#at first i thought okay maybe its sinuses

[icarryitin]

Episode 24: Trade Deal

spencer reid/gn!reader

i started this bc i was ill and feeling sorry for myself and it turned into a very not to me not if it’s you kind of vibe, mostly bc i frankensteined a couple of my favourite translations of That Scene so they could have their own version🥰🥰

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: reader has a cold and all the grossness that comes with it, spencer is so Cute™️ it causes me physical pain

summary: In which Spencer Reid, known germaphobe, pretends he doesn’t know exactly how many pathogens have made their home in your sinuses.

It starts with a scratchy throat on a Tuesday morning.

You don’t think much of it, blame it on seasonal allergies, knock back a multivitamin - you’re not about to be bested by a cough of all things. That is, until it gets to Friday afternoon. You’re trying, you really are. Your immune system has other plans.

“You stay right there, Patient Zero.”

Rossi’s comment would be funny if you didn’t think that laughing might trigger a coughing fit that could very well be the end of you, right there in the doorway of Hotch’s office. That’d be one hell of an epitaph - too stubborn to take a sick day, choked to death in boss’s office. Hotch, at least, already seems to know why you’re hovering.

“I’m-“

“Going home, I hope.” He interrupts you with all the fondness of a concerned father. You don’t have the energy to argue, or to hold up an unaffected front. The men standing by the window soften a little as they watch you visibly deflate. Dave promises to send you his Nonna’s minestrone recipe, there’s nothing it can’t cure; right now, though, you’re only thinking about your bed.

The well wishes follow you through the bullpen, old wives tales and family cures that have never failed. JJ tells you to sweeten your tea with honey, Derek swears that a hot water bottle on your back will work magic. Even Emily pipes up from behind her germ shield, the folder held across her face so you can only see her eyes, and tells you to take a hot shower first thing in the morning - the steam will clear you out for the day. There’s a chorus of agreement, or disagreement you’re not sure. It’s a struggle to hear much over the cotton wool in your ears.

“We’ll see, with any luck I’ll die in my sleep. Love you!” You sniffle as you back out of the office, feeling all kinds of sorry for yourself, and determined to make it as far as you can without touching anything. Lest you actually start the next plague.

Spencer watches you go, shuffling backwards out of the office and turning towards the elevators. He’d elected not to add his own suggestions to the plethora of options supplied by the rest of the team. Unable to focus on much beyond just how tired you look. You’ve been fighting this thing all week, he’d passed over his own supply of hand sanitiser only that morning when you ran out. Ultimately, you put up a good fight, but there’s no cure for a virus. It just has to run its course. Just like his own feelings.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be comparing a virus to whatever it is he feels for you. Has felt, will feel - if there’s an end to this tunnel, he can’t see it yet.

“What about you, Spence?”

JJ’s voice pulls him from his thoughts before he can start spiralling down that particular hole. It takes him a moment to recall what they’d been chattering about before your long overdue exit - drinks, right. Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m busy, actually.” He shrugs, content to miss out on one night in favour of the plan currently coming to fruition in his mind. They won’t miss him too much.

“Busy? You weren’t busy when we talked about it last week.” Emily makes no effort to conceal her surprise. To be fair to them, it’s not like him to blow them off. There’s just something that’s come up, something decidedly you shaped, that’s far more important.

“Yeah, I forgot. Sorry.”

Spencer doesn’t miss the look that JJ and Emily share, he doesn’t miss the eyebrow that Derek raises in his direction. He simply chooses to ignore them.

At least the walk to your apartment is short, there’s still heat leeching from the plastic bag around Spencer’s wrist as he fumbles with his keys. You’d given him a bright pink key cap, so he’d know which one was yours, as if he wouldn’t know anyway. Eidetic or not, that’s one he would have committed to memory. The excuse had been because he was helping you out whilst you were down an arm, takedown gone wrong, you’d dislocated your shoulder. And then you’d insisted he keep it, because someone should have your spare key, and he’s the least likely of the lot of you to lose it.

He thinks you might be asleep at first, open plan living area lit only by a salt lamp and a set of fairy lights draped over your kitchen window, it’s cosy. And then you appear in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a jewel toned blanket. The low light is forgiving, but Spencer would be able to spot the bags under your eyes from a mile away. Without his glasses.

“I brought noodles.” He says as he turns back to set the steaming bag on your kitchen counter.

“I’m so gross right now.” As if to demonstrate your point, another cough racks your body. You just about manage to catch it under the swathes of blanket clutched in your fingers, but at least he can’t claim you’re not truly disgusting in this moment.

“I don’t mind.”

You’re so set on denying him entry that you don’t even really register what he said - Spencer Reid doesn’t mind that you’re ill. He doesn’t mind. A younger, healthier version of you would swoon. You might anyway, although that’s probably the vertigo talking.

“You’ll get sick.” Your rebuttal is weak, resolve crumbling. Warm noodles do sound pretty good right now.

“Will you let me help you, please?” It’s the firmest he’s ever been with you. No room for argument, doctor’s orders. So you have to relent. Not that you have much of a choice, he’s already pottering about in your kitchen in search of bowls. As if he doesn’t remember where they are.

“Did you get me a number three?” Your voice is brighter than he’s heard it all week.

“With extra toppings, of course.”

And those extra toppings go down a treat, of course they do.

Spencer watches you carefully as you eat - usually he’d be a little more subtle about it, but there’s not a lot that could pull your attention away from the bowl in your hands. You’re cross legged on the couch, blanket bunched around your middle, happy as a clam. Something his mother would say. He wonders what else she might say, what she might think about the abandonment of his germaphobia. Convenient, probably. Diana would say it with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, the one that’s just for him. She has always liked you.

He promises he’ll be back tomorrow, once dishes are washed and leftovers are tucked neatly in your fridge, to make sure you get that hot shower Emily mentioned. The steam will definitely help, he’s read about it. Arguing with him would be pointless. You don’t have the energy, he’d only show up anyway, and it’s kind of nice to feel looked after. Spencer’s never failed to make you feel like that. You’re far too delirious to start thinking about that, not while he’s still standing in front of you at least. So you let him tuck you into bed, let him leave a glass of water on the table, let him dote. Pretending is a comfort when you feel as awful as you do. You’re already drifting off before he’s even ready to leave, content enough in your bed with the sound of him in the other room. Just, tinkering.

The sound of your front door opening rouses you the next morning, just about. Just enough to raise your head from your pillow and witness the sorry sight in your bedroom doorway.

Spencer’s trying - key word, trying - to suppress his sniffles, but the red rimmed eyes and tissue clutched in his fist give him away. It’s impossible to keep the sad little smile off of your face.

“Oh no.” You reach out a tired arm to pat the space beside you. There’s enough room for the two of you in amongst the blankets, and Spencer’s so far gone that he doesn’t even argue. His shoes and bag find a home at the foot of your bed as he lets himself collapse into the nest you’ve built. Tension leeches out of his body the moment he hits the mattress.

You have to lean across him to get your phone, right arm outstretched over his back - you can feel the heat rising off of him through his sweater and yours. Fever, that’s day two. Which means he spent yesterday evening taking care of you whilst he began to feel worse and worse. Softie.

“Egg or no egg?”

There’s an affirmative grunt from where his face is buried in your blankets. Egg it is, then. You dial the number mostly from memory, elbow still resting on his shoulder blade when you put the phone to your ear. You feel a little better than you did, but dragging yourself to the front door is still probably all you’ll be capable of today. At least you won’t be suffering alone. The line rings for a moment, then clicks, and a grainy hello sounds from the other side.

“Hi, can I place a breakfast order for delivery, please?”

i’m stuck on which chapter to work on next, do we want angst or yearning or fun flirty activities????🧡

[qlossytbh]

Hello my love can you do a spencer reid x reader who experiences olfactory hallucinations (smelling things that arent there) please i just scared the shit out of myself cus i smelled a burning power outlet for like an hour 😭 the whole time i was unplugging everything and i thought my house was going to catch on fire 😰 i want him

𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬- 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you experience olfactory hallucinations and spencer’s there to experience the rollercoaster that come with it lol

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 fem!reader, established relationship, just a lot of fluff, allergies (ugh), reader is freaking out (anxiety), me pretending to be science-y and act like i know what im writing about!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.2k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i actually loved this request because I myself experience olfactory hallucinations due to my allergies and it’s really cool seeing someone else who has it! i unfortunately smell a wide varieties of things such as spoiled food, clogged toilets (yay!), and tobacco (love that for me)

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You rubbed your right eye vigorously, sniffling loudly with a following groan. Your hand then fell to its familiar rhythm, writing down your notes as you tried copiously to ignore the stuffiness that enclosed throughout your throat and nose. Your face itched gratingly, the corners of your eyes running with tears that wouldn’t seem to leave no matter how many times you tried blinking them away.

You had taken your allergy medication about thirty minutes ago and it wasn’t easing up— you felt puffy and somewhat aggravated.

Your T-shirt hung around your hips loosely, bunched up onto the chair you sat on at the desk of Spencer’s apartment, completing an assignment you needed to get done for your current job. Your hair was damp, ends still wet from the shower you had taken to decompress your sinuses.

You suddenly stopped all together, mind running blank. Twisting around in your chair, you turned to the kitchen and lifted your chin, staring down the ambience as if it was looking right back at you. What was that smell?

It was smokey and acrid and rotten and— definitely not supposed to be floating around the apartment. Unless something was wrong, you thought. You stood quickly, bare legs meeting the cold air as you patted over to the kitchen.

Your eyes scanned it frantically, checking for any signs of smoke or if any of the gas burners were on. Your heart was beating gratingly against your ears. The silence was so heavy you were beginning to feel dizzy. It was the type of quiet that made your skin crawl all the way up to the nape of your neck.

You sniffed again, trying to make sure you hadn’t hallucinated smelling what you had but much to your dismay— it still smelled like something was burning.

You hastily made your way to the desk, grabbing your phone and opening your contact list. It was only a few passing beeps from the other line before a voice rang out. “Hello?”

“Spence,” Your boyfriend picked up on your tone quicker than you would’ve preferred.

“Hey,” He said, sounding like he was reassuring you that he was there, voice soft although he didn’t necessarily know what had made you so distressed in the first place. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ears shamefully, glancing over at the kitchen.

“I’m pulling into the driveway right now, what’s going on?”

You bit the flesh of your bottom lip, making your way back into the kitchen. “Did you leave any of the burners on? Or plugged in anything you maybe— shouldn’t have..?”

Spencer paused on the other line, almost in profound contemplation. “No. I didn’t, why?”

“Because it smells like something is burning Spence,” You reached at the small handles of the ovens burners, rotating them all to signal they were off. “Are you sure you didn’t leave anything in?”

“I’m positive,” Somehow he could practically feel your hesitation, so he continued. “Baby, I have an eidetic memory. I would’ve remembered leaving something on,”

You huffed, still not entirely convinced because the smell was right there. It wasn’t strong, which caused even more anxiety to swirl inside of you, but it was there. The sound of a car door slamming shut was heard on the other end of the phone. “I’m freaking out,”

“I’m getting into the elevator, I’ll be up in a few seconds,” You paused.

A few rather long seconds later, the door pushed open. Spencer glanced at the handle, brows furrowed in annoyance. “It’s not locked— Why isn’t this locked?”

Your habit with leaving doors open was a problem, but it currently wasn’t your biggest. The strong smell still floated around, dancing through your nose and torturing you slowly. “Screw the door, do you not smell that?!”

Spencer closed the door behind him and set his bag down, along with his shoes. You watched him from the kitchen, crossing your arms across yourself and hugging your body closely.

“Where is the smell?” He stalked over towards the kitchen. His eyes lingered on the sight of you wearing nothing more than a t-shirt. It was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” You griped. Spencer really tried to find where the smell was coming, only so that he could ease you from your anxiety, but he really didn’t smell anything.

“I don’t smell anything love,” He reassured, looking over towards the stove just to be absolutely, positively sure.

“How do you not–?” You stopped, face falling from its tightened up expression. A relief unlike any other fell over you the second you understood what was going on.

“I’m–” You rubbed your temples, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m an idiot,”

Spencer furrowed his brows, quickly walking beside you and setting a very much needed and comforting hand on your shoulder. “What?”

You remain quiet, reaching out and wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face into his chest. Spencer stood there, muddled by your behavior but nevertheless happy to oblige with whatever you deemed necessary to feel better. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing a few soothing circles onto your back.

“Yeah, I get olfactory hallucinations,” You trailed off, resting your cheek on his chest and not yet looking up at him.

“Phantosmia?” He quipped. You pulled away, looking up at him inquiringly.

“Huh?”

“Phantosmia,” He shifted his arms down to your waist. “It’s a sensory perception disorder where people experience smelling odors that aren't present in their environment. Unlike actual smells, which are triggered by external stimuli interacting with the olfactory receptors in the nose, phantosmia originates internally within the brain.”

You pulled a face. “Well, I call them olfactory hallucinations.”

“Well, medically they’re called phantosmia.” He countered. You narrowed your eyes as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“Show off.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I thought you liked it when I talked a lot.”

You hummed. “Yeah, that's true”

Unfortunately, you got olfactory hallucinations– or phantosmia– often. And it should’ve been the first thing you recalled once Spencer was denying any smells of burning outlets and gas. It always simultaneously flared up when your allergies did, meaning you probably should’ve known better— definitely would’ve saved you the near heart attack.

Spencer dragged his hand up and down your waist instinctively while you poked a finger into the rough surface of his chest “Got some more info for me smart-ass?”

Spencer gave you a look, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous giddy grin. “It isn’t very common. When it comes to disorders that affect the sense of smell, phantosmia makes up 10% to 20% of cases.”

“Well that makes me feel unique.”

Spencer bit back the need to tell you that you were already unique, but he referred against it. Not because he didn't want to— he always wanted to. But he knew he spent every single chance he could get to telling you how special you genuinely were to him.

“For some people, the odors that they hallucinate are pleasant, like freshly baked sweets—“

“You're joking,” He shook his head. You huffed, drawing your lips into a pout. “Do you know what I'd give to smell that instead of a goddamn burning outlet— it gives me anxiety.”

“Yeah, but look on the bright side,” Spencer leaned forward kissing your forehead. You basked in the simplicity and loveliness of his touch. “At least there wasn’t actually a burning outlet.”

“Yeah,” You smiled up at him. “That's true.”

[the-guilty-writer]

You're Real

Request from anon: Hear me out. Spencer’s child has depersonalization disorder and has a hard time asking for help with their current situation. 

Spencer Reid x teen!reader

Summary: As you get deeper and deeper into a depersonalized state, your dad doesn’t need to ask- he already knows the best thing he can do for you.

A/N: This was interesting to write and I had to write it in sections with lots of breaks so it didn’t trigger dissociation. I’m sorry if this isn’t as good as you wanted it to be and that it’s so short, but I have to put myself first. Everyone experiences depersonalization symptoms differently so this is not a reflection of everyone’s experience, nor will the techniques used to help ground the reader be effective for those who experience depersonalization.

CW: Reader experiences depersonalization.

IF YOU HAVE A DEPERSONALIZATION OR DEREALIZATION DISORDER PLEASE READ WITH EXTREME CAUTION

---

Sometimes it was easy to know what caused it- like a stressful day at school or a place that was too loud- and other times it just happened out of nowhere; the feeling that you weren’t… you.

You were you… but you weren’t. You tried to touch your hands to one another, but there was no sense of solidity to your body- no physical or mental feeling to tell you that you existed. And they were too big for your body. Your feet were hitting the ground… probably? There was no shock under your shoes as you walked forward. The movement itself felt ghostly, like the traces of something that had once been but no longer was, or like your thoughts were somewhere else in the galaxy and your body was just moving as it should, not giving you any control at all.

There was a call of your name and then… a hand maybe? Possibly on your shoulder? You could feel someone was with you, near you, touching you… but at the same time you couldn’t feel at all, as if your skin was no longer attached to your brain.

“(Y/N)... hey, it’s me.” The voice was gentle and familiar- the coo of Spencer’s voice that you had been hearing since you were a child… had you ever been a child? You couldn’t remember.

The only thing you could trust right now was your sight, so you looked around at the limbs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you. Someone was holding both of your hands. Someone was standing in front of you, holding your hands.

You looked up slowly at hazel eyes and dark curly hair.

Dad. You tried to say the words, but whether they came out or not was a mystery to you.

He started with the hands that you couldn’t tell if you had seen before, running his fingertips lightly over the palms in circles. The contact made you shiver.

Wait… the contact made you shiver.

Spencer ran his hands up to your elbows… okay, you had elbows too. He pulled you towards him by both, helping you take a gentle step forward, one foot hitting the ground with a sharpening sensation. Then another step. Another foot. Then backwards twice just for good measure.

“I’m right here,” your dad said, and this time you could hear him more clearly.

His hands ran gently from your elbows and upward to… were those your shoulders? You weren’t sure.

“I’m here with you still,” Spencer’s voice was clear again. “You’re still here with me.”

There was the sound of a wrapper and then your dad’s thumb grazing your bottom lip, sending feeling back into your jaw. You weren’t sure that you had a neck. You were still unsure about your shoulders, but you allowed your mouth to open. You were able to speak without feeling out of control.

“Dad… it’s happening,” your voice was distant.

“I know.” But Spencer’s was clear. He was right in front of you and he was real. “I’m going to put this candy in your mouth. Okay?”

It wasn’t something you would or could answer- he simply put the peppermint on your tongue. You closed your jaw.

The sharpness of the flavor allowed your sinuses to clear and you could faintly smell your dad’s cologne. The sensation made its way to your eyes, allowing you to clearly take in that he was wearing his favorite cardigan- the one you gave him for his birthday when you were ten. A memory… a memory of being at the BAU, hand held by your Aunt Penelope as the team sang Happy Birthday. Your dad asked you to help him blow out the candles.

You looked up at him now- it really hadn’t been that long ago, but he had aged. Time had passed. You were taller now than you were then. Time had passed.

You could hear. You could feel. You could move. You could taste. You could smell. You could see. You could remember. Time had passed.

You let out a deep breath, your body feeling like your own again.

“Dad-” you spoke and the words were your own. Coming down and back to yourself was never an easy process- all your senses being gone and then coming back so you could experience the world in its full capacity.

Spencer wrapped you in a gentle hug. You heard the beating of his heart, felt the pressure of his arms, you moved your own to reciprocate the action, peppermint lingered in your mouth, the smell of cologne filled your nose, you could remember your life, you knew time had passed.

You were you.

“I’ve got you,” your dad whispered in your ear. “You’re real,” he affirmed. “You’re real.”

[mouwrites]

Hello! Congratulations on 300 readers!! Can you do 7 and 9 for Lloyd? Maybe he'll be comforting the reader after having a nightmare of Lloyd being taken away from her by Harumi (reader is afraid she isn't good enough for Lloyd and that someone better will take Lloyd away from her)

Of course!! Hope this was okay my dearest! ^^

Word count: 1.1k

Ninjago - 7. “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.” and “You’re beautiful.” (Lloyd) (300 follower event)

You dragged a hand down your face, bringing it to a stop over your mouth. You were staring blankly at the blankets draped over your legs, being fully capable of making out the shapes despite the darkness. Your eyes had long since adjusted—you’d woken up from the nightmare almost half an hour ago, and you’d been sitting in silence ever since.

It wasn’t the nightmare itself that disturbed you; it hadn’t scared you, not in the way that a monster or a murderer might have. No, the nightmare scared you in a much more profound way. It pried itself under your skin and wrenched it open, exposing your deepest insecurities to the open air. Bringing such things to light sent you spiraling.

The hand you kept clamped over your mouth suddenly became damp as tears squeezed from your eyes, and you pressed harder to muffle the hiccuping breaths that jerked your torso.

If your goal was to keep from waking your boyfriend, who had been sleeping peacefully beside you all the while, then you failed. You heard a groan and a faint rustling, and suddenly Lloyd launched himself up, his hand finding a place on your shoulder, his arm draped across your back.

“Woah, hey, what’s wrong?” He rasped, the sleep leaving his voice by the end of his inquiry.

You were unable to speak, so you just shook your head. You curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face in them.

Lloyd hesitantly wrapped his other arm around you, shifting so that he could envelope you in his arms. He leaned comfortingly against you, rubbing your arms slowly to soothe you. He didn’t pry. Yet.

He held you patiently through the worst of your breakdown. At first it was Lloyd’s presence that was making the breakdown worse, horrible thoughts screaming at you that his affection was out of pity and not love. You screamed back: It’s not true, it’s not true, but the other voice was louder.

Eventually you began to tire yourself out, and your breaths stabilized again. You didn’t reach out for Lloyd, though your instincts were telling you to. Instead you just lifted your head, staring at his arm wrapped around your front while you sniffled.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Lloyd asked gently.

You looked at him, your puffy eyes meeting his green, sympathetic ones. This proved to be a mistake, as the mere sight brought more tears to your eyes.

“I don’t deserve you! You can do so much better!”

You buried your face in your knees again, and Lloyd shifted to get a firm grip on your shoulders. With one hand he lifted your chin, turning your head to face him, but you tore away, protectively placing your arm around your head as you returned to the safety of your knees.

“I had a dream,” you said, your voice muffled by your pajamas and your inflamed sinuses, “a bad dream.”

Lloyd was patient as ever, and he spoke encouragingly while keeping one arm draped around you. “What was it about?”

“H—” your throat tightened as you struggled to get out the name. “Harumi was in it.”

Lloyd didn’t say anything, but his face hardened. He was listening intently, having a sneaking suspicion that he knew where this was going.

“And you. You were there too. You and Harumi…” your voice trailed off as more tears spilled, and your body gave up its violent wracking in favor of a constant, subtle tremble.

Lloyd hugged you yet again, placing one hand over yours and squeezing as best he could. “Y/n, I’m safe—”

“Did you love her?”

Lloyd blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. He thought you had a nightmare that he died; he often had nightmares in which you died, and those always made him cry, so he had guessed the same must have happened to you. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried that he was wrong. Is it worse to think that your lover is dead or that they don’t love you?

You looked up when he didn’t respond, and turned away sharply as you felt his owl-eyed gaze.

“I don’t blame you. She’s so strong, and smart, and pretty..!” The image of her was so vivid in your dream, and her sweet smile tore at your heart as the vision danced tauntingly before you.

“Y/n!” Lloyd cut in sharply, turning your face to his with his fingertips on your cheek. “I never felt anything for Harumi.”

You sniffled, searching Lloyd’s eyes for the lie your worries told you was hiding somewhere in those emerald depths. But it was futile; all you could see was sincerity.

“I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

If you had any more tears in your tear ducts, they would’ve spilled then. You finally relented to the instinct that drew you towards Lloyd, and you draped yourself across him in a slanted hug. You let Lloyd’s reassurance wash over you, but it was slow in the going, slowed by friction with your lingering insecurities.

But Lloyd wasn’t done. “And I don’t care how great Harumi allegedly is. I want you. You’re smart. You’re strong.” He placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “You’re beautiful.”

“Really?”

Lloyd nodded. “The most beautiful.”

His words had flushed your insecurities away like river water. You sighed, using the last of your wind to laugh softly. You were really only half laughing, and half crying, but this time you were crying from relief.

“I love you,” you breathed, drawing yourself up to hug Lloyd closer.

“I love you, too,” he murmured into the crook of your neck.

Then, with his arms fastened firmly around you, he leaned back, dragging you down to bed.

You giggled when he let out a little oof as he hit the mattress. You tried to get off his chest, but he held you firmly in place, planting an insistent kiss on your forehead and holding you down with his arms.

You weren’t complaining. Relenting immediately, you just made yourself comfortable against the soft fabric of his pajamas, closing your puffy eyes while Lloyd pulled the blanket over you both. Only then did you realize how exhausted you were, both from the crying and the fact that it was the middle of the night. Your body melted against Lloyd’s, and you could feel his doing the same.

Lloyd petted your back as you drifted off, lulling you into a sleep you were confident would be free of such nightmares. Even if you did have another one, you reflected, you’d see that it was silly and had not the slightest chance of ever happening.

The last thing you heard was a quiet and sleepy voice, hardly a whisper:

“I’ll always love you.”

Thanks so much for taking part in our event!! And thank you for reading, take care you amazing souls <33

(divider by saradika)

[mr-wrestlemania]

Hart-Break Hotel

The WWF superstars are staying at a nearby hotel for their upcoming show but two performers seem to be checking in each other's rooms on purpose. Will they check out of the hotel with their hearts in one piece? Or were they never whole to begin with?

Contains: Drug mentions(Allusions for the most part, reference to weed), Intoxication of one character

(its my first Hartbreak fic aaa enjoy the food)

Ao3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58070596

"Owen!!!" Bret kicked the room to his shared room with Owen but was only met with quiet laughter on the other side.

"Oh, so sorry, I guess there was no pizza guy." Owen hummed as his voice grew distant.

"Owen I swear to god, OPEN THE DOOR!" Bret tried to shout as quietly as he could. If his fellow athletes saw him half naked in the hallway, he'd ask Undertaker to bury him right then and there.

After a few minutes of silence, Bret sighed anxiously. "Maybe Davey will house me. Owen seems to think this is hilarious," He thought, "But what floor is he on?!"

Just then, Bret could hear a door open behind him, and there stood his on-screen rival Shawn. He yawned but suddenly looked wide awake when he noticed Bret's predicament. "Whats the matter, Bret? Having a bit of..trouble?" His cat-like smirk made Bret want to punch his lights out.

"It's nothing. Owen and I had a spat, now he thinks he's being funny." Bret pressed his ear on the door, only to be met by the sound of Owen lightly snoring. "Fucks sake.."

Shawn leaned on his door frame with his arms crossed, "I'd say cozy up in the lobby, but they might think you're some bum. I almost wish I had my Polaroid with me." His eyes drank in the scene much to Bret's annoyance.

"Good thing you don't." Bret sighed and picked himself off the carpet, "Look. Do you happen to know where Davey Boy's room is?"

