasn’t too big of a surprise to feel his wrist grabbed with a force that ground his bones together; Jiro grunted but, having expected something like this to happen, he twisted his wrist sharply to the side to grab Jyuto’s arm back and then jumped onto the bed instead of pulling back as one would have guessed.

Jiro’s goal was to keep Jyuto down until he was sure the other man was wide awake and not reacting on instinct. But Jiro had only dropped his weight on Jyuto’s stomach before he was reminded, with the searing damp heat that he could feel even through his pants, that the other man was probably naked. Deciding in that instant to use his knee to pin Jyuto’s other arm instead of holding it down with his hand like he first thought, Jiro raised himself up.

However, it was in the second he rose that Jyuto seized the opportunity to leverage a leg up and twist his hips to flip them over, both of them still holding onto the other person’s wrist and arm.

Jiro cursed in his mind and tried to copy the same move, absolutely willing to roll off the bed and throw Jyuto to the floor, but Jyuto didn’t give him the room to do that and Jiro was quickly pressed down with his head forced up by a hand that was crushing his throat. Through watering eyes, Jiro could see it was Jyuto’s free hand. The other arm he was still gripping was keeping his wrist flat against the bed.

“You…” It was a low snarl from Jyuto.

The clouds chose that time to move away again, letting the moonlight shine in, and Jiro felt the blood in his body freeze when he saw the other man’s face.

Jyuto was furious.

Despite the dim light in the room because of the moon, the pupils of those green eyes looking down at him were constricted in rage. There were still traces of sweat on Jyuto and Jiro could see a drop slide down the other person’s jaw, passing by a muscle that jumped when he exhaled harshly through clenched teeth.

It was the first time he had ever seen Jyuto in this state. This wasn’t the irritation the cop showed in the previous days when things didn’t go his way. Or the blank mask that surely hid anger whenever Buster Bros snatched a win in a territory battle from Mad Trigger Crew. No, this was sheer wrath, and a chill spread through Jiro’s body when he realized he could actually die here.

It was like what happened earlier today was a lie and, in this moment, Jyuto wouldn’t remember what he said before.

The moment Jiro realized this he stopped moving, including the hand he was going to use to try and pry Jyuto’s hand off his throat. Unexpectedly, when he kept as still as possible, he felt the pressure lighten around his neck.

“Jyuto,” Jiro wheezed out, gambling that his words would have an effect as well, “It was just a dream.”

“Dream?” A hoarse laugh burst out from Jyuto before he brought his head down closer to Jiro. “No, that was a memory. One that I’ll make you pay for reminding me of it.”

Jiro’s eyes widened when he saw the clarity, amid the rage, in Jyuto’s eyes. He thought the other man was still in the grips of his nightmare and was lashing out, but, no, Jyuto was fully conscious of his actions and just didn’t care about what he was doing.

Fear and knowing that he needed to do something - anything - to survive this situation had Jiro tentatively touching the back of Jyuto’s hand with his own. This time it was impossible not to catch that the tremor, which ran up through Jyuto’s arm, was because Jiro touched him. Emboldened when Jyuto didn’t react negatively, Jiro brushed his thumb against the other man’s knuckles and relaxed his body beneath Jyuto as much as he could.

Gradually, little by little, he could feel the strength in Jyuto’s hand ease, as if unconsciously, until his hand was resting lightly against Jiro’s throat. But even still, Jiro didn’t dare to breathe too loudly.

“Stop that,” Jyuto eventually snapped out, but there was no real anger in him. And he didn’t remove his hand.

The air of violence that had suffused the atmosphere disappeared, leaving the two men in a quiet and dark room which was illuminated periodically by the moonlight.

“… I’m sorry,” Jiro cautiously said.

Jyuto’s eyes widened before he schooled his expression into something neutral. “Whatever for?”

“For, uh… the dream? What I did?”

“… No, you aren’t,” Jiro said quietly after a pause. His voice was quiet. Tired. Jyuto moved his hand up from Jiro’s throat to cover Jiro’s eyes; at the same time, he finally released his bruising grip on Jiro’s wrist and moved off of Jiro to sit at the edge of the bed. “People like you never are. You won’t regret the path you choose, even if it leads to your death.”

Jiro tugged at Jyuto’s hand over his eyes and, surprisingly, Jyuto let him remove it.

“People like me?” He sat up and stared at the other man’s back.

The cop shot Jiro a look over his shoulder as Jiro sat up, letting him know that he knew Jiro was trying to dig for information. However, Jyuto seemed to decide there was no harm in revealing this.

“I had a senior, or mentor if you will, when I first joined the police force. He was an upstanding—” Jyuto’s lips quirked, “—outstanding fool. Too principled for his own good. One day, we ran into some trouble with a rising yakuza group. They offered us a bribe to look the other way.”

There was a small lull after these words as Jyuto turned his face forward again and didn’t continue.

“… And?” Jiro prompted.

The muscles in Jyuto’s shoulder blades jumped and then tightened. “What do you think? I took the bribe. He didn’t.” The words were measured, as if Jyuto was taking care to strip all emotion out of them. “And he died for that.”

“……” Jiro watched him in silence. He was starting to realize that whenever Jyuto spoke, what the other man didn’t say was just as important as what he did say. “What happened to the yakuza group?”

“It was torn down from the inside out. Who could have known precious confidential information would get leaked to a rival group?”

Jiro could hear the humorless smile in Jyuto’s voice. His eyes moved to the tattooed flowers that bloomed along Jyuto’s shoulders and the black and white fish swimming down the cop’s spine. He didn’t know what to say in response to Jyuto’s story and, instead, he was struck with the ridiculous urge of reaching out and touching that solitary back.

However, Jiro clenched his hand and dug his fingernails into his palm to erase that itch. He moved to get up and leave, abruptly deciding that if he wasn’t here then he wouldn’t get any more strange thoughts.

He was stopped by a hand on his wrist though.

“Where do you think you’re going?” This time Jyuto’s body was angled towards Jiro, so that he could grab Jiro’s wrist.

“Uh, back to sleep?”

“You haven’t paid yet for reminding me of that memory.”

Jiro narrowed his eyes and his gut reaction was to tell Jyuto that he could shove that payment up where the sun didn’t shine. But when he took a closer look at Jyuto he realized, startlingly, that the hold around his wrist was extremely loose and easily broken if Jiro wanted to shake the other man off.

And maybe it was this, along with this strange night - full moons made people act weird, right? - and the remnants of the fever making Jiro’s thoughts funny, that made Jiro say what he said next.

“What do you want?”

“Stay.”

Jiro jerked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that at all. He also couldn’t believe Jyuto said that immediately without a change in his expression. He opened his mouth to… what? Call Jyuto shameless? Refuse?… Agree?

His hesitance revealed more than he wanted to give away, but all Jyuto did was watch him quietly.

Looking back at those calm green eyes, Jiro suddenly thought about the empty shelves and cabinets in the kitchen. The barely stocked fridge. The rooms devoid of any personalization and the emptiness and silence of the apartment for the past two nights he had been here by himself, waiting for Jyuto to return.

“… Scared?” Jyuto finally asked.

It was a weak challenge and they both knew it. No one would fall for something like that.

But maybe this gave Jiro the excuse he needed, or it was all of the above, or maybe it was none of these and it was just a random whim or streak of madness that had Jiro opening his mouth to say, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

The corners of Jyuto’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Is that your pride speaking?”

“You know me, I never back down from a challenge. MC.M.B is fearless,” Jiro bared his teeth in a smile and then shrugged with a pretense of nonchalance, “Besides, I’m tired of sleeping on the couch.”

Having come to an agreement, Jyuto released Jiro’s wrist and Jiro looked down reflexively to follow the other man’s hand as he withdrew it, only to abruptly realize something.

Jiro could feel his ears burning as he shot his gaze back up and stared fixedly past Jyuto’s ear. “Hey, before anything else, can you put on some pants?”

There was a pause before Jyuto laughed, loud and clear. “Shy?”

“Just put some on!”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

Jiro moved his eyes to the ceiling as Jyuto stood up and walked over to the closet. Jiro then seized this chance to bunch the blanket up in the middle as a divider before he removed his jacket to turn it into a pillow and then curled himself up at the edge of the bed on one side. Fortunately, the nights weren’t cold enough yet for him to be bothered with just a shirt and no blanket.

He closed his eyes, feigning how indifferent he was to all this, and listened intently to the other man. He could hear the rustle of cloth, Jyuto turning around, and then a pause in his steps. Jiro tensed subtly, expecting anything, but Jyuto simply huffed softly in amusement and took the other side of the bed without saying anything.

A gentle silence soon enveloped them.

There was still a part of Jiro reeling at the insanity of what he was doing right now, but at the same time there was another part of him that found comfort in the intangible presence of another person in the same room. And because of that, against all expectations, Jiro soon fell asleep.

---

Jiro woke up later, some time in the night still, and it took his groggy mind a few seconds to realize there was a hard body pressed along his back and a hot breath brushing against his neck. He tensed automatically, alarmed, but then forced himself immediately to relax and steady his breathing to fake sleep.

What the hell did Jyuto think he was doing!?

He counted a few seconds in his mind and then tried to shift like he was moving naturally in his sleep. But the arm over him, which he noticed only now, tightened as if to prevent him from leaving. However, it loosened right away to avoid putting pressure on his injury.

