#i already have like the cold sweat/fever and am not looking forward to sleeping :(

[coloursofaparadox]

diy'ing a fatigue flareup by getting both the flu shot and the covid booster at the same time

[slayonehundredninetytwo]

Can I make a New Year’s request? Maybe something like Beomgyu getting sick with a fever right before New Year’s even though they had plans but they hyungs agree to home to take care of him so he’s not alone

(because i am not korean, i cannot accurately describe their new years traditions. so for the sake of the fic and the other new years fics to come, they will celebrate with american traditions.)

December 31,  aka New Year’s eve. A day filled with celebrations and champagne. But this year, it will be celebrated with sleep and tylenol, because Beomgyu is running a fever. He’s sure of it. From the moment he woke up to turn down the temperature on the thermostat to find it was already at 70 degrees, he knew he was sick. Bummer. And on New Year’s Eve? How lame. He contemplated telling his members. On the one hand, they don’t have work anyway. But also, the group had been looking forward to attending the company’s New Year’s eve party. He decided they didn’t have to know. Besides, his fever is probably not even that high. If he can ignore the chills, hot flashes, fatigue, sweat dripping down his forehead and aches through his whole body, he’ll be fine. No biggy.

He popped a slice of toast into the toaster. He debated just going back to bed, but he didn’t want to be suspicious. He’s usually the early riser of the group, and now that the rest of the members are stumbling into the kitchen, it’s too late to go back. 

Taehyun took one look at Beomgyu, and knew he was sick. The paleness of his face streaked with hot pink cheeks made it oh so apparent the he had quite a fever. 

“Soobin, can you come here?” He hollered through the halls. Soobin, still rubbing sleep from his eyes followed the voice to the kitchen, stopping in the doorframe, “What is it-“,

“Shit Gyu, are you sick?”he interrupted himself upon the sight of his obviously sick dongsaeng.

“I- Uh..well…” he murmured, shocked that his members had been able to tell so easily. He felt a strong hand pressing on his forehead.

“Oh my god Beomgyu, you’re on fire! Not that I’m surprised, you look like you just ran a marathon!” Soobin exclaimed as he removed his hand which was now ever so slightly moist with forehead sweat. He turned to grab the thermometer only for Taehyun to shove it into his hands having already grabbed it. He poked it into Beongyu’s ears, and waited for the beep. 

Soobin’s eyes widened when the beep finally came, the thermometer read 102.9 degrees.  “Yup, that’s definitely a fever. Go back to bed, I’ll bring in some water and some medicine.” 

Beomgyu didn’t hesitate to get back under the warmth of his comforter.

By now, Yeonjun and Huening Kai had woken up too, and filled in on the situation. Meanwhile, Beomgyu was sound asleep in his bed room. After hours of him sleeping, Yeonjun went in to check on him. Upon entering the room, he was hit by the unmistakable stench of sweat. He tried not to let it show on his face as he tried not to breathe through his nose. 

“Gyu, can you wake up for just a minute so I can take your temperature again?”

Beomgyu made a noise of approval, and without opening his eyes even a crack, he turned over to let Yeonjun insert the thermometer. When the beep came this time, it was found that his temperature had only climbed to 103.3. “Oh god Beomgyu, if this gets any higher it could be dangerous. And it doesn’t seem like the medicine is working much.”

Beomgyu groaned, still refusing to peel open his eye lids. Yeonjun left the room, and Beomgyu hoped that he would stop pestering him about it, but returned moments later with a wet washcloth. He felt the cold relief on hushed forehead. The cool didn’t last that long as the heat radiating of his face easily warmed the washcloth. 

“Okay. I’m gonna come back in to check again in an hour alright?”

Beomgyu was practically asleep already before Yeonjun even finished his sentence.

When Yeonjun came back, he felt bad waking the sleeping boy once again, especially when he looked so adorable when sleeping. He tried to wiggle the thermometer into the boys ears without waking him, barely making it in. In the process, he was disgusted when he felt how the sheets were almost completely soaked in sweat. The thermometer beeped and read 103.7. Yeonjun was flabbergasted at the fever’s ability to continue to grow.

“Beomgyu? Do you think you can take a cool bath or something? Your fever is still rising and we have to get it down.”

He said to the still half asleep Beomgyu.

“But I’m already so cold..” He whined.

“The thermometer says other wise. Sorry. Unless you have a better idea? And while you’re in there I’ll wash your sheets, they’re getting kinda….gross.”

Beomgyu sighed, finally sitting up in his bed. His body ached, longing to lay back down, but he knew it was for the best. He glanced at the clock next tom him on his bed side table, reading the time. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the party??”

“Oh- nah. I don’t think we’re going.”

“Is it because of me? I don’t want to ruin New Year’s” Yeonjun could see Beomgyu’s expression become ridden with guilt.

“Maybe a little. But it’s okay really. It’s the same party every year anyway, nothing we haven’t seen before.”

“Are you sure? You guys can go, I can hold my own.”

“Not like this you can’t. Your fever is crazy. Besides, it will be nice spending New Years in a more relaxed fashion this year.”

Beomgyu accepted that his members would stay to take care of him, and stood to head off to take his bath. He immediately had to sit back down as dizziness washed over him. Yeonjun looked at him with a great deal of concern.

“Just.. dizzy.”

Yeonjun held his hand to hoist him back up and helped him off to the bathroom. Once we was settled in the bath for a bit, Yeonjun went off to throw Beomgyu’s bedding into the wash. 

By the time Beomgyu was done in the bath, the sheets were only just switching to the dryer.

“How bout you bring your pillow and grab one of those christmas blankets and lay on the couch for a bit, while your bedding is in the dryer atleast.”

Beomgyu didn’t care wear he was sleeping as long as he was sleeping. He wrapped himself in a blanket and hobbled to the couch. Kai was already sitting there, scrolling on instagram. He looked up and smiled at the boy burrito in front of him, scooting over to make a place for him. He gratefully layed down across the cushions, his feet hanging off the edge ever so slightly. Kai scooted Beomgyu’s head into his lap and ran his fingers through his wet hair. They stayed like that for the next couple of hours, waiting to bring in the new year. The rest of the group started to file into the room as the clock ticked closer to midnight. They didn’t have any champagne laying around so they poured some ginger ale, close enough. They tried to stay as quiet as they could as to not wake the sleeping Beomgyu beside them.

“ten… nine…. eight…. seven….”They whispered, “six…. five…. four…. three…. two…. one.”

“HAPPY NEW YEARS!!” they said, maybe a bit too loudly.

“Shhhh!” Soobin hissed.

They go quiet. But it’s still not silent, as fireworks have started to burst outside the window. Beomgyu started to stir, his hands instinctively moving to his ears. Kai, being the closest person to Beomgyu, noticed tears rolling down his face, probably the fever messing with his emotions.

“Guy, what’s the matter?”

“The fireworks hurt my head.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. I’m sure they’ll be over soon?” he tried. But it was not helpful to calm the crying boy.

Taehyun shot up from his seat, dashing to his room, returning with his soundproof headphones in hand. He swiftly maneuvered them over Beomgyu’s ears.

“Better?”

No response.

“Guess they must be working.”Yeonjun giggled.

“Well, that’s one way to start off the new year.” Taehyun teased.

[julek]

for @asweetprologue and myself <3 | read on ao3

“Eurgh,” Jaskier says as he gracelessly flops down onto his bedroll. He wipes his nose. “This is impossible.”

It’s cold season for mere mortals and humble bards, it seems. Jaskier wipes his nose again, coughing into his elbow. Being out in the wilderness doesn’t help, either — the nights are mild but there’s a soft breeze that won’t let up, making Jaskier wake up with a sore, dry throat.

“I wonder…” he mumbles to himself, pushing forward with effort to kneel onto the bedroll. He lets his arms drop, release the tension they’d been holding all day just to keep him standing upright. He brings his fingertips to his thighs and closes his eyes. “Okay, big breath…”

He inhales slowly, pushing down the sudden urge to cough with a frown on his face. He bites his lip as he tries to hold the air in for a moment, counting to five in his head, then breathing out with a heavy exhale that’s immediately followed by a coughing fit.

When he’s regained composure, he tries again. Keeping his back straight as an arrow — or what he hopes resembles it at the moment — he breathes in again, but his left nostril is blocked, the right one whistling as the air comes in. As good as I’m going to get, he thinks, and holds his breath. His ears pop.

“Gods!” He groans, his head in his hands. He sniffs miserably. “What do you want from me? What sins am I paying for?”

“I could name a few,” he hears Geralt’s voice say from the foliage. He walks out of the trees with a smirk, holding a pheasant by the neck. “What are you doing?”

Jaskier looks up at him, droopy-eyed and forlorn. “I tried to meditate. You know, like you do. Deep breaths and all— it didn’t work.”

“Hmm.” Geralt puts the pheasant aside for a moment, moving into Jaskier’s space to kneel beside him. He brings his lips to Jaskier’s forehead, the touch grounding, and says, “You don’t have a fever.”

Jaskier sighs. “But I feel like shit.”

“Mm,” Geralt says emphatically, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before getting up. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier watches him retrieve his knife from his bag. “Can’t you just,” he whines, his fingers making a whoosh motion, “Axii me back into health, or something?”

Geralt snorts, his blade flat against the feathers as he removes the wings. Jaskier almost feels bad for the poor thing, but the rumble in his stomach holds its ground. “That’s not how it works.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Jaskier flops onto his back, looking at the twinkling stars. “Just so you know, if I had the ability to do…” He frowns. “...magic thingies, I’d use them to nurse my beloved back into health. Just saying.”

“Good to know.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Since you won’t be displaying your undying love for me via some sort of, of… miracle potion, dear, wake me when dinner’s ready.”

The way Geralt stays silent and doesn’t strangle him is a small display of his undying love of its own. Curled up on his bedroll, Jaskier dozes to the sound of Geralt’s knife and the crackling of the fire.

When he wakes, it’s to Geralt’s foot poking him in the side. “Jask.”

“Mmmpf?” He manages before coughing back to life. “Ugh.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Geralt says, and waits for Jaskier to stop wheezing and attempting to spit his lung out to pass him a slightly-burnt leg.

“Thanks,” Jaskier croaks, and digs in.

They eat in comfortable silence, the distant sound of a stream trickling down and cicadas singing their evening song into the sky, the simmering of water on a pot over the fire. Putting his waterskin aside, Jaskier stretches, pleased.

“Well,” he says. “That was good. Now, I think some sleep is in order.”

Geralt smiles at him like he’s withholding a secret. It’s a dangerous smile for him to wear. “Oh, what is it?” Jaskier says.

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, all innocent and wide-eyed.

“You’ve got that conspiratorial look about you. What is it?”

Geralt says nothing, instead fetches his bedroll and rolls it out next to Jaskier’s. Before Jaskier can lay down as he’s been waiting to and before he can drag the Witcher down with him and press into his warmth, Geralt puts up his hand.

“We can’t share,” he says.

Jaskier splutters. “And why not?” He says indignantly.

Geralt gestures vaguely at his face.

Jaskier sniffs, as if to prove his point. “I cannot believe,” he says, wiping his nose, “that Geralt of Rivia, slayer of beasts and hero of humanity, won’t share his bed with me because of a runny nose!”

Geralt makes a face. “You’ll cover me in goo.”

“You’ve been covered in much worse! You can’t even get sick, you—” His voice is comically nasal as he whispers, heartbroken, “I thought you loved me.”

Geralt sits closer. “And I do,” he says. “Which is why I’m displaying my— what was it?”

“Undying love for me,” Jaskier grumbles.

“Yes, that— by offering you the oldest cold-banishing ritual there is.”

Jaskier perks up. “You are? Why didn’t you lead with that? What is it?” He scrambles to get up, starts undoing his chemise. ”Do I have to be naked? Howl at the moon? D’you need some blood? I read that—”

“None of that, Jask,” Geralt says, touching his fingers to Jaskier’s arm, settling him. “Just— wait.”

Jaskier does, curiously watching Geralt wander around their camp. He retrieves a small linen bag from his pack, upending its contents into the pot and taking it out of the fire, placing it on the ground next to it. Then, he digs up an old shirt of his, black and faded, from his bag, and hands it to Jaskier with a warm smile.

“Come here,” he says softly, motioning for Jaskier to come kneel by the fire. He does, the dirt digging in his knees, and looks up at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt unfolds his shirt with care, and wraps it around the back of Jaskier’s neck. “Drape it over your head,” he instructs gently. “With your hands, like this. Like— like a tent.”

It makes Jaskier laugh, but he does it anyway. “Okay,” he says. “I feel like a child. What next?”

He can’t see Geralt with the dark cloth covering his head, but he hears him snort. “Now, put your face over the pot— here, I’ll help you.” Geralt places a hand on his back and helps him lean over the steaming pot, arranges his shirt so that it covers the pot as well, leaving Jaskier inside a warm, humid cocoon. “Now, breathe in.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of chamomile filling his senses. His face feels warm already, the steam curling his hair at the edges. Geralt’s hand is still on his back, soothing. “The steam will help clear your airway,” he says. “Just breathe in and out until the water starts to cool down.”

Jaskier nods, but realizes Geralt can’t see him. “Okay,” he says, breathing in again. It makes him sweat, the warm steam on his face, but with every breath he takes, he can feel it work its magic. There isn’t any, he knows — it’s no different from the potions Geralt brews, the salve he uses on his wounds — but there’s something mesmerizing about watching the cut-up stems and petals dancing on the water, unintelligible shapes revealing themselves at the bottom of Geralt’s beaten-up pot.

The water cools down after a while. When Jaskier emerges from his makeshift tent, Geralt’s watching him with a tender look in his eyes, a smile curling on his lips despite himself. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier sniffs, but this time, he takes in a clean breath. “Better,” he says, handing Geralt his shirt back. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” says Geralt, and this time, when he lays on his bedroll, he beckons Jaskier close. “Sleep?”

Jaskier smiles. The chamomile made him sleepy, and he feels warm as he lays next to Geralt, entwining their legs and brushing his nose against the cold spot where his jaw meets his neck.

“Thank you for saving me,” he murmurs against Geralt’s skin.

Geralt huffs a laugh, tightening his arms around the bard. “‘S hardly a cure.”

Jaskier looks at him. Geralt’s profile is illuminated by the dying firelight, the flames casting shadows on his face. Still, his golden gaze gleams as their eyes meet.

“How’d you come up with it?” Jaskier asks quietly. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

Geralt doesn’t answer for a while, his fingers tracing lines over Jaskier’s chemise. Jaskier brushes a wayward strand of white hair from Geralt’s face. He smiles.

“My mother used to do it for me.”

Jaskier hums at the quiet admission, listening to the slow beating of Geralt’s heart. He smiles faintly, and Jaskier knows he’s not really there right now.

“There wasn’t money for healers, back then.” Geralt swallows. “But there was always chamomile.”

Jaskier squeezes his hand.

“I never liked it, in truth,” Geralt admits, quietly. “The steam was always too hot on my face. But she would… she’d sit next to me. Hold the cloth over my face.”

Jaskier thinks of Geralt’s hand at his back.

“We’d do it together.”

Breathing out, like he can finally feel the air filling his lungs, Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes. They’re softer, somehow, honey-gold around a pool of black. Jaskier brushes his fingers against Geralt’s cheek, leans in for a tender kiss to his jaw, missing his lips.

Geralt laughs, low and beautiful. “I can’t get sick now, you know.”

Jaskier smiles. “I know.”