"Mmmmmm, no." Shawn hummed, "Looks like you're shit out of luck."

"Dammit Michaels!" Bret whisper shouted, "Okay..Could I.."

Shawn perked and tilted his head, "Yeah? Could I what?"

Bret swallowed his pride best he could. "Could I just wait until morning in your room? Unless you'd rather be a dick this late at night."

"Say, please." Shawn grinned.

"What?"

"You heard me, c'mon."

"You're insufferable."

Shawn scoffed, "A simple, polite gesture is hardly insufferable. What's a simple please between friends?"

Bret sighed through his nose, "..Please Shawn?"

"No." Shawn started to close his door and laughed at Bret's expression. "I'm kidding lighten up. That was nice to hear, c'mon."

The fact that Shawn was actually letting him in was a surprise, but Bret was still on guard. Shawn's hotel room looked about how he expected. His gear was in an organized mess in the corner by the box TV, but his outfit for the next day was already neatly laid out on a table by the window. Not to mention, his hair care products littered the bathroom from what he could see. An odd yet familiar smell jolted his sinuses when Shawn shut the door behind him.

"Were you smoking pot in here???" Bret turned to Shawn.

Shawn snickered, "A little. Not enough to get me in trouble. Don't look at me like that it helps me sleep, not to mention it soothes the body, Hart." He opened the only window to let some of the air out. "Could you smell it from the hallway?"

"No." Bret sat down on the armchair, "I suppose it's better than the other stuff floating around the locker room."

Shawn shut the window and plopped on his bed, "Oh hell yeah, man. I'm trying to avoid some of it since I want to keep my smile perfect. Seen a few guys almost miss the tar in their teeth. Ugh."

"I know what you mean. It's sad to see, honestly. I've been worried about you, yknow. How deep you've gone into it."

The blonde's gaze drifted toward the ceiling, "..I know, Bret. I'm trying to play it safe. Keep things good for business."

"You're putting in the work. It's pretty obvious to me." Bret smiled lightly, and Shawn glanced back at the ceiling.

It was strange at how casual their conversation felt. For a while, Shawn was nearly impossible to talk to when he would say something that brought too much heat. Yet, in that moment, it felt like they could breathe.

"What? You're staring." Shawn rolled over to look back at Bret.

"Sorry. I just don't remember the last time we were this open." Bret stretched until his muscles felt less tight.

"Mm. Fair." Shawn looked up at the ceiling, "You caught me in a good mood. Or I guess a thoughtful one. I was thinking too much and couldn't sleep when I heard you like an angry moose out there."

"Was that a Canadian joke?" Bret raised a brow.

"A piss poor one. I can do better."

"Don't." Bret rolled his eyes and tried to shift into a comfortable position, but the armchair wasn't exactly a recliner. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Shawn was still glancing at him. "Is this funny to you?"

Shawn shrugged and threw a pillow directly at Bret's face. "You better not be this pathetic all the time. I expected better from someone almost as good as me." He teased with a smile.

Bret grunted but had a slight smile, "Almost??? It's too late to be cutting a promo Shawn, do you ever give your ego a rest?"

"Maybe. I let you in, didn't I?" He flipped over so his backside faced Bret.

The hum of the air conditioner in the room coated the room. Though, it only made the silence more deafening. Bret couldn't entirely tell if Shawn was being genuinely nice or just getting some entertainment from his situation. Yet it made him smile to see more of Shawn beyond his ego. The glamor. The 'sexy boy'. He was just Shawn in that room with him.

He looked down at the pillow, then back at Shawn. Shawn was already fast asleep, evident by his quiet snoring. It was rare to see Shawn so still and at complete peace.

Why would he care anyway? It didn't matter. He may have had Vince wrapped around his finger, but Bret refused to play into it. Yet part of him seemed drawn to Shawn. Was it his skills as a performer? He had little respect for the business at times, but did he really?

Even in their brief conversation, Shawn picked up on things that bothered Bret and didn't even comment on it. Yet he looked out for him. Why?

Bret sighed quietly and tried to get comfortable once more. The pillow helped his neck, at least. Before he knew it, he was out like a light.

Unbeknownst to him, Shawn rolled back over and opened his eyes to peek at Bret. He didn't know why. Maybe he didn't want to understand why. It was fun to toy with Bret, but to see him asleep was something else. His expression was so calm, and the way he laid out looked so vulnerable. If he would tell his friends about that night, he'd definitely leave this part out. They didn't need to know how it tore him up.

That morning, Bret woke up a little stiff but better than he'd be if he slept on the floor. He rubbed his eyes and was surprised to see Shawn asleep facing him. He quietly got up to check his reflection, call it paranoia from Owen's antics. Shawn didn't do anything to him while he slept. He sighed in relief and quickly decided to take a piss while he had some peace and quiet.

Shawn stirred and sat up to move his hair back. His eyes traveled to the armchair Bret was in and looked around. "Bret?"

"Still here. I'm taking a piss." Bret called back. He emerged from the bathroom and smiled, "What? Afraid I left?"

"Please." Shawn rolled his eyes, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't dicking around. You good?"

"Stiff, but I'm okay." Bret moved when he caught Shawn glancing, "Not like that, you dick."

Shawn snickered as Bret threw the pillow back at him, "We've seen you change Bret. It's nothing new. If you're so pissy about it, use the phone to call your room to wake Owen up and cover up your sharpshooter." Shawn stretched.

"Alright alright. Don't call it that." Bret used the phone near Shawn's bed and tried to dial up his hotel room. It took a few rings before he heard Owen's groggy voice on the other end.

"Mmhh.. hello?"

"Owen. I'm gonna knock at the door three times, and you better let me in." Bret growled.

"Oh shit. Look, I'm sorry I was going to let you in. I was just wiped. Did you find some place to crash?"

Bret glanced at Shawn for a moment, who was brushing his hair out, "You could say that. Just meet me at the damn door okay?"

"Okay, geez.."

Bret hung up the phone and got up, "Alright, I'm out of your hair." He paused mid walk towards the door and looked back at Shawn. "Thanks."

Shawn stopped and turned his head towards Bret. His mouth opened but quickly shut as he turned around. "Sure. See you."

"..See you." Bret left Shawn's room quickly and dashed to his room for Owen to let him in.

"You aren't mad right..?" Owen smiled sheepishly.

"We'll see after breakfast. I just really want to put some clothes on." Bret started slipping some jeans on as Owen watched.

"Right. Where did you stay anyway?"

Bret paused, his head turned away from Owen as he cleared his throat, "Not important."

The image of Shawn's sleeping face came to Bret's mind, but he quickly shook it off with a fury. "Did I miss breakfast? What time is it?"

"Shit!" Owen nearly ran him over to get dressed, "Come on! It should still be going! If not I'll treat you to Mckies! Promise!"

"Deal." Bret ran close behind him.

There were a few familiar faces getting food at the complimentary breakfast. The staff went a little extra considering how many celebrity wrestlers were staying there. Bret watched Owen practically beeline for some powdered donuts and chuckled. He nearly spilled his coffee from a guy being shoved into him.

"Oops! Sorry, Bret." Hunter laughed, "Didn't burn ya did I?"

"No." Bret replied flatly.

Shawn peeked out and beamed, "Whoops. No harm done, right? Especially after last night."

"Last night?" Hunter raised a brow as he glanced between them.

Bret nearly choked on his coffee and whipped around, "Shut your mouth, Shawn."

"No, Shawn, please elaborate. I'm very curious about what happened last night." Hunter could hardly contain his giggles.

"Nothing. Owen locked me out of our room, and..Shawn let me crash."

Shawn clicked his tongue, "Spoil sport."

"Really? Huh." Hunter hummed as he thought, "How nice of you, Shawn. Gonna invite him later for a second night?"

"Fuck you." Shawn shoved him again with a smile.

"Hey! Quit phrasing shit like that!" Bret grunted.

"Oh, how scandalous.." Dustin Rhodes chuckled as he walked past.

"Great." Shawn folded his arms, "If this turns into a new rumor, you're helping me squash it."

Hunter grinned, seemingly satisfied, "I look forward to it. Just be sure to let me have a turn-"

Bret broke away from them to sit with the rest of the Hart foundation as he seethed. He could still faintly hear Hunter and Shawn dick around and it seemed to get to him a little.

"Hey uh..Is it true you stayed the night with Shawn??" Owen whispered.

Bret laid his head down on the table as his face began to heat up, "Mention it again, and you won't have a bed to sleep in tonight."

Jim raised a brow and chuckled, "Don't let him get to you Bret. Owen just punked one of the staff by imitating your old man again. You on a streak Owen?"

Owen smirked, "Maybe." Bret narrowed his eyes at brother, almost wondering if Owen left him out of the room that night on purpose..

The shoot took a bit longer than some of the superstars would have guessed so when it was wrapped up, they scattered to either crash or celebrate. Bret decided he was sober enough to head to the nearest convenience store to get a few snacks for their next upcoming road trip. The crickets and the buzz of the streetlights were almost comforting to Bret. The street ambiance helped relax him as he walked into the hotel's lobby.

Strangely, the hotel's elevator doors kept opening and closing. The worker at the desk seemed to glance over now and then, too tired to actually do anything about it. Bret shared a look with her before he walked over to investigate.

Shawn was fumbling with the buttons, his face flushed but still stood perfectly upright. He glanced up and flashed his usual smile, "Hitmaan! Hey. I was just trying to get back to my room but this thing doesn't work."

"It does Shawn. You're just hitting the door button over and over," Bret squeezed in and hit the button for the third floor, "Are you that plastered?"

"I can still function," Shawn scoffed, "I'm just that talented."

"Enough to walk but not enough to navigate an elevator." Bret smirked as he leaned against the elevator wall.

Shawn rolled his eyes, "I just had some different stuff tonight. No biggie." He leaned against the wall. Whatever he did drink it was hitting him pretty hard.

Bret thought for a moment to consider his options regarding Shawn. When the doors opened, Bret used his free arm to help Shawn off the wall, "Come on. I'm not leaving you to stumble around the halls."

"What a gentleman. I can get around just fine.." Shawn grumbled but didn't fight Bret off as they walked down the hall.

"Don't lie to me. You got your key on you?"

Shawn dug through his pocket and handed Bret the key. Despite his protesting, he seemed aware he couldn't be precise with his hands.

Bret unlocked the door and helped Shawn to his bed. "Just be sure to not miss our morning call."

Something about the way Shawn looked at him made Bret hesitate leaving his bedside. He was celebrating with his group of degenerates, so why did Shawn look so sad?

"Are you okay..?" Bret prayed Shawn was just an emotional drunk but that didn't fit his character from what he remembered.

"You're a great guy, Bret. Everyone respects you y'know. I'm glad we have someone like you..in the locker room.. " Shawn turned his head toward Bret, his words hardly slurred at all.

"I-" Bret blinked a little, he was at a loss.

"My mouth can get me in a lot of trouble, I say shit I don't mean. But you're my favorite rival Bret. Makes me want to be better so I can kick your ass. Fact you use your time for someone like me.. I dunno.."

"You're a great man too, Shawn. I'd be happy to drop a title to someone like you. I mean that."

Shawn stared at Bret for a while until he glanced away. Bret's words stung in a way he couldn't verbalize. Bret respected him so much and yet..

"Will you be okay if I leave? I just wanna make sure."

Shawn took a deep breath, he wanted to say no. "Yeah. I'm just getting sappy I think. I'll just sleep this off..Thanks Bret."

Bret nodded, picked his bag off the floor and walked toward the door to Shawn's room. Shawn watched Bret leave with his eyes glazed over.

Instead of an empty hallway, Bret ran right into Hunter with the door. "Oh shit- Sorry Hunter. You alright?"

Hunter rubbed his forehead, "Yeah.. Damn Hart. What were you doing in Shawn's room??"

Bret shook his head, "Shawn was stuck in the elevator pressing the door button over and over. I helped him get back to his room. He told me he's okay by himself but..Maybe you can watch him?"

"Dammit. I thought he didn't walk here by himself. Thanks for helping him. That's partially my fault since Shawn is really good at managing himself while drunk. Guess this was one of those rare occasions. Did he say anything weird?"

"Kind of emotional. He looked close to crying." Bret sighed, "Something about me being well respected and downplaying himself. It's unlike him."

Hunter tensed and shook his head, "Got it. Sad drunk mode. I got him don't worry."

Bret nodded and left to go to his room. Hunter walked into Shawn's and shut the door.

"Hey buddy, Bret just told me what happened. You wanna talk it out or watch TV?" Hunter sat on the corner of Shawn's bed.

Shawn rubbed his eyes and shrugged, he was annoyed at how watery his eyes were getting. "Bret said he'd happily pass a championship to me man."

"Yeah? He'd put you over like that? Huh." Hunter scratched his neck, "Would you do the same?"

Owen was fast asleep with his leg dangling off the second bed and Bret moved it so he could walk through the room. As he undressed for bed, that moment with Shawn looking at him all sad eyed played through his mind. Part of him almost wished he stayed with Shawn. Falling asleep beside him didn't sound so bad-

"What the hell am I thinking.." Bret sighed and collapsed in his bed. He never noticed how lonely it felt, even if Owen was just in arms in reach.

Shawn had laid with Hunter in his bed, somehow it fit both of them but it certainly helped. He thought of the concerned look Bret had for him and how Bret openly expressed his admiration for him. It made his throat ache.

He looked at his sleeping friend with a quiet gaze, "Would Bret have done this with me..?" Shawn shook his head and laid it down on his pillow. "Doubtful. Why would he.." He found himself dozing off, ignoring his skin's hunger to be held.

[waterfallofspace]

57 and 68 for either s/hin soukoku or All Might? Okay there's one more coming and then I swear I'm done