It was this, and how Jiro noticed that the breaths against his neck were too steady, which showed that Jyuto was actually awake. And, clearly, so was Jiro. He wasn’t sure if Jyuto knew he was awake, since Jiro was faking sleep, but if the other man knew then he wasn’t doing anything about it. In fact, neither one of them said anything or made any further movements.

Jiro didn’t know how long he laid there in silence with Jyuto. But it felt like the room was just starting to lighten when he finally dropped off into sleep again.

[levicastho]

A Kiss For Good Luck

Prompt: High School Au

Partners: @envydean and @lemonsorbae

Word Count: 3789

Rating: T

Read on AO3

A loud thump startles Castiel out of the doze he was slipping in and out of. He jerks up with a start, looking around for the source of the noise blearily and finding it easily enough. Dean is standing right beside him, his physics textbook tossed onto the desk.

Castiel shoots him a half-hearted glare and leans back in his seat, blearily rubbing his eyes. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Well hello to you too, Sunshine,” Dean greets. “When was the last time you slept, man? You left drool on your textbook.”

A glance down reveals this to be true. Castiel winces and attempts to scrub it off with his sleeve. He only succeeds in wrinkling the paper. He gives up with a sigh, flipping the book closed before eyeing Dean wearily. “What do you want?” he repeats. He is far too tired for Dean’s antics at this moment.

Dean snorts at him and pulls out a chair to plop into, dropping his backpack carelessly to the ground at his feet. “I’ve got a physics test, remember? You wanted me to go over some review stuff with you before I took it, so here I am.”

Castiel blinks. He had completely forgotten about that. The only reason he had happened to be in the library at all is because he had wanted a quiet place to study for his precalculus exam.

Oh well. Dean’s here anyways, and Castiel can always study during his free hour. It’s not like he was getting much work done before Dean interrupted him anyways.

“Right, of course,” Castiel says, glancing at the clock behind the librarian’s desk. “You’re late. You were supposed to meet me here seventeen minutes ago.”

Dean’s mouth drops open. “Dude, are you kidding me? You were asleep, and you’re going to rail me for being a little late?”

Fair point. Castiel grumbles at him and slides a hand down his face. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

They work right up until the bell, going over everything from basic definitions to Ampère's circuital law. If he’s being honest, Castiel can admit that Dean probably doesn’t even need tutoring in this subject anymore. His main struggles are math-related, and he’s already mastered all the formulas he would need for this course. Despite the image Dean projects, he really is quite smart. Brilliant, even. The boy could rival Castiel’s spot for valedictorian if he just applied himself for once.

Still, Castiel knows how stressed-out Dean was for this test, even if Dean did his best to hide it behind his devil may care façade. Physics and Auto Shop are the only subjects Dean really cares about. It’s the other ones, like English and Algebra 3, that Castiel has to push Dean to work hard in.

“Seriously, man,” Dean starts as they pack up, “what’s got you so worn out? It’s not like you’re the type to stay up partying all night.”

Castiel shoots him a dry look. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was up late studying for an exam.”

“Studying? Why? You’re a nerd, you don’t need to study.” Dean looks genuinely puzzled, and Castiel has to hide a fond smile at the expression.

“Dean, by that logic I could make the argument that since you’re a ‘jock,’ you don’t actually need football practice.”

Dean tips his head to the side. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “And how many times do I have to tell you not to do the air quotes thing? It’s lame as hell.” He pauses in zipping up his backpack, licking his lips nervously. Castiel does his best not to track the movement. “Okay, be honest. How do you think I’m gonna do on the test?”

Castiel’s demeanor softens, Dean’s insecurity eating away at him. “You’re going to do great. You are much smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

A brilliant flush spreads over Dean’s cheeks at the praise. He nods once and clears his throat awkwardly. “Right. Uh, thanks.” Castiel can pinpoint the moment the mask slides back up, Dean’s soft expression morphing into a cocky one. “So, you gonna give me a good luck kiss or what?”

It’s clearly one of Dean’s attempts to act like a dick, but once the thought enters Castiel’s mind, he can’t shake it. Castiel has, much to his dismay, developed somewhat of a crush on the other boy. To feel Dean’s lips pressed against his own, even just for a split second, would be… Besides, for all that Dean puts Castiel through, he deserves at least a little payback.

Castiel quickly leans forward to place a gentle peck on Dean’s lips. It barely lasts a second, but the slack jawed look Dean gives him when he pulls back is priceless. Castiel grins and gives him an exaggerated wink before hauling his bag onto his shoulders and taking off, Dean left sanding motionless behind him.

Definitely worth it.

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

“What’s up with your boyfriend?” Balthazar prods at lunch that same day, poking Castiel in the ribs.

Castiel grunts and rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his sandwich. The bread is stale and the lettuce is far from crisp, but it’s about as good as you can expect from cafeteria food, and Castiel would like to savor it in peace. “For the last time, he’s not my boyfriend. I’m just tutoring him,” he chides. “Besides, what are you even talking about?”

“He keeps looking your way every five seconds,” Balth explains. Castiel blinks and looks up at him in shock. Balthazar just wiggles his eyebrows and grins. “It’s like he can’t keep his eyes off you. How romantic.”

Castiel can feel a blush heating his face and Balthazar laughs at him. “Whatever,” he grumbles. There’s no way Dean is actually looking at him. Dean never pays him any attention outside of their spot in the library. Balthazar is probably just teasing him. As always.

Castiel should really find a better friend.

“I’m serious!” Balthazar protests. “Look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

He unleashes a dramatic sigh when Castiel keeps his gaze firmly on his lunch tray. “Fine, be that way,” Balth huffs, but he does mercifully change the subject.

Castiel doesn’t risk it until several minutes later, once Balthazar has left to attempt to woo the lunch ladies into giving him seconds. Carefully, he glances up towards the tables where the football players sit, trying to be subtle about it.

Dean is looking straight at him. The moment he notices Castiel has caught him he blushes enough that Castiel can see it from across the room and quickly turns back around to focus his gaze on the table. From what Castiel can tell, Dean doesn’t risk looking his way again.

How utterly strange.

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

Castiel doesn’t really see Dean again, other than fleeting glimpses in the hallways, until two days later. It’s a Thursday, which means he and Dean have their biweekly afterschool tutoring session. The school library is usually just about deserted at this time of day, all of the other students having escaped back to their houses. The quiet atmosphere and access to computers makes it the ideal spot for his and Dean’s sessions.

Castiel, as always, arrives first. Dean, as always, arrives five minutes late. Dean is grinning as he approaches the table, and Castiel raises an eyebrow at him.

“Guess what?” Dean says once he’s directly in front of Castiel.

Castiel waits until he realizes Dean is expecting him to reply. “What?”

“I got a hundred percent on the test!”

Dean’s enthusiasm is rivaled by Castiel’s, who gives Dean a wide, gummy grin. “Dean, that’s amazing! I told you that you’d do fine.”

Dean smiles and rubs the back of his neck, glancing down at his feet before looking back up at Castiel. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “I uh, I guess that good luck kiss worked.”

The pink flush on Dean’s cheeks makes Castiel smile. “Hmm,” he says teasingly, seizing the chance to torture Dean a bit more, “Maybe we’ll have to do that every time.”

Dean’s eyes widen, mouth opening and closing, and Castiel laughs at him before shaking his head. “Sit down, Dean. We’re doing English today.”

Dean’s answering pout only makes Castiel smile wider.

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

“You know,” Dean says a week later as they finish up another session, his voice a strange mix between teasing and nervous, “I’m turning in that English essay tomorrow.”

Castiel hums in acknowledgement, focusing on organizing his papers. “I hope you do well.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, me too. Only… I think some good luck could be pretty damn helpful.”

It takes Castiel a moment to process what Dean is implying, but once he does he sucks in a sharp breath and looks up, eyes wide. Dean’s expression is one of cautious hope, and it quickly falls at the look on Castiel’s face.

“I—never mind, I was just being stupid—”

“Dean,” Castiel interjects, halting the other boy’s nervous rambling. He steels himself and passes his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. “You’re going to have to lean forward a bit if you expect me to be able to reach you.”

This time, when their lips brush for the briefest of moments, Dean isn’t the only one blushing.

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

It becomes a sort of tradition after that. It’s not something either of them acknowledges or discusses, but without fail, every time Dean has some important assignment or test, he’ll request a good luck kiss.

And the thing is, they work. Dean’s grades go up across the board. Granted, logically speaking that’s probably a result of something else entirely, but still. It’s an excuse to keep going along with it.

The one thing Castiel can’t seem to piece together is why Dean’s choosing to go along with it. He’s straight.  He likes beautiful girls with alluring curves and dainty giggles. Castiel knows this, he’s seen the girls Dean dates first hand. And even if that wasn’t the case, even if Dean was interested in men, he still wouldn’t be interested in someone like Castiel.

Now, Castiel isn’t insecure. He knows that he’s moderately attractive, that his brains and dry sense of humor have their own special appeal. But he’s also not so delusional as to think he’s any match for someone like Dean. He’s not charming or suave, he’s not drop-dead gorgeous, and he’s certainly not athletic. Not to mention the fact that he’s well near the bottom on the popularity chain. Other than a few acquaintances like Kevin or Hannah, he really only has one friend. And while that doesn’t bother him in the slightest, it certainly might bother Dean, or at the very least Dean’s friends.

So why on earth is Dean doing this? It could be a joke of some sort, but Castiel is certain that Dean isn’t that cruel. Sure, he puts on an arrogant act, but that’s all it is. An act.