[willwriteforhugs]

just a sniffle!- hwang hyunjin

boyfriend! hyunjin x reader- one shot !

word count: 1.6k

genre: fluff, domestic scenario

synopsis: after your boyfriend comes home from a long day, you swear you can detect a scratch in his throat... but he insists he’s fine. fast forward 12 hours, and hyunjin is practically bed-ridden with fever. and now what...

warnings: sickness/a high fever (obviously), minor cursing

a/n: this prompt was requested by an anon!! i hope i didn’t take too long to put this out- it takes me forever to edit when the fic in question is a request, because i just want it to be perfect :’) anyways, to my lovely anon: thank you for the request, and i hope you enjoy!

- - -

earlier, when hyunjin had told you he’d be able to get off early, you’d been over the moon- it was a rare occurrence, after all. your boyfriend has- as many idols do- an extremely hectic schedule, with practices often going late into the night. so when he’d said the two of you would be able to spend the evening together, it had taken all your self-control not to start cheering right then and there. but you had managed to stay calm- and still devise a thorough, detailed plan of how the night would go.

you would make dinner, and it would be ready by the time hyunjin got to your place- because who doesn’t love being welcomed by a warm meal? then, after you eat, hyunjin can run and get cleaned up while you do dishes. when that’s all done, the two of you can get down to business by binge watching all the drama episodes you’d missed. (you never watched them without him, even though you usually fall way behind in the show, due to his lack of free time. he insists that you shouldn’t wait- but you love to watch them with him, so you always let them pile up...)

now, in the moment, you scurry aimlessly about your apartment. dinner is ready, waiting to be served in the kitchen, so you walk around your front room. you know that everything is clean- this is the fourth time you’ve checked. but still, this isn’t an everyday thing, and you want the place to be tidy for your boyfriend. (you also know he doesn’t really care all that much- but it’s the thought that counts, right?)

your train of thoughts ends abruptly when a knock sounds from the front door. already smiling, you rush to answer it- and sure enough, there he is.

hyunjin stands in your front entryway, tilting his head as he looks at you. a smile toys at his lips, and he extends an arm. fighting your own glee, you lean into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent.

“hey,” you say into his chest. he hums in reply, and you stand there for a moment, simply appreciating each other. after a beat has passed, you speak up again. “let’s go inside.”

the two of you enter, hyunjin closing the door behind him. he’s wearing a casual outfit, made up of just black sweats and a hat. you assume he’s already showered, too, because, well- you won’t lie- he usually doesn’t smell that great after a long practice. but he seems clean, and all for the better- that just means the schedule gets sped up, and more time for the two of you! 

as he usually does, your boyfriend wanders into your bedroom to set down his things, not lingering. he meets you back in the kitchen as you begin to serve the food. you see him smile at the spread, and finally he speaks: “wow, babe. that’s a lot of food.”

at the sound of his voice, you start a bit. it’s much lower than usual, and you detect a bit of scratchiness in it. without looking up, you make your inquiry: “are you feeling well? you sound a bit froggy.”

hyunjin snorts at your description. “froggy? you really are something...”

you smile, bringing two servings of food to the table. as you begin to eat, the two of you settle into comfortable silence. 

as the meal continues, though, you feel yourself begin to frown. despite his obvious attempts to hide it, hyunjin seems to be having trouble swallowing his food. with every bite, you see your boyfriend flinch just a bit. 

not being able to take it any longer, you set your chopsticks down. “really, hyunjin-ah. you don’t seem well, are you getting a cold?”

your boyfriend makes a mocking pouty face at you. clearing his throat, he responds: “i’m fine, y/n. i really am, so don’t baby me.”

you give a half hearted glare. “fine. but if you wake up tomorrow feeling like shit, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

- - -

you had been right, of course.

and, for the record, you had warned him.

it’s 6:48 in the morning, and both of you were awake. you lean over in bed, switching on the light. laying in a pathetic lump on your other side, hyunjin groans loudly. you turn back around to face him. “hyunjin-ah, seriously. let me feel your head, you’ve been coughing all night!”

the lump that happens to be your boyfriend shifts to face you in bed. you frown once you can seem him clearly- his face is red, and his eyes are watery from the coughing. you place your own cool palm on his forehead, and almost jerk back in surprise. “babe, you’re burning up!”

flinging your blankets away, you spring out of bed. “hyunjin!” you groan. “i knew you sounded off, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

he coughs again, finally managing to clear his throat. in his raspy voice, he manages: “i didn’t want to ruin your night. i knew you were excited.”

you sigh, knowing the feeling, and hating the understanding. hyunjin was overworked, truly. he shouldn’t have felt the need to lie just to spend time with you, no matter how excited you were...

“c’mon.” you say nudging him in the hips. “sit up, i’ll get you some painkillers and water. are you hungry?”

he grunts in response. when you don’t move, he finally mutters into his pillow: “i don’t know.”

a smile tugs at your lips at this. “that’s alright. i’ll get you a bit anyways.”

you know that hyunjin’s dramatics are probably a conductor to this situation, but a tiny part of you is excited at this opportunity to spoil him, even if it’s at his expense. 

in the kitchen, you dig around for the promised medicine and some snacks, then pour a glass of water.

when you re enter your bedroom, you see hyunjin has managed to sit up. his tall figure is slumped as he leans against the headboard of your bed. nonetheless, he smiles as you enter the room. “you’re so pretty in the mornings,” he mumbles.

you gently smack his head as you set down the water glass. “oh, shut up. at least take the meds first so you’ll be able to defend yourself later on.”

at this, he chuckles- but the joy quickly dissipates as the laugh turns into a pained cough. you use your palm to rub circles over his back as he regains his breath. the fit passes, but the tension in the air doesn’t. 

in perfect unison, the two of you sigh.

hyunjin breaks the silence. “i’m so sorry, y/n. i should have just told you i wasn’t feeling well last night... maybe we could have caught it before it got this bad.”

you give him a bittersweet smile. “your pride can be a weakness, my love.”

at this, hyunin puts his hand to his chest in fake shock. “i can’t believe you’d say such things to me. and while i’m ill!”

“it’s just a cold, your highness. take the tylenol and see how that helps.” you pause, knowing that he is probably in more pain than he’s letting on- you can tell because he was covering it with humor, something he rarely does. “do you- do you want a washcloth or something? an ice pack?”

your boyfriend’s expression is warm. his voice is still uneven, and he responds in an almost whisper: “is that alright?”

your heart stutters at his demeanor. “yes, that’s alright.”

when you return with the cold washcloth, hyunjin has slid down a bit- now only half sitting up. his eyes are closed, though you suspect he isn’t asleep, at least not fully. but you can tell he’s exhausted from being up all night with his sneezing and coughing... maybe he really is asleep...

you make your way to him, and pause to admire his peaceful face. he truly is beautiful... you reach over and gently sweep his long hair away from his forehead, allowing your fingers to linger. he’s still very warm to the touch, and you can’t help but worry for him. after a moment, you swap your hand for the washcloth, draping it gently across his already damp forehead. 

you aren’t really sure how to properly care for a sick person, but a cold compress seems to be what all the dramas suggest. so you sit back down and hope for the best. 

a few minutes pass- hyunjin breathing peacefully in the bed, and you in a nearby chair watching him. suddenly, your counterpart’s eyes flicker open, deep brown eyes meeting your own. “y/n-ah?” he rasps.

you almost launch out of your chair. “yes? are you alright?”

hyunjin gives a half-hearted snort as his eyes drift shut again. he continues to speak without seeing you. “i’m fine. but- will- do you mind sitting with me? over here?”

you stare at him for a moment, processing. then you smile. “yeah, i can do that. as long as you don’t get me sick.”

“no promises.”

and with that, you crawl back into bed with hyunjin, his back to you. you scoot up a bit, positioning yourself so you can hug him from behind. you’ve never been the big spoon before- but honestly? you love it, and you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, filled with an overwhelming rush of affection.

“y/n?” comes hyunjin’s voice again, very quietly.

you don’t move, answering into his back. “yes?”

“i love you.” 

and with that, hyunjin slips back into sleep, this time nestled in your arms.

[cuddlepilefics]

Please Help

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Changbin

Caregiver: Minho

Changbin gets sick and while trying to hide it gets into an argument with Minho, who might be the only one there to take care of him.

Changbin’s POV.:

It was getting closer to four in the morning and I have yet to fall asleep. For some reason, my stomach had started to hurt pretty bad at some point during the late evening. I couldn’t tell whether it was something I ate but I knew if it wouldn’t get better soon, I wouldn’t get any sleep before having to get up for our schedule. Dance practice, something I really wasn’t looking forward to at the moment. Even if my stomach got better by then, I’d be way too tired for the intense choreographies we’d be working on. Just thinking about all the fast turns and jumps made my stomach churn uneasily. Considering there was no use in laying in bed stressing out, I slowly got up. Maybe some tea would settle my stomach, so I could get at least a tiny bit of sleep. I had to be carefully as I felt a bit queasy if I moved to fast. Wrapping one arm around my aching middle, I shuffled to the kitchen. I didn’t feel like turning on the ceiling lights as they were way to bright, so I ended up using my phone’s flashlight to find my way. After I turned on the kettle, I grabbed my favorite cup and popped in a bag of ginger tea. My mother once told me it helped with nausea and I prayed it really would because being up and moving made me feel increasingly queasy. Waiting for the water to boil, I moved a bit closer to the sink, unsure if the odd feeling at the back of my throat was just a fluke. My mouth was watering a little, which worried me quite a bit. If this got bad enough to make me throw up, I probably wouldn’t be better in a few hours, when we’d have to head out.

I was so distracted worrying, that I almost missed the water boiling. Snapping out of my thoughts, I prepare my tea before shakily making my way to the living room. The few minutes I had been standing seemed to have drained most of the energy I had left and I weakly plopped onto the couch, drawing my knees up to my chest. Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead on my knees and took a deep breath. By now, I was almost certain that I was sick. My head felt too light for me to just be tired and I highly doubted the dorm was as cold as it seemed to me. I couldn’t be sick now though. We were way too busy for me to take some time off. Usually, I’d be rather open about how I felt because I knew my friends would be by my side, comforting me until I felt better, but with how busy we were, I didn’t want to stress the rest of the group out. Completely forgetting about my tea on the coffee table, I sprawled out on the couch with my hand under my shirt, rubbing soft circles over my stomach. Exhausted, I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes, it was already dawn and when I sat up, reaching for my tea, it was cold. My stomach didn’t hurt as badly anymore, though it was still a bit sore. Checking the time, I realized we’d have to get up in ten minutes anyway, so I disposed of my cold tea and went to get ready. It was a bit of a struggle because although my stomach had gotten a bit better, my head had become foggier and I stumbled around clumsily, probably waking most of the members already with all the noise.

No one’s POV.:

Though he was up earlier than his friends, Changbin took quite a while to get ready, spacing out frequently. It all made sense with the fever he was running but the rapper didn’t think to take his temperature. Knowing about his fever wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway, as he had already decided not to say anything and to go about his day as if nothing was wrong. Chan noticed the younger not being fully awake and made sure the rapper would have breakfast, knowing he’d need the energy for their dance practice. Changbin figured that maybe, if he was lucky, having some food would help settle his stomach further and maybe, just maybe, he’d feel less dizzy after eating something. He was quiet on their way to the company building, still trying to shake the fog in his head as he knew he’d have to be more than just focused if he wanted to keep up with their dances.

They were still warming up when Changbin realized, his breakfast had been a mistake. His stomach was churning again and he cursed himself for not skipping out on the meal. The rapper had no idea how he was supposed to dance like this, afraid he’d make himself sick with all the fast movements. “Changbin, wake up! We want to start now, so move”, Minho ordered. The members were already on their starting positions, all except for Changbin, who seemed to be in his own world. Startling, the rapper nodded and quickly got into position. He didn’t even know which song they’d dance to first and anxiously waited for the first beats. Today was not his day. Of course, Minho would start with the most complex choreography first, so they’d have the time to perfect it. He didn’t know how but Changbin managed to go over all the moves, being only slightly behind the beat. It wasn’t good enough though for him not to be called out by Minho, reminding him to speed his dancing up a little, so he’d keep up with the music. Barely paying attention to what his hyung was saying, the rapper nodded along as sweat ran down his back. His stomach cramped and he tried not to wince before he was forced to go back to his starting position, so they could give it another try.

About an hour in, Changbin wasn’t doing any better. His dancing was at least as off-beat as it was the first time and his moves grew increasingly sluggish. The rapper had already excused himself to the bathroom twice, feeling like he needed to be sick. He hadn’t thrown up and had made his way back to the practice room either times after accepting that it had been another false alarm. By now, Changbin contemplated just sticking his finger down his throat, as he’d probably feel better after getting everything out, so dancing wouldn’t torture him as much anymore. Pausing the music again, Minho sighed: “Bin, can you at least pretend you’re taking this seriously?” - “S-Sorry, hyung, I am”, the rapper apologized, trying to pull himself together. He just couldn’t focus, no matter how badly he wanted to. Changbin swallowed hard, fighting the rising nausea. “Well, you’re moves don’t really make it seem like you are”, Minho commented, “Put a little effort into it, would you?” Not daring to open his mouth, the younger nodded, making himself dizzy.

Minho’s POV.:

Changbin had been slacking off ever since we started and was really getting annoying. It didn’t look like he was even trying at all, his moves all over the place. The more time passed, the worse it got. We needed to get this perfect soon because one of the company’s choreographers would stop by towards the end of our practice to see how we were progressing, which in my dongsaeng’s case was backwards. Taking a deep breath to calm my temper, I reminded him: “Pull yourself together, Changbin, alright? Someone will watch our dance later and if you keep fooling around like this, all of us will get in trouble.” – “S-Sorry, I-I need the bathroom”, he stammered, already fleeing without giving me the chance to say anything else. I had lost track of how many times he had already escaped ‘to the bathroom’, probably trying to kill time till our practice was over. Giving Chan an exasperated look, I went on to help the rest of the members polish up their moves. The leader only shrugged, contemplating going after Changbin but by the time he had made up his mind, the rapper already returned. He took his time, getting a drink first before joining us in the middle of the room again, causing me to pinch the bridge of my nose and remind myself to stay calm for the sake of the other members. I was really irritated but needed to be professional, otherwise we’d make even less progress.

No one’s POV.:

The remainder of their practice session passed just the same and before they knew it, they were joined by the choreographer. Changbin blinked confused. He had forgotten they’d have a visitor, no matter how many times Minho reminded him. Swallowing convulsively, the rapper prayed his stomach would stay where it was. He hadn’t thrown up yet but the number of false alarms was ridiculous. Spacing out while the dance-racha talked to the choreographer, Changbin snuck a hand under his sweaty shirt to palm his cramping stomach. He couldn’t suppress a shudder, feeling chilled to the bone in his sweat-damp clothes. It was confusing really, how he could sweat that much when it was so cold in the practice room. They had surely turned the aircon down to arctic temperatures. Seeing the other members gather in the center of the room, Changbin dizzily made his way over and prayed he’d be able to get through the entire song. He really didn’t want to get sick or faint in front of everyone, especially now that someone else was present, expecting him to be professional. One of the jumps made his stomach lurch, acid rushing up his throat. The rapper panicked, gritting his teeth and quickly swallowing it back down, while trying to not miss a beat. In the end, he surprised himself by striking the ending pose without passing out, despite the black spots clouding his vision.

Still panting, Changbin saw the choreographer walk up to him. He could hear the other talking but couldn’t comprehend anything he said, too distracted by his stomach sloshing nauseatingly. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple as he nodded along to whatever the choreographer was saying, mainly focused on staying upright without puking on the other’s shoes. When the older finally stopped talking and bid the group goodbye, Changbin plopped down on the ground, assuming their practice was finally over. He was startled when a fuming Minho walked up to him. “Why couldn’t you just take it seriously earlier?”, the dancer spat, “I have so many other things to get done today and now I need to stay behind until you get it right.” Blinking at the older confused, Changbin muttered a tired: “What?” – “Didn’t you listen to a word he was saying? I really can’t believe you! You and I are forced to stay here until you get it right, so get up! We’re starting right now, no breaks just dancing because I also need to practice my vocals later and am not planning on staying here all night”, Minho snapped, grabbing his dongsaeng’s wrist and hauling him to his feet. Blacking out for a second when he was upright, Changbin swayed on his feet but managed not to fall.