Another thank you for the ask!!! I've been having such a good time with these, you have no idea, hahaha~~ I chose S/hin S/oukoku because it sparked an idea for how it might go down, but I’d be more than happy to do something for A/ll M/ight too if you’d like <3 (I just… the idea of tormenting A/kutagawa was too good to pass up hehehe~) Another first time writing characters, so I hope it’s enjoyable, or at least tolerable!  2.2k words, prompts 57 and 68, story under cut! 57. “Stop telling me you’re okay.”  68. Sparring/training and coughing/sneezing. (References to slightly high fever and violence, they're sparring so there's attacks from both of them, though it's mostly from A/kutagawa. Nothing graphic is mentioned, but there are definitely implications, so just in case anyone doesn't like that!)

~~~~~~~

‘By all accounts, Akutagawa is dying right before my eyes.’ 

Atsushi watches his sparring partner aim yet another attack, pausing to lean into his hand with a cough that leaves both of them winded. ‘He sounds rough… I’ve noticed he coughs a lot on a good day, he must have weak lungs. Oh- that can’t be a good match for a chest cold…’ 

“Maybe we should take a brea-ouuf!”

He’s cut off by another blow to the chest, Akutagawa’s eyes burning straight into his soul. The ferocity is dampened by the hand Akutagawa raises to his mouth, ducking away with another cough that nearly brings him to his knees. Managing to subdue it enough to speak, Akutagawa resumes his glaring.

“We will do no such thing. Dazai has personally asked me to train you, so that is what I shall do. ah’GSh’kieu-!”

“A- are you sure you’re up for- hey!”

This time he manages to dodge, rolling across the alley as Rashōmon grazes his arm. ‘He’s still able to put up a pretty good offense, despite being so sick. His defense though… whenever he has to duck away to relieve his lungs or sinuses he’s vulnerable. B- but… that feels unfair to take advantage of…’

“Tired alr- heh’enSH’kiue-! already, weretiger? We’ve barely begun.”

“I’m fine, Akutagawa.”

“And what is that suppo- eh’DSHhh’kuu-! supposed to mean?” 

“Oh I wonder. Come on, you’re sick. You can’t go-”

“hh’gSHh’kieu-!”

“-a few minutes without sneezing.” 

Atsushi can’t hide the giggle spilling from his lips at the adorable nature of Akutagawa’s sneezes, jumping to the side as another blow lazily misses him. ‘His movements are getting slower. I was late on my reaction, unfocused, he should have been easily able to hit me.’ 

“ah’knshh-nNShh’kiew-!”

“Bless-”

“Don’t. Just because Dazai picked- gshhh’kuu-! that up doesn’t mean you need to follow suit.”

“Uh- aren’t you the one who practically worships him..?”

“I want him to notice my strength. I do not want to become him. Besides, he only started- hh’enDSHhh’kieeu-! using that particular expression to torment particular members of- eh’nnNSHh’kiu-! the port mafia.” 

Each sneeze seems to shake his entire body, Atsushi barely resisting the urge to grab his arm as Akutagawa trembles from the force. ‘They’re pretty tiny noises, and yet they seem to take so much out of him. He’s gotta be sicker than he’s letting on. Maybe I can use Dazai as a way to get him to admit it…’ 

“Oh, I actually didn’t know that! It seems you know Dazai pretty well, huh?” 

“Enough talking. Rashōmon, Agito!”

This time Atsushi doesn’t even have to dodge, another cough shaking Akutagawa enough to have the jaw crash into the ground before it can reach its target. Atsushi responds with an assault of his own, letting his claws form on one hand as he lunges. Akutagawa’s barely able to block, only succeeding since his Rashōmon blocks by instinct.

“After that, you’re still claiming you’re fit to train?” 

“hieSHhh’keew-! gNNSHhh’kuu-!”

“Bless you!”

“I thought I told you not to do that.”

A light warmth bathes Atsushi’s face as he offers a sheepish smile, eyes closing as his cheeks raise. At the sound of Akutagawa coughing again, he reopens them, starting to ramble to give Akutagawa a bit of privacy to rid his lungs of the irritation.

“Sorry, it’s become a bit of a habit. We all say it in the agency now! I actually think Dazai started saying it to tease Kunikida, but then Kenji latched on, and now even Ranpo will use it at time-”

“What exactly gives you the impression that I care, weretiger?”

“N- nothing I guess, sorry- I ju-”

“Tsk. Focus on the battle. If you drop your guard like that the enemy can easily- aH’DnGshh’kiew-!”

Laughter bubbles up through Atsushi’s throat before he can muffle it, Akutagawa responding with Rashōmon. Unable to dodge in time, Atsushi finds the jaw latching onto his leg, a wound that would be serious on most anyone else. ‘He knows my healing will take care of it. If he wanted me dead he’d aim for the throat. B- but… I can’t tell if he’s going easy because Dazai asked him to train me, or because of-’

“hH’INdgT’kiew-!”

“That sounded like it hurt.”

“dNgZSh’kiew-! It did not.” 

“The wincing would suggest otherwise.”

“hheHh-! N- no. I am simpl- eh’geXGT’kiew-! simply growing tired of these interruptions.” 

Akutagawa’s hand is clenched against his face, pinching his nose shut as each ‘interruption’ grows in force. ‘It’s almost hurting me to watch him do this, they sound utterly unsatisfying.’ Atsushi finds himself thinking, eyes darting down to the tremble in Akutagawa’s legs once more. 

“hH’eNXGT’kieuu-!”

“That can’t be helping-”

“Rashōmon, Sawarabi!”

Climbing the wall of the building to his left, Atsushi manages to dodge the spikes rising from the floor where he once stood. ‘Alright, alright, I get the message! Focus on the training. Maybe… maybe I can use this to get him to admit he’s sick…’ Another attack has him springing back to the ground, his paw managing to grab the cloth before it can strike once more. Akutagawa is too busy shuddering into his hand with another fit of coughing to interfere.

“If I pin you, will you finally call it for the day and go rest?”

“Even if I was in a weakened state, you wouldn’t stand a chance, weretiger.”

Akutagawa attempts a huff, a cough spilling out in its place, Atsushi finding himself unable to prevent the wince from scraping through his clenched teeth.

“I- I mean, at least you’re admittin-”

“I said if. But that time is n- haHh-! N- not… nohhEht- eH’dSHh’kiew-! hH’eNSChh’kiue-! Hihh… guhh’eSHH’kiuu-!”

“Didn’t quite catch that through the sneezing attack.”

“That time is not tod- hH’eNgT’kiew-! Not today. I am perfectly fine, weretiger. Focus on tr- trahhh… training- aH’GSHh’kuu-! INgT’kiew-! gNNt-eNDT’kuu-!”

Using the lapse in concentration to his advantage, Atsushi throws himself at Akutagawa, easily pinning him to the ground. ‘I didn’t even need my gift to have the strength to hold him… that can’t be good.’ Akutagawa gasps, the force of the impact leaving him panting, prompting another cough to rattle his lungs. Atsushi flinches at the expulsions. ‘His decency’s still intact, even when it comes to me. He’s attempting to aim for his shoulder. I was careful not to crush him, but I might have been a bit roug-’

His thoughts are quickly silenced by Akutagawa’s Rashōmon catching him in the chest, jaws tightening against his arms as the frail man slips back to his feet. The cough hasn’t receded, and a few more sneezes push their way out as he weakly lifts a hand to cover. 

“ihh’geashh’kieu-! Guh… hnn’EShhh’kuu-!” 

A slight wheeze starts to present itself from Akutagawa’s battered lungs, Atsushi prying Rashōmon from his arms with a grimace. ‘That really doesn’t sound good… Screw this! I’ve had it.’

“You know what? No.”

“Wha-”

“Nope, shut up, it’s my turn. Stop telling me you’re okay! You’re clearly not, and it’s starting to feel like an insult to my intelligence for you to keep insisting you are.”

“I see no intelligence to speak of- hnN’GShh’kiew-!”

“Enough, Akutagawa! Training’s over, you need to rest.”

“Rashōmo-” 

The attack is cut short as Akutagawa’s knees give out beneath him, Atsushi’s mouth hanging open as he stumbles forward, catching himself against the wall. ‘D- didn’t see that one coming… maybe he has a fever..? Or maybe I pushed him into the ground a little too hard. I was trying to be gentle bu-’ 

“Weretiger, stop thinking so loudly, you’re g- giehhh… hinNChh’kuu-! giving me a headache.” 

“S- sorry… hey wait- no, I’m not sorry, how is my thinking giving you a headache?!” 

Akutagawa seems to be forming a response, raising himself from the wall to let his glare meet Atsushi’s eyes, just for them to flutter shut as he falls once more. Atsushi finds his body moving on its own, catching Akutagawa before he can hit the floor. The heat radiating from his body causes beads of sweat to form on Atsushi’s face in response as he pulls Akutagawa back to his feet. The man’s eyes snap open, wide with terror as his body flinches away from Atsushi’s touch.

“It’s just me.”

Atsushi keeps his tone low and grip tight. ‘He won’t like that I’m holding him up, but if I let go I think he’ll just fall back on his face… much as he doesn’t believe it, I don’t actually want to watch him die in an alley.’ The panic from Akutagawa’s face slowly starts to fade as his eyes meet Atsushi’s, recognition slowly replacing the feverish haze. Seizing the moment while he has the chance, Atsushi speaks up once more, voice still low, careful not to startle the man in his arms.

“Dazai would be upset if you died here, Akutagawa. It would ruin his plans. And you’re not weak for being sick, you’re human, it’s not exactly like you can help it.”

Deciding to add a little humour, Atsushi lets his eyes crinkle shut with a wide smile, a faint laugh humming out.

“You should hear Dazai if he even has the sniffles! He’ll just mope around the office moaning and whining, it’s frankly hilarious!” 

Clarity returning to his eyes, Akutagawa attempts to stand back up, neither of them mentioning how he needs to cling to Atsushi to do it. He huffs lightly, seeming relieved when the action doesn’t trigger another round of coughing.

“I don’t need your help, weretiger.”

“Whatever you say, Akutagawa.” 

Atsushi lightly chuckles at the grip Akutagawa still has on his shoulder, the weaker man letting another round of sneezes tear from his sinuses. He aims for one of his hands, the other bracing himself against Atsushi as they tremble through him.

“hH’GnSHh’kiew-! eh’nNSHhhh’kuu-! hAHh-! hihhh… hiH’NNChh’kiuee-!”

“Bless you.” 

Akutagawa’s only response is another huff, Atsushi’s eyes meeting his with an unspoken message. ‘I’ve got you.’ He can’t help the smile that spreads down his face as Akutagawa lets his eyes flutter shut, weight shifting onto Atsushi.

They begin the two block journey to the detective agency’s headquarters, Atsushi deciding it’ll be the quickest way to get Akutagawa sleeping. ‘I doubt he’d let me know where he lives, and I’m not exactly eager to bring him back to my place… and if I walked into the port mafia with him like this I’d be shot on site.’ 

“What is he doing here, Atsushi?”

Kunikida’s voice pulls both men out of their trance, Akutagawa quickly detangling himself to lean against the wall. Atsushi flinches, Kunikida and Akutagawa exchanging dark looks as they stand toe to toe.

“Dazai requested him to train me, but I needed a bit of a break! I hope it’s okay we came inside, I just need to grab some water before I continue..?” 

Eyes flicker over to him, Kunikida seeming to evaluate the situation while Akutagawa raises a hand to his face, feigning nonchalance as he brushes it against his nose. Atsushi recognizes the look in his eyes as he attempts to pinch his nose shut subtly. ‘He has to sneeze, but he’s not willing to show that weakness in front of Kunikida.’ 

“Well… I suppose that’s acceptable, just- keep an eye on him, okay kid? I know Dazai asked him to train you, but I don’t trust him here for a minute.”

“The feeling is m-heH… mutual.”

Atsushi picks up the “Or trust Dazai not to make a reckless call to further his own personal gain, the idiot,” Kunikida lets slip under his breath as Akutawaga’s glare hardens, nose twitching beneath his grasp. Electing to ignore the insults, Atsushi offers a nervous smile.

“Thank you, I knew you’d understand, we’ll be out of here in no time, promise!”

With that he grabs Akutagawa’s free arm, dragging the man into another hallway away from prying eyes. Once they’ve gotten far enough he stops, turning to Akutagawa who’s attempting to smother himself against his hand.

“We’re alone now, you can-”

“hEH’GNZSHH’OO-! nNZSHH’UHh-!”

“Oh- bless yo-”

“hH’DSHh’kiew-! eh’nNSHhh’kuu-! hiHh-! hih’nnSHhh’kieu-!”

“Bless you again, Akutagawa.”

“I didn’t ask for your blessings, or your help.” 

Rolling his eyes, Atsushi lets Akutagawa lean against him once more, the fever soaking through his clothes as they keep walking. ‘Would it kill him to say thanks?! Actually- knowing Akutagawa, it just might.’

“I know a back office even Kunikida never goes to. You can sleep there, no one will bother you.” 

Reaching the door, Atsushi pulls it open, revealing a small office complete with boxes, shelves, and a small couch in the corner closest to the entrance. Akutagawa rolls his eyes, growling out a retort as his body seems drawn to the couch by a force he’s unable to avoid.

“I’m not sleeping in th- eh’gSHh’kiew-! this office. I’m not weak like you weretiger. I don’t need to…” 

Akutagawa’s sentence trails off, eyes snapping closed as his head hits the soft leather. Light snores start pouring out, congestion crackling in his chest as he lets out a soft cough in his sleep. Atsushi lets a warm smile creep back onto his face, lightly brushing the hair from Akutawa’s feverish forehead before turning off the light and shutting the door.

“Sleep well, Akutagawa.” 

[gumnut-logic]

“Hold still.”

“’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

“You’re not fine! Hold still!”

“’S only a bl’d nose.”

“I need to check it anyway. I hit you hard.”

“Lucky sh’t.”

“Hold still!”

Gordon let his shoulders drop and held still. Virgil was beside himself over this. It was obvious. It was only a blood nose, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like it was his first.

The scanner’s yellow light flickered over him and Gordon flinched. So damned bright.

Of course, this just set off Virgil even more. “We’re going to the infirmary.”

“’irg-“

“Now.”

Okay, that was an elder brother command. Gordon wasn’t stupid enough to disobey that. His shoulders dropped just that bit lower and Virgil’s gentle hand wrapped around his arm and led him from the gym.

“I’m sorry, Gords.” It was said with so much guilt, Gordon rolled his eyes.

Ow.

The hand on his arm tightened.

It was a lucky shot. There was no way in hell Virgil could best him in hand to hand. If Virgil pinned him, maybe. He had the mass and the strength. But Gordon was fast and his smaller stature a major advantage. His big brother couldn’t catch him on the best of days.

Except for today, apparently.

The infirmary loomed as they exited the elevator. It did that. Gordon hated any medical setting…for good reason…and the infirmary on the Island was no exception.

He was deposited on the bed with a firm but gentle nudge, told to sit upright and to tip his head forward.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew the treatment for a nosebleed.

Blood tasted awful.

He closed his eyes a moment.

A soft touch to his face and blood was dabbed off his skin. A quiet rumble of query.

It repeated and a frown formed in the air.

A hand on his shoulder. “Gords?”

“Hmm?”

Ow. Virgil’s fist had definitely left a mark on his sinuses.

“You with me, Gordon?”

“Mmmmhmm.”

A rustle of instruments and a finger peeled back his right eyelid. A sharp flicker of light hit his retina and he flinched away. “’irg!”

“Hold still.” Strong hands made him do exactly that.

His reward was another finger peeling back his other eyelid and that retina being equally assaulted.

“’irg!” He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as that caused his whole face to echo the pain in his nose.

Virgil didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of the now firm grip he had on Gordon’s shoulder. A hum started up and Gordon let a breath out as the scanner flickered over him again. “’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

His brother still didn’t answer, but the bed under him shifted, its head rising under his right hand.

“Lie down.”

“’irg-“

“Lie down.” Okay, there was something in his brother’s voice that bore no argument. Gordon opened his eyes and found worry in his brother’s.

Those brown eyes blurred a little.

What?

He dragged his feet up onto the bed, his exercise sweat pants riding up above his bare feet. A shuffle and he had to admit it was a relief to have the back support, top half of the bed up as far as it would go. His head was throbbing. He must remember not to try and stop Virgil’s fist with his face ever again.

As to why his brother had managed to even touch him was a worry in itself. Virgil was good, but he wasn’t that good. Gordon had been dancing around him for years. As his co-pilot, Gordon saw it as part of his duties to help his brother with his hand-to-hand. Of course, between himself and Kayo, they helped all the brothers, even Scott who had his fair share of training in the Air Force. But Gordon had always had a special thought for Virgil. His brother was a wall of muscle, ‘built like a brick shithouse’ was the popular phrase. But muscle didn’t necessarily equate to good self-defence and Virgil was a softy from way back. There had been incidents with the occasional over zealous fan, but also one of Gordon’s nightmares was what would happen if someone with less kind intentions got a hold of any of his brothers.

Virgil was too damned nice for his own good.

So, Gordon took it on to look after him.

But today…why had he let Virgil hit him?

“What happened?” The deep voice of his eldest brother and Gordon realised his eyes had slipped closed again. Opening them was a mistake. The lighting in the room had apparently taken on nuclear fusion in an attempt to compete with the sun.

He groaned and shoved his eyes closed again.

“Gordon?” Virgil’s hand landed on his arm.

“You suck.”

“And you’ve got a concussion. I’m sorry, Gordon.”

What?

“Report, Virgil.” Great, the Commander was out which meant Scott was upset. It was only a bloody nose, for goodness sake.

Virgil’s sigh was a mix of worry and regret. “My fault. I hit him.”

There was silence for a moment. All Gordon could hear was his heartbeat in his sinuses.

“You hit Gordon?” Gordon should be proud at the amount of disbelief in his eldest brother’s voice. Or worried at his lack of confidence in Virgil’s skill.

One or the other.

Maybe both.

God, his head hurt.

“I shouldn’t have let him spar. But he was upset after today and I wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I wasn’t much better, Scott!”

Oh, shit, Virgil. “’S not your fault.”

There was a lack of an answer and that worried Gordon more than anything Virgil could have said to him. He threw out a hand and scratched at a shirt. Fingers caught his, but they weren’t Virgil’s. “Sco’, ‘s not his fault!”

“Gordon, rest you have a stage two concussion. You know that is something you don’t mess with.”

Yeah, well, Virgil has a lot of muscle behind his fist.

Gordon let a breath out between his teeth and relaxed into the bed. Virgil was obviously pissed at himself and he would have to talk him around at some point.

Gentle fingers touched his face again. Soft cloth wiped a cool liquid across his skin.

“The bleeding has stopped.” Virgil’s baritone was quiet and worried. “However, there is some swelling….and there will likely be bruising.”

Swelling? Bruis-….aww, hell, he was supposed to be going out with Penny tomorrow night. A charity gala, it was important to her.

Hell.

“I’m so sorry, Gordon.” Little more than breath.

This just sucked.

He knew the results of an impact to that part of a face. He’d had to do it enough himself.

Then something else occurred to him.

“Did you break m’ noze?”

Silence.

“’irg?”

“Not broken. Hairline crack.”

“’uck!”

“I’m sorry, Gordon.”

He flung out a hand again and this time managed a handful of cotton t-shirt. He dragged it closer. “’Snot your fault!”

Virgil didn’t answer, but his fingers were pried from that t-shirt and held for just a moment, only to be let go as Virgil moved away suddenly.

Gordon flailed, reaching. A footstep and those hands returned with something cold. Towelling, cold as ice.

Gentle hands gathered his and moved to his face. The cold pack melted into his skin and gave him some blessed relief.

“Hold that there.”

“’Snot your fault.”

Again, there was no answer.

A finger brushed hair from his forehead.

God, Virg.

“Rest, Gordon.”

He wanted to yell at his brother. It was a lucky shot after a sucky day. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

“Rest.”

A blanket was draped over him and its warmth became something he hadn’t realised he needed.

“Grandma’s on her way back from Auckland.” Scott said it to the room at large.

Oh crap.

“Good.”

Gordon mentally went through what he had in his own fridge in his rooms and came up with very little. Maybe he could coerce Virg to grab him something otherwise he might expire from his grandmother’s ‘curative’ efforts.

“Don’t worry, Gordon. I have a stash. You’re covered.”

Actually, come to think of it, Virgil would probably go out of his way to do anything and everything for him over the next few days.

There was both glee and worry attached to that thought.

“Rest.” A hand returned to his forehead and stroked away what was likely a phantom hair. Virgil always had the urge to touch.

To heal.

Too good for his own good.

Those fingers slipped away again.

Gordon let himself sink a few more millimetres into the mattress.

Scott was still in the room. He could hear his breathing. Virgil was beside his bed.

He was safe.

His head hurt.

It had been an ass of a day.

Too tired to get out of the way of his brother’s fist.

Stupid move.

Stupid.

Virgil murmured something.

Scott whispered in return.

Gordon let himself drift.

-o-o-o-

[jakey-beefed-it]

Thoughts on depictions of Certain Villains using their depression as an excuse to be fuckstains in FFXIV. Under a cut because spoilers

Preface that I am enjoying the hell out of Endwalker and as a whole have nothing but good things to say about it. Including its portrayal of devastatingly bleak circumstances hammering home the sheer pervasive inescapable horror of despair. And the following isn’t even a complaint about the writing (except that I’m still Annoyed by the mincing camp-gay villain stereotype Fandaniel is), it’s just a pesonal beef with a certain type of person who is, tbh, not unreasonably portrayed in the game- the edgelord who takes his depression and makes it everyone else’s problem.

Maybe it’s the ‘Has struggled his whole life with depression’ in me but I have found myself struggling to regard a lot of these depressive bastards in Endwalker with anything but moderate to severe contempt. 

Fandaniel gets the worst of it; like, yeah, having the Fermi Paradox answered in that depressing a fashion after struggling with feeling like you’re the only one who cares at *all* about the well-being of ‘lesser’ creatures is gonna kick your teeth in, emotionally. Hermes, I get. Hermes, I sympathize with. 

And being reborn again and again only to confront that same nihilistic despair sucks! Feeling like you’re the only sane person surrounded by uncaring, unfeeling monsters sucks! Amon even gets some sympathy.

Fandaniel, though, the modern iteration that’s sort of the culmination of the two plus however many other lifetimes, is just so offensively bad a caricature of campy nihilism I just wanna roll my eyes so hard they come loose and rattle around my sinuses for a while. 

And collectively, the lot of them, like, I get it. I’m a depressive fucko, too. But you don’t... go around imposing that on others? That’s supremely immature in a way most literal children aren’t. It’s such pathetic wannabe edgelord behavior it just irritates me. 

There’s a music video, Radiohead’s ‘Just’. In it, some guy just lies down on the sidewalk and gives up. Okay. Fair, that’s certainly a choice I’ve been tempted to make. And people come along, and they ask him ‘wtf, man’ and he says ‘don’t worry about it, you don’t want to know’ but they insist for various Capitalist reasons that he Must Get Up and Get Back to Work (it’s very Metamorphosis in that regard) or at least tell them why, and of course he ends up doing so finally in a portion of the video where you see his mouth moving, but there are no captions, so you don’t know exactly what he said. But the next shot is of everyone else lying down on the pavement, too, so presumably it was the sort of existential despair on display with the various dragons and Ea we see recreations of in Ultima Thule.

That guy didn’t make it everyone else’s problem in any aggressive way, and while personally I’m of the opinion that such activities are better reserved for the privacy of one’s own home (depression naps all the way to actual suicide) rather than inflicting them on the general public, the POINT of the video is that the mere act of giving up/opting out is itself unacceptable to the whole Capitalist Machine, so sure, he does this in public because no matter where he does it it’s gonna be ‘disruptive’, might as well go for disruptive.

But yeah, anyhow back on track, Hermes and his reincarnations, Zenos, and the Meteia (though I don’t blame them so much given they were set up to fail by a shitty parent creator) are all about Making Their Depression Everyone’s Problem, and I just can’t abide that shit. What are you, twelve? Lashing out because surely nobody’s ever felt this way before? Meteion is a child, relatively speaking, hence she gets much more of a pass, but Hermes? Zenos?

Alisaie at least reads Zenos for filth.

The game is very good at Themes, and conveying the whole Meaning Is Where You Make It approach to nihilism, which I agree with enthusiastically and respect, but to contrast that you need some first year philosophy student wannabe Nietzcheans (who don’t even get HIM for that matter). I get it, but they do annoy me, perhaps because I have dealt with enough ‘dark enlightenment’ assholes who use their depression as an excuse to be the fucking worst.

Pull yourself together and plant a flower, ya fuckwads. Admittedly Eitherys doesn’t have prozac, but a tactile hobby and choosing to see the good when you can goes a long ass way.

Ya dicks.

[lifblogs]

10 Fics

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagged by: @evilwriter37

Okay, so i have not written fics in a few months, but I'll share what I have posted on AO3, I suppose. Not tagging anyone though. Just not sure who to tag.

Under a read more because I can't keep things short.

Run Boy Run

He hears his voice again. He hears it every night, even during the day. It calls out to him, tugging at a heart that he has made his own, burning through him. Tonight is no different.

Castiel is hiding from the leviathans currently, taking a breather, as one might say. He’s deep in the bush, crouched low. He can hear them nearby, searching, hunting. He knows he’ll have to move on soon, to make his presence known.

To keep them away from Him. Away from Dean.

Cas, please, buddy, where are you? I just… I just need you here, okay? You and me—that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

Cas’ throat does an odd thing at this, tightening, and getting sore. There are pinpricks in his sinuses near his eyes, and his eyes feel wet.

Crying. This is what crying feels like.

2. And I Can't Have Him

Cas knows what he wants, and he knows he can’t have it. This time, not for the regular reason—that Dean doesn’t love him the way he does—but because Dean is standing (barely) in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, completely drunk. His eyes are bleary, and he can hardly hold himself up.

I don’t even know why I’m here. 

Why was he here? To talk to Dean? To kiss him? To…

Slowly, an idea begins coming to mind, but he can’t do it. No, of course he can’t do it. How could he? He can’t hurt Dean. He’s already hurt him enough. By being his usual useless self.

And yet—

“What?” Dean asks, voice all gruff, even that one word slightly slurred.

A good question. Cas doesn’t know.

3. Clouzon

Ezra was used to traveling by hyperspace now, so he wasn’t sure why his chest started to hurt when they jumped. (Or had it been hurting beforehand?) It was so sudden that he couldn’t ignore it, and let out an oomph! He rubbed at his chest, at the pain. Soon, it was thumping its way up his throat.

“Hey, Ezra, you okay?” Kanan asked from his seat in the cockpit.

4. The Long Night

Heavy rain rattled the window panes, and cold wind came in through the cracks in the small cabin. Sam was sick, and with a storm coming on, this was the best Dean had been able to do for shelter.

Now, with a small fire to tend to in the dusty and ash-covered fireplace, and Sam lying on a thin, smelly blanket on the floor, another one like that over him, Dean kept watch. His eyes would droop from time to time, but Sam moaning in his sleep always brought him back to the land of the living.

Lightning lit up the sky, light blasting through the windows.

It was soon followed by thunder that seemed to shake the very air around them, to shake the cabin.

Sam lay beneath the scratchy blanket, shivering. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, and whenever Dean checked his forehead, he had a fever. In fact, he seemed to be getting hotter by the hour.

“Come on, just hang in there. As soon as this storm’s over we can get you some help.”

5. Pie's On Me

Dean was on the ground. For a second he was confused as to how he had gotten there. Then he remembered seeing the crowbar in the corner of his vision. His head wasn’t just pounding, it felt like it was splintering apart. The crowbar had gotten him right against the left side of his head, and he still felt like he was being hit by it. The pressure was burying into his skull, maybe into his brain, and it wouldn’t let up. The pain got worse and worse, till he was screaming.

He wasn’t too sure what else was happening. There were sounds outside of the agony he was in, and he thought maybe Sam was fighting off their adversary with the crowbar. God, he hoped Sam would be okay.

Blood ran hot through his hair, covering his ear, and dripping down onto his forehead. Soon it was getting into his eyebrow, and down into his eye.

Dean tried to blink it away, tried to brush it off with his hand. He couldn’t move much for some reason.

Minutes passed with Dean trying to count his breaths, trying to feel the ground against his body, to orient himself with something outside of his pain. But it was no use. He was panting, agonized voice breaking the cold air.

Hands were on him, and for a second Dean tried to fight off whoever was touching him, and nausea swelled through him.

6. The Devil in You

Sam had dumped his lunch into the trash (he’d waited till lunch was over and a nurse or occupational therapist wasn’t around so they would think he was eating), and was just bringing the empty tray back to the nurse’s station when one of the older men also in this unit with him grabbed his arm. Sam turned, expecting an attack, pulling himself out of his surprisingly strong grip, and held the dark red tray in front of him like it might be a shield.

Before he could say anything, the man, now wide-eyed, was pointing a finger at him.

Sure, maybe Sam could ignore him, go on with his day, try once more to find a way out of here, but for some reason, the way his dark eyes held him kept him captivated.

“You’ve got the Devil in you, boy.”

Sam opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing came out. He swallowed, and licked his suddenly-dry lips.

He thought maybe his heart had skipped a beat or two.

“Wh-what?”

“You’ve got the Devil in you,” he repeated.

Sam wanted to snap at him, maybe as an attempt to hold back the fear that lived in him constantly, the fear that was always ready to spring.

I did, but not anymore!

7. Glass Dolls

Sam didn’t know what game was being played anymore. There weren’t any buttons this time, but still, he’d been led to a room through the now too-familiar opening and closing of doors that he had to follow.

He had walked to this room with bare feet scraped raw from how they’d beat at the concrete floor the last time he’d been electrocuted. And he was cold, so cold. It reminded him too much of Lucifer, but it wasn’t Lucifer doing this. He still didn’t have any clue as to who had captured him and his family.

Worse yet, he still had no idea how to get out.

There was a single metal foldable chair in the room, no table this time. Grinding his teeth, clenching his already-aching jaw, he took a seat.