Well, hopefully. Cas might just be biased towards Dean, after all.

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

“Balthazar,” Castiel intones, voice laced with warning, “enough.”

“Oh, come on, Cassie,” Balthazar whines. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Castiel slams his locker shut with a bang, only to look in his hands and realize he grabbed the wrong textbook. He growls in frustration and starts entering the code to open it again. “I don’t need your help.”

“Clearly, you do. You’ve been acting weird for weeks, and I’m willing to bet that it’s because of that Dean guy.”

Castiel ignores him in favor of finally swinging his locker open again. He throws his Chemistry textbook back in and grabs his English one with more force than necessary.

Yes, he can admit that he’s been acting more strangely than usual lately. He keeps switching between hoping that Dean feels something in return and beating himself up for even considering that to be a possibility. The kissing and the way Dean has been acting around him lately are enough to make him question his certainty, but everything else makes him think that he must just be projecting his feelings. This back and forth has affected his mood to the point that he’s been far more irritable than he typically is.

It certainly doesn’t help that Balthazar won’t stop pestering him about it.

“You know, the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one,” Balthazar says in a sing song voice.

Castiel shakes his head and stalks away, weaving through the crowded halls. He reaches the refuge of the English classroom before Balth can catch up with him again.

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

“Jeez, man, glare at that table any harder and you’ll burn a hole straight through it.”

Castiel jerks his head up, surprised beyond belief that Dean is actually on time for once. On any other day he would make some fond yet sarcastic remark congratulating Dean on it, but today his can barely work up a strained smile and a “Hello, Dean.”

Dean eyes him strangely as he takes the seat across from Castiel. “You feeling okay? There’s nothing urgent I gotta study for, so you can just go home if you want.”

The thinly veiled concern in Dean’s eyes is enough to make Castiel’s smile just a bit more genuine. “I’m fine, Dean. It’s just… It’s been a very long week,” he explains with a sigh.

Dean doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he does pull out his math homework to go over some problems with Castiel.

Castiel doubled up on math classes sophomore year, so he already took Algebra 3 last year. Between that and the fact that math is one of his favorite subjects, helping Dean in this class is usually a breeze. But this time Castiel somehow manages to make three careless mistakes on the same problem, and it definitely doesn’t escape Dean’s notice.

“You sure you’re alright? You seem pretty distracted this week.” Dean leans back in his seat, twirling a pencil between his fingers with practiced ease. “Let me guess, girl troubles?”

It’s meant to be teasing, but Castiel just sighs. “You could say that.”

The pencil halts mid-twirl. “Seriously?”

Castiel gnaws on his bottom lip, debating how much to say. This is a horrible idea. A stupid, terrible idea, but something in Castiel just decides to hell with it. “Actually,” he says, avoiding Dean’s gaze, “It’s um, guy trouble.”

Dean freezes, an expression on his face not unlike the one he had when Castiel kissed him the first time. “I—really?” Dean chokes out.

Castiel just nods, already regretting his decision. Dean is probably homophobic, and now he’s probably going to start avoiding Castiel, or at the very least be uncomfortable around him, and—

Dean jolts him out of his thoughts by clearing his throat. “Um, alright. Cool.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “’Cool’?”

Dean just shrugs. “Well, yeah. Look, I admit I was surprised at first, but it’s not like I’m a homophobic dick or anything.”

A blush makes its way up Castiel’s neck. Admittedly, he does have the tendency to jump to conclusions, but still. He should have had more faith in Dean. “I… thanks. For not, you know…”

Dean just smiles at him and rolls his eyes. “Whatever man. Now, on number nine, how do did you say you solve for x?” ----------------------------

Castiel had reluctantly admitted his crush to Balthazar not long after his talk with Dean. Balthazar had simply claimed that he had “totally called it” and told Castiel to “stop being such a wuss and ask Dean out already.”

If only it were that easy. But the fact is that Dean is still uninterested and Castiel is simply not willing to set himself up for rejection. If that makes him a coward, then so be it, but that is not a risk he is willing to take. He would rather have Dean as a friend (if you can even call their strange companionship that) than not at all. Besides, Castiel is Dean’s assigned tutor and he’d really rather not mess things up for the rest of the year. Facing Dean twice a week for two hours with Dean knowing that Castiel likes him would be humiliating.

Even though Balthazar was utterly useless in actually helping Castiel, he has at least stopped nagging Castiel about Dean as often. Castiel considers himself lucky for that, because the last thing he needs at the moment is more stress.

Something, though Castiel couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, shifted between him and Dean after that talk. Dean seemed… off, somehow. And sometimes, when Castiel eats lunch with Balth, he’ll catch Dean looking over at him with an expression that’s almost sad. But that doesn’t make any sense. What could Dean possibly be sad about?

It’s not until three weeks later as Dean is turning to leave the library and go home that Castiel realizes something.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Dean pauses and spins back around, eyes scanning the table before he scrunches his eyebrows at Castiel. “Um, no? What?”

Castiel grins at him and lifts an eyebrow. “You have a math test tomorrow.”

Dean frowns slightly, shifting the weight of his backpack on his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, “I know.”

Castiel blinks. “Won’t you need some luck?”

“Oh.” Dean glances away from Castiel, looking uncertain. “I figured you… Look, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Castiel’s heart sinks in his chest. He should have seen this coming. Of course Dean wouldn’t be okay with that any more. Not after he’s found out that Castiel is gay. Especially not if he ever suspects that Castiel likes him.

He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut. Hell, he never should have even started this stupid thing in the first place. Castiel rearranges his expression until it is carefully blank. “I understand,” he says, quickly averting his attention to put away his books.

Dean runs a hand through his hair. Castiel doesn’t know why he won’t just leave already and let Castiel mope in peace. “Cas, look, it’s not that I—”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Castiel interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear excuses. Dean is perfectly justified in his discomfort, Castiel knows that. He doesn’t need any explanations. All he needs is to go home and sulk like the pathetic person he is and try to get rid of these stupid feelings. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean stresses. “It’s not—I just—I don’t want to piss off your boyfriend.”

Castiel pauses, the book that was in his hands dropping to the table with a steady thunk. “Excuse me?”

Dean looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I know this… thing we’ve been doing is just a stupid joke and all that, and that it doesn’t even mean anything. Hell, you’ve probably already told your boyfriend all about it, and he’s probably fine with it, but it just… I can’t.”

Castiel just stares at him. “My… boyfriend?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, eyebrows raised. “Smarmy British dude, always wears V-necks, is constantly hanging around you? Ringing any bells?”

“Balthazar? You think I’m dating Balth?”

Dean opens and closes his mouth, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “Um. Yes?”

Castiel shakes his head, dumbstruck. “No. Heavens no. Balth? Really?” He scrunches up his nose at the thought. Yes, Balthazar is his best friend, and yes, Castiel can admit he’s somewhat attractive, but dating him?

“But, I mean, last month I kept seeing you guys arguing a lot, and then you said you were having guy troubles, and you’re always with him so I just thought…” Dean gives him a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Castiel agrees. “But I understand. It’s a reasonable assumption to make.”

Dean gives him a relieved smile. They both stand there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do now. Castiel picks up the textbook he had dropped, needing to busy his hands.

“So…” Dean says, shuffling his feet.  “Ever figure out that guy trouble, then?”

Castiel snorts. Secretly, he’s pleased that Dean is making an effort to talk to him more. They never used to discuss anything outside of school work, unless you count Dean’s attempts to annoy Castiel or get him off-subject. Still, of all the topics Dean could choose, he has to ask Castiel about this? “Not really,” he admits, thumbing at the pages of the book nervously. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid crush. The guy is straight anyways, so it’s not like I ever had a chance in the first place.”

He almost swears he sees a relieved expression cross Dean’s face, but it’s gone before he can even blink. “Ah, well, in that case… I mean, are you thinking of dating anyone else?”

There’s an unmistakably hopefully undertone to Dean’s voice, and Castiel almost drops the book again. “What?” Surely Castiel must be misinterpreting this situation.

But the blush tinging Dean’s cheeks says otherwise. “I mean, I know I’m probably not your type or anything, but if you want maybe we can like, go out or something?”

“I—but—you’re straight,” Castiel sputters.

Dean blinks at him in surprise. “Bisexual. I thought… I mean, the whole football team knows, I figured word would have gotten out.”

Castiel shakes his head dazedly. Dean Winchester is not only not straight, but he is also apparently willing to go out with him. What on Earth…?

Dean grimaces and runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up every which way. “I take that as a no, then?” he says, and the resignation in his voice makes Castiel’s heart constrict.

“No! I mean, yes! Not no to you, but no to taking it as—you’re my guy thing,” Castiel blurts out. Dean looks utterly baffled and Castiel rushes to explain before he can mess up this situation even more. “You’re the straight guy I had—have—a crush on. At least, I thought you were straight, but I guess…”

The grin that erupts across Dean’s face is nearly blinding. “You know,” he says, taking a step closer to Castiel, “for being such a smart guy, you sure can be an idiot. All you had to do was ask.”

“Oh shut up,” Castiel grumbles. He is more than a little disgruntled to admit that Balthazar was right. Lord, when Balthazar catches wind of this he’ll never let Castiel hear the end of it. “Have you changed your mind about needing some luck?”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “Definitely. Actually, I might need a bit more luck than usual. Maybe it’ll transfer better if we do it open mouthed?”