The other members were already packing up their things while Minho got a drink before walking over to the sound system to start the music again. Sensing the tension, the group quietly left as they didn’t want to irritate Minho further. When the dancer turned around again, he had top realize that Changbin had slipped out of the room unnoticed. Angrily gritting his teeth, Minho paused the music and went to go look for his dongsaeng. Considering he hadn’t been gone for long, the rapper had to be somewhere close by, so Minho decided to check the practice room next to theirs. It was empty and closing the door again, the dancer’s eyes fell on the bathroom a little further down the hallway. His anger dissolved when he heard muffled sobs through the door, already assuming it had to be Changbin. Minho’s prediction was correct and he found the younger curled up against the far wall, feeling guilty as he could see now that the rapper hadn’t been fooling around but was actually struggling. Quietly sitting down next to his crying dongsaeng, the dancer draped his arm around the other’s shoulders. Changbin hadn’t even noticed his hyung walking in and startled when he was suddenly touched, flinching away. “Hey, ssh, it’s okay”, Minho hummed, finally taking a closer look at his friend. His heart broke when he noticed how pale the rapper looked, barely distinguishable from the wall behind him. His sweat-soaked practice clothes clung to him uncomfortably.

“I-I’m sorry”, Changbin whimpered, not looking up, “Hyung, I’m so s-sorry, please- Hyung, please he-help.” Trying to make eye contact with the younger, Minho promised: “It���s okay, Binnie, I will but you need to tell hyung how. What’s going on?” The rapper only choked on another sob, squeezing his eyes shut. Gently brushing back Changbin’s sweaty bangs, Minho cringed when he felt the heat radiating from his dongsaeng’s forehead. “You’re burning”, he stated sympathetically, “Haven’t felt well all day, hm?” The younger defeatedly shook his head, shifting and trying to get up. His face had taken on a slightly greenish tint, so Minho helped him up, getting the rapper settled in front of the toilet. “H-Hyung, I can’t”, Changbin muttered shakily, before ducking down with an unproductive gag. Comfortingly rubbing his back, Minho instructed: “Deep breaths, then explain what you can’t and how I can help.” The rapper coughed weakly before drawing in a shaky breath and admitting: “Can’t throw up. Always feel like it but nothing’s happening.” – “That’s why you’ve been running off all the time wasn’t it? I’m so sorry I never took the time to ask you if everything was alright”, Minho cooed regretfully. Nodding, Changbin tensed with another gag, hand going up to his throat that ached from the strain. Getting back up, the dancer promised: “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get you some water. Maybe drinking something will speed things up. Just hang in there.”

Minho hurried to retrieve his dongsaeng’s water bottle from the practice room, all the while beating himself up for making assumptions earlier. In hindsight, it was obvious that Changbin hadn’t been alright. He would never slack if a choreographer was present. The dancer’s eyes landed on his own sweatshirt, carelessly thrown next to his bag. Quickly grabbing that too, he rushed back to the bathroom, only to find Changbin in pretty much the same position that he had left him in. Resting a gentle hand on the younger’s shoulder, Minho hummed: “I got you a warmer shirt too. You’re not going to get better if you’re running around in wet clothes. Do you want change first?” Shivering pathetically, the rapper nodded and struggled to get his sticky shirt off. Minho helped him pull it off before handing him the sweatshirt. It was a bit tight around his dongsaeng’s broad shoulders but it was a lot warmer.

Changbin slumped with his back against the toilet stall, closing his eyes and bringing his fist up to his face to muffle a queasy belch. “Do you want to have some water? Either it helps your stomach settle or it makes you sick, so you can get it over with and I can take you home”, Minho offered, already uncapping the bottle. The rapper winced but accepted the bottle. He didn’t really want to be sick but after so many false alarms, it’d be better to just get it over with than be stuck in this limbo forever. Taking a few tentative sips, Changbin realized the water certainly wouldn’t settle his stomach, so he started to chug it quickly, struggling to keep from gagging. He barely got to finish his drink before dropping the bottle and scrambling over the toilet bow, as the water gushed from his lips. Minho was there in a second, running his hand up and down his dongsaeng’s back to keep him calm as wave after wave of clear water shot up his throat. Choking a little, Changbin gave a painful cough and reached for his hyung’s hand. He yearned for comfort, needing a hug but his stomach wasn’t yet done. It clenched again, causing the rapper to pitch forward with a strangled retch. Biting his lip, Minho took Changbin’s hand, that was still blindly feeling around for his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

It took a while for Changbin’s stomach to calm down again but they were in no hurry. Unlike his earlier claims, Minho would definitely stay the entire night at the company building if that was how long the younger needed. When it didn’t seem like the rapper was going to bring anything else up, Minho carefully pulled him back let him lean against his chest while he tore off some toilet paper to wipe his dongsaeng’s lips. Changbin dizzily closed his eyes, huffing shaky breaths while the older cleaned him up. He was glad he finally got it over with but now he was so spent that it didn’t feel like he could get up at all anytime soon. There was a gentle hand on his forehead, brushing the damp bangs back before softly scratching his scalp. “Feeling at least a little better now?”, Minho whispered as he continued to run his hand through the younger’s hair. Lacking any energy, Changbin could only give an uncertain hum and kept his eyes closed as he slowly relaxed in his hyung’s hold. Checking his fever again, the dancer promised: “You will soon. As soon as you feel ready to move, I’m taking you back to the dorm, so you can rest in your bed and I can fetch you some medicine but don’t worry, there’s no rush, you can take as long as you need.”

Changbin drowsily went in and out of sleep as Minho didn’t have the heart to wake him, so they could go home. The dancer had no idea how long they had been sitting there but it didn’t matter all that much to him. Yeah, he wanted to get the younger home but if the other needed to regain some of his energy first, that was fine with him too. Minho was deep in thought, guiltily recounting all the opportunities he would have had to realize his dongsaeng was sick, when Changbin sleepily sat up. “Hyung, can we go home? I’m tired”, he muttered, voice scratchy from throwing up. The older nodded and got up before extending his hands to help the rapper up. Changbin’s head spun when he stood and Minho was quick to wrap him in a hug to steady him until he had adjusted. Even when the rapper nodded that he was okay now, Minho kept one arm around his waist, just in case. They slowly made their way back to the practice room, where the dancer hurriedly threw their stuff into their bags before slinging both of them over his shoulder.

Their walk back to the dorm seemingly too forever as Changbin dizzily stumbled next to Minho, who tried to keep his dongsaeng from falling. Unlocking the door, Minho quickly kicked off his shoes before helping the younger with his. He walked the rapper straight to his room and placed his bag next to his desk after sitting the sick boy down on his bed. Changbin instantly curled up, struggling to pull his blanket over himself as he still shook with chills. Cooing sympathetically, the dancer helped him with the blanket before turning to leave the room. “Hyung, can you please stay? I-I know you have a lot of other stuff to do, so you don’t have to, I just- I-”, Changbin rambles sleepily, needing the comfort he had been craving since last night but still remembering the older’s temper earlier. Face softening, Minho crouched next to the bed. He gently cupped his dongsaeng’s feverish cheek and whispered: “I will, don’t worry about it, yeah? I will stay with you as long as you’ll have me but I need to get a few things first, so we can try and bring that fever down at least a little.” Changbin nodded and closed his eyes, hoping his hyung would be quick. He had lost all sense of time, so he had no idea how long it had been before the mattress dipped beside him. “Bin? Do you feel like you could drink something? I don’t want you getting dehydrated after getting sick and sweating so much during practice”, Minho asked carefully. The younger shrugged propping himself up on his elbow and accepting the water his hyung handed him. The dancer had also gotten a bucket, figuring Changbin would throw up again before he was able to get over his bug, and a cold washcloth to place on the rapper’s forehead. When Changbin handed the water back, Minho placed it on the nightstand and got into bed beside the younger, cooing when the other up on against him. “Your head must be hurting a lot, so I’ll put something cool on it that will hopefully help your fever”, the dancer whispered, draping the washcloth across his dongsaeng’s burning forehead before running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. Giving a satisfied hum, Changbin relaxed and soon drifted off to sleep but still heard the quiet: “I’m sorry, Binnie. I’ve been a shitty hyung today but please know, I will always help if you ask me to.”

[k3rm1e]

hiihi !! ive been loving all the stuuf yoube been wirting latley its so good :^D i ws wondering if i ciuld have some hcs ,or just a onrshot either or i dont mind, of reader geeting sick and mumza nd dadza take care of them ?? bc i lovr mr and mrs minecraft <33 liek like reader like "ahh im finr mr minecraft" and they have 102° fever Nd have a runny nose and mr minecatft is liek "mmm no i dont thnik so m8" nd yaeh !! they/them pronouns but i thnk uve benn doing that arleady - :^) anon

sickly

hiihi !! ive been loving all the stuuf yoube been wirting latley its so good :^D i ws wondering if i ciuld have some hcs ,or just a onrshot either or i dont mind, of reader geeting sick and mumza nd dadza take care of them ?? bc i lovr mr and mrs minecraft <33 liek like reader like "ahh im finr mr minecraft" and they have 102° fever Nd have a runny nose and mr minecatft is liek "mmm no i dont thnik so m8" nd yaeh !! they/them pronouns but i thnk uve benn doing that arleady - :^) anon

:^) anon my beloved;;;;; i love your brain. this could go two ways depending on whether you’re staying with phil or if you guys are online so i went with your staying with him. i also did a one shot but if you want hcs i hv no problem writing some :) i hope this is good!

cw: cursing

mumza and dadza take care of you:

  it had finally happened. while covid wasn't fully over just yet, many had gotten the vaccine and conventions were opening up again. which meant two things: meetups and twitchcon. finally, you could meet some of your supporters and see your friends.

  “mom, are we almost there?” your mom was driving you to the airbnb you’d be staying at with a few of the other dream smp members. at first, you assumed you’d all be staying in separate hotel rooms. but, this way, you could spend more time with friends, save money, and your mom wouldn’t have to be with you the whole time. there had already been many long conversations between philza and your mom to make sure you’d be safe staying with everyone.

  “yes, sweetie. almost there. we’re just two minutes closter than when you asked earlier.” ok, sue you, maybe you were a bit excited. but really, who could blame you? making in person friends had never been easiest, so the majority of your friendship were with people online. not being able to see or meet anyone for so long had been excruciatingly painful. 

  within ten minutes, you had finally arrived at the airbnb. quickly jumping out you ran to the door, obnoxiously ringing the doorbell. through the door, you heard an accented voice yell out, “i’m coming, i’m coming!”. at this point you were springing up and down on your tippy-toes, ready to spring out of your skin.

  the door opened and you were greeted by a very tired and annoyed looking wilbur, “hello?”.

`   “WILBURRRR!!!” you were screaming in his face (unintentionally), waking him up from his drowsiness. you launched yourself in his arms, not paying attention to your mother’s bewildered expression. you quickly let go of him and shoved past him, “i’m gonna go say hi to everyone!” distantly you heard wilbur begin to talk to your mother, explaining what you guys were doing.

  while running around you said hi to tommy, tubbo, ranboo, eret, fundy, niki, techno, phil and kristin. the others were either staying in another airbnb or in their own hotel rooms. after about thirty minutes, wilbur had finally stopped talking to your mom.

  “yes, ma’am. i can promise you they’ll be completely safe. you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” wilbur was calmly talking with your mother, looking more and more tired by the minute.

  “alright. thank you.” your mother called you over. “come give me a hug and say bye!” slowly dragging your limbs over, you let her hug you. behind you you could hear wilbur and phil laughing at you.

  “bye mom…” she was holding onto you tightly, petting down your hair.

  “oh, sweetie, i love you so much. i’m so happy you found something you're passionate about and made so many lovely friends while doing so.” as much as you loved your mom, the small snickers behind you were getting quite embarrassing. you could hear that tommy had joined in on the laughing. 

  “... i love you too, mom. can you let go now?” you tried pulling back, but all she did was pull you closer.

  “oh, but i just don’t wanna let you go. i love you so much, you know that right?”

  “i know, mom. i love you too. but you’ve gotta get home and i have to unpack and get ready for meeting with fans tomorrow.” you finally got her to pull away, “i love you mom, okay? thank you for letting me do this.”

  “oh, i love you too, sweetie.” and with that, your mom left. after watching her pull out of the driveway and down the street, you whipped around.

  “not. a. single. word.” you stared dead in the boy’s eyes, seeing just how much wilbur was about to burst out laughing.

  “what? personally, i think it’s very sweet.” tommy was smiling, purposely pissing you off. “so sweet, how much your mom loves you.”

  “shut your fucking mouth, tommy.” you stared deadpan at him and began walking inside and over to the kitchen.

  “what? i didn’t say anything wrong! i was just simply commenting on your very, very sweet relationship with your mother.”

  kristin moved forward to talk to you, “for what it’s worth, i do thing you hae a very sweet relationship with your mom.”

  “thank you. you’re the only good one in this house, kristin minecraft.” with that she laughed, and you all continued on with your evening. after staying up late watching old youtube videos, you all went to bed. in the morning you would have your first day of three at twitchcon, meeting fans and other creators alike. 

  for around 10 hours, you stood in booths signing fanart, prints, notebooks, and the like. meeting so many different people was eye opening, just learning who supported you. at the end of the day everyone went to a restaurant to eat dinner after so long.

  “this food… is so… fucking good.”

  “agreed.” you and the rest of the so-called ‘bench trio’ were eating at what wilbur had deemed the ‘kiddy table’. after eating so much food you were all tired. the rest of your friends had already left, walking back to the airbnb. when it was finally time to leave the restaurant, it was pouring rain.

  “WHY IS THE RAIN SO COLD IT’S LITERALLY SUMMER”

  after running home you had gone to sleep while the others had changed and taken showers. after sleeping for around ten hours, you had finally woken up. frankly, you felt like dogshit. you could barely breathe out of your stuffy nose and your head felt like it had been shoved full of wet cotton balls.

  instead of staying in bed, you got up and tried to get ready. on the way downstairs to get food and see who was making so much noise, you fell face first down the stairs. “owwwww…”

  hearing a ruckus, phil and kristin left the kitchen, where they were making pancakes. “holy shit! are you alright, mate?”

  pushing phil over, kristin walked over to you, “obviously they’re not okay phil! the poor kid is lying on the floor.”

  slowly getting up, you try to reassure both of them that you’re okay. “no, no, no, don’t worry. i am perfectly okay.” while you don’t know exactly how you sound, based on the expression on phil’s face, you don't think you sound very good.

  “uh, yeah, how about no. you sound like you’ve draken a whale bottle of vodka.” phil walked over to you and grabbed you by the arm, trying to hold you up.

  “i’m fineeee”

  “no, your fucking not. you’re burning up.” phil looked at you, angrily. “you need to go to bed.”

  “but i don’t wannaaaaa. i feel fineeee.” you felt like crying, for absolutely no reason. with that, you passed out on the floor.

  phil and kristin somehow managed to get you back up the stairs and into bed. once you were safely in your room, with no risk of cracking your skull open, phil took your temperature. “mate, your temperature is at nearly 102°. you’re lucky i don’t take you to a hospital.” he started at you, disapprovingly.

  “i’m sorryyyyy dadza. are you mad at me?” in your deluded state you pouted at him, like a child.

  “no, i’m not mad at you. just disappointed. you should’ve known not to do that. you’re old enough to know when you’re sick.” he stared at you with a disapproving look.