His stomach grumbled from hunger, but he ignored. Or at least, he tried to. He thought maybe over the past few days he’d been getting better at that.

Chest tight, struggling to take normal, steady breaths, Sam dug his thumb into the palm of his left hand. His hand ached from the repeated action, and he even had a scab from when he’d torn his scar open, trying desperately to prove to himself that this wasn’t real.

It was.

That’s when the screams started.

8. Running Out of Air

“While I’m here, I suppose I can… do more than touch your soul—which you did ask me to do so nicely.”

“No,” Sam breathed, pressed against the pillar, wishing it wasn’t there, that Lucifer wasn’t in front of him in his friend’s body, that he wasn’t so close they were touching, that he could run, and run, and run. Already his mind was conjuring up a million horrible things Lucifer could do—would do.

He had a hand on his chest, which heaved at the touch; the touch of his friend’s hand . It wasn’t his friend controlling it.

Oh, Cas, why? 

To save me. To save Dean. 

Yet he couldn’t hate him, because he knew; he knew what that was like, what it was to have someone in you, know you, control you.

Sam gripped the pillar as that hand caressed him.

“Please,” he gasped. “Don’t—don’t touch me.”

9. A Rude Awakening

A hard surface was beneath Dean. That was about all he was aware of. That and the soreness it put in the left side of his body. An ache was steadily growing along the side of his head and to his temple. Still, tired, he kept his eyes closed, deciding to keep trying to sleep through the pain.

A vague thought passed through his mind, wondering why there was pain, but Dean dozed.

Yet as he slept he was aware of the hard surface against him, and slowly, the smell of dirt and old blood was becoming known to him. Dust tickled at his nose.

10. On the Slopes of Aneine

The battle against Infernua on the slopes of Aneine where Arven had once so long ago won independence from the Taivens had been going poorly. Infernuan troops that had been besieging Taivas had marched to the slopes, and Arven met them, trying to help their tentative allies, if only because of the shared enemy. The Taiven infantrymen were caught on the northern part of the slopes, surrounded, and Arven faced the thousand cavalry alone to the southeast. Having to fight their way uphill had them slowing, and then losing ground.

If only Dean were here, Sam thought, but his brother was leading an insurgent group against the Infernuans with the Taiven prince, Castiel.

Sam did his best to pull his men together, to rally them, but their tired horses were having to slog through muddied ground that was a dark crimson-brown, and over the bodies of their own men. The Infernuans, led from the back by Crowley, had regrouped, and the line charged.

Sam dug his heels into his horse’s flank, sword raised, and met them in a gallop.

Time slowed, even as it seemed to speed up. He faced his enemies, and felled as many as he could.

But then he saw one of the Infernuan leaders, Ruby, and she had a spear. Somehow Sam knew exactly what was going to happen, and adrenaline made his moves sloppy. Despite his trists with her, this was a battlefield, and they weren’t sparing any blows.

She charged him, and he tried to use his shield to block the attack from her spear, but she knocked his weak attempt aside, clearly focused, and using her superior strength. The spear dug right into his side as she passed, finding a chink between the metal plates of his armor, the force breaking through his mail.

Pressure buried into his right side and came out through his back. He went flying backwards off his horse, and lost his breath as he hit the ground on his back.

[spikeyjo]

hng

[nobodybetterlookatme]

Part two of this one with Rowan and Blaire but they get to kiss this time

Slight mess and contagion but I think that’s about it

Nursing Rowan back to health did have its risks, but Blaire’s immune system had always been strong, so she just assumed that if she did end up catching his cold, it would hardly feel like anything. When she started feeling the beginnings of a sore throat, she thought nothing of it. Not even when her nose started running did she think anything was wrong. What was she supposed to do about it, anyway? Rowan was still battling the lingering effects of his miserable cold, and she had to help him first. Even if that meant staying up all night trying to convince herself that she didn't feel that bad when her symptoms took a turn for the worse about a day and a half in, desperately stifling sneezes and muffling coughs into her blanket. She managed to go the whole night without waking Rowan, and he was still asleep by the time she had to leave for class. Blaire left a note for him before she left, then headed to class, silently cursing the cold rain all the way over.

The day couldn't end soon enough, and Blaire almost considered ditching her last class. She was shivering so hard, she could hardly hold her pen and take notes, and her sinuses ached with stifled sneezes. She wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and crawl into bed, but she knew she couldn't do that. Not when Rowan needed her. She debated on not even returning to their dorm until she knew he was asleep, but that thought was dashed when Rowan texted her asking when she'd be back from class. She sighed, which immediately turned into a coughing fit she had to catch in the crook of her elbow. She had no choice, she supposed, and headed back to the dorm.

Rowan looked up from his laptop when Blaire entered, and gave her a grin. It fell slightly when he noticed how tired she looked, and how flushed her cheeks were. "Hey… you okay?" He asked, his full attention on her. "You've been getting enough sleep, haven't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she replied, her voice more hoarse and congested than she thought it would be. "Long day, I'm just tired." She sucked in a soupy sniffle, then tried to laugh it off, desperately trying to stave off another bout of coughing. "The walk in the rain didn't help much. I'm just gonna take a shower real quick." With that, she disappeared into the bathroom.

He frowned, trying to think of why she was acting so strange. The thought occurred to him that she could be sick, but this was Blaire, and she never got sick. He elected to just wait for her to come out. Maybe she really had just had a rough day, and maybe he could set up a movie for them to watch to help her unwind. Yeah, that's what he'd do.

Blaire sighed in defeat. She'd gone for a hot, steamy shower in hopes of chasing away her chills and alleviating some of her congestion, but the only thing it had done was make her feel dizzy. She clumsily got out of the shower and dried off, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then stepped out of the bathroom.

Rowan looked over when she emerged. "Hey, wanna watch a movie with me?" He asked, though his brow furrowed when she appeared to be swaying on her feet. "Jesus, Blaire, you wanna sit down? You look like you're about to pass out."

"Huh? Oh, no, no, I'm okay," she assured him weakly. "I just.. took too hot a shower, and my body didn't like the temperature change much." She laughed hoarsely, but she wasn’t able to hold back a coughing fit anymore, and grabbed the doorframe to steady herself while she doubled over, face buried in the crook of her arm.

His eyes widened, and he stood from his bed, the movie long forgotten. "Alright, new question: how long has that been going on?"

She shook her head, trying to stop coughing. "It's- it's fine, I'm fine, it's not- not a big deal," she wheezed, a hand on her chest as she managed to regain control of her breathing again. "Just- just from the steam. When I was showering."

"Oh, cut the shit," Rowan growled, concern building up inside of him. He placed a hand on her back, shocked at how warm she was even though her shirt. He placed a hand on her forehead, giving her a look of guilt and worry. "God, you're burning up…"

It took everything in her to not lean into his touch, and instead, she stepped away from him. “Don’t,” she croaked. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine. I told you, I took a hot shower.”

Rowan laughed incredulously. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” He asked, arching a brow at her. 

She glanced over to the bathroom; maybe he didn’t have to believe her. If she was quick enough, or perhaps inconspicuous enough, she could easily lock herself in and avoid this mess entirely. She met Rowan’s eyes again, then took a step towards the bathroom. She looked to the side again, then back at him, and took another step before trying to slink into the bathroom.

He looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. He quickly stepped in front of the door and grabbed Blaire’s wrist, preventing her from closing herself in, and narrowed his eyes slightly at her. “Seriously, Blaire, what the hell is with you?” He demanded, his tone a bit more harsh than he’d intended.

Blaire flinched slightly at his tone, and tensed up. She looked up at him with big, scared eyes, not daring to pull her arm from his grasp. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, shutting her eyes and willing herself not to cry. She couldn’t deny how awful she felt anymore, and she just wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and not come out until she felt okay again.

He felt horribly guilty for snapping; it was clear she was only acting the way she was because she wasn’t feeling well. "Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. Come on, let's just get you to bed." He guided her over to his bed, laying her down and propping up the pillows just as she'd done for him. "There you are. Isn’t that better?"

Being tucked into bed by Rowan, Blaire couldn't help but cry, the tears she had been holding back rolling down her cheeks. Small, hiccupping whimpers quickly turned into sobs, and before she realized what was happening, she was a mess.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. No, Blaire, come on, please don’t cry…” Rowan had never seen her come close to crying in the two years he’d known her, but now, it seemed like everything was coming out all at once. He immediately sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms, cradling her trembling frame against his chest. “Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I’m s-sorry,” she babbled again, repeating the two words like a broken record. “I’m s’pposed to be taking care of you, and I- I can’t even do that right, and- and- hh- hih’SCHiew! hih’SCHiew!”

He hushed her again, gently patting her back. “You’ve taken care of me all week, and gone to all your classes, and gotten groceries. In the rain. And all while running a fever, apparently. You’ve done plenty. You deserve a rest.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but instead, her breath hitched again. “Ih- ih- hih- hih’SCHiew! his’SCHiew! hih’CHiew! hih’SCHiew! hih’SCHiew!” She sniffled again, loose and wet, letting out a ‘guh’ when it did nothing to stop her nose from running. “I don’t wanna rest,” she muttered. “I wa-wanna- hih’CHiew!- finish my assignments, and- hih- and take care- hih’CHiew!- take care of- hih’SCHiew!- you.”

“Are you even hearing yourself right now? You sound dreadful.” Rowan gently sat her up in his bed, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and making sure she was bundled up. He took a couple fresh tissues from the box, then pressed the small wad against her streaming nose. She took them from him and blew her nose while he fussed over the blanket a bit more. “I don’t need you to take care of me anymore, you know. You’ve done more than enough.”

She whined, dropping the soaked tissue wad onto the floor. Blaire had no idea how to properly communicate what she was feeling; words were Rowan’s strong suit, not hers. Besides, she figured, how was she supposed to explain to him that caring for him was the most useful she’d felt in years? That she wanted to prove she would do anything for him? That she- She felt like crying again. Some things she didn’t think she would ever be able to tell him, and that was alright. She took a breath, then looked at him. “Can you tell me you hate me?”

Rowan physically did a double take, shaking his head and blinking at her in surprise. “I’m sorry?” He asked, his tone more demanding than he would’ve liked it to be. “Why on earth would you ever ask me to say that? How- how can you even think for a moment that I could ever say something like that to you?”

“It’d be easier that way,” she muttered, rubbing her nose with her knuckles.

He almost laughed at how utterly ridiculous the whole situation was. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re roommates, for fuck’s sake! How would it be easier if I hated you?”

“I like you, Ro,” she blurted out, not even realizing what she’d said. “You’re smart, and funny, and so, so sweet. I didn’t think people like you actually existed, but you sure goddamn do, and I wanna kiss your stupid little face all the time, and-” Blaire sighed, muffling a few coughs with a blanket-covered fist. “At least if you hated me, there’d be no friendship to ruin.” It took her far longer than it should’ve to process what she’d said, and when she finally did, she looked at him with wide-eyed horror.

Oh. Oh. His cheeks were positively burning, and he hid his face behind a hand. Of all the ways he’d thought he might tell Blaire he liked her, her telling him wasn’t something he’d planned. Much less in the current situation. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and instead, gently grasped her chin and made her look at him. He held her gaze for just a moment before leaning forward to capture her lips with his. He could taste the saltiness of snot on her lips, but it did nothing to deter him. Not even when her nose squelched against his cheek and snot dribbled down to his lips did he stop.

Blaire was too shocked to move for a moment, but she relaxed, her lips melting against his as she kissed him back. She wanted to freeze time right there, but her nose had other ideas. She ignored the itchiness as long as she could, but eventually, her breath hitched, and she pulled away from him just as a sneeze overtook her. “hih’SCHiew! hih’SCHiew! hih’CHiew! hih’CHiew! hih’CHiew!” Snot rocketed from her nose and splattered onto Rowan’s chest, and the short fit was followed by a harsh bout of coughing. “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she choked out, trying desperately to stop coughing.

Rowan laughed, gently patting her back. “Like this is any worse than what I’ve been doing all week,” he scoffed, giving her a reassuring smile. “I don’t think there’s a single fabric in this room I haven’t sneezed on.”

“Probably true,” Blaire agreed, shrugging her shoulders. She cleared her throat, though it did next to nothing; her voice was wrecked from all the sneezing and coughing she’d been doing. “But you get a pass.”

“Aw, ‘cause you like me?” He teased, batting his eyelashes at her. “That’s embarrassing.”

“It is!” She cried, so empathetically that she began coughing again. “Do you have any idea how mortifying it is to have to restart your entire lab experiment because you thought of your stupid roommate’s stupid smile and added the wrong chemical? I almost failed that class because of you, you know!”

He laughed again, reaching out to brush the back of his fingers against her warm cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, I totally said your name during a presentation in class instead of a character’s name from that book we were reading. That.. happened more than once, actually.”

Blaire snorted, leaning into his soft touch. “How the hell did that happen?”

He shrugged. “Thought about you.” Rowan tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, his cheeks flushing a bit. “I get nervous up there in front of the whole class, so I just.. imagine I’m back here at the dorm practicing with you.”

She couldn’t help but smile, though she panicked for a moment when Rowan began pulling his hand back. She grabbed his arm and pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand, giving him a pleading look. His hand was so cool, and felt so nice. And now that she knew her feelings were reciprocated, she felt the need to make up for lost time.

Rowan could feel his face burning, but he kept his hand on her face, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Any chance you’ll let me go out to get you something to eat? Maybe some soup?” He suggested, giving her a small smile.

She shook her head. “Absolutely not,” she huffed, narrowing her eyes slightly with a pout. “Not when you’re just getting over being sick.” She could still hear the bit of congestion in his voice when he spoke, and how he’d cough and clear his throat or sniffle every now and then.

“I’ll be okay, really. I feel fine now,” he assured her, gently touching his forehead to hers. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

She responded with a whine, and wrapped her arms around him to prevent him from leaving. “Just stay. We can get food delivered here,” she mumbled, shutting her eyes as she nuzzled against him. “Please..?”

Rowan gave in, and pulled her into his arms again. “Of course.” He shifted himself to pull Blaire on top of him, then adjusted the blanket over her and kissed her forehead. “Maybe a nap for now?" He suggested, rhythmically running a hand up and down her back. "You can try to sleep off this cold a bit."

"Yeah, that- hih- hih'SCHiew! hih'SCHiew!- sounds nice," she said with a wet sniffle, rubbing her nose on Rowan’s shirt. She sniffled a few more times, then felt a wad of tissues placed over her nose. Without a second thought, she blew her nose into the tissues, then finished with several chesty coughs. If she could sleep off any part of this, she would consider it a win.

He gently patted her back as she coughed, feeling rather guilty; he was the reason she was this sick now, after all. Though, at least now, he was able to properly thank her for taking care of him by returning the favor. "Just rest, Blaire-bear," he told her gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've got you."

[cinnaminsvga]

body of mine | Seokjin (M)

→ summary: It’s the night before Seokjin’s birthday and you, his ever-reliable witch slash roommate, have accidentally forgotten to get him a gift. Good thing you know magic then, right? Ten wishes shouldn’t be too hard to handle…

{or alternatively: learning the importance of living a marie kondo lifestyle, but in hindsight}

→ genre: shifter!au, magic!au, humor/crack, smut → warnings: jin is your magical hamster familiar, jin is chaotic (ofc), magical mischief that only zee could come up with, aphrodisiac sex, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), slightly rough sex, dom!jin if you squint, hair pulling, jin doesn’t wrap up his peepee (pls practice safe sex u guys), dirty talk, breeding kink?? → words: 16.9K → a/n: IDK WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THE ORIGINAL POST BUT HERE IT IS!! IM SO SORRY BUT HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY @jincherie​ PLEASE IM GOING TO CRY I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS (pls send me your thots i suffered greatly for this fic i’m actually dying appa yip yip)

Whoever told you that keeping a hamster as a familiar was a good idea must have been an idiot.

It’s you – you are the idiot. Every one of your friends had warned you about the little vermin. They had begged you to kick him out the moment you found him taking a hamster-sized dump on your prized foxgloves.

You’d been in the middle of pruning the yallows in your garden when you heard a tiny squeak! to your right. When you pushed the foliage away, you saw a small hamster, cheeks puffed up with its little fists clenched by its sides, as pellet after pellet of tiny shits were pushed out of its tiny ass and onto your plants.

You brought him into your home, already making up your mind that you’d keep him as a pet. You have been feeling a bit lonely these days; surely, a tiny little hamster won’t be too much of a problem to take care of, right? You’re so excited that you even invite your friends over to behold your newfound darling.

“I’m going to kill that tiny bastard,” Yoongi hissed the moment he made eye contact with the hamster, his pupils dilating and fluffy cat ears tensing, ready to attack. You could see his claws begin to extend, so you made sure to place your new friend out of his reach. Lucky for you, Yoongi had the arm span of a toddler.

“Oh, c’mon! He’s so fucking cute though,” you cooed, tickling the hamster’s belly. It squeaked happily, nudging your finger to scratch the underside of its ears. Yoongi hissed at it from behind Namjoon’s back, his fingernails digging painfully into the gentle giant’s shoulders. The bespectacled witch didn’t even seem to bat an eye.

“Y/N, I’m all for keeping magical pets and whatnot, but I have to agree with Yoongi… That hamster has too much bastardous energy,” Namjoon said, wincing when the hamster begins munching on the sleeves of your cloak in earnest. You continued to squeal in delight, positively endeared by the cute little ball of fur in your palms.

Due to your magical abilities, you had sensed that this little hamster had magic in his veins and you guessed that he must have either been a shifter or an intellectually augmented animal. You guessed that he’s the former, much like how Yoongi is a cat shifter as well. Ever since Namjoon had befriended Yoongi and the two became partners, you admit that you’ve always been a little jealous of their natural camaraderie. You had long since yearned for someone who could assist you in your magical apothecary, but more importantly, someone you could share your time with.

You were optimistic; perhaps when the little hamster learned to shift into its human form, then you could truly begin your journey towards friendship. You’re sure that the man behind the hamster must be just as cute and lovely.

Speaking of learning to shift—

“What? You mean me?” Yoongi asked, craning his head over Namjoon’s shoulder, his curiosity getting the better of him but still remaining a safe distance away from you and the hamster. “What about learning to shift?”

“Did you just learn one day? I want to get Mr. Hamster over here to turn into a human so I can speak to him,” you explained, but the cat shifter narrows his eyes distrustfully.

“I don’t want that vermin to gain the ability to speak. I can just tell no one is going to enjoy what he has to say,” he sniffed. He growled lowly, the sound so deep and feral that you are momentarily disarmed by his hostility. Namjoon had to rub the back of his ears for a second, forcing Yoongi to calm down until his growl softened into a purr.

“Well, Yoongi can’t control his shifting abilities quite yet. I have to… forcibly change him, if you will,” Namjoon explained, watching Yoongi with loving eyes as he gently nuzzled his head into the witch’s hand. He beckoned you closer and you took a tentative step forward, keeping the hamster behind your back just to be safe. “Watch,” he said simply, as his hand trails lower and lower until it reached the back of Yoongi’s neck and he–

Poof! Namjoon simply tickled the back of Yoongi’s neck and a puff of purple smoke revealed a munchkin cat in its wake. His soft gray and white fur bristled in surprise, his teeth bared at Namjoon as he meowed in contempt. Namjoon ignored all of this, gently picking up the tiny cat and cradling him in his arms like a baby. Immediately, the shifter relaxed, eyes closing contentedly as he burrowed deeper into Namjoon’s chest.

“Woah,” you said, for lack of better words. You shook your head, gazing at the two in wonder. “I didn’t know Yoongi has a fucking eject button.”

“Yep. I sure hope you don’t abuse this knowledge, by the way,” Namjoon warned, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes told you that he probably wouldn’t mind if you did. Knowing you, there was no question that you’d take any and every opportunity to annoy the cat shifter. “If this hamster is the same, then surely it has a similar tick. Since it’s small too, I’m sure it’ll be easy to find its spot.”

“Speaking of,” you piped up, staring curiously at him. “How… did you find out where Yoongi’s spot was? Didn’t you meet him as a human?”

Namjoon shrugged, but there’s a soft pink tint coloring the tops of his ears. “Umm… Coincidence?”

You squinted at him. “Sure,” you agreed, not wanting to know why he seemed so embarrassed. You turned back to the furry matter at hand, lips pursing as you gazed upon the hamster. Surely, there should be an easy way to figure this out…

You began to roll the small hamster in your hand like a pancake, twisting and pulling the lil guy until it started squeaking in protest. You made sure not to handle it too roughly, so you were a bit surprised at how dramatically the hamster was screaming. “Just another moment, baby…” you murmured. At the sound of the pet name, the hamster paused in its squirming, staring wide-eyed at you with its tiny mouth ridiculously agape. You arched a brow, amused at the aghast expression on its face.

“Well, that settles it. You’re definitely human, by the looks of it,” you commented, poking it lightly on the nose. The hamster scrunched up its face just as a soft pink smoke started to envelop its tiny body. You coughed harshly, your sinuses tickled by the strong scent of caramel and mint. “W-well, I think I found its spot,” you pointed out helplessly, eyes watering as you tried to keep them open.

The hamster’s body was growing ridiculously hot, forcing you to drop it on your kitchen counter. You hissed, sucking on your burned appendages as you wait for the smoke to subside. Beside you, Namjoon had Yoongi held tightly in his arms, his back turned away to keep the smoke away from their faces. “Y/N, get some clothes quickly. He’s going to be cold when he finishes transforming,” was all he said, his free hand covering his nose. “This is probably going to be its first shift in a while!”

You’re still completely flabbergasted, frozen in place. “What?” you replied dumbly, standing stock still as you waited for the smoke to dissipate. As more and more of it cleared, you noticed two pairs of long legs where there originally had been none. You waved your hand a bit, fanning the remaining fumes away from your nose, allowing you to gaze upon a very naked and very tall man sitting primly on your kitchen counter.

You and the man stared each other down, neither of you blinking nor backing down. After a few moments, the man smiled brightly at you, his cheeks bunching up much like how he did in his hamster form. “Hello, human,” he greeted, extending a hand towards you. You took it dazedly, still staring wide-eyed at him. “My name is Seokjin. I suppose this means I’m going to be your familiar from now on.”

Your gaze traveled downwards, your hands still clasped together with his. “You’re naked,” you said plainly.

He followed your gaze. “I suppose I am,” he mused, shrugging his shoulders. He was incredibly wide; it almost made no sense that he was a hamster just a few seconds ago. What did he do, bench press sunflower seeds all day? “I am also incredibly beautiful, but we can continue stating the obvious another day.” He released your hands, clasping them together with a beatific smile. “C’mon, human! Bring me your finest garments because my handsomely sculpted testicles are starting to shrivel up from the cold.”

Behind you, you could hear Yoongi hissing loudly in response.

And from that day forward, your adventures of living with the biggest nuisance in the world had begun.

x x x x x

[December 3, 11:39 PM]

Okay, maybe calling him a nuisance is a bit too mean… He’s not that bad. Although, you are sure that Seokjin would have gladly nipped you in the tit if he ever found out you thought so lowly of him. Which you don’t.

Usually.

Except when he’s being annoying, which is all the time. For example:

“Stop fucking biting, you little furball,” you grouse, flicking the hamster in the stomach. He gasps in response, or at least, you assume he had gasped since hamsters don’t exactly have the same vocal cords that humans do. What you do know, however, is that Seokjin seems particularly adamant to be irritating tonight, despite your numerous threats to snip his tiny hamster balls should he continue to pester you.

Unfortunately, none of your usual intimidation tactics work, thus prompting you to grab the small rodent and squeeze him like a squeaky toy. (And what do you know—he even squeaks like one too!)

“Will you stop bothering me? You know I’m busy.” You squint angrily at him, scowling when Seokjin looks back at you with faux innocence. This lil bitch wouldn’t know innocence if it shoved a finger up his ass! “You’ve been more annoying than usual. You even tried parkouring over my herb bottles even though I’ve told you numerous times that’s off limits!”

You feel only slightly bad for scolding him; after all, you are in the midst of preparing a particularly difficult potion for one of your clients tomorrow. Seokjin knows this, and you even specifically told him not to bother you until you finished for the night. While he often did like to interrupt your work for “life or death situations” such as “cuddling” or “spoon-feeding him some pudding,” he usually leaves you alone to do your work when you’re faced with tougher jobs. Today doesn’t seem to be the case as he nibbles ferociously on your sleeves, desperate for you to listen to whatever nonsense he wants to convey.

Rolling your eyes (albeit you admit you do it out of fondness), you gently take the little hamster into your hands, placing him on your kitchen floor. You make sure the stove for your potion making is turned off before you turn back to him, honking his button nose and waiting for him to shift completely.

Since it’s no longer his first time shifting, it only takes Seokjin a few seconds to transform into his human self, his large frame quickly taking up most of the space of your cramped kitchenette. He accidentally bumps his head into one of your hanging potted plants, causing him to yelp in surprise rather than actual pain. He glares pointedly at your orchids before switching that ire onto you, his normally saccharine brown eyes filled with thinly veiled contempt.

“Took you long enough,” he sniffs, poking you not-too gently in the cheek. He folds his arms, appearing to you like a child throwing a tantrum. “Well?”

You raise a brow, covertly turning on your stove once more to resume your potion-making. “Well what?” you say, stirring your small cauldron from the corner of your eye. Seokjin halts your movements instantly, pulling your arm away and half-dragging you towards your living room.

“H-hey! That potion is really sensitive, so let me go—”

“It’s almost midnight,” is all he says before dumping you unceremoniously on your old sunken couch. You grunt from the impact, but he doesn’t apologize for his gruffness (as he never has). You peer up at him, scowling slightly at his unexpectedly cryptic remark.

“And so? This potion is due for pick-up in two days and I’ll need to steep it for another 24 hours before I can even think to package it–”

Instead of replying, Seokjin takes his phone out of his pocket and thrusts the screen towards you. You look at it in confusion, confronted with the sight of his lock screen without any explanation. “It’s… 11:43?”

He rolls his eyes, though you notice a slight hint of disappointment clouding his expression. “And what about the date?” he pushes, lips pursed thinly into a line.

He’s trying to get you to understand without saying it outright – a habit of his that he’s acquired ever since he started hanging out more with Yoongi. Though the two are hardly considered friends, even Seokjin has to admit that being near the cat has caused him to pick up a thing or two, with his tsundere tendencies being one of the first.

You, on the other hand, are forced to play along with his antics. You know that it is December 3. As you try to rack your head for anything you might have missed, you’re pretty sure you’ve accomplished all your chores for today, save for the current potion brewing for the customer coming in two days. You think back on your day, listing off all the things you had done.

You had met up with Namjoon to pick up more herbs from his shop, you delivered more mana potions to the local apothecary, you passed by the street market to buy more sunflower seeds for Seokjin… What on earth could you be forgetting?

“I sincerely hope you’re joking, you know.” Seokjin interrupts your train of thought, breaking you from your trance. When you look back at him, you find that his annoyance has cleared. Hurt replaces his expression, his bottom lip trembling slightly as he waits for you to realize.