Castiel hums and fists his hands in Dean’s t-shirt. “We can certainly try,” he murmurs, already leaning in.

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

FIN

[saracen-panic]

Workout

Mark x Reader

Genre: Fluff / smut, idk it always starts with fluff and then smut knocks on your door and you just have to let it in idk idk idk

Word Count: 3k what the heck

Summary: Well, you have a hard time moving and Mark tries to be helpful?

Author’s Note: Damn Mark was my first bias when they debuted and they were like babies back then, and now he’s just being rude

Thank god it was Friday. You don’t think you’d be able to go to work tomorrow after what happened today.

The muscles in your arms were practically screaming for you to stop making so much movements. If your body had a mind of its own, it would have just dropped dead at your front door before you could even think about heading for your bed. It’s a good thing it doesn’t though because you’re not spending the Friday night on a cold floor.

You kicked your heels off and dumped your bag on the kitchen table along with your earphones, wristwatch, and glasses. Your put on your Spotify playlist on your phone’s loudspeaker, (shakily) tied up your hair in a messy bun and quickly stripped your clothes off before going in the toilet.

You planned on taking a hot bath instead, but with basically your entire body aching, you wouldn’t want to risk the chance of drowning in your own tub and make an embarrassment of yourself after you’ve died.

You took a quick hot shower and though the muscle above your chest made a real fuss when you tried to wrap your towel around yourself, you exited to your room and just lied down under the fan with your back on your bed, untying your hair which was a bit sweaty.

It was only a bit after 5PM and you just wanted to sleep off the pain. As you were about to doze off, your phone went off. You would’ve ignored it but there was only person you set that ringtone to and you weren’t going to miss it for the world.

You picked it up and put it on speaker. You groaned instead of saying ‘hello’.

“Babe? You there?”

“Yeah” you croaked.

“You okay, princess?” Mark asked softly. Not soft enough apparently because you hear Jackson, Bambam and Yugyeom going off on ‘princess’ at the background, teasing Mark to death. You also hear Jaebum telling them to shut it, but even that wasn’t enough.

You laughed in response. GOT7’s currently having their comeback so it’s that time again where you’d be spending less time with your boyfriend but it’s not something you’re not used to. You do miss the boys though.

“I’m okay, just tired. What’s up?” you asked.

“You sure? I mean I’m planning on coming over anyway so I’ll see how you’re doing” he went on.

“Wait what?” you mumbled.

“Ah yeah, Music Bank is cancelled and the manager-hyung gave us the day off until tomorrow morning before Music Core. We’re just about to leave the dressing room. I’m coming over okay. Need anything?”

“Just you” you groaned, because you moved, well, tried to move, your hand to reach for your phone.

As if the people in the background knew what you were talking about, you heard Jackson screaming at the top of his lungs and Bambam and Yugyeom going “why why why” and you just knew Jackson was eavesdropping on the conversation, placing his ear at the other side of Mark’s phone.

You could also just imagine the scene unfolding in front of Mark because of that misunderstanding: Jackson being the gossip king that he is and spilling everything he heard and the maknae line just going “woo ooo ohh” and “gET IT MARK” all over the room and completely reading the context wrong.

You heard Mark grumble at the other end of the line and you tried to hold your laughter because laughing actually hurts your abdomen so you just smiled really wide instead.

“I’ll tell you all about it when you come over, okay?” you assured him. “Is everyone else coming over too?”

“Oh hell no. I’m not bringing these guys,” he said out loud, just to sass the other boys in the room.

“WHAT WHYYY” you heard Bambam whining.

“We want to see the sister-in-law too,” Jackson said. “You alwAYS HOG HER TO YOURSEL-” 

“She’s my girlfriend,” you heard Mark yelled back

“Mark-hyuuuuuung” Yugyeom continued.

“Y’all little shits keep going like this and I’ll block all of you on her phone.”

Jackson dramatically gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Mark just stuck out his tongue.

You heard some shuffling from the other line and Jackson screaming “Don’t worry, sis! We’ll see you soon – Mark can’t keep you away from us long!!”

It got less noisy so you assumed Mark went out of the room to keep his sanity intact. He can only take the teasing (and Jackson) for so long. You heard him sigh.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s alright. Tell them I miss them, okay” you caved in, and laugh. “Ow,”

“Now I really want to know what happened. Not a casual day at work?” he mused.

“Ugh it was casual, alright. A little too casual. Get here quick,” you whined.

Mark just laughed. “Okay, okay, just give me 15 minutes or so. Are you sure you don’t need anything else besides me?” he teased.

Almost on cue, your stomach grumbled. You groaned, eating is the last thing you wanted to do. Imagining all the energy you need to use just to feed yourself. But you’re not going to starve yourself no matter how tired you are.

“Can you uh, bring food? But like nothing too heavy. Imagine feeding a sick person,” you replied.

“Are you sick?” he started to worry.

“Nooo, but just imagine. I want something light” you said.

“Okay…” he said sceptically. “See you later.”

“Don’t worry about it too much. See you.”

***

About 20 minutes later you heard your front door open and Mark calling your name. “Room,” you managed to shout back.

“Baby, what happened?” he quickly sat down next to you.

Before you could answer, he leaned in and kissed you. Mark’s kisses are always soft and you can always feel how needy it is when he misses you. And you haven’t seen him in weeks, which made the kiss feel even more breath-taking. One of his hands went up to hold your face and almost automatically, your hand raised to touch his hand… until your triceps ache because it was stretched and you squeaked in shock.

Mark opened his eyes and slowly pull back, looking at you squeezing your eyes shut.

You shook you head and just groaned in response and told him to get your underwear and his black hoodie from your closet.

“Oh... so this was where it went,” you heard him mutter, not sure if you were supposed to hear that.

You managed to smile cheekily when he turned to you. All girlfriends steal their boyfriends’ hoodies. It’s almost nature.

“Okay just sit down for a bit. I’m stiff,” you said. “But I need you to help put them on for me later.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Not off?” he pouted.

“If I wasn’t in this condition I wouldn’t have asked you to take clothes for me, babe”

He sat down next to you, chuckling. “Tell me,” he started.

“Okay, last week was hell since it was the end of the month and you know banks go crazy at the end of the month trying to close off and balance the accounts and checking everything.”

“So, this week a little bit more relaxed, not to mention that today was Friday and more than half of the office was already playing around after lunch. The boss said to take today easy and we weren’t about to make him change his mind. You remember Minho? The gym enthusiast? I had a project with him earlier this year. I think I told you about it,” you said and he nodded, concentrating on your story.

You continued. “He came over to my table and I was with my other colleagues and he was like “Hey, you guys want to try this 7-minute full body workout?” and since I had no better things to do, I just went on with it – everyone at the table too since Minho was basically coaxing everyone and saying it was ‘just 7 minutes’. And so there we were, doing jumping jacks and squats and planking! Can you believe planking?! Halfway I thought I was going to pass out but I wasn’t about to lose to not holding on for 7 minutes, you know?” he laughed, taking a hint at where this was going already.

“It was like 30 seconds for every exercise and a 10-second break but what the fuck, I was just about ready to throw up after 3 minutes. What really did it was the triceps dip, push-up, and lunges combo. Everyone was basically dry heaving at this point and cursing and Minho was just laughing his ass off. So here I am, regretting my life decisions sometimes.”

You closed your eyes, trying to forget the pain when it happened. Mark looked like he was holding his laugh big time. “It’s okay. You can laugh. My lazy ass deserves this,” you said, defeated. And he went off. This boy had a really contagious laugh too so you found yourself somewhat laughing along with him.

His hand went to hold yours after he was done, tears in his eyes from laughing too much. “I really thought you got sick or something, but I didn’t expect this. Where does it hurt?” he asked, lightly squeezing up your arms.

“Everywhere. It was a full body exercise, Mark. It’s basically as bad as the first time we had sex. I’m aching everywhere. Well, except down there but you get the idea.”

You thought you saw the look in his eyes slightly darkened but he laughed and gave you an empathetic smile. “That bad?”

You whimpered.

“There, there,” he said, patting your head. “Let’s put some clothes on you.”

You slowly sat up. Mark held out the hoodie over your head and helped pull your arms into the sleeves. You pulled the hoodie down to your thighs since it was oversize on you and fell back down on the bed.

Mark was nice enough to pull the towel off you and let it spread on the bed. He went back to putting on your underwear.

His hand touched your calf to lift it up and you moaned, not sure if it was reflex or because you felt a muscle pull at your thigh. Maybe both. Mark looked at you and you knew he was confused on how to react, but he went on to the other leg and did the same. It’s halfway up your legs now and you tried really hard not to make any weird sound.

Until his hand touched your inner thigh and even you were confused on how to react when you let out a breathy moan. It felt good but it also hurt.

“I didn’t know this was going to be hotter than taking them off, baby girl,” he said, voice sounding a bit strangled. He was kneeling in between your legs now. His brows strained and his eyes dark.

And then his hands were at your hips and he had no idea what he was doing anymore. He let out a breathy “Can I?” and you found yourself nodding.

His thumb was on your clit and you exhaled, as if you’ve been holding in your breath the entire time. He was slowly going in circular motions when you mewled. You could feel his finger was trembling, trying to hold back. He let himself palm you and you almost jerked.

“So wet for me, princess. Even when you’re in pain,” he smiled apologetically at you. “Sorry,” he whispered. You moaned his name, hoping he’d get that it’s okay.

You did miss him. What’s one more place to ache, anyway? You laughed at yourself. Sadist.