  “but that’s even worseeeeee” you felt like balling your eyes out. out of embarrassment, you tried to hide under your blanket. “can you tell mumza i’m sorry for worrying her?”

  above you, you heard phil laugh. “it’s not that big a deal, kid. i’m just upset. you could’ve seriously hurt yourself. i was worried.”

  “you were worried about me? awwwww, i love you too dadza.” you moved your head out of the blankets, smiling at him with dried tears and sweat on your face.

  “yeah, yeah. now shut up and go to bed.”

  kristin walked in, hearing what he said. “phil, don’t bully the kid. they already feel like shit.” out of the corner of your eye, you saw her look over to phil and smile at him.

  “i’m not doing anything, swear on my life!” he put his hands up in defense of himself, making you laugh.

  turning away from him, she directed her next question towards you. “how you feeling, kid? took quite a tumble there.” she smiled at you and ushed your hair out of your face.

  “i’m sorry for worrying youuuuuu. i love you, mumza. promise.”

  laughing, she leaned down to kiss you on the head. “love you too, kid. now, want me to sit with you and we can all watch some netflix or something?”

  you silently nodded and the two of them joined you on the bed, not caring very much if they got sick. after not even an hour, you all passed out.

  a few hours later, everyone returned back from the convention. let’s just say wilbur now had some very valuable blackmail.

hope you like it! this was so wholesome i- wfowcsjvri

i want parents like dadza and mumza now

[firewoodfigs]

some quick life updates before i yeet myself off to bed and trick my body into a regular sleep cycle: 

bali was great!!! i miss it terribly already. the people were lovely and the beaches were lovely and it was just nice to finally get away from this claustrophobic island of a country after nearly three!!! miserable!!! years!!! it was low-key exhausting because we fit so much into four days - we literally woke up at six in the morning on the third day to take a ferry to nusa penida (me, plagued by motion sickness: dear Lord take this cup away from me) and then did stuff like hike a ton in the tropical blistering heat and snorkel in ridiculously choppy waters. fun fact: I actually can’t swim so LMAO but well *shrugs* here I am... I say this calmly but in reality I was choking on seawater and yelling at my bf HAHAHAHA 

coming back home was super stressful because 4/9 of us who went on the trip got covid lol. I was fretting so hard on the flight home bcs my bf was shivering and breaking out in cold sweat from a fever that just came out of nowhere and the plane did not have BLANKETS because it was a transit flight. what. anyways when we landed and checked our phones one of our friends was like, “fuck, I’m positive”, and we were like, fuuuuuck. I was so sure we got it because all 9 of us shared a burger the night before, so we self-isolated for a few days just to be safe, but it turned out to just be stomach flu on my bf’s end. (I somehow got out miraculously unscathed...) 

also because I got bombarded with work the past two weeks bcs it was my beloved coworker’s turn to go on holiday after me... it was rough, man. I think I worked till or past midnight most days (although I generally try to take Wednesday and Friday nights off for Mental HealthTM) but honestly I'm just happy to not be fired because it was just me and my boss holding the fort together and i’m pretty sure I sent him trash at some point but he was genuinely so nice about it. like, he sent me an email with super detailed feedback and was like, don’t worry, it’s not stuff I expected you to know because it’s super technical, but just keep trying and you’ll get better and I was like yo... thanks... /cryingindaclub

I turned 25 recently and it is just. quarter life crisis ahoy. HELP. I need Taylor swift to write a song about being 25 and knowing nothing at all. actually I just need Dr Swift to drop a new album because I've listened to folklore and evermore so many times that it’s starting to feel a little repetitive and. idk. mad (woman) 

royai week completely slipped my mind with everything that’s been going on and my submissions will probably be really tardy (if they even get finished at all HAHAH) but the prompts this year have been really nudging me back towards writing again. they’re INCREDIBLE!!! I can’t wait to see how everyone interprets it - I'm sure it’ll be fantastic. i have to confess I've been kinda out of fma/royai lately bcs I've been working on other original stuff (also because my latest obsession is Star Wars LOL but this fandom was truly one of the best things that happened to me in 2020 and it’s just really nice to see everyone coming together again for the best week of the year. genuinely feels like Christmas in the summer but instead of mistletoe we have fic. what’s not to love?

anyways yeah tldr idk if I'll end up participating but I'm really looking forward to see what everyone has in store!!! x

ALRIGHT im off to bed take care and stay hydrated and safe mates I’m sending yall all my love to conquer the upcoming week <3 

[wtf-yoongi]

Bath card. / MYG

pairing | yoongi x reader

summary | yoongi gets worried because you’re sick + yup yoongi gives you a bath

genre/warnings | so fluffy i stopped working for a sec

words | 1,367

note | [this was requested kinda?? the request is at the end as always!] the second thing i ever posted on this acc was about giving a bath to yoongi. yeah, that hurts me to this day. intense fluff ahead and as always i apologize in advance for this oh man

Yoongi can totally feel the way your body shudders for the third time tonight. Subconsciously, he thinks maybe you’re just cold and moves his arm so he can check if the comforter is properly covering you — which it is.

He still doesn’t worry much, though. Not until a few hours later, when he wakes up with the sun peaking through the blinds and your curled figure slightly sweaty next to him. That’s exactly when an uneasy feeling settles in his stomach — the second Yoongi puts his hand on your burning shoulder and realizes something isn’t right.

Yoongi’s brain stops him for a second, going through his memory and trying to remember the list of symptoms for the flu, for infections and possible causes for a fever. All until he decides he needs to take your temperature just to be sure, get some medicine from the top right cabinet in the kitchen and run you a bath to cool down your body.

It’s 6:37. He surely can do all of that before going to work, right?

Yoongi is surprised with how awake he is less than a minute after opening his eyes. He’s quick to leave the bed, not bothering with his slippers and walking barefoot to the kitchen to get what he needs. Once back in the room, he quietly places everything next to the bed and takes a deep breath before calling your name.

“I know it’s early, but you have to wake up for me,” he coaxes, a light and delicate hand moving to uncover your upper body. You complain lowly, trying to pull the sheets back. “No, no. I mean it. I’m not going to give in today, you need to wake up.”

You may be stubborn, but so is Yoongi when he wants to be. He drags the comforter further, ignoring your whines and reaching for the thermometer when you finally open your eyes.

Your voice is hoarse when you speak. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m pretty sure you have a fever. Open up, please,” he asks and you’re too tired to say no or demand more information. Yoongi places the cold thermometer against your tongue and it makes you shudder again. “Hold on just a little bit, okay? I got the medicine, but forgot the water.”

When Yoongi leaves the bed again, you realize your body is acting weird. Your limbs are heavy and sore for no reason, skin damp with sweat, somehow feeling cold and hot at the same time, throat dry and tight — everything you were already experiencing the day before, but worse. And then you thought it was just your body begging for an early night… 

Yoongi is back less than a minute later with a glass of water and a permanent worried expression making the skin between his eyebrows wrinkle a little. He checks the thermometer only to mumble yeah, you have a fever before helping you rest on your forearm to take the round pill and water from his hands.

“What am I going to do with you today, huh?” Yoongi asks rhetorically, fixing a now disgusting strand of hair behind your ear. He doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t. “You’ll have to call in sick and I have a long day of meetings. I think I can cancel the last two and come home early, but…”

“Don’t,” you warn with a look and Yoongi is smiling warmly at you. He absolutely loves it when you try to sound threatening like that. “I’m good.”

“You’re definitely not…”

“I am!” You interrupt, voice cracking like a teenager. You don’t have to ask — Yoongi is already reaching for the glass again so you can drink the rest of the water. You thank him with your eyes when you return it empty.

“Okay, so are you good enough to take a shower? Or maybe I can run you a bath? My mom always says you should take a shower when you have a fever.”

“A cold bath?” Your voice goes up an octave when you ask and you hope it’s enough to distract Yoongi from the fact you’re dragging yourself towards him — it’s not, of course, but he would never complain about you getting closer to him. You wiggle a little, sighing contently when your head finally rests on Yoongi’s tummy. The arm that encircles his middle moves on instinct.

“No, not a cold one. A normal one. Just not as hot.”

“Does that mean you’re going to give me a bath in the morning? That has never happened before, I’m now officially interested.”

You can’t really see it, but Yoongi shakes his head playfully. “If you want to spend your bath card, then yes.”

“Can’t I have, like, an emergency bath? I wasn’t planning on spending the bath card, but I also wasn’t planning on getting sick, so it’s only fair that…”

“Yes,” Yoongi interrupts and, this time, you’re surprised enough to raise you head to look at him — toothless smile on his face, eyes staring right into yours. “If it helps you get better… I’ll do anything.”

Yoongi doesn’t say much after that — and, honestly, neither do you. There are a lot of things running through your mind, a lot of things you want to say, but you stop yourself for some reason. It’s like even in a feverish state your brain knows you could never find the right words to truly thank him for everything. 

When you hear the sound of water running in the en-suite and the footsteps getting closer, you open your eyes again. You know he’s worried by the way he walks — usually a bit more laid back and sometimes even lazy, but now determined and a bit heavy. You can see it in the way his eyes become more rounded, lips slightly parted, hands way too careful when he moves the comforter all the way down to free your legs.

When Yoongi speaks, however, his voice is as light as a cloud. “Come on. Your bath is almost ready.”

You let him help you get up although you really don’t think it is necessary at all. His hands are warm against yours, intertwined like he loves it the most, dragging you into the bathroom while he walks backwards. You notice his expression soften, worried and rounded eyes being replaced by smiley half moons.

What you don’t know is that you’re the reason behind them. Both of them. The worry and the delight — balanced. He really can’t help smiling whenever you look at him like this.

Yoongi’s hands only leave yours to help you discard the damp shirt, the other pieces of clothing following soon after and found forgotten on the floor. When your foot first touches the water, you whine and look back at him to complain this is cold! only to be replied with a soft, but firm it’s not cold, it’s lukewarm. It’s a bit uncomfortable at first, different from the feeling you usually get from the baths Yoongi gives you, but also incredibly easy to get used to somehow.

Once your body sinks in, Yoongi’s right hand promptly reaches for the sponge and uses it to bring water to your shoulders and neck. They’re definitely the warmest parts of your body and you immediately feel them calm down a little when the water hits your skin. He does it again and again, squeezing the sponge once it’s high enough to allow the water to fall where he wants.

It seems like a while has passed, but you’re not quite sure. You’ve lost count of how many times Yoongi has repeated his actions and slowly you feel your body fall forward a bit, helping him get better access to your back. You could fall asleep at any moment now.

“Hey, don’t sleep on me,” Yoongi says gently, letting go of the sponge before caressing the area near your waist with the very tip of his fingers. “Are you feeling any better?”

Out of sleepiness and laziness, you simply nod instead of using words. Out of fondness and appreciation, you reach for his opposite hand to leave a light kiss there. 

You don’t have to say anything — Yoongi knows the answer.

Read more ›› masterlist

request | Hey can i get something like when you’re sick and yoongi get so worried about it? Thanks

note 2 | so simple yet i still can’t follow the idea very well. yup that’s me

[mashiraostail]

Can I get Present Mic, Aizawa, Vlad King and Gang Orca when their S/O wakes up with a bad fever and they're a little loopy but they're shivering so bad because despite the fact they're burning up they feel super cold.

coincidentally i have been sick since yesterday night pretty rad i just slug over to my roommates like ‘leon...i need...water....’ and he’s like ‘no <3′  also I'm getting so soft for gang orca idk why sfslfdsal

Hizashi Yamada/Present Mic: It’s like the fatigue ran over you the second you opened your eyes and rolled over. You had barely been awake for 2 seconds but you felt like you’d just done a week's worth of patrols.  “Hey look who decided to join us.” Hizashi is already awake beside you holding his phone above his face, “you’re later than normal. Good morning.” He grins at you, but his grin slips away at the sound of your groan.  “Babe you’re shivering.” You hear his phone click off as he shuffles up, “want me to close the window?”  He inspects the flush on your cheeks, “you feel alright?” He reaches out and slides his hand over your forehead. You just groan again, flopping back into the pillows. “You’ve definitely got a fever.” He frowns cupping your cheeks, “wait here, I’m gonna get a thermometer, and some medicine.” His hands feel perfect and cooling on your cheeks, all you can do when he starts to pull away is whine.  “Zashi no-” You complain and so he goes back to you, letting you grip his wrists in your clammy palms, “your hands feel nice..”  if his hands felt this good then...you shrug them away and slump forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck, “you can’t leave me I’ll die.”  “Don’t say something like that!” He pats the back of your head, “it’s only a fever, probably a pretty high one. You’re so warm..” He wraps his arms around you and you warble. “No I feel like I’m gonna freeze to death.”  “Stop talking about dying!” He complains, but slumps back into the pillows, taking you with him. “Did you feel okay yesterday?” He slides his hands up the back of your shirt as you nod.  “It’s probably the flu.” He rubs flat palms in slow circles between your shoulder blades, “poor you.”  “poor me.” You agree with a sniffle and he chuckles a little, “well let me take care of you. I’ll be right back, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” He promises as you shuffle higher up his chest until you’re pressing your nose into his jaw.  “I’ll be right back. You sure got lucky getting sick on a Sunday like this.”  “You’ll stay with me all day?” You press your face further into his neck, trying to find a new cool patch of skin to lean on.  “I’ll stay with you all day.” 

Shouta Aizawa: Sweat. Cold sweat. That’s all you can think of when the sound of the front door opening wakes you up. You sit up and rub your face then down the whole glass of water on your bedside table. By the time your done Aizawa is cracking the bedroom door open.  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He’s already starting to remove his hero costume.  You shake your head, technically he did but you had a feeling anything would have woken you up in your current state. “No...just..up.”   “Well then what are you doing up so late it’s almost 4 in the-” He squints at you, “you don’t look so good.” He’s quickly tying the drawstring to some sweatpants before sitting before you in bed.  “‘m...alright..how was..?” You trail off, “where were you? School?”  He snorts, “yeah extra 4 am classes. I was on patrol. Slow night.” He slicks your hair off your sweaty forehead, “you have a crazy fever.”  “Mhm..no..just..kinda cold in here.”  “That’s the opposite of a fever.” Shouta lets you fall forward onto his chest anyway, “did you feel alright when you went to bed?”  “A little achy.” You wrap your arms around his back, his skin was cold against you. His hands were freezing where one cupped the back of your neck, though despite your shivering the sensation was welcome. He presses a long kiss to your hairline, “you need medicine and some more water.”  “Just come to bed.” You moan turning your face into his chest, “I just need to sleep.”  “I don’t think so.” he disagrees, “come on, take some meds, drink a little water, and then I’ll get in bed with you.”  “I don’t wanna.” You grip him tighter as he moves to get up turning your nose into the shallow divot of his sternum between his pecs. “Stop whining.” His other hand pats the back of your head, “come on if you take medicine before you go back to sleep you’ll feel better when you wake up. If you don’t take any and then wake up feeling worse I won’t take care of you.”  “Cruel!” You nuzzle into him further and he sighs. “Okay I would but I’d say I told you so, and you’d feel worse. Come on.” He pries you off of him, “I won’t leave you again after I get back I swear.” 