When it appears that you won’t be noticing anytime soon, he heaves a heavy sigh, eyes closing in defeat. His voice cracks when he says, “Fine. It’s fine. Whatever. I’ll just… Go to my room. Don’t worry about breakfast tomorrow because I’m gonna sleep in.” And with that, he swivels away from you, shoulders hunched forward as he quietly makes his way to his quarters.

Left shocked and even more puzzled, your gaze is stuck where he had just been moments ago, anxiety and guilt rising in your chest as you try harder to remember what it is that caused Seokjin to shut you out like that. In your seven months of living together, not once has he ever looked so dejected, as the handsome shifter often liked to push your buttons and tease you whenever you mess up. This is clearly not like the other times, so whatever you forgot must pertain to Seokjin himself.

“Am I missing something? Did I forget to season his dinner again?” Although it is entirely too plausible that you did, you highly doubt Seokjin would be that upset at having a bland meal. So what else could it…?

Just as you’re about to give up and beg Seokjin to tell you what you had forgotten, your phone beeps, a new text from Namjoon arriving just in time. You flick it on, your brain taking a moment to fully grasp the words you were trying to read.

from: joonieboobie to: y/n

hey y/n! are you gonna spend the entire day with seokjin tomorrow? yoongi and i figured that you’d do something special for him on his bday, so tell seokjin that we’ll treat him to a birthday dinner the next day instead. don’t have too much fun, okay? use protection LMAO

Shit.

You gasp suddenly, hand flying to your mouth as horror washes over you. Did Namjoon just say… bday?! Now that he mentions it, you realize that today is December 3rd, which means…

“Tomorrow is December 4th,” you whisper to yourself. You jump out of the couch, scrambling towards your kitchen at a wicked pace. Sweat begins to form at the back of your neck as you run over to your wall calendar, where lo and behold, tomorrow’s date is circled in blood-red ink. Circled by you, even. Holy shit holy shit holy shit–

No wonder Seokjin was so hurt. You’re a terrible, foul, no-good witch! The absolute worst person in the world! How on earth could you forget your own familiar’s birthday?

“Jesus fuck, I’m screwed,” you groan, slumping over your kitchen counter in defeat. You don’t even care that your potion has long since boiled over—not when you’ve already made a bigger mistake just now. God, you’re such a clumsy bitch; what’s the point of being a potion maker who helps cure other people’s maladies if you can’t even fix your shortcomings?

“I can fix this. I can fix this. I can—” You chant this multiple times to yourself as you rush to your nearby bookshelf, pulling out every book you own to find a last-minute gift idea. Surely, there’s something in these books that can help you make it up to Seokjin, right? You’ve made almost every potion there is under the sun, surely there is something you can brew that can bring back the smile on your lovably goofy familiar?

You’ll pour over all of these books if you have to. Despite your forgetfulness, your love for your familiar rings true; you would do anything for him, whatever he might ask.

A thought passes through your mind, but you shut it down for now. A last resort, you think grimly to yourself. You have a few hours left before he wakes up, after all. You’ll find something, you’re sure.

x x x x x

[December 4, 9:14 AM]

It turns out you do not find anything, after all. A halo of books surrounds you on your living room floor, your worn fingers littered with papercuts and ink stains after spending the whole night looking for a suitable gift for Seokjin. Everything just seems too regular to be a gift, though you suppose you’re only picky because you know that Seokjin is pickier. He’d whine for days if you gave him just any gift, and nothing grinds your gears more than having a sulking hamster eating the plants in your garden.

“Grandeur,” you can imagine him saying, nose upturned in that snooty way of his. “I require the most exquisite of presents. I, after all, am above peasantry. I cannot even stand the taste of wooden chopsticks upon my silver tongue.”

Frankly, you have no idea how he’d gotten to become such a prick so haughty, given that you know that he used to live on the streets before he had met you. Regardless, you’ve always been the type of person to be a little too forgiving, so your patience for his irritating unorthodox personality is stronger than most.

Although it might not be immediately apparent to most observers, the two of you make for a perfect pair. You are the calm to his storm, the logic to his insanity, the yin to his dumbass yang. While it’s easy to say that you hold the short end of the stick when it comes to living with Seokjin, he also grounds you and keeps you from pushing yourself too hard. There have been many long nights in the past when you would be too absorbed in your work, not even remembering to eat or drink for days. All it takes is a soft poke or nibble from Seokjin to jolt you back to your senses as he reminds you time and time again that your life matters not only to you, but him as well.

He’s your familiar. Your sweet, foolish, annoying, narcissistic familiar. It really might have been fate for you to have met all those months ago in your garden, though you’d never tell him that. He’d be much too smug about it if you did, as he never did shy away from proclaiming that he was your knight in shining armor or something.

Which is all the more reason that you fear for your life now that you’ve run out of options for his birthday present. He’d never let you hear the end of it, and you can only imagine how a vengeful and spiteful Seokjin might be compared to his normal self.

You sigh dejectedly, closing your last book and shoving it across your living room floor. “This is my fault for forgetting,” you say, rubbing your temples with a grimace. Of all the times your forgetfulness could fail you, you certainly would have hoped that this would not be one of the times when it did. You must remember to ask Namjoon to restock the ingredients needed to make more head clarity potions, though you suppose you might end up forgetting to do that as well.

Every potion in your arsenal of knowledge just wouldn’t work out for Seokjin, or at least you think so. The potions are either too useless or too useful, with the latter being a bigger problem. As much as you like to tease Seokjin for his hamster-sized brain, he did have his cunning moments. You dread to wonder what type of mischief he might come up with should you give him, say, a 24-hour luck potion.

“Though I suppose he wouldn’t be able to take over the world in 24 hours… Could he?” Even as you say it, you know in your heart of hearts that he absolutely can and will. Fucking bastard that he is.

With no other options viable to you, you did have one last trick up your sleeve. You might even say this option is worse than a 24-hour luck potion, though you will be making sure that he has adult supervision while he, erm, utilizes this gift of yours. This last-minute gift idea of yours is famous amongst your circle of friends, mostly because you do have a penchant for forgetting numerous birthdays and anniversaries in the past.

You’re usually quick to resort to this last-minute gift whenever you forget someone’s birthday, as you trust that your friends would never misuse your kindness in any way. But like most things, Seokjin is a different case entirely. As you have mentioned before, Seokjin… has ways of getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Added with the fact that you were unquestionably whipped for his hamster ass, he most often can get you to do things that aren’t what most would consider being “morally sound.” You may love him, but you certainly don’t trust him.

Long story short, you are slightly terrified of giving him ten wishes for his birthday. Ten wishes that will allow him to ask you to do anything for him, as long as they’re within your abilities of course. If anyone were to find out that you were even considering offering wishes to Seokjin, much less ten wishes, you are sure that they would throttle you for the premeditated mass destruction of the human population.

Which is why you’re going to have to make some rules for the little rodent, and hope to all the deities up above that he doesn’t find a loophole of sorts. Hopefully.

It’s nearing 9:30 AM when you manage to muster up enough courage to tiptoe noiselessly into his room, not bothering to knock as you know that he will most likely ignore you. Your heart pangs when you see him curled up into a ball in his bed, still in his human form as you had not been able to transform him back into a hamster before he had stormed off the night before. He has his back turned away from the door, but you know he’s awake when you hear his muffled sniffles. Your previous trepidation is replaced with guilt immediately, causing you to lower your head in shame.

“Seokjin? Sweetie?” You say his name hesitantly, unsurprised when the shifter refuses to look at you. You pad softly towards his bed, your knee digging into the soft mattress but not daring to come closer. You want desperately to cuddle with him in bed, always having appreciated his higher body temperature, especially during the colder months.

“I’m so sorry for forgetting your birthday, Seokjinnie. I know I’m a big fool for forgetting such an important day, but I really hope you can forgive me,” your voice grows softer the more you speak, dropping to a whisper by the end of your sentence. The room is silent, save for the sound of Seokjin’s breathing and your rapidly beating heart. Your mouth feels like sandpaper when you continue, “I know this might not make it up to you entirely, but I do have a gift that I want to share with you.”

At the mention of the word “gift,” you can see the way the small hamster ears perched on his head start to twitch. You smile secretively to yourself, knowing that you finally got his attention. “Come on, sweetie. Don’t you want to know what your present is?”

With a loud sigh, Seokjin rolls over to face you, his cheeks blotchy with tear stains and dried snot. You nearly cry out at the sight, but you keep your guilt to yourself, now more eager than ever to right your wrongs. You hate seeing him cry, most especially when it is you who had made him shed those tears.

“You got me a gift?” His voice is hoarse, but his curiosity is plain as day.

You nod happily, clapping your hands with excitement. “Yup! I know this will be the first time Seokjinnie is celebrating his birthday with me, so I thought long and hard about this—” a complete lie, but he doesn’t have to know that, “—and I thought it would be great if I gave you ten wishes for your birthday!”

There is a pause. In lieu of a response, Seokjin just sits up in bed, pushing off his blankets and blinking rapidly at you in disbelief. He rubs his eyes once, twice, but it still seems like he can’t believe what he’s seeing (and hearing). His mouth opens and closes, before finally saying, “Excuse me?”

You arch a brow, slightly confused as to why Seokjin seemed so astonished. “What? Do you not want ten wishes for your birthday?”

Seokjin shakes his head, looking like a possessed bobblehead with how quickly he moves. “No, of course I do! I just… You trust me enough to make ten wishes? Me?”

You cringe. “Well, trust is a strong word…”

“I knew it!” Seokjin scoffs, pointing at you accusingly. He flops back onto the bed, a deep pout on his face. “My ten wishes are probably gonna be stuff like ‘No cooking duties for a month!’ or something equally as lame.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, yes that could be one of your wishes if you so desired. But no, you can ask for fun stuff too.”

Seokjin raises a finger. “Oh really? Then how about—”

“No wishes that will allow you to attain world domination,” you interrupt, watching amusedly when he immediately deflates.

“Aww,” Seokjin mutters, dropping his finger. A second later, he raises the same finger again. “Then—”

“And no bodily augmentations as well,” you add.

Seokjin looks down at his crotch dejectedly. “Aww!” Seokjin repeats. ”Then what else am I supposed to ask for?!”

You shrug, tapping your chin. “Well, is there anything else in that empty skull of yours that you might want? There should be something you want that you can’t have.”

For a moment, Seokjin’s expression turns cloudy, like he usually does when he’s thinking deeply about something. It might have been the trick of the morning light, but you swear he gives you a quick once over, tongue poking out to wet his chapped lips. “I have an idea,” he says, voice low.

You feel your palms begin to sweat, unused to the dark look on Seokjin’s face. Anticipation fills you as you both stare at each other, neither willing to back down. “Y-yes?” you say, suddenly nervous to hear his response.

He smirks, tilting his head with contemplation. “I want…”

What? What do you want? You squeeze your fists unknowingly, forcibly keeping yourself from squeezing other parts of your body. Could it be..? No…

“Seokjin—”

“I want to beat Jeon Jungkook in a spicy noodle challenge. Just once in my fucking life!” Seokjin hollers, punching his pillow in the midst of his unexpected fury. His eyes are blazing, cheeks puffed up due to his unbridled hamster-y rage. “That little bunny bitch! Thinks he’s hot shit just because he can eat two more cups of spicy ramen more than me? Well, I want him to finally get a taste of his own medicine!”

You feel your shoulders sag in relief, wondering where on earth your brain had been going just a moment ago. “You… You want to get a spice resistance potion? Yeah, I can do that for you. Give me a second,” you say, dashing out of his room like your ass is on fire, afraid that he might notice the blush dusting the tops of your ears. You mentally slap yourself, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from strangling yourself. Keep it together, Y/N. Remember how much of an idiot he is and you’ll be fine… Just don’t think too hard about it.

Lucky for Seokjin, spice resistance potions are quick enough to make and it only takes you 10 minutes to cork the finished concoction for him. You scurry back to his bedroom, about to hand the small vial over to him when the words get caught in your throat. You’re momentarily paralyzed by the sight of his naked back, his ocean-wide broad shoulders on full display for your wandering eyes to feast on. Naked Seokjin isn’t even a rare occurrence in your household, but it doesn’t get easier to witness even as the days go by. In fact, you guess it only gets harder for you, pun intended.

Thankfully (or unthankfully), Seokjin slips on a clean shirt before turning to you, his expression lighting up when he sees you (with your mouth still fully agape) with the potion in hand. “Nice one, Y/N!” He takes the vial from you, peering at the minty green color with glee. “Oh damn, when I see that little shithead, he’s not gonna know what hit him!”

“Are you gonna go challenge him today?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’d rather spend my birthday doing other things. Plus, I already have better ideas for the remaining nine wishes I have left.”

“Such as?”

He pats your head a little condescendingly, a devious smirk playing on his lips. “No need to worry your little head, Y/N. You don’t even need to work for four wishes, because I know for a fact that you have these potions in your stock,” he says, laughing maniacally as he scampers off to your basement storage.

“Seokjin!” You call out to him, wondering not for the first time how he always manages to outrun you despite doing nothing all day except eat sunflower seeds and play videogames all day. Though you assume it might have to do with his rodent DNA, as the little shit always did manage to slip from your fingers when you’re strangling holding him in his tiny furry form.

When you get to your cellar, you find him rummaging through your stores and softly humming a tune as he takes his time sorting through your potions. You try to peek over his shoulders to see what he’s doing, but it’s a lost cause as his entire frame somehow manages to block your entire view. Fuck him and his doorframe shoulders.

“Hey, I heard that!” Seokjin says, making you realize belatedly that you did say it out loud—not that you particularly cared if he heard. You’ve thought and said worse, plus he knows it. He thrives on being an asshole.

“Can you at least tell me what you want? I can find them for you too, as long as they aren’t… too dangerous,” you say the last part skeptically, not knowing what is categorized as “dangerous” when it comes to him. For all you know, he could somehow find a way to kill a man with a healing potion.

“No, no. I got it. Here,” he hands you a medium-sized vial filled with a colorless liquid. When you turn the bottle over, you see that you labeled it as one of your hair color changing mood potions, a popular novelty potion that you sold to kids at the market sometimes.

“Why on earth would you want this?” You snort. “Let me guess… You want to feed this to Yoongi so that you can anticipate whenever he’s about to scratch your eyeballs?”

“Close, but not quite! I want you to drink it,” Seokjin says, poking his head out of the cupboard to give you a quick smile. He winks at you, which you do not return. “Come on then. Drink up!”

You squint at him incredulously. When he doesn’t seem to be joking, you exclaim, “Hold on. Why on earth do you want me to drink this?”

But Seokjin has already shoved his head back into the cupboard, the sound of bottles clinking together nearly drowning out his voice as he struggles to find the other potions he’s looking for. “No particular reason! I just never see you with crazy hair colors and I always wondered how you’d look like in pink. I think it’d suit you.”

You flush darkly in response, stammering loudly at his brazenness. “But pink is the color for…” You trail off, embarrassment short-circuiting your brain. No way he could mean… that, could he?!

“Pink is for happiness, right?” Seokjin says after a moment, not noticing your awkward demeanor as he finally exits the cupboard, three other bottles cradled carefully in his arms. He closes the wooden door with his foot, walking out of the cellar with his prizes and not bothering to check if your dumbfounded self is following suit.

It takes a second for you to snap out of your stupor, yelping when he nearly slams the basement door on your face. “No, you idiot! Yellow is for happiness! Oh Merlin, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” you curse, treading closely on his heels.

Seokjin looks at you with confusion, but he thankfully doesn’t ask what specific mood the color pink represents. “Well, I guess you’re gonna have to live with yellow hair all day.”

“And why is that?” you say lamely.

“Because I’ll get to see how happy you are to be with me! After all, I am so incredibly handsome,” Seokjin laughs haughtily. He waits for you to open the door back to the house, his resounding laughter sounding even louder when you both enter, given the acoustics of your home.

“Then I guess my hair will be blue all day instead,” you scoff, pinching him lightly in the side.

“Oh? Because you’re sad that you can’t be as pretty as me? Understandable,” he nods sagely. “Or perhaps you’ll turn green with envy because you can’t be as pretty as me? Or even orange with fear, because you can’t be as pretty as—”

After living with him for so long, you’ve long since developed the ability to mute him out without needing to plug your ears with anything. It’s a necessary skill that you pride yourself in having, as it allows you to live in peace with the insufferable twat. You pity anyone who has ever had to live with him for an extended period of time; dear Merlin, you hope to meet his mother someday, as she must have been incredibly powerful to birth such a beast into existence and raise him willingly, too.

“Hey, are you listening to me? Are you muting me again? ON MY BIRTHDAY? Stop that!” Seokjin whines, poking you in the cheek. You startle slightly, pointing him with an annoyed look.

“Sorry, your highness. Does that count as one of your wishes? Because I honestly don’t think I can handle listening to you ALL DAY. I may be a talented witch, but even I don’t think that’s within my capabilities.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “Whatever. Just drink the potion already, will you? Or would you rather I ask for a mind-reading potion instead?”

That shut you up quickly. You shudder at the thought of Seokjin with any sort of telepathic powers. You don’t consider yourself a saint, but you feel as though it’s your duty to keep him away from any sort of power. The world should thank you for your service, honestly.

Without further ado, you pop the cork off the bottle, downing the plasticky tasting potion in one big gulp. “Ugh. I don’t know why kids love this stuff. Tastes like shit.” You grimace, rushing to your kitchen to grab a glass of water.

On your way there, you notice your hair color begins to change from the mirror you keep above the kitchen sink. Your roots are starting to gain a light brown color, the default shade of the potion, but the color quickly drains out as you take your first sip of water. By the time the terrible taste is out of your tongue, your hair has turned completely gray. You finger your tresses, staring at its unnatural steeliness. “Well, at least we know it works. Gray means neutral if I remember correctly.”

“Damn, so this is how you’d look when you turn 50. Would still bang, not gonna lie,” Seokjin whistles, narrowly missing a jab to the stomach from you.

“No one asked for your opinion,” you retort hotly, hoping to the heavens that your hair isn’t changing color again.

Judging from Seokjin’s smirk, your prayers are useless. He cards a hand through your hair, admiring its new color. “Oh, interesting! Purple is for embarrassment, right? Wow, this is gonna be much more fun than I would have imagined!”

“A-anyway,” you slap his hand away, taking a step away from him to keep him from seeing your burning face (though it’s not like you hadn’t already been exposed anyway. Stupid magic potion.) You point to the three remaining bottles he had stolen from your basement, eager to divert the conversation away from the topic of your vulnerable emotions. “What about these? What on earth would you need—” You turn one of the bottles upside down, reading the label. “An illusion potion? Oh Seokjin, I don’t know about this one…”

Seokjin groans. “Oh, come on! The only rules you had were no world domination and no body augmentation, but you never said anything about fake body augmentation!”

“Trust you to find a loophole in any given circumstance,” you sigh, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to stall the incoming migraine (too late for that, given that the personified version of a headache happens to live with you.) “Okay, fine. Tell me what you’re gonna use it for and then I’ll decide.”

“Simple,” Seokjin snaps his fingers. He trails his hands to his ass, squeezing the globes of fat with a sad sigh. “I want people to think I have an ass thicker than Park Jimin’s.”

For some indiscernible, unconnected reason, you feel as though one of the blood vessels in your brain just popped. In any case, having a stroke might be a better fate than continuing to live in the same universe as the withered toenail in front of you. “I beg you to repeat that sentence. Think about your words first, really grasp their true meaning. Try to remember what it’s like to have functioning brain cells. Then try to repeat your words with a straight face.”

“I. Want. People. To. Think. I. Have. An. Ass. Thicker. Than. Park. Jimin’s.” Seokjin repeats, his expression as flat as his ass. “Are you happy now? Will you grant my wish, please? You said no bodily augmentations, so having the illusion that I have thick ass should be perfectly acceptable, is it not?”

“I rue the day you learned to speak the human language.” You sigh irritably, pocketing the offending potion. When Seokjin begins to protest, you silence him with a quick glare. “Don’t worry, you fucking moron. I’m only allowing you to use this potion with my supervision and I simply don’t have the time to watch you bump bubble butts with the local village thot right now,” you explain.

Seokjin nods, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Indeed… I will need your assistance when I walk into town once everyone sees me with my ass shots and tiddies done. The people will simply devour me in an instant.”

“Are you aware that every moment you breathe, you are poisoning the air with your toxic presence?” you say with a deadpan stare. Ignoring his indignant squawks, you take a look at the two remaining bottles. “Alright. Please fucking tell me these are at least slightly sensible choices…”

“If there’s anything I know after living with you, it’s that our definitions of ‘sensible’ vary greatly between us,” Seokjin says, and for once you couldn’t agree more. He takes the last two bottles, turning them over to show you the labels underneath. “They’re luck and truth potions, each with a dose worth one hour. And before you say anything,” Seokjin beats you to the punch, holding a finger up when it looks like you’re about to protest, “These aren’t for me.”

You scrunch your brow in confusion, not quite following his logic. “What? Then what’s the point?”

Seokjin’s grin is mischievous, the twinkle in his eye sending a shiver down your spine. You’re familiar with that look, as it’s the same kind of expression he has whenever he plans to do something incredibly stupid, like eating uncooked noodles before pouring boiling water down his throat in order to eat instant ramen faster. You’ve been at the victim of too many of his ridiculous schemes to not know that whatever he is planning can’t be innocent.

“It’s simple, my dear Y/N. This is all part of my ingenious master plan that I thought of ten minutes ago,” Seokjin explains, tittering haughtily like some poorly designed video game villain. “Hold the applause, because my plan is going to rock your socks off.”

“I’m not even wearing any socks.”

“Then my plan will put socks on you, my dear. That’s how incredible it is,” Seokjin says, undeterred. “So basically, we’re finally going to get Yoongi and Namjoon to fuck.”

Seokjin pauses for dramatic effect, waving his hands around like a magician would, except the only magical act he’s ever performed was to be born as the first-ever living creature without a functioning brain. “Well?” he prompts, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Are you not going to ask me how I’m going to do it?”

Your expression morphs from confusion, to incredulity, to frustration, to acceptance all in five seconds flat. You’ve long since realized that it’s easier not to ask too many questions for the sake of your mental health, though you suppose it might be important to ask a few questions, mostly for the sake of your friends’ safety. You’ve lost enough acquaintances as it is, all because your familiar with rocks for brains wouldn’t know decency if you shoved it up his ass. 

(PS: No, they aren’t dead, but they’ve told you that Seokjin makes them feel like death anyway. That’s just the sort of effect he has on people.)

“Fine, I’ll bite. What’s your ingenious plan to get Yoongi and Namjoon to fuck entail?” you ask, gritting your teeth in preparation to withstand the pure, unadulterated strength of his dumbassery.

“Well firstly, I need the luck potion to win rock, paper, scissors against Yoongi,” Seokjin starts, smirking at the thought. “It’s been my dream to beat him at the game, as the score right now between the two of us is 349 to null in his favor—”

“That’s just because you always play paper. Consistently. You never use scissors or rock,” you deadpan.

Seokjin gasps, holding a finger up to your lips to silence you. “I am above using rocks! I am no barbarian! And do you think I’d ever use scissors? That is just one step away from me throwing up a peace sign like some sort of weeb!” Seokjin retorts, nose upturned in the air. You struggle to keep your fists by your sides, the itch to punch him in his perfectly sculpted nose growing by the second.

“Regardless, I intend to win this time,” Seokjin continues. “And I will make him take the truth potion as my prize for winning so that he may finally confess his feelings for Namjoon and end their five-year-long mutual suffering.”

“Don’t you mean mutual pining?” 

“Same thing,” Seokjin shrugs. “You and I both know that those two idiots will continue to skirt around each other like teenagers who only just realized that their penises can be used in different ways other than for pissing. They’ve been in love with each other for far too long and I intend to be the cupid that brings those two together.”

“Why must you phrase things like that,” you sigh, not really asking with the intent of hearing an answer. You’ve been asking him the same question for months now, and have yet to receive an answer that isn’t “because I can!”

“So does that mean you’ll let me use the luck and truth potions?” Seokjin asks, his lip jutted out in what he probably presumes is a cute manner, but all it does is make him look like his bottom lip got stung by a hornet. (Still kinda cute though, you think to yourself.)

After taking another five seconds to deeply access the state of your life, you sigh tiredly, feeling weary beyond your years. Figures that he would notice the attraction between your two best friends, but still remains oblivious to your own feelings. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce, crossing your arms in an attempt to look annoyed. You aren’t doing a very good job, however, as you try not to smile at Seokjin’s unabashed excitement. Fuck him for being so adorable when he’s happy. Why couldn’t he be excited over more normal things, like R-18 video games or hentai?

You clear your throat, stopping his celebration. “Do you really want to spend your birthday getting Namjoon and Yoongi to get together though? Pardon me for saying this, but I seriously didn’t think you’d want to help them.”

“Why not?”

“You always seemed a little too enthusiastic whenever the two of them were being...” you pause, stuck on the word you want to use.

“Super stupidly horny for each other? Yeah, I admit that I do enjoy watching Namjoon getting a boner whenever Yoongi does that weird cat thing,” he says, shrugging.

“Weird cat thing? You mean when he stretches and his entire torso grows twice as long?”

“Precisely!” Seokjin claps his hands, grinning ear to ear. “It’s super gross and weirdly cute! I don’t know how Namjoon finds that even remotely horny-inducing. Must be a cat person thing.”

You shake your head, unwilling to think deeper about the psychological mechanisms of your friends. “Besides the point. Do you want to head over to Namjoon’s place now? They invited us for dinner tomorrow to celebrate your birthday anyway, so we can always do this next time, or…”

“Hell no,” Seokjin is quick to interject, knowing that you're just trying to weasel your way out of being an accomplice in his ill-planned hijinks. Your shoulders slump in defeat. "You are not getting out of this. We are doing this today before either of us forget! C'mon, it won't take that long."

"That's what I was afraid you'd say," you grumble. "But fine. Just gimme a sec to get ready," you point at Seokjin's ahegao printed pajamas with disgust, "—and you should probably change out your clothes too."

Seokjin looks down at his clothes with a confused expression. "What's wrong with my PJs?"

"I think the more important question is what's wrong with you," you reply, stalking off to your bedroom. You smile secretly to yourself when you hear his squawks of offense.

As you hadn't gotten sleep the night before, you only just notice that you're still wearing yesterday's clothes on your back, the sweat after hours of worrying about what to get Seokjin making your shirt stick grossly to your armpits. You strip off quickly, doing your best to freshen up and look semi-decent (though there isn't much of a need; you've been friends with Namjoon long enough that he's seen you at your worst.)

You pass by your dresser, seeing your reflection in the mirror. Your hair color is shifting from yellow to brown at a rapid pace, making it appear as though you'd been the victim of a terrible dye job.

"I'm a victim, for sure..." you mutter to yourself, fingering your multi-colored locks. The brown color is for annoyance, which shouldn't be much of a surprise to anyone, but the yellow? Happiness isn’t exactly the word you’d describe your emotions right now. And also, do your eyes deceive you? Is there a patch of pink appearing just at the crown of your head?