Mark slid one finger in to you, going at a slow pace. When he felt you loosening up, he inserted another finger and pumped in and out of you, going a bit faster.

You were a panting mess by then, cursing and moaning. You know he doesn’t want to hurt you, considering the condition you were in but going at this pace was torture so you bucked your hips, knowing your sorry ass is in pain.

“Even in this state, you have the energy to be needy,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, well, my energy’s running out and I’m spending it on this,” you growled, impatient.

He curled his fingers inside you and your breath hitched. He continued thrusting in and out of you, looking a bit of a mess too. He went faster and you felt his fingers hit that spot and your walls automatically clenched down on his fingers.

He groaned, knowing what that means. “Shit. Tell me, baby. How does it feel?” His hand went your stomach and slowly snaked it way up to your breast, kneading on your nipple.

“Good, s-so good” you whispered. Trying to hold it out a bit longer, you started breathing in and out, and focusing on something else, anything else. But with Mark slowly becoming undone right in front of you and the small wet patch on his sweatpants, it didn’t do much to help. Sweat was slowly appearing on his forehead, his hair was still styled nicely from the performance, and he’s biting his lower lip to get a grip of himself but it’s doing things to your imagination.

You tightened on his fingers again when he kept hitting that spot and a knot was forming in your stomach. “Close. Really close,” you managed to choke out along with some profanities and his name and you heard Mark mumbled “fuck” and sped his fingers.

When you can’t hold it in anymore and you’re talking but you don’t know what came out your mouth, you heard him say, “Be a good girl and cum for me. Show me how I made you feel.”

“A-h shit, shit… holy fuck” you screamed as you felt him thumb pressing on your clit again and felt the ache in your lower abdomen and thighs clenching and found yourself releasing on his fingers which were still pumping you. Your vision blurred and he kept going until you went down from your high, breathing returning to a normal pattern and you realised you’ve balled up your fist the entire time because it hurts to lift them but as you slowly loosen your grip, your hands were shaking.

Your eyes slowly coming to focus with what just happened. Mark licked his fingers and you whimpered, clearly seeing it.

He quickly pulled your underwear up your waist before he loses himself again. He slowly dragged away the towel beneath you and quickly ran off to put it in the laundry and also took the extra boxers he left to use whenever he’s sleeping over and pulled it over your underwear.

He came up to your face and kissed you, smiling.

“Okay, just to be clear, I didn’t come here planning to do that. I thought we were just going to cuddle and fall asleep a-and it’s just- you were just-“ he sputtered.

You laughed and pushed him up (wincing in the process) so you were both sitting. You leaned forward, lightly pecked his lips. “It’s okay, I got lost in it too. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, holding your hands in his and looking into your eyes.

“What are we going to do about you, though?” you chuckled, and pressed your palm on the persistent tent in his sweatpants.

“Huh? What –“ and his eyes widen when you did that and he struggled to breathe out. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away later –“

“But you didn’t –“

“It’s okay,” he pressed. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m going to take a shower now and then change before you make a fuss out of this. We’re going to eat and I’m going to cuddle you to sleep.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better but you stopped prodding him. He got up to the bathroom and cheekily winked at you before closing the door. You just shook your head and slowly got off your bed, trying to learn to walk again.

Again, you felt every part of you telling you to get back to bed but not moving would probably make it worse tomorrow morning. You tried stretching a bit and it’s already got you sweating again. You decided just to go see what Mark brought for dinner.

Bibimbap and black bean noodles in one plastic bag… hmm that’s probably his since you don’t eat that much and… fishball soup with noodles! Truly the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.

You didn’t realise you used this much muscle to pull a chair. When you sat down, you felt Mark kissed the top of your head and sat down next to you. “Is that enough?” he asked.

“Yeah I don’t plan on eating much. I was already so tired and then thanks to someone I’m even more tired. Now I can definitely say it hurts everywhere.” You pouted.

He happily kissed away your pout. Mmm… you took in his scent and sighed in content. Mark always smells comforting.

Later, both of you spent the night on the couch, huddled together with you leaning onto his body, fingers lazily playing together, and catching up.

As it reached midnight, you were definitely getting sleepy. You were already sleepy before but Mark was going on about the funny things that happened preparing for the comeback and you couldn’t just fall asleep on him. He doesn’t talk a lot so you’re not going to ruin it when he does.

When you noticed he yawned, you yawned too and hugged into him, closing your eyes. He lifted you and carried you to your room. He laid down next to you and you turned to hug him. He kissed your head again and draped his free hand over your shoulder, softly rubbing his thumb to get you to fall asleep.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[woodland-knight]

The Little Things

I started writing this a week ago, and after a lot of ups and downs in trying to get it done… Here it is, I guess? Also I’m sorry all I can do is write right now. School and work continue to be very unkind to me and my health.

Pairing: Rindea

Summary: Ringabel thinks waking Edea up at 2am is a good idea. Edea, however, doesn’t feel the same way about it. Hugs are involved.

Word Count: 2743 Words

Additional Notes: Takes place post B2nd, but I kept spoilers limited to lightly implied BD spoilers. Even then, it might be hard to catch.

“Edea? Edea…”

It was pitch black when Edea opened her eyes. She was exhausted, and her limbs were sore from the previous day’s activities. Judging by how groggy she was, she had only been asleep a few hours, which was far less time than she would have liked. As her eyes tried to adjust to the light, she attempted to make sense of what was going on. Somebody had woken her up for some reason, and though she couldn’t be certain to as of why, the who was more than obvious.

“Ringabel, I was sleeping!” she hissed as she looked at a black mass that was lying next to her. It had been moving a second beforehand, but it had stopped as soon as she had spoken. A moment later, the mass moved closer, and Edea could just barely start to make out the features of her fiancé as it did so.

“I know you were asleep. That’s why I had to wake you,” Ringabel said as he inched his way over. “I wouldn’t be able to talk to you if you were still sleeping.”

Edea let out an annoyed huff. “I would have preferred if you had left me sleeping,” she complained while rubbing her now stinging eyes. Throwing his blanket over Edea, Ringabel made himself comfortable next to her.

“I know, I know, but I wanted to talk to you,” he told her as he reached for a strand of her hair before changing his mind. “I hope you’re not angry that I woke you.”

Edea blinked a few times as she tried to let her eyes adjust to the light. “What time even is it?” she asked before letting out a big yawn. “I feel like I haven’t even slept a wink.”

The bed shook slightly as Ringabel made a poor attempt at a shrug. “Two in the morning, maybe? I just got into bed a little bit ago, and I didn’t bother to check the time,” he explained. Muttering complaints about the time to herself, Edea rolled onto her stomach and crossed her arms over her pillow.

“You better have a good reason for waking me up then,” she grumbled as she rested her chin between her arms. She had closed her eyes again to keep them from stinging, but it was also causing her to doze back off. Ringabel, however, laid his head next to hers in order to wake her back up.

“Of course, Little Peahen. I wouldn’t wake you from your beauty sleep if it wasn’t important,” he mentioned as he draped his arm over her. Edea couldn’t tell if he was teasing or being serious, but she still didn’t appreciate the fact he had woken her up.

“It wasn’t beauty sleep, it was a warrior’s slumber,” she insisted with another grumble. “It ensures that I can still kick your butt when you decide to bother me in the middle of the night.”

Ringabel, seemingly unaffected by Edea’s tired threat, propped himself up with one arm and poked her cheek. “Or perhaps it was the eternal slumber of a fair maiden, only woken up by the sound of her true love’s voice?” he teased as he continued to poke. Annoyed, Edea swatted his hand away and turned her head towards him.

“What do you need?” she bluntly asked him. She had opened her eyes just enough to try and make his expression out, and he seemed to be… Frowning? She couldn’t be sure, as it was still too dark for her to make things out properly.

“You are angry at me, aren’t you?” Ringabel asked in response. Edea still couldn’t tell how he was feeling, but his voice didn’t sound very cheerful. Edea, however, was still too annoyed to point it out.

“You woke me up at 2 am,” she reminded him with the same blunt manner. “Now tell me what you need so I can go back to sleep.”

“I just wanted a hug, Edea,” Ringabel told her with a somewhat disappointed tone. “Is that too much to ask?”

Edea felt herself tense up. A hug!? He had woken her up because he wanted a stupid hug!? Seriously!? She should’ve kicked him out for waking her up for such a stupid thing! Ugh!

“Go to sleep, Ringabel,” she demanded as she rolled away from him. She wasn’t as angry as she could be, but she was definitely irritated. If it weren’t for how tired she was, she would have given him a good tongue lashing. Ringabel, however, scooted closer and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Just one hug? Pleeeease?” he asked in a way reminiscent of a whining child. Edea scrunched her face in annoyance and turned her attention back to what she was pretty sure was Ringabel’s face.

“I said, go to sleep, Ringabel,” she demanded a second time; this time a bit harsher than the last. Normally she’d have no complaints giving him a small hug, but the fact he had woken her just for that had made her less than willing. Disappointed, Ringabel sighed and pulled the covers back over his head.

“Goodnight, Edea…” he mumbled to her before rolling to the other side of the bed and falling silent. She had no clue if he was actually trying to fall asleep, but he was at least letting her get some shut eye. Relieved, Edea made herself comfortable and let her head sink back into the pillow…

Ten minutes passed, and then twenty… By the time an hour had passed, Edea was still awake. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and enough moonlight was creeping in to make things more visible, though it wasn’t of much use to her. She was keeping her eyes squeezed shut to try and force herself to fall asleep, but she wasn’t having any luck. No matter how tired she was, she couldn’t help but feel restless as well. It was torture.