Sekijiro Kan/ Vlad King: When you wake up all you can think about is just going back to sleep. Sekijiro is still passed out beside you, it’s probably pretty early. You stick you leg out from underneath the covers, hoping that will rectify the temperature issue you were having. It does not. You were melting and somehow also freezing.  Sekijiro looked pretty content, all things considered. You were sure he wouldn’t mind if you just..shuffled over..you press yourself into his back, face buried between his shoulder blades. This was helping worlds more than sticking your leg out did. You coil one arm around the much larger man, you were sure this all looked pretty comical. Your nuzzling and shifting must wake him up.  “Huh?” He’s reaching back, patting around your back and shoulders until hie finds your hair, “oh.” He settles back into place once he does,  “aren’t you sweet?” He yawns, “could’ve came around my other side, you woulda fit.” You just lean into him more. He turns over to face you, careful not to knock you away.  “What’s got you up so early?”  He doesn’t let you answer though, one look at you gives it away. “You’re pale. Not feeling well?” Your groan is more than sufficient.  “You’re nice and cool though..” You shuffle close to him again, now against his chest.  “Jeeze, you’re burning up..” He’s rubbing long strokes over your back, “shoulda got me up sooner..”  “‘s okay...” You sling an arm around his ribs, “you’re up now..”  “Yeah, I am..” He holds the back of your head with his other hand and lets you wallow for a moment before pulling you up towards him by your jaw, “you should take something for this fever. Once that’s cleared up you’ll feel much better.” He presses a kiss to you and you hum into it. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”  You nod, turning into his lips for another kiss, which he obliges before getting up.  “I wonder where this came from all of a sudden.” He hands you two small pills and a glass of water. You take the pills quickly before beaconing him toward you again, he just sighs affectionately.  “Yeah okay, okay come on, get up here, right on my chest. That’s it.” He wraps two big arms around you, “I’ll stick around here today alright?” 

Kugo Sakamata/ Gang Orca You were already feeling pretty bad when you decided to call it an early night, but you’re hopeful it won’t be so bad when sleep finds you easily, though when you wake up a few hours later you’re feeling significantly less hopeful. You pat around the sheets for Kugo but he’s not there which isn’t exactly surprising, but it is unfortunate.  Normally you appreciated the cool of his satin sheets but right now they just made you shiver even more, all you really wanted was Kugo You manage to slide out of the bed and stumble down the hall in search of him, you wonder what time it is as you nudge open his offce door, sort of surprised you’d found it so easy in your weary state. Sure enough he’s there at his desk, tapping a pen against some papers.  When the door clicks open against you he turns over his shoulder.  “Hm?” He perks up at the sight of you, “I thought you were in bed?”  “Kugo..” You warble, rubbing your face, he turns in his chair completely.  “Oh, what’s the matter my love?” His voice is laced with affectionate sympathy at your bleary eyes. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, watching you lean dramatically on the doorframe.  “Mhmn..” You shake your head, pressing your cheek into the cool material. “You can’t?” He tilts his head at you, “but you look so exhausted my dear.” He holds an arm out to you, “come here. Sit with me for a bit, maybe I can help.” You trudge over to him as soon as he extends an arm and clamber into his lap, though when you’re close enough to touch he’s taking your face in his hands.  “Oh dear..” He looks down at you, “feels like you’ve got quite a fever. You should have told me you didn’t feel well..”  “Hm...I’m alright..” You lean into him and he sighs as you continue, “what are you up to?”  “Just finishing some reports, honestly it’s putting me to sleep, maybe it’ll do the trick for you.” He slides his free hand into the back of your shirt, you’re more than grateful for his cool skin against yours, the sigh you let out at the contact makes it obvious to him.  “Oh, does that feel good?” He slides his hand up the small of your back, pulling you in closer with a chuckle, you just nod grip the back of his shirt.  “Close your eyes love, I’ll carry you to bed once I’m done here.”

[sunwoocloud]

fever dream

↳ pairing: juyeon x reader ↳ genre: fluff ↳ word count: 1715

You sigh audibly the second class ends and the teacher leaves the room with a group of students trailing behind. The last hour had dragged exceptionally, your attention span lasting no longer than a few minutes at a time, eyes and body feeling lethargic. You slowly pick up your things and make a beeline to the cafeteria in order to kill time until your next class. Once you arrive at one of the small coffee shops on campus, settling on a table at the corner, you suddenly feel very cold, teeth chattering and goosebumps shaking your whole body.

You’re about to order a hot chocolate to warm you up, but before you even find the courage to drag yourself to the counter, a large body suddenly blocks your view before sagging on the chair next to yours. It takes you a few seconds to realize the body belongs to Juyeon, his eye smile being the first thing you notice. His smile fades the moment he makes eye contact with you, though.

— Are you okay? — he brings himself closer to you, concern etched on his features.

— I don’t know. Is it abnormally cold or am I just underdressed? — you ask, everything feeling a little fuzzy. You notice Juyeon is wearing a long padded jacket and realize you are indeed underdressed for this autumn day.

— It is cold and your coat is definitely lighter than it should, but not enough to get you shaking like this.

Your face feels hot and your body feels heavy. Juyeon takes a closer look at you, eyes scanning your own and hands holding yours. His long fingers feel warm and soft, big hands swallowing yours while he blows hot air on them to try and get your temperature up. He gets even closer, forehead touching yours suddenly — and the act feels so intimate and sudden that your face gets impossibly hotter. You are positive you are now sweating under your wool coat.

— What are you doing? — you whisper cautiously, almost going cross-eyed trying to look at him.

— Checking if you have a fever. — he says sheepishly, cold nose briefly touching yours before he puts some distance between you two again. — And I think you do.

— Oh. — you nod, feeling lightheaded because of the fever. And maybe, just maybe, due to the presence of Juyeon. — Guess I’ll have to survive for a few more hours like this. I still have two classes this morning.

— What? No. — he says firmly. — You know I live close, so I can take you home with me right now and take care of you.

— But… But you also have class now. — you argue dumbly, blinking slowly in his direction.

— Yeah, so? — he doesn’t even give you time to protest, already getting up from his seat. — I’m pretty sure I have some antipyretic at home, so you’ll feel much better in no time.

— But Juyeon…

— Come on, you won’t be able to concentrate on any classes like this and you’ll get even worse if you don’t take some medicine and stay warm as soon as possible.

You know you can’t argue with that, so you just sigh in defeat and slowly get up. You do feel awful and terribly weak, so you just decide to do what he says. He smiles triumphantly at you, even if he still looks visibly concerned.

The two of you walk out of the cafe and start to make your way to the other side of the campus, going in the direction of Juyeon’s apartment. Once you step out into the cold exterior, you immediately tense under your coat, the freezing wind cutting right through the fabric. Juyeon seems to notice it immediately, starting to zip down his padded jacket while your hands fly in his direction to stop him from giving you his coat.

— No! — you whine, dragging the vowel to emphasize the word. — You’ll get sick as well if you do this. I’m already feeling awful anyways so it doesn’t matter if I feel a little cold for a few more minutes.

— Oh please, I’m not going to let you freeze all the way to my house. It’s okay, I’m alright.

— Stop, I’m not going to take it.

You two stop mid-campus, your tiny hands desperately trying to stop his much bigger ones from taking his coat out. Juyeon laughs at your stubbornness even if he still wants to scold you for being so adamant on not accepting any help.

— Okay, okay, fine. — he gives up, but decides on a different strategy.

He wraps his open jacket around you without taking it off, engulfing you in his scent and keeping both of you warm and cozy inside of it. You don’t even hesitate to snuggle against him, wrapping your arms around his waist so the both of you fit comfortably inside the coat. You feel his chest vibrating with laughter, his cheek coming down to rest on top of your head. 

— I’m glad we can agree on this. — he hugs you tighter, long arms keeping the jacket secure around the both of you. — Step on my toes. 

— What? Why? 

— I think we can walk home like this if you do.

— This is a horrible idea.

You laugh tiredly, doing what he says because you have no strength left in you to argue. You try to be as careful as you possibly can, and once you are settled he tries to take a few steps forward. It is obviously messy and Juyeon can’t possibly balance the both of you while walking, the whole thing turning into fits of laughter and hands never leaving each other. You notice some people on campus eyeing you two and wonder what it looks like to them. You also wonder if the both of you look good together.

— This isn’t working. — Juyeon admits, but still takes a couple more steps forward, taking you with him. — We have to find a new strategy.

— Of course this wasn’t going to work. I said it was a horrible idea.

— Maybe if you were a bit more positive… — he says it jokingly.

You step down from his toes and he ends up giving you his coat anyways. You accept it because there is no way you’re going to talk him out of it, so he just grabs your hand and keeps walking through campus. You don’t feel as cold anymore once you’re protected by the thick layer of the padded jacket — even if you’re still shuddering from the fever —, but you notice how Juyeon’s nose looks redder because of the freezing wind.

When you step out of campus and stop to wait for the pedestrian crossing light to turn green, you pull him down and put both of your hands on both of his cheeks to warm him up. He smiles tenderly, eyes turning into crescents and the corners of his lips curving upwards.

— You look cold. — you justify, spreading your fingers so they touch a bigger portion of his face.

— It’s okay. — he turns his neck slightly to the side, nuzzling into your touch, the movement catlike and affectionate. You suddenly feel like kissing him, but realize that’s not what friends normally do — at least the ones that do not have a platonic crush on their friends. And you oh-so-obviously do.

You settle on leaving a tiny kiss on the tip of his red nose and he closes his eyes when you do. While you step back, removing your hands from his face, you wonder once more what you two looked like to people who didn’t know you. You forget all about it when he takes your hand again and you go back to walking to his apartment

It takes just a few more minutes until you arrive at the familiar five-storey old building, and a few more steps up staircases until you are inside of his house. He takes your — his — coat and immediately settles you on the comfortable velvet couch in the living room. You take off your shoes and bring your knees to your chest, curling your aching body under the soft fleece blanket Juyeon had covered you with. 

You close your eyes for what it feels like only a few seconds, not even realizing you fell asleep until you feel a hand stroking your hair and finding it hard to open your heavy eyelids. When you do, Juyeon is kneeling in front of the couch, face dangerously close to yours.

It feels like you’re dreaming.

— Hey, I made you some tea and brought medicine. — he says softly, almost whispering. — Think you can sit up?

You nod positively, not trusting your voice, and Juyeon helps you sit up. You get the feeling that you’re melting into the cushions, limbs heavy and skin hotter than usual.

— Be careful, it’s hot. — he warns you before bringing the mug up until it touches your lips, the liquid warm and sweet. — How is it?

— Good. — you give him a small smile and he mirrors your expression. — Thank you.

— Thank you for letting me take care of you. — he says softly, taking a pill and carefully placing it between your lips.

You take the medicine and finish the tea with his help, your eyes barely opening while you do. Before you can lie down again, Juyeon sits next to you on the couch, placing your head carefully on his lap. He wraps you with the blanket again, going back to stroking your hair immediately afterwards.

Before you drift off to sleep again, you open your burning eyes and stare at him for a few seconds.

— Are you a fever dream?

You hoped not, but couldn’t help but wonder.

— No, not quite. — he smiles lovingly at you, bending down so he can place a soft kiss on your heated cheek. — I’ll be right here when you wake up.

You smile back and close your eyes again.

[moodykylo]

Sleep Deprived

CW: Sleep deprivation, canon typical self loathing

Spoilers for tpp season 2&3

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Juno Steel was exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full night on the Carte Blanche, and it was starting to catch up to him. 

Juno’s sleep was becoming increasingly restless as the nights came and went; each night leaving old memories rearing their ugly heads. When he was able to sleep, it was anything but peaceful. Whenever Juno found himself drifting off, nightmares would begin behind his eyes, jolting him awake. He had to stop sleeping in the same room as Nureyev in fear of waking him. Now, he was alone, nightmares becoming worse and worse. He had really thought he was done with these childish nightmares of Sarah and Benzaiten, but now they were increasing in both frequency and fervency.

Now, Juno was sitting in his own room, on his bed, eyes burning with fatigue and brain on fire with memories. He sat in his bed, eyelids drooping as he fought with sleep. 

After about half an hour, sleep finally won and Juno’s dreams were anything but sweet.  Sweat beaded on his forehead and he thrashed in his sleep, mumbling quietly, behind his eyes a scene of the past replaying like a favorite movie, until finally, he woke with a gasp, chest heaving. 

Juno groaned, standing from his bed. He wandered out into the hallway - if he was going to be awake, he might as well make himself useful. He stopped in the middle of the hall to lean on the wall as dizziness hit him with no warning. Frustrated with the spell, he pushed through it, rubbing at his eyes.

Juno entered the kitchen, taking out his comms and squinting at it. The rest of the Carte Blanche crew would be up soon. At least he’d gotten some sleep that night, he thought to himself with a bitter laugh. He got himself a glass of water before walking over to the stove and starting to cook a simple meal as breakfast for the crew. 

Contrary to popular belief, Juno did know how to cook. Sure, his ability wasn’t anything spectacular, but he did know how to cook something decent. Today, “something decent” was pancakes. He made almost every pancake perfectly round, saving the oblong one for himself (although he could only manage to eat half of it).

Juno was just finishing up making the pancakes for almost everyone on the ship - although Buddy would be having her usual morning cocktail instead - when Jet walked into the kitchen, bright and early as usual.

“Juno. You’re awake before usual,” Jet said before gazing at the pancakes. “And you’ve cooked. This is out of character, you sleep the latest of everyone,” Jet observed. 

“Hey big guy. I was just awake early, couldn’t sleep.” Juno shrugged. He wasn’t exactly lying per se, but he wasn’t telling the truth, either. Juno rubbed his eyes as another dizzy spell threatened to make him lose his balance.

Jet looked Juno once over without saying a word, and then he grabbed a plate of pancakes. Rita walked into the kitchen next, eyes wide upon seeing Juno standing there. 

“Mistah steel! You’re never awake this early! You made pancakes too!? What, is it my birthday or somethin’? No, no my birthday ain’t for another few months-” Rita rambled before Juno cut her off to explain.

“Just couldn’t sleep. Wanted to do something nice for once, I guess,” he mumbled, leaning against the counter to keep himself steady - why was he so dizzy? Well, it could be the lack of sleep, but it had to be more than that, he thought to himself before Rita’s voice pulled him out of thought. 

“Awww Mistah Steel, that was awful sweet of ya. Thanks, boss!” Rita said before grabbing her pancakes. 

“Not your bo- You’re welcome, Rita.” Juno sighed, a tired smile playing on his lips. 

There was a short wait before the rest of the crew was in the kitchen all with varying reactions. 

“Woah Steel, didn’t know you were capable of being awake before noon, or that you could cook!” Vespa joked before taking a look at Juno, he looked absolutely exhausted. She walked closer to him, talking so only he could hear. “You alright? You look tired.” 

Juno sighed before pushing the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Just fine Vespa, just couldn’t sleep last night.” He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the thick weight of exhaustion from his eyes. 

Vespa almost said something else before Buddy walked into the kitchen. 

“What’s this about Juno cooking?” Buddy said looking over at the pancakes and her cocktail sitting on the counter, not missing how utterly wrecked Juno himself looked. She had known Juno had not been sleeping and saw it was now catching up with the ex P.I. “I’m impressed, wonderful job.” she praised. 

“Thanks…” Juno replied timidly. He was always struck with an odd pride when Buddy complimented his work.

Before any other words could be said, Nureyev entered the kitchen. “Juno, you’re up early…” His eyes were filled with an unspoken worry. Juno just shook his head, already knowing Peter wanted to ask what was wrong. 

“I’m fine, Ransom.” Juno replied before sitting down abruptly; standing was becoming too much work, his knees felt weak and his vision was fading in and out, he was cold, was anyone else cold? It didn’t seem that way… 

“Look everyone I’m fine, I just couldn’t sleep so I figured why don’t I make myself useful for once in the morning.” Juno said again, a tad too crankily. The tone made both Nureyev and Buddy raise an eyebrow, but the conversation was already moving forward when Rita started talking about a stream. Nureyev grabbed his pancakes and Buddy grabbed her meal replacement, a pinot noir, and sat down. 