“No, no… This is no good at all.” You force yourself to think of sad thoughts, trying desperately for the colors to change—but to no avail. Luckily, that hamster bastard doesn't remember what pink means, or else you'd definitely be screwed, and maybe not even in the good way.

You sigh tiredly, slumping over onto your bed when the fatigue from the day finally hits you. “It’s only morning, and I already want to die. Must be a record,” you snort in exasperation, watching as the tips of your hair turn black in response. “Wow, thanks magic. No one would have guessed I was tired unless you said so,” you mutter sarcastically. 

You never thought that you were much of a tsundere, but you're starting to understand the appeal. People knowing your emotions so easily is disconcerting, to say the least. You'd rather die than let Seokjin know that his stupid little antics actually do make you happy, since spending time with him doing pretty much anything is always a good time. It's just... someone has to hold the brain cell in the relationship, and you never would have expected that you'd be the wielder majority of the time.

When you step out back into the living room feeling more refreshed, Seokjin is ready to go. Which is to say, he hasn't moved a single inch from where he was standing just ten minutes ago.

"You bitch! I told you to get dressed," you snap. You pull him by the ear, making the 179 cm adult man whine like a little baby. "Take your clothes off!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he wheezes, still grimacing from the throbbing pain from where you had tugged his lobe. He tries to wink at you but fails tremendously. He looks like he’s having a funky lil seizure instead. "Just transform me into my animal form and let me ride in your pocket. It's too cold out to walk! You know how sensitive my nipples are! They turn into ping pong balls when it's winter."

"I don't care. Please stop using me as your personal taxi service; you've shat in the pockets of two of my coats already," you grumble, but your pleas remain unheard. He pouts, and your feeble willpower disintegrates immediately at the sight. You sigh, "But since it's your birthday, I won't complain about it this time."

"You literally just complained though?"

You ignore him. You outstretch your finger, ready to boop. "Alright, gimme your nose, wench."

Instead of coming closer as you expected, Seokjin just gives you a contemplative look. Never a good sign. "Actually, that gives me an idea..."

"Oh, dear Merlin. Not another one of those. Please spare me," you groan.

"This one is easy though!" Seokjin tuts, bonking you on the head. You hear something click in the back of your skull, but now is not the time to ponder about such trivialities. He continues, "Instead of my nose being my transformation point... Do you think you could—"

"I am not making your penis your transformation point," you interrupt.

"—make my butt my transformation point? Wait, hold on, nevermind. I think I like your idea better," Seokjin jumps in excitement, but his mirth dies when he sees your unimpressed stare. "Okay, fine. No penis touching. But butts! You touch my butt all the time anyway! It shouldn't be that different."

"Yeah, but I only touch your ass so often because you beg me to punch and massage it in hopes of it becoming bigger. Which, by the way, isn't a real thing. You should do squats instead or something."

Seokjin gasps, scandalized. "Me? Working out? Please, that's as improbable as Yoongi turning into a regular-sized person!"

"I'm telling Yoongi you said that," you roll your eyes. "And to answer your question, no I won't switch your transformation point to your—" Wait, hold the phone. That gives you an idea. A glorious plan, something that might finally teach him a lesson.

No way in hell he would fall for that, though, you think idly to yourself. You’d be too obvious! Unless..?

"What is it?" Seokjin asks, confused when you suddenly stop speaking. He gazes curiously at the way your eyes are glazed over, concerned when he sees the way the corners of your lips twitch slightly. "What's up with you?"

You snap out of your reverie, your mischievous thought quickly cementing itself in your mind. Seokjin may be a chaotic shithead, but so are you. No one can endure living with Kim Seokjin for long without gaining a few shithead genes in the process, and you're no exception. This will teach him to be a little more conscientious, you hope. It's a pipedream, but as they say... Reach for the moon, and if you miss, then at least you'll get swallowed up by a black hole and turn into spaghetti.

"Nothing. Just had a thought, thot." You whistle innocently, barely holding down your grin when Seokjin stares at you suspiciously. Fortunately, your hair color hasn't given you away. To be fair, you didn't know light blue was the color for being a jackass either; you learn something new every day. "Nevermind that. I changed my mind. I'll grant your wish. After all, it is your birthday."

"That's right!" Seokjin exclaims, but there's a note of uncertainty and nervousness in his tone. He squints at you, pursing his lips. "Aha... Of course, it's only right that you give me what I want. It's what you promised, after all."

"Yes, yes... What Seokjin wants, Seokjin gets..." You trail off, your mind preoccupied as you hurriedly go over to your kitchen cupboard. You aren't sure if you kept them or not, so it takes you a few moments of sifting through all the bottles of herbs before you find it in the back, where it has gained a thin layer of dust all over it. You wipe it off, humming in victory when you see that it's exactly what you need.

You take a quick look at the bottom of the bottle, pleased to see that Namjoon had forgotten to label it, like always. But you remember what it is, even though you've never really quite needed to use this particular herb. He had given it to you as a strange novelty item a long time ago: it was an ingredient for obscure potions that were never really ordered at regular magical apothecaries, which is why it had remained untouched in your cupboard until today.

By itself, it has strong magical properties too, or rather... You suppose it would be more accurate to call them side effects. It has an incredibly confounding side effect that some might consider dangerous, which is why it's important to handle this herb with the proper protective equipment. Not that Seokjin would know that, of course.

"Here," you say, handing over the innocuous-looking bottle to Seokjin. He peers at it, turning it over to look for the nonexistent label.

"What is this? Weed?" he murmurs, popping the lid open and taking a tentative sniff. "Doesn't smell like it," he says, raising a brow in confusion. You let out a small giggle, but thankfully, he doesn't notice your slip up.

"Nah, it's called the Baliktad herb. I remember that Namjoon had given it to me ages ago, and it's coincidentally something you can use to... transfer magic from one body part to another." You choose your words carefully, though it's not like you're lying, anyway. Vagueness is the first step in deceit, after all.

"Really? How does it work?" 

"Simple! All you have to do is grind some of the herbs into a powder, mix it with some water to form a paste, then rub it on your nose and your butt. Wait a few seconds and poof!"

Seokjin nods, intrigued. "Wow, I've never heard of this thing before. Are there other uses for this? Say, what if I rubbed some of it on my dick instead—"

"Oh shut the fuck up and give me that," you grab the bottle back, glaring at his impish face. "You know what? I can't trust you to administer it on yourself. Lemme make the paste and I'll rub it on you."

"That sounds hot," Seokjin winks, barely dodging your kick to his nuts. "Hey, hey! Feet off the prize, darling! My balls are where the ladies get their babies."

To stop yourself from screaming, you keep your mouth shut this once. Besides, you're too excited for what you're about to do to him, so keeping silent is a small price to pay. All of it will be worth when you finally give him a taste of his own medicine. Or rather, a smell of his own medicine.

When you finish grinding the herb into a paste, you clear your throat, gesturing for Seokjin to sit on the couch. "Alright, let me put some on your honker first before I get to your ass. And no, you better not make some 'ass is grass' joke."

Seokjin visibly deflates. "Hey, what the fuck? You stole my joke before I even said it! I guess that's soulmate culture for you," he sighs dreamily, before yelping loudly when you shove two gloved fingers up his nostrils. "Hey! What was that for!"

"Oh, sorry," you apologize unapologetically. "I was just worried that if I slathered it on top of your nose, I might accidentally trigger your transformation, so I took the safer route it jammed it up your nostrils instead."

"Whatever happened to a gentlelady's touch..." he whines, scowling petulantly at you. "Wait, if you're gonna jam it up my nostrils, then does that you're also gonna jam it up my—"

Before he can finish his sentence, you push him down onto his stomach, kneeling on his back and literally stealing his breath away. "Aight, rat. I'm shoving your pants down now," you warn gruffly. He makes a winded sound, probably a snarky response that would have made you slap his nuts. Fortunately, your legs were currently crushing his windpipe and leaving him incapable of speaking.

It's funny how you’ve become numb to the sight of his naked ass at this point. Once upon a time, you had blushed constantly at the sight of his sweet cheeks, making for an awkward first two months of living together. Every time you close your eyes, the two globes would be imprinted underneath your lids, haunting you. Nowadays, you'd be more concerned if he wasn't wearing his signature "God Won't Let Me Die" booty shorts.

Also, despite what he says, he isn't completely assless. He has a substantial amount of cake, certainly nothing to scoff at. You grumble and moan about "having" to massage his ass, but honestly? Who wouldn't want to grab his ass? You might be stupid, but you aren't an idiot.

“The salve is going to be cold, by the way,” you warn, though it’s useless to say at this point since he already experienced it when you shoved up his nose just two minutes ago. Whatever. 

Unlike then, you are much gentler applying the salve on his butt this time, mostly out of fear that 1) you'd accidentally penetrate his asshole with your finger like that one time (don't ask), or 2) you'd massage his butt like you know he wants you to.

“Harder, mommy,” he fake moans, wiggling his ass. You almost slap him on instinct, but think better of it.

"I hate that you're such a... debauched cretin," you say, tenderly rubbing his ass with a scowl. If any bystander were to see you, they'd might have thought you were his kind girlfriend rubbing medicine on a bruise or massaging your poor fatigued boyfriend. One might have even thought you were rubbing him a little bit too sensually, but little do people know... You were playing a stupid little prank on your dumbass familiar that may or may not cause him to beat you up (not that it would be much of a punishment to you, anyway. They don’t write romances like these anymore, huh?)

He taps you on the thigh, and you guess that he’s probably having difficulty breathing from your weight on his back. Feeling kinda bad for him, you shift your legs over, choosing to straddle him instead. However, the regret from your decision comes instantaneously the moment he regains his breath.

"You love me, though. You think I'm funny," Seokjin replies, albeit his voice is still a little strained under your weight.  "You think I'm cute, too."

Yeah, you do. "I think your hamster form is cute. Get that shit out of your head," you scoff, but your heated cheeks betray you.

“I can’t see you right now, but I bet your hair is an insane shade of purple, isn’t it?” he teases, wiggling like a worm to express his glee.

“Fuck you,” you grouse. You slap his thigh twice in retribution: the first one for teasing you, and the second one for pretending to moan after you had slapped him the first time.

He was only half-right about your hair, anyway. You catch a glimpse of your pastel purple and pink hair from the corner of your eye, alarmingly visible for all to see. Honestly, it doesn’t take a lot of brainpower to figure out what pink actually means, most especially since you have never been subtle with your affections for him. After all, not everyone has the patience to keep up with his antics. The fact that you haven’t squashed him into a tiny hamster pancake is proof enough that you really do love him.

I mean, who else would give Kim Seokjin ten wishes on his birthday? That's giving him way too much power that no one should be comfortable with. Just goes to show that maybe like attracts like, sometimes. You must be a little crazy too, you suppose.

He’s never caught on to your feelings, however, as he probably thinks you’re more like an annoying younger sister or something. After all, you bicker with him more than anything else, but that’s just how it is on this bitch of an earth.

Luckily or unluckily for you, Seokjin doesn’t comment on your hair color when he sits up after you finish rubbing the herbs onto his gooch. He’s much too busy wrinkling his nose in confusion, his forehead scrunching as the herbs are presumably starting to take effect.

“How am I supposed to know when the herbs work?” he asks, scratching his nose. The salve has dried out considerably, turning more into flecks that fall off when he disturbs it. So now, it looks like he has disgusting leathery boogers hanging out from his nostrils. Somehow, he makes it work anyway.

“Oh, you’ll know,” you respond vaguely, smiling when you can tell that Seokjin’s suspicions are beginning to grow. “Want me to test it out?”

Seokjin nods, leaning closer and presenting you with his nose. You tap him gently on the tip (lol), both of you waiting for the scent of caramel and mint to signal his shift. When nothing comes, Seokjin gasps in elation, clapping his hands gleefully as he bounces up and down in his seat.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked! I was so sure you were gonna prank me… I overestimated you,” he says haughtily, pointing his stupid nose up in the air. He guffaws, standing up and wagging his ass at you smugly. “C’mon, then! Slap my ass and let’s see if it really works!”

You don’t move immediately, disappointed when the actual effect of the herb doesn’t seem to be working. You pout, observing him skeptically. “Wait, hold on. Are you sure you don’t feel weird?”

His victory hoots come to an abrupt halt. “No? Why would I be?”

“Don’t you… smell anything odd?”

Seokjin looks at you weirdly. “No? Unless you count not smelling my transformation scent, then—wait, just a second.” He freezes up, sniffing the air with a disgusted expression on his face. “Shit, you’re right! There’s something super funky in the air. You didn’t fuck up my sense of smell or something, did you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping your p. Your smirk grows, breathy giggles escaping you. “Say, can you describe what you’re smelling?”

“Oh Merlin, it’s terrible! It smells like shit? Like fucking… like ass or something!” He grimaces, sticking his tongue out as he is assaulted by the stench that only he can smell. “What the fuck is that? Oh my fucking word…”

You’re breaking into full out laughter at this point, nearly falling over onto the floor from the strength of your mirth. You barely hear Seokjin’s squawks of bewilderment, ignoring his demands to tell him what you had done to him.

“I can’t believe it worked,” you wheeze, hunched over on your knees. You’re spraying spit everywhere from your hysterics, though you are exaggerating your delight a little just to piss Seokjin off. You point and scream at his face, hollering like a banshee until he finally grabs your wrists to make you stop.

“Out with it! What the hell did you do to me?” he shouts, shaking you roughly with unhinged eyes.

It takes you a moment to respond, unable to breathe through your giggles. “You—you’re fucking—smelling your own—wheeze—your own ass!”

Seokjin stares at you, dumbfounded. “What?!”

“Your—HAHA—your fucking ass! I switched your nose to your ass, you idiot! Just like you asked!”

Seokjin’s jaw drops, complete bafflement and betrayal on his expression. He backs away from you, shaking his head slowly with bugged-out eyes as he begins to fully understand the weight of your treachery. “You,” he seethes, venom dripping from that singular word. He sounds like a pet owner about to scold their dumbass cat for eating his prized plastic big booby women figurines or something. 

You grin sweetly back at him, batting your eyelashes for extra effect. “Me? What about me?”

You don’t even have the reflexes to dodge him when he lunges for you, grabbing your neck and strangling you. “You bitch! How could you do this to me on my birthday!”

“Hehehe…” you wheeze, sounding even more goblin-ish with his grip on your throat. “You underestimated me, bastard. You asked for your ass to become your transformation point, and I did. You never said I couldn’t make transfer your sense of smell, too.”

“I didn’t ask you to make me smell my own ass! This is fucking garbage!” he yells, letting you go. You gasp for breath, but you’re still shaking with laughter at the absolutely deranged look in his eyes. He looks like an ape that was recently set free from his enclosure and out onto the streets.

“That’s what you get for not wiping your ass, then!” you retort, sticking your tongue out petulantly.

“Well, we can’t go to Namjoon’s house when all I can smell is my own fucking ass! Merlin, I should’ve downed the luck potion when you left to get changed, but I wanted to be A GOOD PERSON and so decided against it,” he sniffs, utterly irked by this turn of events. “I’m never going to be a moral person again!”

“When have you ever been one? I wasn’t even aware you had a conscience,” you say. “Wait, that reminds me. I’ll be taking these until we go to Namjoon’s, then!” You grab the luck and truth potions, keeping them behind your back. Seokjin immediately tries to grab them, but you’re quick to punch him in the gut with your free hand.

“Ooph! You’re such a meanie—aw shit!” Seokjin screams, holding his hands to his nose instinctively. “Fuck! That was a dirty move! You know hitting my stomach makes me fart! I can’t even cover my nose!”

“Hey, maybe for your next wish, you should ask for some cake. Then maybe we can recreate the cake farts video,” you suggest, mostly as a joke. But of course, you shouldn’t have been surprised when Seokjin starts to seriously contemplate your offer.

“Hmm… I was gonna ask for cake next, but now you’re making me really want cake now,” he hums, shrugging you off when you hit him in retaliation. “What? Why do you keep hitting me?! You’re the one who said it, not me! We might as well turn lemons into lemonade!”

“It was a fucking joke, you moron! I’m seriously going to eat you if you don’t stop being weird—”

“Oh shit, how do you keep reading my mind? Vore was gonna be my next wish too—”

“Shut up!” you hiss, your ears perking up. “I think I heard something from outside.”

You were both so busy bickering with each other that you hadn’t noticed that the doorbell had been ringing for the last minute or so. You both freeze, hearing the shrill sound of the bell going off, followed by three loud knocks. “Hello? Y/N? Are you home?” a familiar voice calls out. “It’s me, Taehyung!”

“Taehyung?” you shriek, staring incredulously at the door. He isn’t meant to visit until the end of the month to pick up refills for his grandfather’s medication. What could he need all of a sudden? “H-hold on! Gimme one sec!”

You’re only two steps away from answering the door when a growl (a squeal? Can hamsters growl?) stops you in your tracks. You slowly turn back to Seokjin, your blood running cold when you remember his blatant dislike for this particular customer. In fact, his aversion towards Taehyung runs so deep that you never allow him to stay in his human form around him lest he begins cursing him out like a sailor.

It doesn’t help, however, that Taehyung only ever sees him in his hamster form and constantly coos at him like a pet. You’ve had to apologize numerous times for the dozens of bites all over his hands and arms, but Taehyung always laughs it off, too oblivious to realize that a two-inch hamster wants to suffocate him with his own mullet.

There seems to be no discernable reason as to why Seokjin loathes Taehyung with such passion, though you’ve always suspected that it’s because he feels threatened by people prettier than him. You’d be the last person to admit to him that he’ll always be the prettiest in your eyes, especially since it would only make him ten times more insufferable.

Until then, Taehyung is just going to have to deal with a murderous, psychotic furball coming for his life. 

Aforementioned psychotic furball takes a step towards the front door, but you’re quick to block his path. “Don’t you dare,” you warn, but you can already sense Seokjin’s hackles rising.

“I know what I want for my next wish,” Seokjin responds instead, disregarding your order.

“Overruled. I’m not letting you kick Taehyung in the nuts,” you say, hands poised to attack. You’re about to smack him on the nose when you realize that it’s not going to work this time. “Fuck! Give me your ass! I am not letting you get away with murder for your birthday!”

“I’ll give you my ass next time, darling. For now, I must defeat my sworn enemy, once and for all!” he howls, making a mad dash towards the door. “I’ll kill you, pretty boy! Only one person can be pretty, and it’s going to be me!”

He may be quicker than you on a regular day, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins gives you enough speed to land a loud, fat slap on his ass before he can even think to twist the doorknob open. Seokjin yelps in surprise as he turns towards you with a betrayed look in his eyes, before promptly being swallowed up by pink smoke and leaving an aggressive ball of fur where he once stood.

“Squeak! Squeak squeak squeak squeak!!” he squeaks, and you’ve long since learned his mannerisms well enough that you know that he just said “Y/N! I’ll fucking kill you!!” or something to that effect.

You pick him up gently into your hands, shushing him to no avail. “Fine, if you’re going to be that way—” you hiss, glaring at him when he gives you a haughty squeak. “—then I’ll just have to...yah!” you yell, hucking him across your living room and (safely) onto the couch.

(Caution: Do not do this to your hamsters. Seokjin is a magical hamster and is unnaturally sturdy, even in hamster form. He is an outlier and should not be counted. Plus, he deserves it.)

With Seokjin out of the way, you finally manage to get the door open without trouble. You greet Taehyung with a smile, although you do not doubt in your mind that you must look a bit worse for wear. Like the gentleman that he is, Taehyung doesn’t comment on your haggard appearance.

“Hey, Y/N. Sorry for intruding without notice. May I come in?” he asks. You nod a little too enthusiastically, stepping aside and allowing him into your abode. You glance at the couch, gasping quietly when you don’t see Seokjin anywhere. 

“Shit,” you curse lowly, to which Taehyung turns to you with a confused look.

“Pardon?” He must have mistaken your agitation to be directed towards him, as he bows to you apologetically. “Sorry again, you must be busy with other things today, but I’m in desperate need of a refill.”

“A refill?” you ask, semi-distracted as your eyes flit around the room, desperately searching for the small brown ball undoubtedly zipping around right under your nose. “What for? Is your grandfather doing okay?”

“Yes, ol’ pops is doing fine. I’m here to ask for a refill for… the other thing,” he coughs, cheeks darkening ever so slightly. His embarrassed tone breaks you from your search for Seokjin, forcing your gaze on him instead.

“The other thing? What do you mean—oh,” you interrupt yourself, finally understanding his meaning. “That thing.”

Taehyung nods frantically, hiding his face in his hands. “S-sorry, I know I asked for that potion as a one-time thing, but I met this new girl who’s really energetic, and let’s just say that I’m not keen on disappointing her when we’ve only started dating.”

You chuckle lightly, patting him on the back. “No need to explain, Tae. I’m not here to judge you. Besides, I just hope this girl doesn’t accidentally kill you like the previous one. Didn’t you say you went at it for three days straight?”

Taehyung groans, his flush growing until it reaches the back of his neck. “D-don’t even remind me about that! I accidentally took two doses of the potion that time and I was wishing for death by the seventh hour. I swear, I thought my dick was gonna turn into a raisin by the end of it—”

“Squeak!”

You both turn your heads towards the shrill noise coming from somewhere in your kitchen. “Shit, I forgot! T-Tae, just stay right here! I’ll be right back.” You jog towards the source, suddenly remembering that there was a live rodent on the loose with an evil agenda and only you would be able to stop him from fulfilling his goals.

You burst inside, immediately spotting that your bottom cupboard is ajar. It’s where you keep your extra stores of potions for regular customers, but you have very little time to wonder which potion Seokjin is aiming for before you’re already ripping open the door to stop the vermin.

“Oh you fucking little ballsack,” you snarl, dismayed when you realize that you’re too late. Seokjin has already found the potion he was looking for, having opened it up and already halfway finished drinking the damn thing.

You slap him away from the bottle before he can do any more damage, smacking him hard enough that his tiny hamster body slams against the cupboard wall. You don’t miss the victorious furry grin on his face, holding up a tiny hamster thumbs up to spite you. “What the hell did you drink?” you hiss, grabbing the half-empty bottle and flipping it over to read the label. “Verbosity potion… Oh, you bastard!”

You know Seokjin has always wanted to cuss out Taehyung like it’s his life mission, but you’ve always made sure that he was safely locked away in his bedroom whenever the younger boy was over for a visit. Seokjin knows today was his only opportunity to get his way, especially since he could always weasel his way out of punishment by using his birthday as an excuse.

“If you say even one word to Taehyung, I swear I’ll—”

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” Taehyung asks meekly from the living room, still standing where you had left him. He has his neck craned slightly to check up on you, but your back is thankfully blocking his view of the tiny psychopath you call your familiar.

“Y-yes! Everything’s just peachy keen,” you laugh nervously, your attention still focused on Seokjin. Your familiar has yet to make a peep, and both of you are slightly confused when he struggles to speak.

“S...squeak?” Seokjin asks, blinking in bewilderment. He looks to you for an explanation, but you’re as lost as he is. Not to toot your own horn, but you’re one of the greatest potion makers of your generation; it’s almost unheard of for your potions to not work.

You don’t question it for now; instead, you grab Taehyung’s requested refill from the back, the red and pink label making it easy to locate. “Here you go! This should be less intense than the previous one I gave you. This one will lose its effect once you’ve… finished, to say the least,” you grimace, smiling awkwardly.

Taehyung takes it from you, shaking your hands wildly. “Thank you so much, Y/N! You’re definitely a lifesaver. I owe you one,” he says, already making his way out the door. “I’ll hand over the payment to you when I come to pick up my grandfather’s medicines at the end of the month if that’s fine with you!”

“No worries, Tae. Take care!” you call out, waving goodbye until he closes your door shut. With Taehyung gone, you instantly return to kneel in front of your cupboard, where Seokjin is still slumped over, unmoving. He looks more dazed than usual, his black eyes unseeing as he stares somewhere behind you.

“Seokjin? You alright? Can you speak?” you ask, but he doesn’t react, as if he hadn’t heard you. You wave a hand in front of his face, snapping your fingers when that doesn’t work. “Hey, smooth brain. I’m sorry for smacking you, okay? I know it’s your birthday and I should be treating you better, but you really shouldn’t snoop around in my potion stores and drink stuff without my permission.”

When Seokjin still does not reply, you decide to pick him up and place him on the floor. You tap him on the bum, waiting a few seconds until Seokjin is back to his human form. When the smoke fades, he’s still stuck in his stupor, but you notice the dark red flush creeping up his neck and ears.

“Seokjinnie? Holy shit, are you okay?” You panic slightly, holding a hand up to his forehead and gasping when you feel the sharp rise in his body temperature. He is definitely feverish, and you’re worried that he might have had some allergic reaction to the potion or something. “Shit, are you getting a rash? Sweetie, can you hear me? Say something, please.”

“Y/N,” he rasps, licking his lips. His pupils are undilated to an unnerving degree, and his breathing is ragged. He stands up unsteadily, wobbling in place. “Fuck, I don’t really feel well.” His voice is deep, speaking unusually slower. You shudder involuntarily, fearful and intrigued all at once.

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Seokjin could seriously be in danger right now! Now is not the time to get horny! “Seokjin, explain how you feel. I’ll try to figure out what antidote I should make in case you actually did accidentally poison yourself with something,” you say hurriedly, going over to your stove and grabbing a spare cauldron from its rack. You’re grabbing random herbs and chucking them into a pot, too preoccupied and worried to hear Seokjin groan behind you.

“I feel… hot. And not in a sexy way,” Seokjin whimpers, curling into himself. There is sweat lining the edge of his brow, despite the house being relatively chilly due to the cold weather. “Okay, maybe a little bit in a sexy way.”

“Well if you can still joke about it, then it shouldn’t be life-threatening, whatever this is,” you say. Seokjin coughs out a laugh, but even that makes him cringe from the discomfort.

You decide to check the potion he had drank and see what ingredients you had used, as it usually will tell you how to make a reverse for it. When you grab the bottle, it only just hits you that the color of the potion is a little off than you remember. If you remember correctly, verbosity potions are usually a pale yellow color, but this one has a darker and deeper tone. In fact, you could see flecks of red sediment floating around, something that you recognize as wyvern blood.

Hold on… Verbosity potions don’t require wyvern blood. Very few potions require it at all, and the only one you can think of that would need it is none other than—

“Oh fucking shit,” you curse for what feels like the twentieth time in this story. You whip your head to face Seokjin, whose entire upper body seems to be bathed in a deep red flush. He’s panting in earnest now, tongue lolling out as he fights the fever consuming him. Little does he know, it isn’t a regular type of fever that he’ll be able to recover with medicine. You gulp, struggling to find an explanation.

“So, umm…” You laugh hesitantly, rubbing the back of your neck with a wry smile. Seokjin peeks up at you from behind his bangs, some of it plastered to his forehead from sweat. The faraway look in his eyes has disappeared, replaced by an unsettling hunger and darkness that is uncharacteristic for the mischievous hamster shifter. You gulp. “Seokjin, I think I know what you drank and it wasn’t the verbosity potion.”

“What?” he croaks, wincing when he adjusts himself to lean on the kitchen counter. You catch sight of a bulge forming in the front of his pajama shorts, miraculously still unnoticed by Seokjin himself. “Fuck, Y/N. I’m burning up.”

The way he utters your name brings a shiver down your spine, and your familiar notices immediately. His gaze is transfixed on the exposed part of your neck, trailing over your skin until his eyes finally land on your lips. You lick them unconsciously, with Seokjin following the movement.

“Seokjin, I need you to get to bed right now. I don’t know how long this potion is going to last, but I’m gonna need you to—”