As Edea laid on her stomach and kept her eyes closed, she tried to think of ways to help her sleep. Kamiizumi had once told her the way to a perfect night’s sleep was clearing the mind, so she tried her best to change her way of thinking. She began to focus more on what was around her and less of what was in her head. The cold air on her cheeks… The warmth of the bed and blankets… The darkness of the room… The sound of crying?

Edea opened her eyes and turned her attention to the lump under the blankets that was her fiancé. Sitting up and reaching over, she lightly placed her on top of him and watched as he straightened out under the sheets. A moment later, Ringabel peered out from under the blankets. Though Edea couldn’t see his tears, she could still tell from his actions that he had been crying.

“D-do you need something, Edea?” he asked while poorly attempting to hide the fact he was upset. Concerned about her fiancé, Edea reached over to the top of his head and gently brushed her fingers through his hair.

“I heard you crying. What’s going on?” she asked as she continued to pull at the loose strands of hair. In attempts to avoid the conversation, Ringabel pulled the covers back over his eyes, but left enough room for Edea to continue playing with his hair.

“N-nothing is going on! E-everything is okay…” he tried to convince her before sniffling. Knowing it was an obvious lie, Edea pulled the covers back so she could see the entirety of Ringabel’s face.

“I know you’re upset, Ringabel,” she said as she moved her hand to his cheeks to wipe his tears. “Please tell me what’s wrong…”

Ringabel sniffled again. “R-really, Edea! It’s nothing!” he continued to insist. Displeased with Ringabel’s lying, Edea began to frown.

“Please don’t hide this from me, Ringabel,” she requested as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but at least tell me something.”

Ringabel was hesitant. “It’s… It’s just the depression…” he quietly admitted a moment later. He was trying to cover his face with the blanket again, yet Edea didn’t stop him. Instead, she laid back down next to him to comfort him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked as she moved a bit closer. She knew better than to force Ringabel to talk, but it was good to ask anyway. She could feel Ringabel tense up.

“No, not really…” he told her as he placed his forehead against hers. “It’s a bit hard to explain…”

Edea put her hand back on Ringabel’s cheek. “Well, is there anything I can do to help?” she continued to ask. Even if he’d prefer to stay silent on the matter, she still wanted to find a way to make him feel better. Ringabel placed his hand on top of hers.

“…can you give me a hug?” he requested with a saddened tone. Edea felt her heart sink as she realized why Ringabel had asked for the same thing earlier in the night. He had just wanted somebody to comfort him… She felt terrible for ignoring the previous request now, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Wrapping her arms around Ringabel, she gave him a big hug.

“I’m sorry, Ringabel. If I had known you were upset earlier I wouldn’t have said no…” she apologized before snuggling against him. Ringabel returned the hug and held Edea close.

“It’s okay, Edea… I can’t get upset with you for not knowing,” he assured her. Edea, however, still felt terrible for what had happened.

“I should have known… I need to pay better attention next time,” she said as a lump formed in her throat. She felt somewhat responsible for Ringabel’s well-being, even if she knew she could never magically fix things, and felt she had to be more attentive. Ringabel, on the other hand, still tried to assure her things were okay.

“Really, Edea. It’s okay. You’re helping me now and that’s what matters,” he told her before giving her a quick peck on the forehead. “Besides, it’s not always obvious when Anazel is bothering me.”

Edea blinked. “Anazel…?” she asked in confusion. “Ringabel… Did you name your depression?”

Ringabel shifted awkwardly. “Ah, well… It was my psychiatrist’s idea,” he began to explain. “He said if I tried to humanize my depression, it might help me cope in more… Healthier ways… So I gave it a name. Now every time I have a bad thought, I just think ‘shut up, Anazel!’ to try and help myself feel better.”

Edea laughed a bit. “I see. It’s definitely different,” she pointed out before laughing again. Ringabel didn’t seem to appreciate her comment though, as he began to once again frown.

“Is it really that funny?” he asked with a somewhat hurt tone. Edea started to feel bad for laughing, especially since that hadn’t been the idea she was trying to convey.

“No, I don’t think it’s funny. I’m laughing because I think it’s cute!” she tried to explain herself. It didn’t seem to be working, however, as Ringabel was still frowning at her.

“…so you think my depression is cute,” he told her with the same hurt tone. Edea realized her message had been completely lost now, and it didn’t help she wasn’t doing a good job of explaining it in the first place.

“No, no, not at all! I think the fact you’ve given it a name is a great idea!” she said in attempts to correct her mistake. “What I think is cute is how willing you are to do what it takes to get through this. It’s an endearing character trait.”

Thankfully, Edea’s words seemed to be having an effect. “Do you really think so?” Ringabel asked her with a slightly more happy tone. Edea scooted up and kissed him on the nose.

“I know so,” she said with the utmost confidence. She could feel Ringabel hug her tighter, and he kissed her on the cheek before suddenly pouting a bit.

“Well, I still don’t think ‘cute’ was the best word to use,” he told in a grumpy, yet also playful way. She could tell he was just teasing now and let out another small laugh.

“Then how about inspiring?” she suggested to him. Ringabel raised an eyebrow slightly and tilted his head as much as he could with it being against their pillow.

“So now you’re saying you laughed because you found it inspiring,” he pointed out to her. Edea realized he was right and that it sounded odd, so she tried to explain herself once more.

“How about this… I laughed because I love you, and seeing you have the courage to deal with your pain head on inspires me to keep smiling,” she began. “You make me happy, even if you’re hurting, and you can make me laugh even when you’re sad. It’s the little things that you do that make me love you… Like the fact you bite your thumb when you’re in deep thought, the little noise you make when you realized you’ve forgotten something, your enthusiastic gushing about airships that only you understand, and now the fact you gave your depression a name to help you stay strong… I love all of that about you.”

To Edea’s relief, Ringabel’s expression softened. “I like that explanation a lot better,” he said with a loving smile. Edea  could hear a bit of satisfaction in his voice, but also happiness. With finally being able to see the smile she fell in love with, however, Edea probably felt more satisfaction than he did.

“Good, now go back to bed,” she demanded with a playful tone. Though she no longer cared that Ringabel had woken her up, she was still feeling exhausted. Ringabel began to pout and squeezed her a bit tighter.

“But Edeaaaaa!” he whined as he nuzzled his way into the crook of her neck. Edea was ready to give him a deadpan stare, but it would have been impossible for him to see in his current position.

“I need my beauty sleep, don’t I?” she asked in a somewhat mocking tone. It had always amazed Edea how fast the two of them could go from being heartfelt to teasing, but as long as nobody had their feelings hurt it didn’t bother her. Ringabel, meanwhile, was still whining.

“Yes, but- I mean you’re always beautiful, but that’s not the point! I would like to say something too!” he said as he moved his head back next to hers. Edea could tell he was trying to be sincere, so there was no point in trying to stop him.

“What do you want to say?” she continued to ask before yawning. Ringabel was still holding her close and looked her in the eyes before speaking.

“I love the fact your smile can brighten my day, and that you twitch your nose when you smell good food. The fact you love to listen to my poems and can even recite some by heart, and the freckles on your cheeks… These little things and so much more are why I love you,” he softly told her. Edea felt her cheeks turning red and buried her face in her pillow out of embarrassment. Even if they were engaged now, Ringabel still had his ways to charm her.

“G-go to sleep, Ringabel!” she loudly mumbled into the pillow. Ringabel let out a laugh and kissed her on the temple, all while keeping her close to him.

“Goodnight, Edea,” he whispered in her ear before relaxing next to her. Edea felt herself relax as well and turned herself back towards Ringabel.

In the comfort of Ringabel’s arms, Edea began to doze. He was warm and comfortable, and it would definitely make falling asleep easier. Following Kamiizumi’s advice once again, Edea tried to clear her mind. She focused on her breathing, Ringabel’s heartbeat, how nice his arms felt… She felt herself drifting off within moments of closing her eyes… Until Ringabel poked at her cheek again.

“Hey, Edea?” he asked in attempts to get her attention. Edea kept her eyes shut and didn’t bother getting angry. She was too tired for it.

“Mmm…?” she mumbled just loudly enough for Ringabel to hear her. Ringabel placed his forehead against hers once more and gently whispered to her.

“You give the best hugs…”

[crqstalite]

pt. 4, off duty.

this and thek’s chapter took the longest because while i enjoyed their romances (aric n mako) they also took a higher place on my favorite romances, and aric was actually the first ever companion i had (i started playing in 2011 but never got past the prolouge), so i wanted to do him some real justice. in all, i think for the trooper companions everyone ends up getting their spotlight (bc i’m really bad at writing other companions unless you’re the first companion of the class or the love interest) bc i love the trooper companions. the story could’ve been better, but a 8/10 for me.

small tw : anxiety attacks.

written : 6.29.19. published on tumblr : 7.6.19. word count : 3,956.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

character song : hooked on a feeling, blue swede

character file : major hakiojkl hyperion of the republic army

-

Off-duty.

An odd word for a Major of the Republic Army, more so for the Commanding Officer of Havoc Squad.

But somehow, she’s technically (supposed to be) the definition of that word right now.