When everyone was distracted from the discussion, Juno snuck out of the kitchen and into his bedroom to hide under his blankets - he was freezing. He knew that this probably meant a fever. The chills doubled with the room spinning when he moved too quickly and the splitting headache he had, he knew he was completely fucked for the day. 

He closed his eyes for a second before someone was knocking on his door, next thing he knew he was on his feet grabbing clothes from his closet. “Come in,” he said quietly. 

“Juno darling.” Nureyev’s gently called out before walking into the room. “Are you alright? You left rather quickly.” Peter looked over to Juno picking out clothes from the closet. 

“Yeah, just changing into some actual clothes…” Juno responded, putting his selected clothes on the bed. He discreetly grabbed onto the bedpost as the worst dizzy spell that day hit him.

“Juno?” Peter asked as he watched Juno grip the bedpost and sway dangerously. “What’s going on?” 

“‘M fine, just need a minute.” Juno straightened himself out trying to pretend nothing had even happened. “What’s up? What did you need?” Juno looked at Peter, shaking his head to clear the blurriness that was obstructing his view of his beautiful boyfriend, his makeup already done for the day, and suddenly he was embarrassed to be seen in his current state. 

“Are you okay? What happened just then?” Nureyev walked closer to Juno, taking note of how tired he looked, of the slight flush he could see on Juno’s face. “Are you sick? You look exhausted.” 

Juno mentally cursed himself, he was busted - he knew he couldn’t lie to Peter Nureyev, whenever he tried the thief saw through his lies immediately. 

“No, I’m not sick. Just haven’t been sleeping very well lately. It’s kind of starting to take a physical toll.” He sat down on his bed, too weak to stand, a chill running up his spine, accentuating his weakness. 

“Nightmares again?” Peter asked Juno, to which the other nodded. Peter took note of Juno’s state and frowned, concern evident on his face. 

“Are you sure you’re not ill? You seem to have a fever.” Nureyev cupped Juno’s face, frown deepening at the heat he found. 

“Careful Nureyev, you don’t want to get frown lines.” Juno joked before leaning into the coolness of Peter’s hands. 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, darling, I am rather worried about you.” Peter said to Juno, cupping his too-hot cheek. 

“‘M okay.” Juno said, still leaning into Peter. 

“You don’t seem okay, dear… I’ll be right back, alright?” Nureyev asked, sitting Juno down on his bed. He was going to get Vespa, she was the ship’s doctor, after all, she would know what to do. 

“...Okay,” Juno responded after a beat. 

Peter took a final look at Juno, smiling at him worriedly before walking out of the room and beginning the search for Vespa. 

With Nureyev’s absence, Juno laid down on his bed, wrapping himself in blankets, trying to keep his eyes open. It was a grueling task, but he didn’t really feel like reliving every traumatic event he’d ever had upon falling asleep.

Sleep almost won, but just barely, Nureyev was back in Juno’s room with Vespa before the former P.I. could succumb to slumber. 

“Steel, I knew something was up with you this morning,” Vespa said as she entered the room, looking Juno over. 

Nureyev stood out of Vespa’s way, nervously watching, he’d seen Juno deal with quite a lot, and perhaps that’s what made him more nervous. 

“So, you wanna tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to examine you?” Vespa asked Juno, who only nodded listlessly. 

“Yes to which one Steel?” Vespa asked sharply, her worry coming off as impatience, she was used to Juno’s sharp tongue, and seeing him acting so unlike himself was worrying. 

“First one. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Juno slurred exhaustedly. 

Vespa looked at him sympathetically, she understood sleepless nights due to nightmares, she, however, had never had a time where the sleeplessness caught up to her quite as bad as it did Juno. 

“There’s nothing I can really do besides treat the fever Ransom told me about.” Vespa explained, pulling out fever reducers and handing them to Juno, who swallowed them dry and laid down. 

Vespa and Peter exchanged a worried look before Vespa left the room. 

Juno watched Vespa leave through half-closed eyes, fighting against sleep. He ultimately lost the battle, however, when he was asleep within minutes of Vespa’s departure. 

Peter watched Juno fall asleep, sighing in relief watching the ex-detective’s features grow soft and unguarded in sleep. Unfortunately for Juno, this peaceful sleep didn’t last long. 

After about an hour of Juno sleeping “peacefully”, Nureyev watched Juno’s expression twist into discomfort, sweat rolling down his boyfriend’s face, cheeks slightly flushed from fever. Juno started mumbling incoherently, terrified of a threat invisible to Nureyev’s eyes. 

Nureyev considered waking Juno as he watched him grow more and more terrified, but ultimately didn’t need to, Juno woke on his own, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. 

Juno couldn’t remember what his dream was about when he woke, hearing his own screams and feeling tears slipping down his cheeks, but he was still shaken anyway. He remembered hearing screams and feeling cool tears in his dream but maybe that was just his own. 

Nureyev was staring at him, looking at Juno with such worry that it made the P.I. feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t like being the cause of such a look. 

“Sorry, I’m okay.” Juno said timidly, watching Peter relax a little. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked, but regretted it when he saw Juno visibly tense at the question. 

“I don’t exactly remember what happened.” Juno explained, weariness seeping out with every word. 

Nureyev only nodded, letting Juno drift off again.

____________________________________________________________________________

Many hours passed of the same cycle of Juno sleeping and waking with a strangled noise, whether it be a gasp or a scream, and Juno could tell it was only stressing Peter out, so when dinner finally came, Juno practically begged Nureyev to take a break from watching him. 

“I’ll be fine, It’ll only be an hour at most.” He’d said, Nureyev, nodding and leaving with a look of apprehension. 

Juno sighed, he knew why Nureyev was hesitant to leave, why he was always hesitant to leave; because Juno himself had left him alone. 

After the guilt wore off, Juno found his eyes growing heavy once more and he fell back to sleep. 

It was quiet for a while before Juno awoke again, sweat pouring down his face, and a faint knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Juno said quietly, expecting Vespa to be checking in on him, however, that was not who it was. 

“Ah Juno, I hope I didn’t wake you.” It was Buddy, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked into Juno’s room. 

“You didn’t wake me, I was already awake,” Juno said, embarrassed; he respected Buddy, and here he was looking like a mess. 

Buddy frowned. “Ah well, I’d like to have a chat with you,” Buddy said, her nerves ever slightly showing. 

Juno’s chest tightened with fear. “Um, yeah, sure…” Juno replied, feeling like a child caught with their hand caught in the cookie jar. 

“You’re not in any sort of trouble. I just want to ask, are you alright? I’ve just noticed you haven’t been sleeping recently, and well, I’ve been woken up a few times from hearing you scream.” Buddy explained looking at Juno with pity. 

Juno felt small and weak. “I’m sorry.” He responded meekly, guilt ever so evident in his tone. 

“Nonsense,” Buddy replied sitting on Juno’s bed, keeping her distance but still sitting close enough to be a comfort. “It’s no bother to me, it only concerns me that you’re bottling things up again.” She gave Juno a knowing look. 

“Sorry.” Juno replied, looking at the floor. He felt the guilt crawl up from his chest and into his throat and before he knew it, he was crying in front of the person he respected the most. 

Buddy felt a pang of sadness but did not let it show, she kept her composure and began to speak again. 

“I know things haven’t been easy for you. I don’t want you bottling all these emotions up, how about you talk about these nightmares of yours with me? No pressure but, it might help.” Buddy said, placing a comforting hand on Juno’s back. 

And with that, Juno began to sob, spilling his guts to Buddy, telling her everything that happened in his dreams. He wailed and retold the memories to Buddy, stopping with hiccuping breaths. 

Buddy had known of the former P.I’s struggles but hadn’t known the extent of them all. Perhaps she could blame the fever but she hadn’t expected all the walls Juno had built up to crumble at that moment, but she knew one thing - Juno trusted her. 

Juno couldn’t believe how easily he’d just said everything to Buddy, his captain, and the person who could kick him out of the crew at the slightest wrong move. He didn’t care, he finally felt light, lighter than he’d felt in months, and after a few moments, he spoke.

“So much for you not being my therapist,” Juno said with a tired smile.

Buddy laughed, the sound hearty and melodic, making Juno laugh along with her. 

“I may not be your therapist, but I do care about you, Juno, and that counts for something,” Buddy replied once her laughter died down. 

Juno smiled. “Yeah. Thanks, Buddy.” He laid down, suddenly too exhausted to continue sitting upright. 

“Any time dear, now I do believe it’s time you get some rest, hmm?” Buddy suggested, standing from the bed. 

Juno nodded, closing his eyes and drifting off, and as Buddy left he fell asleep, staying asleep, peacefully for the first time in a good long while.

[midearthwritings]

Time Won't Heal, Only Your Love Will

Dwalin cares for you when you fall ill.

Words Count : 1,273

Pairing : Dwalin x Hobbit!Reader

Warning : None

Author's note : Honestly there's nothing to say besides the fact that it's pure fluff. Because I'm soft hearted. Sorry not Sorry?

You sneezed for what seemed to be the hundredth time, spitting out your food all over yourself. With the back of your hand, you cleaned your lips and then wiped your now wet skin on your clothes. You looked up to the other members of the company, who had all stopped eating to look in your direction.

"Sorry..." You mumbled in a shy voice before putting another spoonful of food in your mouth.

Traveling in the rain hadn't been the best idea, but you had had no choice. The Company needed to keep moving forward, was it raining or not. And you were sure that whatever sickness was bothering you now was due to the combination of wet clothes and cold wind. It hadn't been smart of you either to always sleep the farthest from the fire, only because you didn't want to be a burden and take the space that wasn't yours to begin with.

The comforting buzzing of your companions' chatter rose again and you bit your lips harshly, fighting the coughing fit that was threatening to escape.You weren't even hungry and you were so exhausted that your eyes were burning. Standing up with a loud sniffle, you walked up to Bombur and held him your plate.

"Hey Bombur, do you want to finish that?" You asked with a weak, yet warm smile. "It seems I have very little appetite tonight."

You chuckled softly as the Dwarf nodded eagerly and reached for the bowl. But before you had time to register what was happening, the food was back in your hands.

"Yer ill. Ye need to eat." A deep voice growled above you.

Looking up, you met Dwalin's tough gaze. His already large frame seemed even bigger compared to your small hobbitish body.

"Ah, Master Dwalin!" You exclaimed. "Thank you very much for your concern but I'm definitely no-"

You couldn't finish, for the cough that you had tried to keep inside earlier cut you mid-sentence. You felt the bowl fall from your hands and heard it clatter on the floor. When you were done, your throat was on fire, and your food wasted. You brought your thumb to your lips and nervously bit your skin, looking up to the tattooed dwarf.

"Well..." You whispered. "Now, we don't have to argue on wether me or Bombur will eat it..."

Dwalin groaned and pushed another bowl into your trembling hands. When did you even start to shake? You didn't know, but were hot.

"Here." He told you. "Now eat."

"Oh no no no! I can't take it, it's yours!" You protested, trying to give him back his food. But you stopped as he leaned forward. He was definitely intimidating.

"I said... Ye eat." The dwarf stated, his index finger pointing at you.

You gulped and nodded timidly.

"Thank you very much, Master Dwalin." You said, sitting down next to Bombur.

Dwalin hummed approvingly as you took a spoonful and he walked away.

When dinner came to an end, and it was time to go to bed, you were sweating. You felt as hot as if it was one of the warmest summer day. But it wasn't. The wind was chilly and most of your friends had kept on their coats. You didn't. You had taken yours off, hoping that it would help your body to cool down a little.

Exhausted, you grabbed your bag and dragged yourself at the end of the camp. You laid your bedroll on the floor and weakly flopped down onto it. You closed your eyes, your lids feeling heavy, and tried to ignore the pounding headache so you could get some sleep.

Unfortunately, your sickness wasn't kind to you and the pain in your body only allowed you to rest with your eyes closed. You could feel the bottom or your spine starting to ache, due to your constant shaking. Your teeth were chattering so loudly, you barely heard the approaching footsteps.

"Yer tremblin' worse than a leaf durin' winter."

You opened your mouth to say something but a pained moaned was the only sound you were able to produce.

"Why are ye not in yer bedroll? Do ye wish for Death to catch ye?"

You opened your eyes a little, your vision blurred.

" 'm hot..." You whined.

The cold touch of a big palm covering your forehead startled you. But you find the feeling of cool skin against yours pleasant, so you reached up and grabbed the foreign hand to keep it there.

"Yer skin's boilin' hot. Must be fever."

You nodded in agreement.

" 'm sick..." You said in a barely audible voice.

After a few moments —that seemed like eternity to you— you felt yourself being picked up. You closed your eyes again and curled up against the dwarf's —you figured it was Dwalin—broad chest.

"Oy, Oin!" He exclaimed. "C'mere and give us some help. The halfling's sick."

What happened next, you wouldn't be able to tell. Something was poured down your throat, instantly plunging you into a deep sleep.

When you woke up, the sun was already shining in the sky. Your bedroll had been moved, and you were next to the now dying fire. You were definitely feeling better. Appart from the headache and the burning sensation in your throat, it seemed that you had recovered during the night.

You moved to turn around and your elbow hit something hard, and you heard someone huff.

"Oy, be careful."

You sat up quickly, triggering the pain in your head. You looked down at Dwalin and noticed one of his arm around your waist.

"Master Dwalin!" You squeaked, feeling your face heat all the way up to the tip of your ears.

He sat up as well, raising his hand to touch your forehead.

" 's better than yesterday." The dwarf said. " 'm sorry, Oin said to keep ye warm."

You looked down at your hands and nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You bit your lip nervously and before you could say anything, he was standing up and walking away.

You stood up as well, packing your stuff, as were all your companions. And after being checked up on by Oin one last time, you were able to leave the place.

In the afternoon, you were fully healed and you took advantage of the company taking a break to walk up to Dwalin.

"Master Dwalin!" You called, stopping right in front of him.

The dwarf cocked one of his eyebrows and looked down at you.

"What is it that ye want?" He questioned.

You put your arms behind your back and your eyes fell to your feet, finding a sudden interest in them.

"Well..." You began softly, kicking at the dust. "I was sick yesterday and you took care of me... I wanted to thank you."

You glanced up at him from under your lashes and, for the second time this day, you felt your face burning.

" t'was nothin'." Dwalin said. "Really, no need to thank me."

"No no!" You insisted. "I am grateful, and I wish to express my gratitude towards you."

Bravely, you stepped forward and lifted your arms, gently cupping his face. You stood on your tiptoes, being way shorter than him, and laid a soft kiss on the crease of his eyebrows. When you pulled back, you gave him a big, warm smile.

"Thank you for helping me recover, Master Dwalin."

You heard the dwarf swear in a foreign language under his breath, and you were sure that you had seen his cheeks tinted in a pretty rosey color.

You chuckled and turned your back, happily trotting away.

[janekfan]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583328

“Thanks for coming, Tim.”

“‘Course, Marto.” Tim looked past him to the man loosely curled up on the couch, propped up on several pillows and looking worse for wear.

“I’m sure he’d be okay, I just--”

“I understand.”

“You know how disoriented he can become with fevers and it’s been so high today.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s your night off is what it is!” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Shaking his head and chuffing a laugh, Tim gripped both his shoulders and squeezed.

“Martin. I promise, it’s okay. We’ll watch bad telly and Jon will sleep and everything will be just fine.” Still conflicted, Martin knelt beside Jon and schooled his expression into a soft smile before pressing a kiss to his hot forehead.

“Hey, love.”

“Martin?” Breathless, Tim remembered Martin saying something about a bad chest cold. “Work, habibi?” He nodded, levering him up when one cough turned into two into three, four, and Jon waved away questioning, fussing hands. “M’alright, darling.” He clearly wasn’t convinced. “The sooner you leave for work, the sooner I’m rid of Tim.”

“You know you love me.”