“What did you do to me?” Seokjin growls, his grip on the counter tightening to the point that he may have cracked the marble. You know he’s strong despite being a prey shifter, but you didn’t think he’d become this powerful and aggravated. You’re guessing that it might be a side effect from him drinking the potion when he was in his hamster form. He had more or less drunk the dosage required for a regular-sized human, so his smaller body size must have led to a slight overdose. This is all guesswork on your part, but hindsight isn’t going to help you right now.

“I, umm… I think I might have accidentally mislabelled the potion,” you admit reluctantly, feeling meek under his heavy presence. You’ve never felt threatened or intimidated by him before, so this is completely uncharted territory for you. You know deep in your heart that he’d never do anything to hurt you even in his inebriated state, but you would still do well to take all your precautions when approaching him. “I think… I might have given Taehyung the wrong potion, too.”

Seokjin doesn’t respond and just keeps watching you as you fidget in place. You continue, “H-he came over today because he wanted a refill, right? W-well, he actually asked for libido potion. And, so—”

“You gave me horny juice? Is that what’s happening?” Seokjin groans, crossing his legs together when he finally registers the very distinct swelling in his underwear. “Fuck,” he moans, involuntarily humping the air to search for some sort of reprieve.

You scoff, trying to keep your tone as level as possible so as not to alarm him. “What do you mean I gave you horny juice? You’re the one who drank it without permission!” you retort, but the scolding dies on your lips when Seokjin starts to grind against the counter, small gasps leaving his mouth. Your throat goes dry, and you know it’ll only be a few more moments before Seokjin’s limited control will start to slip away.

“Y-Y/N, what do I do?” he whines, giving up on the counter and weakly reaching out for you. “I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t cum right now. I-I need you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you start, your stomach swirling with arousal. His scent is stronger than usual, filling your senses with nothing but caramel, mint, and Seokjin. Even as you’re talking, you feel your resolve chipping away despite your better judgment. “You’re not thinking properly right now, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you—”

“N-no! I want it, no, I want you. I’ve always wanted you,” he pants, taking the two short steps to latch his hands on your waist. You flinch when you feel his large palms touch you, the heat palpable even through your clothes. Even with lust clouding his vision, he is gentle with you, like he’s afraid of hurting you. “I-I know you must think I’m a nuisance, and I’ve done n-nothing but annoy you these past few months, but I… I genuinely care about you a lot, Y/N. W-which is why I was so hurt when I thought you forgot my birthday, but even if you did, I was j-just happy to be living with you. Because I really lo—”

He gasps, unable to finish his thought as he accidentally tightens his grasp on you. He pulls you closer until your bodies are aligned, nuzzling into your neck. His teeth scrape your skin slightly, pulling a loud moan from you. You flush, embarrassed, but you have no time to worry about that when you feel how incredibly hard and solid he is against your stomach.

“P-please, help me? It doesn’t have to mean anything; we can forget about it after but right now, I don’t think I’m going to live past tomorrow unless I have my cock stuffing your pussy right this very moment,” he says in one breath, his hands reaching behind you to squeeze your ass. He inhales deeply, releasing it with a content sigh. “Fuck, I can already smell how wet you are. I just know my cock will stretch it out real good, just like how I always dreamed.”

“You… you dreamt of me like that?” you whisper, shocked. You don’t know why your brain latches onto that piece of information out of all the filthy things he just said, but you have to admit that the thought of him having wet dreams about you turns you on greatly.

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?” He sounds incredulous, like you’d just said something completely unfathomable to him. “Fuck, do you remember when I got my rut two months ago, and I stayed with Namjoon and Yoongi so that you wouldn’t feel awkward around me? They love to tease me about the number of times I moaned your name every time I came,” he admits. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you even if I tried.”

“Fuck, Seokjinnie,” you whine, your fingers scrambling to hang onto his chest, his back, his neck—anywhere, really. Your legs feel like jelly, afraid that you might stumble from how weak you’ve become from your own arousal. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“I’m sorry I had to confess this way,” he says, caressing your hair with unexpected tenderness. He chuckles quietly, his breath tickling your neck. “But I really mean it, horny juice or not.”

Your heart squeezes inside your chest, not believing your lucky stars for allowing you to meet this wonderful boy in front of you. You can hardly believe your ears; never in your wildest dreams would you ever expect that he would also like you back.

“Seokjin, I also—” you begin, ready to spill your feelings all over the floor, but the moment is broken when Seokjin abruptly lifts you by the ass, his palms squeezing you as he barrels determinedly to his bedroom. You shriek in surprise, clutching onto his neck and holding on for dear life. “What the fuck? Seokjin, put me down!”

“No time for feelings! We can talk after we fuck,” he hoots, bouncing you onto the bed. You grunt from the impact, disoriented by the quick turn of events. Your head is spinning, so you don’t even register Seokjin’s hands peeling off your pants in one smooth motion.

A mixture of the cold air and nerves causes your legs to be littered with goosebumps. Seokjin, ever the attentive familiar, notices and rubs soothing circles all over, the heat inside of you coming back with a vengeance. “Sorry about that, baby,” he coos, massaging you. You shake your head, telling him it’s alright.

You are embarrassed when you feel how your panties stick uncomfortably against your skin, already so painfully aroused as if you had been the one affected by the potion. Your shame melts away when you see how much worse Seokjin is, however, as his nostrils flare with want. 

“I’m glad my nose still works, by the way. I don’t know what I’d do if I missed the opportunity to smell your pretty pussy,” he sighs, situating himself in between your legs. He blows gently against your clothed slit, effectively causing all coherency to leave you for the night.

He watches your reactions slyly, his body heat radiating off of him in waves. For once, he looks more like predator than prey. “I know I said I was desperate to fuck you, but do you mind if I start with an appetizer first? I wanted cake today, but turns out my dessert was here all along…” he trails off, smirking when he catches the steadily growing spot on your underwear. “Oh, baby. I know you’re going to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I-I,” you stutter, shuddering with desire. You whimper pathetically as he traces your panties with a fingernail, your stomach clenching with desire. “I didn’t know you could be like this.”

“Like what?” he hums, pulling your panties off to join your discarded pants. He grins at the sight of your glistening core, wetting his lips in anticipation. “God, you’re so pretty. I could just eat you up.”

“Then why don’t you?” you reply, trying to gain some semblance of control. That silly notion is thrown out the window, however, the moment Seokjin licks a fat stripe up your cunt. “Ngnnhh, fuck!”

Seokjin moans in tandem with you, slurping you up like a starved man. “Baby, you’re just as good as I thought. I could cum from eating you out alone.” He takes a deep breath, kissing your core almost chastely. “Fuck, I know I could cum from this alone,” he amends, rubbing his clothed length against the bed sheets.

The velvety wet heat of his tongue on your dripping pussy makes you clench around nothing, ripping a scream out of you when he focuses directly on your clit. He sucks with an obscene grin on his face, holding your hips down when your entire body begins to tremble.

“So sensitive,” Seokjin says, sluggish and gravelly like he’s drunk on your taste. “So fucking sensitive. How are you real, baby?”

“Jinnie, please,” you whine, doing your best to grind on his tongue despite his iron hold on you. “I want more, please.”

Seokjin only chuckles darkly, continuing his vicious pace. “C’mon, use my tongue like you want,” he says, letting go of you and allowing you to hump his mouth with reckless abandon.

You do as he says, swirling your hips against him with reckless abandon. The heat in your abdomen steadily builds, and you know you’re only seconds away from tipping over. “I’m close, Seokjin,” you huff, chasing your high. “Please, let me cum? Can I cum, Seokjinnie?”

He nods his head, unable to respond verbally as you continue to assault his tongue. After three more licks, you release with a silent scream, writhing violently from the strength of it. 

He gives your clit one last sweet peck, sitting up with a feral grin on his face. His chin is dripping with your arousal, his plump lips redder than usual. He makes a show of licking your juices around his mouth, chuckling when all you can do is swallow wantonly.

“Thank you for the meal, baby,” he teases, his lust-riddled gaze slightly clearer now that he’s had a proper taste of you. However, the glaring tent in his shorts is still painfully present, a small darkened patch visible on his crotch.

“Wan’ your cock,” you slur, boneless and blissed out but still filled with the longing for more. “Fill my cunnie until I can’t walk anymore,” you croak, pussy twitching for extra measure. Seokjin’s expression twists, his pupils widening until his eyes are pitch black.

Seokjin doesn’t waste any more time. He rips his shorts off in record time, stripping himself of his shirt as well. You remove your own shirt and bra, causing your nipples to harden from the cold air. You tweak them as you wait for Seokjin to get himself situated, hungrily appreciating his beautiful torso and god-like shoulders. “Don’t use a condom, Jinnie. I want to feel all of you,” you say when he begins to reach inside his dresser. You can physically feel his unhinged desire growing from your words, your pussy dripping in anticipation.

“Gonna fill your pretty pussy, huh? Fill you until you have my babies?” he rasps, positioning his cock in front of you. “Gonna plug you up with my cum, Y/N? Is that what you want?”

You cant your hips upward, whining when his tip only just grazes your lips teasingly. “Fuck me already,” you beg. “Want you to ruin me.”

“Who am I to deny you? Ask and you shall receive,” he grins, before slowly pushing inside. Your jaw drops at the intrusion, as it’s been a while since you’ve last gotten fucked like this. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Almost like your pussy is sucking me in,” he groans, straining to keep himself from thrusting all the way into you. “Like you’re made for me.”

“You can m-move faster. I can take it,” you whisper, eyebrows pulling together. You sound desperate to your own ears, the pain and pleasure mixing deliciously and making your cunt weep with want. 

There is a moment of hesitation on Seokjin’s part, but that all drains away when he sees your determination. Without another warning, he shoves himself up to the hilt, causing you to arch your back with a loud cry.

“Fuck,” he curses, but there is still worry in his eyes. “Baby, are okay? Are you good?”

It takes you a moment to remember how to speak. “C’mon, Seokjin. Move. I can take it,” you beg. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he moans, but nods his head anyway.

Seokjin pulls back until only his tip remains inside you before slamming back harshly, hard enough that you’re sliding backward. He begins his brutal pace, his dick stretching you out nicely like he promised. You let out tiny squeaks with every pump of cock, hitting you perfectly in the spot that makes you see stars.

“Kiss me?” you gasp out in between moans, pulling him by the hair until you’re kissing him sloppily. It’s more teeth than anything, as Seokjin grunts into your mouth with every tug of his roots. You bite his bottom lip after a particularly rough thrust, but it only encourages him to pick up the pace.

You wrap your legs around his torso, pulling him as close as humanly possible. You can already feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly, your toes curling in anticipation.

“Seokjinnie, I’m gonna cum soon. Please, I can’t hold it—”

“I’m close too,” he says hotly in your ear. He sucks a bruise into your neck, moaning when he feels your pussy tighten in response. He drills into your cunt faster, the rhythm of his thrusts growing sloppy as he reaches his own release. He reaches down between the two of you, rubbing circles into your clit. “Fuck, baby. Cum with me?”

You sob his name, your muscles contracting as your body lights up with intense pleasure. Your back arches off the bed, your walls milking Seokjin dry until thick white ropes of cum start leaking in rivulets down your sopping cunt and all over your thighs. You can feel his throbbing length inside you as continuous streams of hot seed keep flowing from him, filling you to the brim.

Seokjin slowly comes to a complete halt, but he still hasn’t pulled out. “I’m gonna keep my cum in you for a moment, okay? Don’t wanna waste any of it, right?”

You can only nod tiredly in agreement, completely tuckered out. Your chest heaves from your laboured breathing, but the smile on your face can only be described as content. “Wow. Color me surprised. Didn’t think you’d wanna be a father so early,” you say hoarsely.

Now sated, Seokjin’s demeanor returns to its normal state, his aura less crazed than before. He has the decency to look embarrassed, but the twinkle in his eyes shows that he doesn’t regret it in the slightest. “I’d be more than happy to be the father of your children. We’re already going to live with each other forever, so I might as well raise your children anyway.”

“Might as well?” you laugh, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. “You make it sound like it’s your obligation. And who said I’d live with you forever?”

“Well, I mean, who else is going to love you the way that I do?” he murmurs, nuzzling your noses together. “Who else would be your annoyingly handsome hamster familiar?”

“Quite,” you grumble, allowing him to maneuver you into a more comfortable cuddling position. You kiss him properly this time, enjoying the sweet, warm pleasure of his affection. You’ve never felt so happy in your life. “Happy birthday, Seokjin. I’m sorry this isn’t the way I planned for it to go, but I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Agreed. It’s just like us, huh?” he snorts. He cushions your face against his chest, carding his fingers tenderly through your hair. “Say… Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me, what does your pink hair actually mean?”

You chuckle, snuggling deeper into his comforting scent. You feel yourself slipping into slumber, eyelids threatening to fall. You’ve always loved cuddling Seokjin, after all. But most of all... 

I love you, of course. “I think you already know, genius.”

Even when the sun finishes its descent from the sky and darkness fills the room, the bright pink of your hair glows—unfaltering.

[mongooseblues]

Well folks. Here it is. The horniest thing I’ve ever written. CW for some mess, as you might expect for a piece about someone in a shower with a running nose, but I’m not super into mess myself so it’s more implied than described for the most part. I couldn’t get the idea of shower sneeze out of my head so I’ll put it into yours.

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

The first thing he does upon getting home is turn the faucet to the highest setting to start a shower white-hot enough to be appropriately described as scalding. That would help, that would probably help.

He undresses as hissing steam gradually fogs the room, his peaky reflection becoming little more than a blur in the mirror. It’s cloudy and dreamlike, almost some fevered unreality by the time he steps into the spray, the temperature change provoking an instantaneous smattering of goosebumps and a good hard shiver. It takes all of maybe one minute for the steam to depressurize his sinuses and leave him with a remarkably runny nose and a tickle so sudden and overwhelming that he’s sneezing before he realizes he’s going to.

He snaps forward into the gushing water with an urgent, “HihYISSHHue—” hard and sharp in the acoustical bounce-back from tile and porcelain, an echolocation of resounding decibels that’s loud in his own ears. One isn’t enough because it never is and especially not right now so of course he’s going to—

“IIXSHHOO!” Sneeze again, “hih!” and—

“ISSHHyue!!” Again.

One after the other and depleting what feels like all of the air in his lungs, mandating a gasp like he’s coming up for air which technically speaking he is, pulling his head from the discontinuous curtain of water, sputtering post-baptismal. He slides his hair back from his forehead, two separate streams now running down his face, and wipes at his upper lip with a sigh.

He supposes it’s not unhygienic, to use his hands to blow his nose into, considering he’s able to rinse them off immediately. It does feel a little gross, even though it’s basically clear and barely viscous, undergoing quick liquefaction in his hands and erased by rushing water. And the obscuring steam makes this an even more private unraveling. It’s okay here, to be sick.

His only objective is to rid himself of every milliliter of it, forcibly empty his sinuses as much as he can, fingers folded over his nose and pressing closed one nostril at a time. It begins, the hopeful emptying, in effortless production, but eventually after dwindling relief crosses some line where it starts to feel aggressive and there’s a stinging burn that reminds him of breaching the surface of a swimming pool.

His nose and sinuses are warm and swollen and ever tendering with his continual abuses. He really should be more gentle or at least pace himself over the course of this cold because there’s plenty more of it to come, so this is the last time he’s going to blow his nose for now. This final go however buzzes so intensely against oversensitive membranes that he has to wrinkle his face and perform a little head shake that actually just makes him want to sneeze again.

Which he does in short order, a stabilizing hand finding purchase against the tiled wall, drawing a tremulous breath, small droplets of water slipping their way into his parted mouth and very temporarily pooling there.

Wet but richly voiced and made louder by ringing echo, “HihIIDSHHoo! —HIISSHHuu!!”

The briefest possible cycle of inhale-exhale-inhale leads into a higher pitched and very breathy, “Hih’IIHHH-hoo!” that almost makes him stumble and causes a few wetted locks of hair to tumble forward.

The groan afterwards is rather dramatic. He blinks to refocus through wet lashes and lets the pressure of the water gently recline his head backward. Letting go of the wall, finally, to rake his fingers through his hair, other hand occupied with an absent swipe under his nose at the resulting not-so-fluid trickle until it becomes clear this effort requires both hands and the whole production of blowing his nose over and over and okay just once more.

It does again tickle terribly at one point, and for a few unsteady seconds he thinks he might sneeze three goddamn more times but then miraculously doesn’t, just squints vaguely toward the corner of the shower with gaping lips and widened nostrils, a wavering look of white-flagged surrender. It’s almost meditative to close his eyes and concentrate on the distorted rhythm of indecisive breaths waxing and waning, and the patter of water against his skin. But then the feeling dissolves into a huffy exhale and he remembers he does have other things to do in here besides sneeze. Wash his hair and body, for example.

He works soap into a lather and allows himself longer than usual, letting the water pound and pulse against his shoulders and the back of his neck, which feels particularly tight. Self-soothing, his typical brisk and efficient shampoo scrub lengthening, softening into indulgently slow kneading.

He takes a minute to rub at his face, pressing the heel of a hand between his eyebrows to massage an oval into the ache building there and emits an involuntary moan falling somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. Employing his shriveled fingertips to travel along the lines of his sinuses beneath his eyes and above his cheeks, palpating the places where it hurts. He’s unable to make it through his routine to the point of rinse much less repeat before he’s pulled out of it and into yet another crashing crescendo he grits his teeth against.

“HrrRISSHue!” The sudden velocity of the motion sends suds jettisoning from his hair, combining with misty spray.

“hih!YIISHHoo! IIZSHH-shuue...!” It concludes with a deflated release and leaves him an overall streaking and streaming mess.

Blowing his nose in here is starting to become a very tiresome chore. He’ll reach a point where he feels like he’s done and then the steam and heat inspire a new round of melting congestion he goes on trying to rid himself of, in an almost mechanically continuous loop and okay it’s probably not going to stop on his account.

Finally he rinses himself of all remaining foamy traces of soap and shampoo, enveloping his entire being into the disorienting rush of frenzied water, for a few moments feeling that uncomfortable washing machine nausea. Frankly he can no longer tell whether or not his nose is still running. This is probably as clean as he’s going to get and that’s fine by him because he’s starting to get dizzy and this is no place to be dizzy with its hard slippery surfaces.

He turns off the faucet and leaves the sanctuary of steam, suppressing a shudder as he pushes the shower curtain back into its accordion folds and steps out onto the much colder floor. He’s toweling his hair off when niggling irritation stops him and somehow he can no longer do anything else but just stand there, forestalled, waiting. His chest swells with need and his breath catches on a jagged-edged inhale and oh apparently he’s just going to sneeze into this towel because there wasn’t really enough warning to be thoughtful about towels—

“ErrRIISHHue!” directed into scratchy terrycloth, hands folding the entire thing around his face but he’s never been very good at muffling anyhow “—IIXXSHHuue!” He pulls back for a second to draw a bated breath through curling lips before his still-wet shoulders seize him into the third act of this exhausting display.

“hehh’YISHHHOO!!” ...Wow. His face feels loose and fuzzy in the aftermath. He never thought a shower could leave him so spent. A single quick wet cough crackles and breaks in his throat, bluntly foreshadowing worse yet to come. He sighs heavily, manages a slushy snuffle. Waterlogged and goosefleshed and dripping over the ground. Feeling naked in more ways than one.

He really is about to be quite sick isn’t he.

[sickonthedancefloor]

77-Minute Consequence...

Prompt: Not everyone left the pool from Run 132 unscathed...

Sickie: Hoseok, Jimin Caretakers: Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi... so far Content: fevers, flu-like illnesses, emeto

Hoseok had fun filming the double-dose of run episodes, their second being a watery debate that ended in non-stop splashing and drenching, but he could feel the chill once they were out of the water. Even if the water was so forceful it really almost hurt, after their long morning of tennis battles, it was still a great day. The pool water was warmed, not quite at the intensity of the hot tub but it certainly wasn’t freezing. But they could feel the draft every moment they stepped from the water, the feeling of the air drafting over their soaked clothing the moment they left the safety of the pool.

“Come on, hyungie, time to get out,” Jimin urged, pushing his foot against Hoseok’s. They were still in the pool trying to soak in the last bit of warmth they could after Jungkook pushed them in while horsing around, hair plastered to their necks and foreheads while they bounced across the shallow end.

Laughing, Hoseok tried to grab Jimin’s foot, only to assist in tripping the younger member as Taehyung hurried in after them.

“Come on, guys, let’s get ready to go.”

Suga, with a new towel wrapped around his shoulders, stood from the sidelines. He already worried about all of them catching something, but he definitely didn’t want to be the first. While the pool was relaxing and the hot tub even better, it was just slightly too cold for them to enjoy it to its fullest. Hoseok, ever the one of reason, let go of his roommate in favor of wading towards the exit—but Jimin was quick to jump on his back to shove him in, cackling as Hoseok barely had time to grab his nose to prevent inhaling water. When he came up, spluttering and wiping away fresh water from his eyes, he leaned back in an attempt to dunk Jimin off.

…just kidding about reason, Suga realized. Laughing, he just turned and hurried off to find where Namjoon had gone.

Hoseok sneezed again, small but powerful; it shook his core, his sinuses burning, his nerve endings tingling uncomfortably from his shoulders to his fingertips from the force. It startled him.

“Uh-oh.” Came a voice behind him in the water.

When Hoseok shook water from his eyes, slightly dazed from the force of the sneeze, he caught Jungkook wading over, hands outstretched. Hoseok barely had time to reach back before Jungkook had latched onto his shoulders, slowly dragging him back.

“Jungkookie, what are you doing?” Hoseok mumbled.

“Taking Hobi-hyung to the steps. Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry!”

“We need to shower first,” Hoseok started. “The chlor—clor--… claahh…” And another sneeze, which had him shaking suddenly in Jungkook’s grasp.

Jimin, who’d been lazily wading behind them, sniffled with a frown. “Hob-ah, that doesn’t sound so good.”

“Aish… I just need a hot shower when we get back. You too, Jiminie, your nose is running.”

“Is d’ot!” Jimin protested, but he had to bring a hand to his face to wipe away what he had originally thought was just water. It felt wet but warm, stringy; definitely snot. And disgusting. He turned his head from Hoseok to hide the move, but Hoseok had already begun ascending the stairs, already trying to peel himself out of his soaked tops. On Jimin’s own way out of the pool, he sneezed—and it was enough to drop him back into the water with a melodramatic air about it. Jungkook lost himself to laughter immediately.

 ~*~

 The next morning, Hoseok woke up with two major complaints. His blanket was part missing, and he was hot. The dorm room had felt frigid the night prior which prompted Hoseok to crawl underneath the comforter and the sheets, but his bed felt so warm he began to regret his choices the moment he stirred awake. It felt almost… stuffy. A little gross. As he blinked open his eyes, ready to push back one blanket, he noticed a familiar lump pressed against him that was holding on to his blanket like a lifeline.

“Jiminie?” he mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Still as ever, Hoseok recognized that messy blonde hair from anywhere. He and Jimin had shared enough beds that he could tell in an instant.

The room still seemed too dark as Hoseok tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he knew something had to have been wrong if Jimin had maneuvered over to his bed that night. Stifling a yawn, he reached a hand over, gingerly pressing his palm against Jimin’s forehead. He could feel heat, but… not too warm? Maybe? Jimin felt clammy to him, which he was sure wasn’t his own sweaty palms. Something still seemed off to Hoseok, but even with his sleep-logged brain he wanted to do something about it. He figured, while he was up, he’d at least check on him, perhaps get him medicine and water to shake whatever he seemed to be coming down with. The older dancer moved carefully, sliding his legs from the covers first so he could slip from the bed without disturbing his younger guest. The floor seemed chilly under his feet, but what startled him awake was how fast the world seemed to sway the moment he stood.

Was he really so tired?

Taking a moment, hand pressed flat against the wall, he just reacquainted himself with his sense of balance before he took another step. He felt… sore, tired from yesterday’s events. Perhaps he just really needed more sleep; Hobi hated not getting enough sleep when he had the chance to. But today’s schedule was light—he could go back to sleep after he took care of Jimin, squeeze in another hour or two. Grumbling, he shook his head; once everything seemed to right itself, he shook the funk from his head and just left the room. That sure was strange. With a soft yawn, he headed over to the bathroom on their side of the hall, as he could hear the shower running in the closer one, moving towards their first aid and medicine stash they had.

Given the seven of them were always prone to falling, overworking, or catching each other’s illnesses, their bathrooms in the dorms were always stocked with various painkillers, bandages and cold medicine or prescriptions for various circumstances. For organizational purposes, Hoseok had placed them all in a plastic container, so different bottles wouldn’t just get knocked over and passed around the bathroom. It still had a crack from the last time Namjoon knocked it over. Pulling over the container closer to him, Hoseok reached in for one of the bottles of painkillers, looking at the specifics on the label. His vision blurred, and he spent a few moments just blinking, trying to will his eyes to focus so he could read the label.

Wow, he must have been really tired…                          

“Hoseok-ah?”

The light turned on suddenly. That would’ve helped, but it had Hoseok grimacing, an odd heavy feeling forming in his head. He didn’t often get headaches from lack of sleep, but he was starting to wonder if an impending one was coming along. He looked into the mirror at the new offender, and was surprised to find Jin standing in the doorway with his toothbrush. The two made eye contact through the reflections.

“Ah… Hyung. Good morning. Using our bathroom?”

“Yeah, Taetae’s hogging the shower in ours.” Jin’s head tilted to the side, a small frown tugging on his lips as he noticed the medicine kit in front of them. “Did something happen? Hoseok-ah, are you okay?”

“Hn? Ah… Jiminie’s sick, I’m pretty sure,” Hoseok explained. “He crawled into my bed last night, but he’s really warm today so I think he’s got a fever.”

“Hm… Well, let hyung help with that.” Jin set his toothbrush down and moved a little closer, brushing his shoulder against Hoseok’s as he slid the container of medications closer to him. “And you?” he asked, head turning to Hoseok directly. “How are you feeling?”

“Ah…” How was he feeling? Hoseok just yawned again. “I think once I check on Jimin, I’m—” but he paused, bringing a hand to his mouth to force out a rough cough. It hurt, an uncomfortable heat overwhelming his chest as he tried to choke out whatever offending phlegm had gripped into his lungs. After a few rough coughs, accompanied with Jin’s hand patting his back, he manages to stop, taking in a harsh breath. He looked up, shaking his head. “Once I check on Jiminie, I’m going back to sleep for another hour.”

Jin’s arm draped around his shoulder to give the younger rapper a hug, but he paused and moved his hand back, pressing it against the back of Hoseok’s neck. At the offending heat, he brought his other hand up to Hoseok’s cheek, pressing the back of his fingers to clammy skin. Hoseok didn’t bother fighting him off, not bothering to entertain his concern, and just continued to rummage through the kit until he could find the thermometer.

“I think you’re also sick… It’d explain why you’re so sweaty. You’re really clammy.”

Hoseok just shook his head. “Jiminie was too hot is all,” he answered. “Jin-hyung, I’m okay--” But his breath hitched. His sinuses suddenly burned, and it’s all the movement he could do to turn his head away before letting out a loud, nasally sneeze onto his own shoulder. His nose felt wet instantly, and he screwed up his face in discomfort, leaning over to grab a tissue.

Jin’s frown grew in intensity, and as Hoseok wiped his nose, the older one turned him to face him, looking closer at his face, catching view of the glassy look in Hoseok’s doe eyes. Despite his determination, Hoseok merely looked too dazed to stay on his feet for long. “Seok-ah… Come on, listen to hyung.”