Or she should be. But, the reports from other cells of the Army are calling to her, and it’s now candlelight hours, a definition once told to her by an officer on Coruscant, and in Tanno’s words, meaning she should be sleep by now. She doesn’t think she’s gotten that far, filing a few away for presentation to Garza in the near future, but her eyes are drooping as she moves on through the mountain of work.

Of course, the Thunderclap is silent as they move slowly in the vacuum of space. Elara had been busy at work on some reports earlier in the day, but Hakiojkl had politely asked her to enjoy herself during their few weeks of leave. Tanno and Yuun had also attempted helping her file them away for a later date (Yuun helpful as always, even if he didn’t fully understand them, but Tanno still trying, futilely, to get her to do some R&R with the rest of the crew), but she’d sent them away as well. M1-4X was going through some of his own updates, so he was in a low-power mode all day. (Tanno made fun of him a few times before getting bored and residing to the storage room) Everyone slept somewhat peacefully, except for her.

Aric had been the most persistent though. She’d tell him to leave, he’d come back five minutes later to help her. She’d tell him to leave again, firmer, he’d come back again. While it wasn’t frustrating, four eyes were better than two, it’s was her job, not his, to finish these and keep a standard of order and punctuality. Not to mention that like the others, she didn’t know how long it had been since her XO had taken a few weeks of leave himself, even though he’d been with her the longest.

He’d given her a disgruntled look at the idea before leaving for the last time fifteen minutes ago, “If that’s how you want it.” Before pressing a kiss to her temple.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t gotten anything done since he’d left. Her face still burned from the interaction just thinking about it. Hakio wasn’t good at loving, and she knew it. Jonas’ advancements made her uncomfortable, and she’d shook them off like water. But something about Aric made that cling onto her. He wasn’t flirtatous, whatsoever, and in the beginning seemed to be jealous of her new position as his CO. She’d assumed he would always be like that, and nothing she did or didn’t do would make him more willing to follow her.

But somehow, they’d ended up like the ‘star-crossed lovers’ from the holodrama she used to watch with her sisters as a child. They weren’t moving fast, and that’s how she liked it, but even just having him around made her feel safe, protected with him by her side. When these feelings had first surfaced in her, she panicked. It was wrong to feel these feelings for your squadmate, especially someone that you shared a ship with. You had nowhere to run if things went bad, and if that was the case, whenever they were alone with you, you could be killed, or worse, handed over to the Empire without a second thought.

It wasn’t practical.

Romance was an impairment.

Growing up as the youngest of six girls and three boys, she’d seen her fair share of romance. It sometimes was small, and bloomed into something more beautiful, like with her oldest sister, Quinne and her husband, Niko, and sometimes it was hot and passionate, like with her brother Tyqin and his husband, Yuvi. As they all got married off before she left for military training, often her sisters would try pairing her off with the boys around her age, which always went worse than intended. Josie, her youngest brother attempted pairing her off with girls in his grade, which ended in Deandre leaving her because she couldn’t put up with Hakio always been at the Army camp.

It wouldn’t have worked in the long run, and she figured Deandre was only with her to get closer to Josie. That or to be the gold digger she turned out to be once she married Josie.

Unlike other girls, she’d never gotten that pulsating heart feeling, her face didn’t go red seeing anyone shirtless, male or female. When she’d eventually been promoted Sergeant and subsequently transferred to Ord Mantell, she’d just resigned to accepting she was ace. And that was okay, it meant there was no rushing home to someone because you’d been out all day saving the galaxy, it meant no having to share an apartment or a room, and it definitely meant not having to try and impress your partner with MREs because you couldn’t cook (that was primarily based off an offhanded comment Aric had made, and it was halfway true with Hakiojkl herself).

But the Cathar had weaseled his way into her heart somehow. It kept her from focusing, even on her better days. She’d never admitted to anyone about it, even her siblings, who made it their job to call every other day, even if they didn’t know that another sibling had called her just a day before.

Her eye twitched at the thought of it (or it could be the caffeine she’d had today). She was gonna have to have Elara begin blocking her siblings’ holocalls one of these days, they were getting more distracting than Jorgan.

“I’m not in love, am I?” she whispered under her breath, eyes scanning over the datapad’s bright light, stylus in her mouth as she made a movement to stretch. Closing her eyes, she yawned as her shoulder popped, relief flooding into her body. Eyes open again, she was ready to begin working once more, but instead her eyes locked onto Aric’s.

He’d been standing behind her with a cup of something steaming as she yelped girlishly, something she hadn’t done in years while in the military. He was also startled, as she must’ve been so deep into her work (or her own thoughts) that she hadn’t heard him come in. “Jorgan!”

He restabilizes the drinks and places them down next to her on the desk, a mischeveous grin crossing his face as he sat down next to her (she hadn’t bothered putting away the chair he had been sitting in before, knowing he’d just be back). “Sir, permission to speak freely?”

“Stars, yes, permission granted.” She’s trying to calm her racing heart, not uphold protocol right then. Whether because Aric was in private quarters right now or because he’d startled the Force right out of her (if she was force-sensitive), she figured it was a combination of both.

“Thought you were sleep in here for a minute, brought you something.” The cup was warm as she sipped at it, as she immediatly relaxed from the adrenaline rush. Well, it was still there, her face hot and heart racing. But, she smiled, it was a thicker drink she’d enjoyed back on Hoth when they’d been stationed there with Yuun. However, Aric hadn’t been with her then, Elara had joined her. She’d make sure to ask how he knew how to make it later.

Glancing over at him once she’d had her fill, she put the cup down. “Thank you, Jorgan. But if I may ask, why do you keep coming back? I told you I had this.”

He considers his words before speaking again, “Major, you’ve been working on these reports for the last three days of leave. I figured if you wouldn’t listen to anyone else, you’d listen to your XO, sir.”

“Yes, I’m fully aware of that, Captain.” She hadn’t been aware how long she’d been working.

“Elara believes you haven’t slept in those 72 hours, sir.”

“How does she know that?” Elara, perceptive as always must’ve noticed how clumsy she was getting around the ship, as she’d spent the first half of the day nursing a bump on her forehead and bruised ego for running into one of the Thunderclap’s walls. She hadn’t slept in a couple of normal sleep rotations though, she knew that. She figured any medic would know the signs of exhaustion.

“Didn’t say.”

They’re both quiet for a bit as she continues with her work, words swimming and formulas disappating as the night wears on. He doesn’t say much as they work side by side, where they’re at their best. It seems like whether on the battlefield or on the Thunderclap, everything faded away except for the task at hand when they were together. Aric had her back, and she had his.

Always would, she hoped.

However, maybe another hour later, her grip on the tablet is loosening, and Aric picks it up out of her hands and puts it down on the desk, looking up from his own. She doesn’t fight him as she leans back in her chair, blinking away the awaiting exhaustion. It’s like she’s missing pieces of the night, she can’t even remember whether she’d eaten before coming back in here after helping Yuun and Elara with something. Something she couldn’t remember right then. Crossing her arms and lowering her head, she was beginning to blank on the day’s events.

“Major?”

“Hmph?!” She’s dozing off once Aric lightly shakes her awake as she flails, jolting up and mildly confused as she steadies herself, scanning the room for any sort of danger. She’s out of it, completely. “I’m awake what’s-”

Aric’s grinning and she must’ve grimaced because it disappates. “Nothing, you fell asleep for a moment there and I figured you should sleep in a bed, sir.”

“Oh.” Danger averted, she guessed he was right. Sleep was calling, and her body desperately cried to answer. “Yes, of course.”

Stumbling out of the chair like a drunkard, her legs almost gave out beneath her, after not standing in so long. Aric stood in a split second, helping to stabilize her even though she made a weak motion to wave him off. “Stars, I’m not a child, Jorgan.”

She could almost hear his thoughts contradicting that statement, but figured she wouldn’t say anything else. He paused, as she made a motion for her storage closet, where she kept most of her clothes when she wasn’t wearing her armor. She desperately needed a bath, a nice run through the 'fresher, maybe a hat afterwards but definitely a shave, the fuzzies on the top of her head were coming in fast now. But just as that thought crossed her mind she turned back around. “I’ll be alright now, thank you Captain.”

“Yes, I’ll be out of your hair, sir. Good night.” He left, as she considered the white shirt she’d thrown off. It wasn’t even hers, she figured she’d know her clothing (It didn’t have Dorne written on where the tag should be, and she’d know if it were Yuun’s or Vik’s.), but it seemed she had been wearing Aric’s and he hadn’t mentioned it. No one ever made a big deal if you wearing someone else’s training shirt during drills, you were sweating and working out so no one cared as long as they got washed.

“For the record, you kiss like some people punch.”

After that episode in the weapons locker, she’d left the situation between them alone, and Aric seemed happy to leave it that way. She didn’t even know whether she remembered what he said correctly, but it had left her feeling like she’d done something wrong. Out of all the endorphins she felt, her main thought was 'Are my kisses supposed to feel like punches?’

A fleeting thought led her laugh at the idea of calling one of her sisters. If they knew, especially if Voonie knew, she’d either have Aric’s head or come down to the Thunderclap herself. She figured having no advice was better than having biased advice.

In that moment, she decided on just tossing the shirt back on and leaving the room, bare feet and all. It hadn’t been that long since he’d left, and she got lucky as he was just passing by the holocom in the middle of the ship as she nearly tripped over herself on the way down the stairs. (Hadn’t been the first time, thank the Maker that only Yuun had been on the ship that day, or Tanno would never let her live it down. Nor would Aric, but he’d be more discreet about his jestering, as would Elara.)