Jon’s eye roll was near audible and it felt good to tease and be teased back. With all the hurt they’d dealt each other in the past, the rekindling of their friendship had been fraught with setbacks as their wounds healed into scars.

They said their goodbyes, Martin giving instructions even as he was shoved out the door by Tim, who flipped the lock and joined Jon on the couch.

“Budge up.” Grumbling, Jon sat forward and let Tim take the place of all the pillows. “What docs have you been watching?”

“You said they’re boring.” Despite the faux vitriol in his tone, Jon shoved Tim like a particularly lumpy body pillow until he was in the most comfortable position before attaching himself to his side.

“Yeah, but the sooner you’re asleep, the sooner I can watch ATLA reruns.”

“Tiiiim.” Jon whined, body language belying his irritation.

“You love it.” Ruffling his hair, Tim offered him his mug of tea and another tablet, shutting down his whinging. “Gets worse at night. Don’t make me call Martin.”

“You wouldn’t.” But he downed both quickly, exacting revenge by knocking the air out of Tim when he crashed back down. They fell into an effortless silence and, sure enough, Jon was out like a light barely half way through, snoring just the slightest bit and probably drooling all over him; easy to ignore now that he had his own kids. True to his word, Tim switched to something more interesting, trailing firm fingers up and down Jon’s side when he became restless just episodes in, noticing suddenly a pair of dull brown eyes, half lidded and glassed over with fever staring up at him in confusion.

“Hey, bud.” Barely a whisper, trying to gauge where he was at and if he’d drift off again on his own.

“T’Tim?” Filled with awe and damp with tears, Jon’s voice shook. “You, you’re alive.”

Aw, hell.

“That I am.” He tried to will the sleep back into him but Jon’s stubbornness wasn’t having it.

“B’but why. Why are you h’here?” And as soon as the last syllable slipped past his lips static rose in a tide to envelop them. As it crescendoed, Jon’s eyes went round as saucers, welling with the panic seizing up his limbs and causing him to tremble and shake. Tim let it wash over him, giving in without a fight at the same time Jon scrambled to mitigate the damage he was sure he’d done.

“Martin asked me to watch you.”

“I, I, I’m sorry, I--” A too-fast breath caught ragged in his chest and he doubled over, choking on frantic apologies and fear. This had happened before, back when things were still fraught between them. Fever and illness loosened Jon’s grip on the Beholding and Tim knew he hadn’t meant to compel him but he was already somewhere else, too far away for any reassurances to reach.

“Easy, easy, I know. It’s alright.” With one arm Tim pulled him out of his contorted knot, reaching for Jon’s inhaler at the same time, shaking it hard and murmuring encouragement until he was able to draw a tight half lungful of air between chattering teeth. “Okay, I’ve got you, I’m not upset.” He splayed his fingers over Jon’s breastbone, running his thumb back and forth over his sweat damp shirt. “Deep breath and hold.” In a practiced tandem left over from so long ago Tim depressed the button and Jon inhaled and held until it exploded from his chest. “One more time.” And thank god it came easier because Tim did not want to call the station and explain to Jon’s husband how he sent him tailspinning into a panic attack. Later. But not now. For now, he listened to the push/pull of oxygen finally flooding into Jon’s system, felt the overwarm draught ghosting against his throat as he collapsed into him, lax and loose. “Good job, buddy.”

“Tim...are we…?” Jon shifted, sighed, hot forehead resting on his neck.

“Shh, just relax. You’re not well, and in a minute we’re gonna do something about it, but for right now, just rest.”

“Tim?” Martin was kicking off his boots and stripping himself of his uniform before he even made it to the sitting room. “How is he?” Immediately, he began fretting over him, waking him when he went to check his pulse, test his temperature.

“Mmm.” Petulant, Jon turned his face into Tim’s jumper, fingers twisting up in the wool as he tried to escape Martin’s poking and prodding. “M’fine…”

“He’s fine, Martin. Probably more than ready for bed.” Untangling him, he nudged Jon forward so Martin could gather him up, smiling when Jon wrapped spindly arms around his neck. “Had an ‘accident’ during a spike, but he probably won’t remember it.” Fond, Tim ran a hand over his head.

“I can’t thank you enough. Can’t imagine where he would have wandered off to with me at work and Em away.”

“Anytime, Marto. Now, put him to bed, he’s a damned limpet like this. You’ll never get anything done if he doesn’t sleep it off.” Tim let himself out, contemplating his copy of their key before locking the door behind him.

[oppatxtme]

Christian Yu: The Eve

x Christian Yu x

Note: Read at Your Own Risk ~~ (ง⌐□ل͜□)ง Type: One Shot [ masterlist ]

A/N: This is a request from an Annon. I know it took a while but hope y’all like it. BTW. Happy New Year friends! ♥

-----

'Is she not coming to work?'

"Hey, Scott!" Christian called his friend when he saw him walked past his door from the hall.

Scott walked and stop to peek at Christian's studio.

"What's up?" he asked while still looking at his phone.

"How's the photoshoot yesterday?" Christian asked about the shoot scheduled for Live and you are one of the editors.

"It went according to our theme. But it lasted longer than expected because it suddenly snowed a little during the shoot." Scott explained. "Why?" he managed to look away from his phone screen and look at Christian.

"Oh, so, what time did you guys finish?" Christian asked not answering Scott's question.

"Maybe around 3 am," Scott answered. He decided to sit on the sofa inside Christian's studio - thinking that this might take a while. He knew Christian and asking questions without answering his - only means that somethings going on.

"I see. So I guess most of the crew will not be coming today since you guys finished late." Christian said while taking a spin at his chair.

"Not really. I think they'll be here doing the edit and all." Scott said still looking at Christian.

Christian tried to avoid Scott's gaze.

"Really? So maybe I can take a look at the scene later with Y/N." Christian said and turn his back from Scott to face his monitor.

'Smooth.' Scott thought and can't help but smirked at his friend's childish game. He's avoiding directly asking about Y/N because of the drunk accident happening before.

*** 3 weeks ago, the crew decided to go out for a dinner then drink after to celebrate Christian's debut. But just as everyone getting ready to go home. You're so wasted that you confessed to Christian without minding the few people remaining outside the pub.

All were shocked because they didn't expect you to confess at all. All of them have an idea that you have feelings for Christian for years - but Christian's so dense and treat you as a little sister at that time. He did not expect it and he was so dumbfounded that he laughed it out and saying that he only sees you as his lil'sister.

"Thank you, Y/N - but you're my little sister that I never had. I'm sorry." Christian said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Yes, you were drunk at that time. And you wished you forgot everything that had happened to that point. But it was impossible. Now you know that it was all a lie when people said they forget everything that happened to them when they're wasted. LIES!

But even if you remembered everything - you acted that you forgot about it. It was not like you, but being rejected face to face - it fvcking hurts!

You can't afford to lose your dream job just because of your drunken mistake.

You acted that everything is good between you and Christian - but it is noticeable that you're putting a distance between the two of you.

****

"I think you can check the raw ones with her assistant later." Scott get up from the sofa and was about to leave.

"Huh? Why her assistant? Where's Y/N?"

"She's taking a rest for the day. I think she catches a cold during the shoot. I'm planning to check on her later. We know how she can be when it snows. You're welcome to join me if you want." Scott dropped a teasing tone towards Christian.

"Ah. Okay. Just call me when you're going." Christian said not noticing Scott's teasing.

----

Christian can't focus on his work. He keeps ending up thinking about you.

He looked at his phone - checking if Scott text him about going to your place but he sighed when he sees nothing.

He can already admit that this is not like him at all. He told you that he only sees you as a friend - he even regards you as his little sister. But something inside him disagree.

'Do I like-love her?' Christian questioned himself. But it was cut-off when his phone rang.

It was from Scott.

"Hey. Wait a sec - I'll just save my files." Christian said right after answering.

"About that, I can't go to Y/N right now. Mr. Ahn called and requesting a meeting with Dabin." Scott said.

"Did you call Y/N?" Christian asked.

"Not yet. I tried calling to see if she's alright but she's not answering. Maybe she's just sleeping. We can visit her later - after work."

"No. I can check her now since I already shut down my PC." Christian said as he walked out from his studio.

Scott smirked because he knew well that Christian never shutdown his PC at his studio.

"Okay. Call me when you get there." Scott ended the call.

---

You were dreaming about someone was knocking at your door and keep pressing the doorbell. The doorbell gets louder every time that it woke you up.

Then you realized that it was not a dream but someone really is knocking at your door.

'Maybe it's Scott. He did mention that he will drop by'. You thought as you tried your best to get up.

You opened the door.

"Are you planning on breaking my door Sco-C-Christian! How..?" you can feel your face burning up.

"I came instead of Scott," he said avoiding your eyes.

"I see," you said. Both of you just standing there between the door. 'Okay, this is awkward'.

"Are you okay...?" Christian asked and managed to meet your eyes.

It's hard for you to stop the cough because your throat is just itching.

"I'm okay now, so you don't have to..." you looked down. Not really wanting for Christian to see you at this state. But suddenly your vision got dizzy and that made you lean forward.

Christian caught you.

"You're not okay at all." He said.

You can't tell if he's mad or worried. He guided you to your bed. And you keep coughing all the time. You want to stop so he can't see but it's really not that easy.

'I'm here now, but I don't know what to do for her. I can feel that Y/N doesn't like me here, I'm sure this situation is stressful for her'. Christian thought. 'I guess I need to try and help her feel better...'

"Did you already eat something?" Christian asked you while you're fixing the pillow at your back to sit properly.

"No," you said.

"Good thing I brought rice porridge. Eat this, then take the medicine." He said while taking out the porridge from the paper bag he had.

"I'm fine." you insisted. You just want him to leave and you can sleep. But for some god's play - your tummy decided to protest.

"Just eat." Christian tried his best to not laugh. He handed you the container for the porridge.

"Okay..." you said helplessly.

---

"Thank you for the porridge..." you said as Christian took the container from your hand.

"Now take the medicine, and go to the hospital tomorrow for an IV drip." He said as he hands you a glass of water.

"A-*cough* cold like this will be over once I slept on it. I don't have to go." you took meds and the glass of water.

"You're not going to go? When you're this sick?" Now he really sounded worried.

"I'm really all right, Christian... You can go now..." you insist as you tried to put the glass on your side table but he stops you and leans forward to get the glass from your hand. And put his hand at your forehead. You automatically closed your eyes when you felt the warmth from his hand.

"No way. At your condition right now..." Christian said. "You're burning up..." he was shocked because he was not expecting you to be this sick.

"I'm fine..." you opened your eyes. Then there you realize how you and Christian's face is so close. You can't help but blush.

Christian realizes the situation and immediately put away his hand from your forehead. "J-just go to the hospital. Darn it!"

You can't help but smile a little. You find him cute.

Christian stands up. "Try to lie back down. I'll go get a wet towel for you."

"Okay..." you said. You guess that it's no use arguing with him. As you lie down. You can't help close your eyes as you tremble. "Ugh... it's cold..."

"You're cold?" Christian saw you.

You opened your eyes and he was standing at the end of your bed. You got up.

"Just a little... I just need to put more clothes on." You said as you tried to get off the bed and walk to your closet.

"No." Christian stopped you from getting up. "You have to bring your fever down. All you need is to change into a T-shirt and shorts instead. Wait. I'll get that for you."

"Huh? W-what?"

Christian walked towards your closet and as if he owns it, he easily finds your clothes and throws it at you.

"I'm turning the light out." and he did turn off the lights.

You have no choice but change. You felt that your clothes already wet from your sweat. When you finished changing, Christian sit beside your bed and gently put the wet towel on your forehead.

"Ian, you should really go now..." you said in between your coughs.

'How can I go when you're like this?' Christian thought as he looked at you.

You felt him get up. You closed your eyes. 'Finally, he's leaving.' you thought.

Christian sighed.

"Move over a bit." you heard him.

You opened your eyes not really understood what he said. But the next thing you know that Christian slip his body beside you - in the bed. Your body automatically moved from the side to give him space.

Now Christian is hugging you from the back. If the two of you are dating - then this might be normal - cuddling you as you're feeling cold. But the two of you are way far from dating!

'Shit! What is he doing! What is he thinking?! I don't know if this will help me or it will make it worse.' You can't help but worry. You need to calm down because you're not sure if Christian can feel how your heartbeat is running wild.

"You'll be less cold like this," Christian said. Every word he said, you can feel the warmth of his breath from the side of your ear.

"C-Chris-tian... you don't really have to-"

"Just stay still. I'll leave once you fall asleep." Christian said firmly. "You'll be asleep soon since you took the medicine."

'How in God's way can I be still in this situation?! God-someone please save me!'

"Y/N. Close your eyes and go to sleep," Christian said.

You closed your eyes. But really not know how you can fall asleep with the fact that you can feel his body heat.

You don't know if it's the fever or because of him, but you feel dizzy and your mind is a mess.

But one thing is clear.

Your heart is beating so fast and the warmth from Christian's arms that you don't feel cold anymore.

You tried to close off your heart - as best as you could. But Christian's warmth is slowly melting down the walls you barely created.

"Christian Yu... why are you doing all this for me? It's like... as if you love me... How can I push you away if you're going to be like this?" you froze when you realized that you voice out your thoughts.

Christian's arms around your waist tighten.

"You're right," Christian said as he leans closer that you can feel his breath from your right ear. "I do love you and I was a fool when I denied that fact - something that obvious. I know for a long time that I treated you differently from anyone else. I'm sorry if I pretend and fight what I was feeling just because I don't want to admit that what I said before was wrong."

You tried to move to face him but Christian stopped you and buried his head between your neck. He also holds your hand and tightens his embrace.

"Please. Let me hold you like this as you fall asleep. I promise I will leave as soon as your temperature goes down."

You said nothing and just pulled him closer to you.

'I think this is a good reason to love the snow season.' You slept smiling while at Christian's embrace.

---

[ masterlist ]

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Sick Fic I Didn’t Bother to Name Part 2

Basically Jon is sick post canon and Tim lives and is looking after him while Martin is at work.  See look you don't have to read chapter one!

Okay so I know we all expect my fics on Wednesday, but next week it will probably have to be early Tuesday morning.  So keep an eye out.  Wish I didn't have to switch it up, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.  

cw fever, delusions sort of? sort of flashback?, past strained friendships, I think that's it?

Jon is starting to lose track of time.  Getting lost between the seconds.  Gaping spaces where he isn’t awake enough to register what is going on or what episode he and Tim are supposed to be on.  He’s lost in the moments his gummy eyes are closed and between strained breaths.  

He knows it’s the fever.  And he thinks he knows where he is.  

He’s on the couch with Tim.  

In his and Martin’s home.  

But between blinking and the gaping chasms between one tick of the clock and the next, he finds himself in places that have been gone.  Long gone.  Burned to the ground.  Both the places and the things that occurred.  

He’s on the couch he’s on the couch.  He is on the couch.  He is using Tim as a pillow.  While Tim gently runs a hand through his curls.  It would be soothing if he wasn’t also seeing another time.  Another place.  Another Tim.  

A Tim with his face twisted in a familiar rage.  

Shoving him.  Redirecting a forgotten, graceless fall.  Legs giving way under the strain of the worst couple months of his life.  Whichever worst months those were…  Because for a while each month was the worst in a new and horrifying way.  

He is on the couch.  

He is on the couch.  

And Tim is speaking to him soothingly as his breath catches in a panic he knows is lost in time.  Out of time.  Unstuck like Billy Pilgrim.  So it goes.  

It would have been a sensible fear years ago.  

It Was sensible.  

When the exhausted slip of the tongue and static echoed off the hatred behind Tim’s eyes, ricocheting.  At least once slamming Jon against the wall when he lost control.  