Hoseok sniffled, blinking almost owlishly at Jin. “I’ll take something later, but I’m fine.”  With a soft laugh, Hoseok shook his head and stepped back, grabbing the painkillers and thermometer on his way back to his room. Jin watched after him, frowning heavily.

“I’m going to get you both some water.”

“I already have water,” Hoseok called after him, but he grimaced at how harsh it felt against his throat. He pointedly ignored Jin’s pressing stare and scurried back into his room, crawling back onto the bed. Leaning over, he gently pressed his weight against Jimin, resting his head against the younger dancer’s. “Jiminie, wake up, wake up,” he said softly in a sing-song voice.

Jimin grimaced, but immediately turned his face towards his pillow to cough roughly as he tried to clear away any phlegm that settled into his chest during his slumber. Hoseok eased off, dropping the pill bottle on the bed to pat Jimin’s back until the fit ended. It took a minute, but by the time the fit ended, Jin was back with a water bottle, Hoseok slowly urging Jimin to sit up while Jin brought the cool water to his lips. Barely awake, Jimin sipped at the water slowly, his small hand reaching up to grab it from the older vocalist. After a few seconds, with Hoseok just rubbing circles against his back, he handed it back, taking a deep breath with it.

“Sorry, hyungs…” Jimin mumbled. He brought a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “I didn’t feel great last night… I was cold.”

“You’re sick, Minnie.” Jin ran a hand through his hair, then pressed a hand against Jimin’s forehead, taking a moment to gauge his fever himself. His eyes widened, which had Hoseok tilting his head in confusion. “Your fever feels really high, too…”

“It didn’t feel that bad when I checked earlier,” countered Hoseok, though the exasperated frown he received in response had him shrinking back. He glanced around, a little surprised to find another water bottle and cough syrup on the side table. Turning his lips inward, he handed the thermometer over when prompted, and Jin removed the cap.

“Under your tongue, please. And no talking until it gets a reading.”

Jimin blinked in surprise, glancing between the two of them. “You guys came prepared… Wasn’t expecting that.” But he did as instructed, letting Jin position the thermometer in his mouth before closing his lips around it. Hoseok turned his face away to let out another sneeze, grimacing as the sensation set his nerves temporarily aflame. Still holding the tissue from earlier, he just wiped his nose again.

“Did—”

“Don’t talk.”

Jimin’s lips closed back over the thermometer, but his eyes turned to Hoseok as they waited. Jin pointedly avoided looking at Hoseok. Once the small device beeped, Jin moved it from Jimin in order to gauge the reading: 38.8°C. Jin read it aloud as he stood from the bed.

“Not dangerously high, thankfully… If we stay on top of it, it should go down. Feeling anything else besides the fever, Minnie?” Jin questioned his dongsaeng.

“This dumb cough… my head hurts a little, but the painkillers will help with that.”

The eldest nodded. “Alright… I grabbed cough syrup too. Take that while I go wash this off.”

As Jin left the room, Hoseok leaned over Jimin to grab the cough syrup, frowning when he noticed the two small dosage cups tucked on top. Jimin seemed to notice them too, looking over at his roommate.

“Did I get you sick, hyungie?” he asked softly.

“You didn’t, Jiminie, so cute of my precious roommate to worry about me!” Hoseok cooed playfully, though the rasp to his voice was evident to the younger man given his little pout. The older dancer worked on finding the proper dosage for the syrup. But as he attempted to read, his brows furrowed; for some reason, they words weren’t focusing as well, but it was probably due to the lower lighting. He brought it closer to his face, but his eyes watered a bit trying to stare too closely.

Jimin’s own clammy hands gently eased the bottle from his grip, a soft look in his eyes. Hoseok could see a look of worry; he didn’t like that at all. “Let’s just wait for Jin-hyung for that one. Where’s the painkillers?”

Oh, those he had. Hoseok picked up that bottle and opened it with slight strain, but paused as he turned his face away with another sneeze. He sniffled, then knocked out two tablets to hand to Jimin. The smaller singer tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with a large swig of the water, then glanced at his roommate again.

“What, Jiminie?”

“Are you just going to pretend you’re okay all day?” Jimin asked softly, pouting once again.

“W-what?”

Jimin didn’t get a chance to answer before Jin was back, sitting down near Jimin’s legs. He leaned over, holding the thermometer to Hoseok. He had his stern face on, something the others hadn’t seen in a long while. Jin was a rather easygoing member, usually more playful than anything, unless there was something truly bothering him or if he was concentrating too hard. “Humor me.”

“Jin-hyung, this is ridic—” Jin cut Hoseok off by pressing the thermometer in his mouth.

“Under your tongue.”

“Ji—”

“And no talking!”

With a frown over the small device, Hoseok pulled the thermometer from his lips and merely climbed from the bed to clean it. What he didn’t expect was to catch Jimin’s hand gripping his own, tugging him back down. It was almost embarrassing how easy Hoseok stumbled back, eyes wildly blinking as his view changed suddenly. He frowned, and the uneasy sensation from earlier returned almost full force. Jin wasted no time pushing the thermometer back in his mouth, but he sat still with a small huff, waiting. Jin busied himself with filling both dosage cups with liquid, handing Jimin one of them. Once the thermometer beeped, Hoseok pulled it from his lips and frowned at the reading: a 39.1°C. Jin quickly snagged it from him before he could erase the reading, which had him sighing.

“Hyung, I’m fine,” Hoseok insisted.

Jin just handed him the second cup. “Drink up.”

With a sigh, Hoseok just nodded, drinking the small cup like a shot. It burned just as badly going down, but far less satisfying, than soju. As Jin collected the cups, he handed Hoseok the second water bottle and left the room again.

Jimin sighed, flopping back on the bed. He definitely looked worse for wear, and Hoseok brought a shaky hand up to run fingers through his hair. Jimin smiled softly. “Hyungie… Since we’re both sick, we should just nap all day. Cuddle me?”

With a grumble, Hoseok just crawled his way back onto the bed next to Jimin, pushing away the covers on his side. With this fever, Jimin felt like a furnace and it was extremely easy to overheat. Hoseok didn’t sip the water, merely held onto the bottle pressed to the side of his chest; although he wouldn’t admit it, the cold temperature in his hands felt nice to just hold onto. Jin didn’t say much else, merely reached over to ruffle both of their heads before standing.

“Go ahead and rest, okay? I’ll stay in today. If you need anything, call hyung.”

Jimin smiled up at him before tucking his face into Hoseok’s neck, yawning loudly. Hoseok merely pulled him close and let his eyes flutter closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

 ~*~

 Waking up was a startling affair. Still half-asleep, Hoseok barely registered the feeling of someone pulling him upright, and he bumped his head immediately against someone’s knee.

“Whoops, sorry, Hob-ah.”

“Yah, Namjoon-ah! Be careful!”

Faint coughing from Jimin, then the immediate sound of retching. Hoseok opened his eyes to see Jimin hunched over the side of the bed, Jin rubbing his back gently while looking at someone over Hoseok’s head. Namjoon, Hoseok guessed, but he couldn’t understand how Namjoon ended up standing over him. And then the overwhelming scent of vomit just attacked his nose, overpowering the scent of sickness that had begun to permeate the room. He felt hot, and sticky, and feeling Namjoon’s large arms holding him up by his armpits didn’t help.

“You awake, Hobi?” Namjoon asked. “We’re gonna have to help you two shower after this.”

Grimacing, Hoseok brought a hand up to rub his eye—only for both Namjoon and Jin to yell at him to stop moving. He paused, hand lifted upward—and it was wet. A warm, sticky wet, and smelled sour… He was quick to realize it was vomit, in its gross and putrid glory. Jimin let out another heavy, loud retch, and Hoseok’s own stomach flipped at the sound of liquid splashing into something plastic. Hoseok didn’t do well with vomit on a decent day, barely being a step above sympathy puking, but the uncomfortable warmth and the heavy odor in the air was more than enough to make him nauseous immediately. He whimpered, mouth already beginning to salivate uncomfortably.

“Yaaaah, Hoseok-ah, let Namjoon get you to the bathroom first! Namjoon--”

“I got it!”

The younger rapper came into view as he stepped to Hoseok’s left side, letting go of the dancer in order to flip the blanket to the side. Hoseok could see the liquid already seeping through, and his shirt was drenched in sweat and speckled in leftover stomach bile. He felt gross… His stomach rolled immediately. Namjoon wasted no time in pulling Hoseok to his feet and off the bed, ignoring the dripping mess from his hand as he ushered him to the bathroom. Hoseok wasted no time dropping to his knees when they made it past the door, not even waiting for Namjoon to turn on the light before he gave in to his body’s demands. The pressure forced bile from him like it had been waiting for hours, the cramp in his stomach twisting to empty the contents. He didn’t eat much, so he was startled when one mouthful became three, which soon were too many to count. Just what did he even have in his stomach to expel so harshly? His shoulders shook with exertion, cleaner hand trembling as it gripped the edge of the commode so tight his knuckles were white. All the while, Namjoon knelt beside him, wiping his messy hand with a wet wipe before just rubbing his back, reassuring him that he was okay, to just let it out and he’d feel better soon. It felt almost never-ending, each few seconds forcing out another painful retch as he tried to cough up whatever he could have eaten in the past week, his esophagus on fire. His back hurt, tense from the strain, and he could barely feel his fingers.

It took a long few minutes before the cramping let up, and Hoseok, extremely winded and drained, rested his head to the side of the bowl. He’d needed a shower anyway; this wasn’t the worst. Namjoon sighed softly, more of relief than anything.

“Nothing else in there?” he asked.

“Nn-nn. Joonie… that felt bad.”

“It looked bad.”

Hoseok could feel Namjoon easing his face away, hearing the sudden roar of the toilet flushing before him. He let him go, and Hoseok’s cheek found the porcelain again while he just let his eyes fall closed and listened to the ruckus happening around him. Namjoon swearing softly as he messed with the cleaning wipes, probably cleaning up whatever mess Hoseok may have made of around the toilet. He could hear the shower running, and Namjoon soon tugging the toilet paper roll—the entire roll, judging by the sudden clanging of metal—from the ring. It didn’t take long for Hoseok to feel toilet paper wiping at his mouth, and he pouted at the feeling.

“Sorry, we should probably rinse your mouth out before you shower, but let me get this extra off your face.”

“Can I shower here?” Hoseok muttered.

With a soft laugh, Namjoon just helped him remove his dirtied clothing. Hoseok leaned back to realize Namjoon also seemed to be shirtless, and opened his eyes to find that his friend had already stripped to his own boxers.

“Wha…?”

Namjoon laughed softly. “You’re really not in any condition to shower by yourself, Hob-ah.”

That earned him a pout. Hoseok wanted to believe he wasn’t so incapacitated that he needed help… but given how the fatigue seemed to stay settled in his bones, he knew his friend was right. Namjoon was at least kind about it as he helped him move into the shower, taking extra effort to massage Hoseok’s scalp as he conditioned his hair just to help him relax. Hoseok didn’t even feel shame as he let the shower’s water splash against his clammy skin. He let Namjoon sponge away grime and sweat from his body, and the gentle scent of the soap already brightened up his mood. Namjoon urged him out before he got too relaxed, helping him dress in fresh pajamas. Upon closer look, Hoseok realized that neither the pants nor the oversized shirt were his, but they felt nice nonetheless.

“Finally got in your pants, Namjoooon,” Hoseok laughed breathlessly.

That got a chuckle out of his friend, who just toweled his hair for a few seconds before walking him down the hall. As they passed his shared bedroom, Hoseok found himself squinting over his shoulder in surprise. “Mm… Joonie?”

“Jin-hyung’s letting your room air out a little more,” Namjoon replied. Instead, he was led right into Namjoon’s own room, and the taller rapper helped ease him into bed. With a soft sigh, Hoseok pressed his face right against the pillow. Feeling considerably cooler, more comfortable, and on one of Namjoon’s feathersoft pillows, he was already doing better. The fellow 94-liner draped a blanket over him and straightened it out, then, to be safe, pushed his desk trash can to the side of the bed. “Rest for a while, okay, Hobi?”

Hoseok didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes closing, he fell asleep easily.

 ~*~

 Hoseok awoke feeling way too warm. With a grimace, he lifted a hand to push the blankets away, only to find that he apparently had been hugging some sort of companion. Confused, he paused, lifting his head up as he squinted forward.

From there, he saw Yoongi, earphone in one ear, phone in a hand with stylus in the other, He seemed to be jotting down notes. Yoongi absently placed the stylus in his mouth and moved his hand to Hoseok’s hair, petting it gently. The notion had Hoseok moving to drop his head against Yoongi’s chest, his arm still draped across his stomach. He hummed softly.

“Hyung?” Hoseok mumbled.

Yoongi’s hand didn’t stop petting his hair. “You’re awake, Seokseok-ah?”

Hoseok gave a slight nod. “It’s hot in here.”

Yoongi looked down, and his hand moved from ruffling his hair to covering his forehead. “Shit… you missed a dose. You need more medicine.”

Shaking his head, Hoseok let out a whine. “I don’t wanna be asleep anymore. Yoongiiii…”

That got a chuckle out of the older boy. “Come on. Meds, a little bit of juk, and maybe we can crash in the living room for a bit—”

Before Yoongi could finish discussing the game plan, the door to Namjoon’s room swung open carefully, and Jin’s head popped in. Hoseok turned to look at him, putting on a smile.

“Hey, you’re up! See, Jimin-ah? He’s okay, he was just resting in here.” His voice remained low and soft, and Hoseok had to smile at how careful their eldest hyung was being. As Jin moved back, Hoseok could see Jimin peering in, eyes tired but delighted to see him.

“Hobi-hyung!” Jimin wasted no time in crossing the room, immediately draping himself over the two on the bed.

Hoseok fought back a grimace and smiled, small hand reaching over to ruffle Jimin’s hair. Jimin’s extra weight pressed against his tender stomach and just made him feel warmer, but he was glad to see his roommate. “Jiminie, feeling better?”

Jimin sighed dramatically. “Only a little bit… I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

At that, Yoongi laughed, hand reaching over to gently shove Jimin’s shoulder. “Better get out before you throw up on this bed too.”

“Hyung, don’t tease me, I’m sick,” whined the small vocalist. He received another shove in response.

But with a laugh, Jin merely headed in to tug Jimin back to his feet, promising they’d visit again later. As they left, Hoseok could hear Jin convincing Jimin to return to bed now that they’d seen Hoseok, and the gesture made Hoseok feel warm inside. It was nice to know that Jimin cared for him even as they were; he just hoped the others were taking as good care of Jimin as they were of himself. He was sure they were, especially if Jin was there. Jin was the best.

“What’s that make me,” Yoongi asked, “Chopped liver?”

Hoseok laughed, not realizing he’d spoken out loud. “You’re my best hyung.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Yoongi chuckled at that, bringing a hand back up to stroke Hoseok’s hair. As Hoseok began to relax against him, the older rapper nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, Seokseok-ah… Food and meds. Food and meds, and then you can sleep again.”

With a grumble, Hoseok just pressed his face further into Yoongi’s shoulder and tried to pretend he didn’t have to get up.

[gumnut-logic]

“Hold still.”

“’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

“You’re not fine! Hold still!”

“’S only a bl’d nose.”

“I need to check it anyway. I hit you hard.”

“Lucky sh’t.”

“Hold still!”

Gordon let his shoulders drop and held still. Virgil was beside himself over this. It was obvious. It was only a blood nose, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like it was his first.

The scanner’s yellow light flickered over him and Gordon flinched. So damned bright.

Of course, this just set off Virgil even more. “We’re going to the infirmary.”

“’irg-“

“Now.”

Okay, that was an elder brother command. Gordon wasn’t stupid enough to disobey that. His shoulders dropped just that bit lower and Virgil’s gentle hand wrapped around his arm and led him from the gym.

“I’m sorry, Gords.” It was said with so much guilt, Gordon rolled his eyes.

Ow.

The hand on his arm tightened.

It was a lucky shot. There was no way in hell Virgil could best him in hand to hand. If Virgil pinned him, maybe. He had the mass and the strength. But Gordon was fast and his smaller stature a major advantage. His big brother couldn’t catch him on the best of days.

Except for today, apparently.

The infirmary loomed as they exited the elevator. It did that. Gordon hated any medical setting…for good reason…and the infirmary on the Island was no exception.

He was deposited on the bed with a firm but gentle nudge, told to sit upright and to tip his head forward.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew the treatment for a nosebleed.

Blood tasted awful.

He closed his eyes a moment.

A soft touch to his face and blood was dabbed off his skin. A quiet rumble of query.

It repeated and a frown formed in the air.

A hand on his shoulder. “Gords?”

“Hmm?”

Ow. Virgil’s fist had definitely left a mark on his sinuses.

“You with me, Gordon?”

“Mmmmhmm.”

A rustle of instruments and a finger peeled back his right eyelid. A sharp flicker of light hit his retina and he flinched away. “’irg!”

“Hold still.” Strong hands made him do exactly that.

His reward was another finger peeling back his other eyelid and that retina being equally assaulted.

“’irg!” He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as that caused his whole face to echo the pain in his nose.

Virgil didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of the now firm grip he had on Gordon’s shoulder. A hum started up and Gordon let a breath out as the scanner flickered over him again. “’irg’l, ‘m fine!”

His brother still didn’t answer, but the bed under him shifted, its head rising under his right hand.

“Lie down.”

“’irg-“

“Lie down.” Okay, there was something in his brother’s voice that bore no argument. Gordon opened his eyes and found worry in his brother’s.

Those brown eyes blurred a little.

What?

He dragged his feet up onto the bed, his exercise sweat pants riding up above his bare feet. A shuffle and he had to admit it was a relief to have the back support, top half of the bed up as far as it would go. His head was throbbing. He must remember not to try and stop Virgil’s fist with his face ever again.

As to why his brother had managed to even touch him was a worry in itself. Virgil was good, but he wasn’t that good. Gordon had been dancing around him for years. As his co-pilot, Gordon saw it as part of his duties to help his brother with his hand-to-hand. Of course, between himself and Kayo, they helped all the brothers, even Scott who had his fair share of training in the Air Force. But Gordon had always had a special thought for Virgil. His brother was a wall of muscle, ‘built like a brick shithouse’ was the popular phrase. But muscle didn’t necessarily equate to good self-defence and Virgil was a softy from way back. There had been incidents with the occasional over zealous fan, but also one of Gordon’s nightmares was what would happen if someone with less kind intentions got a hold of any of his brothers.

Virgil was too damned nice for his own good.

So, Gordon took it on to look after him.

But today…why had he let Virgil hit him?

“What happened?” The deep voice of his eldest brother and Gordon realised his eyes had slipped closed again. Opening them was a mistake. The lighting in the room had apparently taken on nuclear fusion in an attempt to compete with the sun.

He groaned and shoved his eyes closed again.

“Gordon?” Virgil’s hand landed on his arm.

“You suck.”

“And you’ve got a concussion. I’m sorry, Gordon.”

What?

“Report, Virgil.” Great, the Commander was out which meant Scott was upset. It was only a bloody nose, for goodness sake.

Virgil’s sigh was a mix of worry and regret. “My fault. I hit him.”

There was silence for a moment. All Gordon could hear was his heartbeat in his sinuses.

“You hit Gordon?” Gordon should be proud at the amount of disbelief in his eldest brother’s voice. Or worried at his lack of confidence in Virgil’s skill.

One or the other.

Maybe both.

God, his head hurt.

“I shouldn’t have let him spar. But he was upset after today and I wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I wasn’t much better, Scott!”

Oh, shit, Virgil. “’S not your fault.”

There was a lack of an answer and that worried Gordon more than anything Virgil could have said to him. He threw out a hand and scratched at a shirt. Fingers caught his, but they weren’t Virgil’s. “Sco’, ‘s not his fault!”

“Gordon, rest you have a stage two concussion. You know that is something you don’t mess with.”

Yeah, well, Virgil has a lot of muscle behind his fist.

Gordon let a breath out between his teeth and relaxed into the bed. Virgil was obviously pissed at himself and he would have to talk him around at some point.

Gentle fingers touched his face again. Soft cloth wiped a cool liquid across his skin.

“The bleeding has stopped.” Virgil’s baritone was quiet and worried. “However, there is some swelling….and there will likely be bruising.”

Swelling? Bruis-….aww, hell, he was supposed to be going out with Penny tomorrow night. A charity gala, it was important to her.

Hell.

“I’m so sorry, Gordon.” Little more than breath.

This just sucked.

He knew the results of an impact to that part of a face. He’d had to do it enough himself.

Then something else occurred to him.

“Did you break m’ noze?”

Silence.

“’irg?”

“Not broken. Hairline crack.”

“’uck!”

“I’m sorry, Gordon.”

He flung out a hand again and this time managed a handful of cotton t-shirt. He dragged it closer. “’Snot your fault!”

Virgil didn’t answer, but his fingers were pried from that t-shirt and held for just a moment, only to be let go as Virgil moved away suddenly.

Gordon flailed, reaching. A footstep and those hands returned with something cold. Towelling, cold as ice.

Gentle hands gathered his and moved to his face. The cold pack melted into his skin and gave him some blessed relief.

“Hold that there.”

“’Snot your fault.”

Again, there was no answer.

A finger brushed hair from his forehead.

God, Virg.

“Rest, Gordon.”

He wanted to yell at his brother. It was a lucky shot after a sucky day. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

“Rest.”

A blanket was draped over him and its warmth became something he hadn’t realised he needed.

“Grandma’s on her way back from Auckland.” Scott said it to the room at large.

Oh crap.

“Good.”

Gordon mentally went through what he had in his own fridge in his rooms and came up with very little. Maybe he could coerce Virg to grab him something otherwise he might expire from his grandmother’s ‘curative’ efforts.

“Don’t worry, Gordon. I have a stash. You’re covered.”

Actually, come to think of it, Virgil would probably go out of his way to do anything and everything for him over the next few days.

There was both glee and worry attached to that thought.

“Rest.” A hand returned to his forehead and stroked away what was likely a phantom hair. Virgil always had the urge to touch.

To heal.

Too good for his own good.

Those fingers slipped away again.

Gordon let himself sink a few more millimetres into the mattress.

Scott was still in the room. He could hear his breathing. Virgil was beside his bed.

He was safe.

His head hurt.

It had been an ass of a day.

Too tired to get out of the way of his brother’s fist.

Stupid move.

Stupid.

Virgil murmured something.

Scott whispered in return.

Gordon let himself drift.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[poodlejoonas]

Olli - Honey Tea

For @bcfanweek​ Day 5: Olli Matela

Words: 1,350

Description: You come down with a summer cold and Olli comes to your rescue.

Notes: Olli Matela/Reader (gender unspecified)

Whatever that feeling was, it was uncomfortable as hell. You were bracing yourself for a long day at home because right now, you could barely be bothered to get out of bed. You felt feverish and achy, and the back of your throat felt like sandpaper. You felt this sensation creeping up on you over the last few days, but you brushed it off as nothing more than your body responding to stress.

Now you were paying for it in full force. It didn’t feel like COVID, and you were vaccinated recently, but it was unpleasant. You needed to do so many things that could make you feel better - make some tea, grab some tissues, take some medicine. But nothing you could do would give you the energy to get up long enough to do any of that. 

Half asleep and achy, you rolled over to your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you found “Olli 💌”. If anyone could help put you back together, it was your boyfriend Olli Matela. You’ve been together for almost a year now but you have yet to make the jump towards moving in with him. He’s been so busy lately that the thought of a stressful life transition was too much to deal with. But you understood loud and clear - his career was on its way up, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him.

But now, all you could hope for was that he’d pick up your call. The phone rang for a few seconds until his raspy voice broke through on the other end. “Kulta?” he started, sounding half-asleep himself.

You wanted to say something, but a cough pushed its way out first. “Olli, are you busy today?” You were taken aback at how rough your voice sounded.

“No, why? What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m sick and I can barely get myself out of bed.” A sentence that long had hurt to get out. “Can you come over? I’ll pay you back later.”

You could hear the sheets on his other end rubbing together as he sat himself up. “You don’t have to do that, I’d take care of you for free. Give me half an hour, I’ll be there.”

You smiled. “Thank you, my love. See you soon.” As soon as you ended the call, you began a coughing fit that put a cramp in your side. You couldn’t wait for Olli to arrive so you didn’t feel like you were suffering alone.

Olli already had a key to your house, which he used to get in today. He called out your name, but there was no response. He journeyed further into your room to find that you had already fallen back asleep, the exhaustion from barely being able to rest the night before putting you out again. Olli’s heart hurt at the sight of you looking so miserable, your face pale and covered in red patches from the pain in your sinuses, but you looked like you found some peace in your sleep.

He walked over to your bed, sitting down on the edge and rubbing your hair out of your face. It was clinging to your forehead with sweat, and he took a quick guess of your temperature. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning down to wake you up gently. “Do you have a thermometer?”

You opened your eyes slowly and smiled when you saw his angelic face hovering above you. “Yeah,” you answered. “It’s in the kitchen, top drawer by the sink.”

“Okay,” he answered with a smile, giving you a soft forehead kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Olli?” you asked before he left the room. He stopped to turn around and greet you. “Can you make me some tea while you’re in there?” You then gave him instructions on how to make what you called your “sick tea”: steeped chamomile, warmed orange juice, honey, and cinnamon on top. He nodded with understanding and left the room.

You put your head back down to rest more as you could hear the sounds of him rambling around in the kitchen. It was a relief to know that he could come over on such a short notice to help you feel better. Olli was the perfect boyfriend, and dare you even say that he would make a great husband? But that thought was far off, and you would revisit the idea again in a couple years.

Olli returned a few minutes later, mug in one hand and thermometer in the other. He placed them down on the nightstand and helped you pull yourself up. “Temperature first, then you can have your tea,” he guided, pulling off the cap and bringing it to your mouth. He held your cheek as the numbers on the thermometer continued to climb and then finally come to a stop at 37.6 degrees Celsius. “Wait right here,” he requested as he walked towards your bathroom.

The water ran for a few seconds and then he returned, wet wash rag in his hand with water dripping down his arm. He sat back down beside you, holding the mug so you could take a sip before he dabbed away some of the sweat on your forehead with the rag. It was cool, but on your skin it felt like ice. You hissed with the change in temperature and Olli pulled back quickly.

“Too much?” he asked sympathetically.

You shook your head. “It’s fine, keep going.”

He continued to dab the cloth on your skin, looking lovingly into your eyes while he did it. A small smile crossed his lips, just enough to show his teeth and the gap that you adore. He pulled back once more so you could have a sip of tea before it got too cold. “Want more?” he asked, holding up the cloth again.

You shook your head no. “Later… tea?” He obliged to your request and held up the mug for as long as you wanted to sip. Olli was a patient man, but seeing him here now, doing everything he could to make you more comfortable, reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. You wanted to cry, but it was also because your eyes felt like they were on fire.

“Lay back down,” he begged, helping you slide into a more comfortable position. “You look tired.”

You nodded. “Exhausted. I couldn’t breathe without being in pain last night and I only slept three hours. I was awake for no good reason.”

Olli slid onto the bed beside you, fingers still running through your hair. The motion and feeling on your scalp almost put you back to sleep on the spot. “I’m sorry, kulta,” he muttered quietly. “Do you have anything to help you sleep?”

You nodded. “Some NyQuil. But for now, can I have more tea?” The tea was almost cold, but you finished the last of it soon. It tasted better than if you had made it yourself, but maybe it was because Olli made it with love. 

He put the mug away and slid up to you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly. The nerves under your skin made your entire body ache, but being in Olli’s arms brought the pain to a temporary halt. 

“Do you want to fall asleep soon?” he asked, his breath flowing through your hair.

“But I don’t want you to be bored when I made you come all the way over here.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I brought my laptop with me. Besides, you’ll need me when you’re not asleep, but you need to rest.”

Reluctantly, like an irritated toddler, you finally closed your eyes and laid your head beside his chest. His heartbeat was firm, calm, and music to your ears. Soon, you drifted into a comfortable sleep, all but your mind finally finding rest. You felt Olli leave your side but you were too tired to protest.

He leaned down once more and gave you a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be in the living room, call me if you need me.”

Endnotes:

Literally based on a true story from last month.

I learned the “sick tea” recipe from when I was working in a coffee shop, so feel free to steal it next time you get sick because it works wonders. (If you don’t like chamomile or have any on hand, spicy chai works just as well.)