She wasn’t sure if he had heard her first or just…sensed her coming down the stairs (probably the former, Hakio enjoyed the 'going in guns blazing’ aspect of being Havoc Squad, not being an ace in stealth), but he turned around before she crossed the few millimeters between them. “Major?”

“Aric, you once said kissing me felt like a punch, didn’t you?”

He paused, clearly thinking over his words before responding. Even though her nerves were shivering in the darkness of the Thunderclap, she felt hot as she waited for his response. “Yes, I did.”

She doesn’t allow him another sentence as she steps to connect them both. She keeps that comment in mind, but she figures she’s less forceful than the first time. He seems surprised for a second, but he doesn’t pull away, instead melting into her. Her siblings always seemed to have a description for kisses they experienced, but for now, Hakio had none. It was just, euphoria. She felt nothing and everything at the same time. It’s one of the few times neither of them is in combat armor, so his hands are bare as they seem to just know to rest his hands around her waist, and without durasteel covering her, she could feel as it happened. A strong grasp keeping her in place as she tried her best to not shiver through the experience.

He doesn’t let her go once they do pull apart, quietly gasping for air in the dark of the ship, his face illuminated by the low-power of the holocom. “Better?” She whispers, questioning.

“Still feels like a slap on the wrist.” He chuckles lowly before kissing her again. “But, I’ll take as many slaps as you’re willing to give.”

She decides not to comment on the lude innuendo. This is the closest they’ve been since then, out of sight of the others and not in the middle of combat. This is the safest she’s felt since, well at any point in her life, maybe the exception being with her family. He’s strong, she’s known this since the days she’s caught him with his shirt off by accident (Elara’s made it a mild concern how Vik and Aric walk around the ship shirtless after drills, but at the time, Hakio made it a backburner issue and responded she could do the same if she wanted.), but it was different with his arms actually around her. He’s soft, and while she can’t describe it, so is his fur. Makes her want to run her hands through it.

They’re both breathing hard, trying to remain together as Hakio finally let herself go. As if all the anxiety of never loving before was taken away by Aric himself. She smiled as he leaned his forehead against hers, standing in each others arms, neither ready to let the either go. The fears subside, for now, but they scream to be let out again, expressed.

“Hakio.”

“Yes?” She whispered in response. She lifted hers to meet his emerald green eyes that softened at the sight of her, every time she walked into the weapons locker.

“I love you.”

She freezes for a second. No one has ever said that to her but her own family, so it’s a new thought to connect loving to someone that didn’t share blood with her. For a moment, all the fear and anxiety floods into her, feeling as if an attack is coming on again. Her heart is racing, too fast, her palms are becoming sweaty and she feels dizzy. But not in the way her siblings ever described to her. It doesn’t feel right, and it scares her.

“Hakio?” He seems concerned now, placing a palm on her cheek. She’s willing back tears as she tries to re-align herself with the situation at hand. Throwing caution to the wind is beginning to have it’s toll on her, and she’s afraid of so many things if they truly become involved, romantically at least… “Are you alright?”

“..Y-yes.” A few sneaky drops of water snake their way down her cheeks.

“You clearly aren’t.” He loosens his grasp around her waist, taking her hands in his. “Hakio, talk to me.”

“I’m fine, Jorgan.” She’s not fine. She’s hoping he doesn’t notice how she employs his surname instead of his first name, but he does.

“Hakio.” His voice takes on a warning tone as she looks back up at him, nearly sniffling away tears. Blast it, this is embarassing, she’s supposed to be the hardened Major of the strongest Special Forces unit in the known galaxy and here she is crying because she doesn’t want someone to care about her and get hurt.

Emotions really do get in the way.

“I’m afraid then.” She’s worried he won’t hear, but he’s very clearly listening. “Aric, if you and I get…'involved’, what if I die one day? What will you be left with? What if Garza transfers one of us, and I never see you again-”

“Hakio, breathe.” Somehow he’s well-versed in the attacks she’s had. None have been particularly this bad, or this intimate, as they keep their voices low, the others sleep only a couple of feet away behind a closed door. But he knows, and she follows his advice. She’s calming down, but the fear gnaws at her. They’re real fears, things she never wants to face, a world without Aric. “Whatever happens, happens. It’s business as usual Hakio, and we can’t control that. And y'know what, that’s okay. I’ll still love you, and I figure you love me, even if I haven’t heard you say it.”

She nods as he brushes away another stray tear. “You got it?”

“I got it.” She whispers as he goes in for another kiss. “I love you, Aric Jorgan.”

“And I love you too, Hakiojkl Hyperion.”

-

Somehow, she and Elara are working together the next day, mostly Hakio fixing up some of the ship’s life support systems while Yuun is out and just talking together. She and Elara gained a sister-like relationship while working together, and they trust and enjoy one another’s company to just end up spending a whole day together without ever explaining to the crew that. Not as well-oiled as she and Jorgan, but Elara has definitely been added to the small family Havoc has become.

“Major, permission to speak freely?” Elara asks as she hands Hakio a hydrospanner.

“Permission granted, Elara.” She says, rubbing her forehead before continuing with her work. The dark hairs trying to grow back are a reminder that she needs to shave again, or face the consequence of looking like a spiky plant until she gets a small afro again.

“Can I ask you about something?” Elara questions, handing her another tool as she ties her hair up. “Something…personal.”

“Of course.” She says, with one tool in her mouth and the other in hand screwing in the last part to an upgrade on the medbay’s cot. Squinting, it’s almost in, just about…

“I saw something that I didn’t fully understand last night-

Not unusual. Well, maybe a little. ‘Less a beast from space had wandered onto the ship during the night-

-It’s about your relationship with Captain Jorgan.”

The screw falls onto her eye as Hakio screams out a profanity, hitting her head on the cot, just barely rolling out from underneath it, Elara wincing as she tried to get a good look at the damage the cot had done to her Major, taking her face into her hands to inspect. “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business and all.”

“How much do you want to know?” Hakio asks, one hand covering her eye as Elara let her go. Damn, it stings like a bitch, and she wasn’t planning on explaining anything until she and Aric had discussed more. Elara wasn’t meant to see anything either, which is what concerned her more. How much had she seen of last night’s encounter?

She kept herself from dragging a hand down her face and groaning.

“Nothing! I didn’t intend to ever find out that way, I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Elara Dorne has to be the most understanding and polite woman Hakio had ever met. Asocial her ass.

“I’m not hugely curious, really. It was partially obvious to the untrained eye.” She chuckles, and Hakio figures she’s accidentally blushed to cause a reaction from the ex-Imperial. “No offense taken, but it seemed you always chose the Captain over me in the early days. After overhearing his stricter nature, I originally figured you were trying to impress him, but as months passed, I learned you were, in a way I wasn’t expecting.”

“Wasn’t expecting?” Hakio questions as she nurses the second head-bump she’s had in two days as she listens to her Lieutenant.

“Not exactly.” Elara’s in thought for a moment before continuing, “I saw you as my CO when I first arrived from Taris, just a smidgen kinder than Kalor. But eventually, I realized you were nothing like him. You cared for your soldiers, each and every one of us, and you approved every request I ever made towards you, where Kalor would surely refuse. However, you were a strong woman, and I’ve met other per se, 'warrior women’ like you. None I know of ever married.”

“Elara, I’m not married-” She cuts herself off from the inevitable 'maybe’ Elara may respond with.

“I know that, Major. But the way you interact with Captain Jorgan, even around just Havoc, I find it cute. I would never inquire what you do behind closed doors,” Hakio busies herself with tinkering some other gadget to avoid looking at Elara, as she’s sure her face has gone a brighter red than it should against her darker skin, “But I think you both make a fine couple.”

“Thank you?” It turns into a question near the end as Elara hands her another tool as she returns to work on her datapad. “Thank you, I mean, for understanding.”

“Oh, of course, Major.”

“Hakio.”

“Hm?” Elara questions as if she didn’t hear right.

“You heard me, Lieutenant. My name is Hakio, I suggest after two years you use it.” She lifts her head from her gadget to look at the blue-eyed woman as a small smile graces her lips. “I think of you like a sister Elara, and sisters don’t use their sister’s titles to address them.”

“Oh. Of course, Hakio. Did you by any chance finish the reports that the Marshall sent it?”

Hakio groaned. “No, I almost fell asleep last night at my desk while Aric was helping.”

“It’s not that big a deal, really. I was just curious. You are on leave.” She pauses again before leaving the medbay. “Did you and the Captain sign Form 3578-K?”

Hakio is very close to banging her head against the wall if Elara brings up another thing she didn’t finish last night because of her panic attack and general exhaustion. Elara chuckles outwardly, “Just put it on your to-do list, Hakio!”

Hakio shakes her head, halfway smiling and the other half of her blushing madly. Would he sign it with her? She didn’t know, maybe she’d wait for him to ask.

Walking past the holocommunicator, it alerted her there was a message waiting to be played. Must’ve been a broadcast, or whoever was calling would’ve called her personally.

-

oh i also took some liberties with how the trooper ship is laid out,, bc while writing this i thought the captain’s quarters was across from the cockpit. it’s not :/

but for now i guess it is lol. i also adore elara dorne, and i intend to play her romance through at some point ;) but for now, she’s like a sister to hakiojkl, and helps her with more feminine things bc who are we kidding hakio’s a dumbass to anything that doesn’t include a rifle.