And he knows he isn’t making sense.  And he knows that Tim would never raise a hand against him.  And it wasn’t as if Tim ever really did.  But he wasn’t gentle.  Touches that once-and-now mean comfort and safety then meant something too tight too rough too much and sent him into walls or to the floor or caused bruises on his stupidly sensitive skin.  

Jon is on the couch, mumbling to himself feverishly. 

Tim is worried.  Jon’s fever is up, despite the recent medication and the damp flannel on his forehead.  Tim doesn’t even think it’s too high, but Jon has always been delicate.  Or has been recently.  Tim wishes he could cast his mind back far enough to confirm that this is just the way his friend has always been, and not a recent development in the years in the Archives where the world was against this slip of a person.  

Tim tries not to think about it.  Because he can’t lose himself to regret when Jon is facing whatever his mind is throwing at him.  Even when his mind could very well be throwing the memory of a Tim that the present Tim regrets.  Guilt is something for the bottom of a bottle.  Or in the muscle cramping heat of the heavy beat pounding music and pounding feet.  Or in the thick of paint fumes and the wet splat of a brush against the walls.  

Guilt and anger are not meant for quiet moments on the couch watching over a sick friend.  Not for episodes of Avatar the Last of the Airbenders.  

No, this is how you rewrite the guilt and rage.  

He will regret and be angry with himself and the situation that is no longer the situation when he has his coping mechanisms, both constructive and self destructive.  

He soothes Jon.  With quiet reassurances and a gentle embrace, trying to gauge if Tim will have to step back to sooth, or if the words are helping, or if he should pause the show or if the familiar noise will help ground Jon.  

In another time, Jon stumbles across Tim in the break room.  Limping his way to make some tea and let that sooth the fire beneath his skin and the heavy weight of trauma.  Rubbed raw wrists.  His body failing to bounce back after kidnapping.  And the taste of static as the question he’s already forgotten pulls and answer he can’t comprehend from Tim.  

The twist of lips in a snarl.  

Jon reaching out to apologize, but Tim jerks away.  

Sending the unsteady Jon reeling.  

Tim is gone before Jon hits the ground.  Too dizzy to keep his feet.  

Jon is crying, and Tim wonders if he has grounds to blame himself.  He will anyhow, but he wonders if it is justified this time.  

But he can’t act on that sort of regret.  Substantiated or not.  This is not the time.  

“Hey, ace.”  If Jon were more lucid, he would absolutely hate the nickname.  Tim loves it.  It combines a lovely gender neutral expression with the happy double meaning of Jon’s sexuality.  Tim feels that it could serve to ground Jon to a friendlier memory.  Not to mention, well.  Okay he wouldn’t Hate the term.  But he would love to make a show of hating it.  “You with me?”  He pats Jon’s face lightly, and gently wipes away the tears.  He isn’t really sure if Jon is sleeping or hallucinating or just uncomfortable.  

Jon frowns.  He struggles with coordination enough to rub at his eyes.  Eventually he cracks open a fever glazed eye, bringing (Tim assumes) the world into whatever blurry focus he can without glasses.  

“Tim?”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Tim isn’t sure if it from congestion settling or just disuse.  

“The one and only.”  He throws in a cheeky wink.  He wants to say more, but doesn’t know where Jon is in his mind.  

A clammy hand reaches up and traces some of the scars Tim got in the unknowing.  

Tentative.  Both with the lack of clear vision, probably, and with a hesitation that Tim is fairly certain that comes with an uncertainty of where their relationship stands.  

“What?”  

Again, Tim isn’t sure if this is Jon lost in the past or just hazy on some details.  

“It’s Tuesday and Martin made you call out from work today.  Martin would have stayed, but I got off from work earlier today, so I am keeping you company.  Sasha is at work, though.  She’s probably jealous.  Uh… We’re watching Avatar.  Which you always complain about, but I know that’s just for show because I know you watch it on your own.  Oh!  And my favorite part!  The Magnus Institute has been burned to the ground!  And please don’t try to know anything, because you’re sick enough please don’t give yourself a migraine.”  

Jon doesn’t give him the typical annoyed look at over-explanations, so Tim has to guess that Jon was missing some of those details.  Jon relaxes, however.  Which is good.  Lucid enough to understand what he’s saying.  

“You back with me?”  He asks Jon.  

Jon makes a so-so gesture.  He’s stopped crying, which is good, but he’s still hesitant to relax against Tim.  

“Where had you gone?”  Tim asks against his better judgement.  

“Felt unstuck.”  Jon’s hand closes over Tim’s wrist.  Using it to cling to the here and now.  Tim understands that feeling.  

“Anything I can do?”  

“Just… be here?”

“Not going anywhere, bud.”  Tim promises.  

Being shoved.  Hitting the ground.  Curled on the unforgiving tile.  

He’s on the couch.  Tim is here, and he’s kind and solid.  

Tim is shouting.  Angry.  Biting.  Chilling words.  Bent too far to be a friend.  Twisted.  

Jon is getting dizzy from the unstuck feeling.  

Everything is spinning and he is dreadfully cold.  

Aching cold.  

But he’s afraid that every drag of his eyelids will take him back to echoing shouts and freezing tile and bruising hands.  

Jon wakes up screaming.  He tries to pull himself up, the blanket wrapped around him like restraints and he wants to be up and moving and free.  He screams when someone grabs his arms.  

Tight grip, enough to leave marks over his raw wrists.  Tim shaking him until the world upends itself and he’s on the floor.  On the floor.  On the floor.  

As Tim looms.  Angry and shouting and tall.  And Jon is so so so small.  Breakable.  In a way that no one seems to notice until he’s broken in front of them.  

He’s on the floor of his living room.  There are no bruises.  No rope burns.  

Just a precariously high fever.  Sitting crying and dizzy in the thick tangled blankets.  

Tim kneeling before him, making his posture as unthreatening as possible.  

“Jon?  Bud?  You back with me?”

Five things he can see.  Tim.  The laptop.  His cane.  The couch.  His ace ring.  

Four he can hear.  His own pounding heart.  His strained breaths.  Uncle Iroh on the laptop.  Tim’s voice.  

Three he can feel.  His sweat damp frizzed hairs plastered to his forehead.  The thick blanket that takes turns being a comforting weight and a panic inducing restriction.  Again, his heartbeat.  

Did he take his medicine this morning?  

Is he up for more medicine for his fever yet?  

The heat of anxiety is easing him back into the ice fever chills.  

Tim is reaching for him.  Offering him a hand.  Instead he tips forwards against him.  

“Back with you.”  Jon assures, finding his voice at length.  

For sure this time.  

Nothing like panic to jolt him back aware.  

Tim settles him back on the couch with care.  Presses a kiss to his forehead, and tucks him in again against the shivers.  

Jon settles back to watch another episode, Tim as his pillow once more.  

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 12

No, Cardan doesn’t hate the smell of cinnamon. And maybe somehow, inexplicably, he doesn’t hate me.

Previous

Note: This chapter contains explicit content. Proceed with caution!

Read chapter 12 on AO3, or read below:

I don’t know when I decide it.

Maybe it’s in that moment, curled up on that mattress, clutching at his shirt and wishing it wasn’t empty. That a boy was there to fill it with warmth and body, the shape of his kiss lingering on my forehead, the ghosts of his fingers in my hair. I stay like that for a long time, marveling at his gentleness. Then I peel off my dress and pull on his shirt. It’s big. It makes me wonder about the way he’d fit on me, against me.

Maybe it’s later, when the Bomb comes to check on me and sits down with me for a while, talking to me as I swallow my pride and blink back tears. “You’re doing so well,” she says, with her knees pulled into her chest, rocking back and forth on her heels. “You’re great. Not too much longer now.” And when she puts her hand on my shoulder, I wish she was Cardan, that her small hand was his larger one.

Maybe it’s after that, when the Ghost hangs out with me for a little while, standing, not sitting, propping himself up against the wall. “You want to watch anything?” he asks, as I blink at the glare in his palm and realize this is the first phone I’ve seen in almost five days. “News? Bachelorette season recaps?” I ask him to play an old episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved if we have the bars for it, and he does, tilting the screen in my direction. I appreciate his aloofness—it makes me feel like my situation is less dire—but I wish I were watching it with Cardan.

Maybe I never decide it. Maybe it was always decided for me, all the way back when I hit puberty, when I came back to school and suddenly he was the only thing I ever wanted to smell again. I don’t know. I don’t want to believe that biological determinism runs my life, that all our choices are coded into our genes. I want to have free will. Yet maybe it does all come down to that moment, when I scented him, and then a breeze picked up my hair and drove him absolutely bananas.

Because that must have been what happened. Because Cardan doesn’t hate cinnamon at all. Because he was just in here to help me drink down my water and tell me I was good. Because he tucked my hair behind my ear and seemed so sad when I asked him not to hurt me on purpose. Because he sat in the chair outside and rattled off a list of supposed achievements of mine, things he admired me for.

No, Cardan doesn’t hate the smell of cinnamon. And maybe somehow, inexplicably, he doesn’t hate me.

I don’t know when he decided that any more than I know when I decide this. Maybe it’s the spur of the moment. By the time Cardan returns that night, I am once again drenched in my own sweat and various other fluids, I am just about on the verge of screwing anything or anyone, and it feels like fire ants are crawling all over me. Still, I think I can push through it. My symptoms have been steadily escalating, so it’s not like any of this is new, just worse.

“Hi,” Cardan says, folding himself up in his usual corner. Lavender lingers in the air, riding the coattails of his scent. “How goes it?”

“Bad,” I manage. Single syllables are about my limit, even though the worst of my cramps have subsided for the moment.

“Yeah. I could’ve guessed.” He pauses, wrestling with himself over something. “Um, this is going to suck, undeniably, but I’m kind of glad to be back in here.”

“What?” I pick up my head. “You’re crazy.”

“For sure. You knew that already, right?” He laughs at himself, tilting his head back, exposing his throat to me. I think my mouth starts watering. God, I need this to be over. “But out there I kept wondering how you were doing. I was really distracted. I wanted to keep checking on you, make sure you were okay.” He shrugs. “It’s just… like, alpha stuff. Hardwired, instinct stuff.”

“Yeah,” I say mildly. I put my head back down.

“I can’t wait for this to be over.”

It’s weird how his words echo my thoughts. Feeling defensive, I say, “So you can go back to just caring about yourself?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Jude, if you think I care much about myself, your brain really is scrambled eggs.”

“I think you’re vain.”

“You would be too, if you were me. I like to look hot and wear nice clothes, so what?”

I roll my eyes.

“Vanity’s not what I’m talking about,” he continues. “Self-preservation, either.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his curls, distracted, restless. “I don’t know. But I don’t think either of us are very good at it.”

I turn over then. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. There’s a feeling in me, like smoldering embers, that has very little to do with my heat, with fever or desire. It takes a little prodding to realize that it’s annoyance, or even anger. I’m angry with him. Why am I angry with him?

Because I remember Cardan saying he wanted to take care of me. And the part of me that I tamp down on, the omega part, the vulnerable part, the part that is now exposed and very naked, very raw, wants that so much. If he doesn’t hate me, what is he waiting for? He’s the alpha. Everything points to him making the first move, and he is not moving.

Is he going to make me do it? He’s going to make me do it. Well, I hate him for it. I refuse.

Except when the next cramp rolls through me, it decimates my self-control.

“Cardan,” I whine.

Cardan has not said anything in a few minutes, so I think he might be sleeping, but he picks up his head immediately. “What, what is it?”

“Come here.”

I hear him inhale sharply. “Oh, fuck. Jude, no.”

“Why?” On the verge of tears, I try to twist toward him and end up with my shirt—his shirt—hiked up, my body tangled in the blankets. They scrape at my skin, but if I throw them off I’ll be too cold. Everything is discomfort, everything hurts. “Why not?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You think I’m disgusting,” I say for him. Some part of me is aware that I am babbling. Some part of me is aware that none of this is true. But it’s what I know. It’s what I revert to. And it’s easy to believe. I certainly feel disgusting. “You hate me.”

“No,” he says again, more quietly now.

“I know you hate me. You don’t want to want me. It’s okay. You don’t—have to like me.” My body spasms again. I thrash in the blankets. “Just touch me.”

“Jude.”

“It hurts so much.” My face is wet. Have I started crying? I rarely cry at pain. It must be sweat.

“You’ll hate me.” He’s trying to hold firm, but his voice shakes.

“I hate you a-already.” I duck my head into the pillow. I am not sure that’s entirely true anymore.

There is a long silence. In between my shivering and snuffling, I can hear the sound of Cardan’s breathing, ragged and heavy. “Are you sure?”

I nod, then remember he can’t see me very well. “Yes, yes. Just—”

I don’t know how he crosses the room so quickly, but one minute he is there, and the next he’s climbing on top of me, pulling down the blankets I’ve swathed myself in. I’m lying on my stomach, so I can’t see him, see what his face is doing, but I feel him. His hands are warm when they brush my skin. They do say alpha blood runs hot, don’t they? I feel a spark with every touch and can’t help writhing, trying to pull closer to him. My legs are still caught in a sheet.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Okay. Just—hold still, okay?”

That’s easy for him to say. I growl, but still as best I can. With him so near, I am shaking.

Cardan pulls the borrowed shirt up over my head, the skims a hand down my bare spine. “God,” he says, and it’s kind of a sigh and kind of a growl in return. “You, I mean… Jude…”

“Hurry up,” I snap.

He takes his hand away, and I nearly sob. But then I hear fabric rustling behind me and realize he’s just pulling off his own shirt. He practically falls on top of me after, and when he slides a hand around me to rest against my lower abdomen, I can feel him trembling too.

“Oh, fuck,” Cardan breathes, when that hand trails into my shorts, between my legs, and he feels how absolutely soaked everything is —which would make me want to die of embarrassment if I wasn’t aching to be touched. I press into his hand, rub into it, and bite into the pillow under my face to keep from being too loud.

I kind of expect Cardan to pull out some of the cheesy lines alphas are supposed to say, like to tell me how wet I am or chuckle and say that I want it so bad, don’t I? But he’s as quiet as I am and just as desperate. His breath is hot and ragged on my neck. He makes a cursory effort to finger me and then abandons it, pulling my shorts down instead and positioning himself behind me. Maybe I should care that the foreplay’s cut short, but I don’t. Fingering’s not going to help me feel any better, I just need him to—

And then he does.

Oh.

I bite down hard again and accidentally catch my tongue in my mouth, tasting blood. That hurts.

“Jude?” Cardan asks, breathless. I must have made a sound.

I shake my head; isn’t he supposed to be so flooded with hormones that he’s incapable of coherent thought? I certainly am. “Go, go,” I urge him. It’s the only thing I can seem to say.

He starts moving his hips against mine. At first I think he’s trying to take it slow, but he quickly loses the plot. Both of his hands grip my waist, pulling me into him, pulling us together and apart, and I hold onto the pillow for dear life to muffle the sounds I know I’m making.

It doesn’t hurt, not after the first couple of thrusts. Does it feel good? It’s hard to say. It feels necessary. It feels like so much. And just when I think that maybe being filled up by him isn’t so bad, that maybe it’s actually kind of good, I am caught unawares by an orgasm that’s more like a full-body convulsion. There’s not a lot of pleasure in it, but at least there’s something like catharsis.

Cardan moans and surges forward, his chest pressing against my back. He isn’t done yet, but his rhythm is breaking, his hips rolling into mine at desperate, uneven intervals. I can’t think about what any of that means as I let my own climax work through me. All I know is that he’s suddenly gripping me tighter, and he presses in—all the way, all of him—and his teeth sink into my neck, just above the juncture with my shoulder.

“Ow!” I yelp, jamming my elbow back into his side. “What the hell?”

He comes back to himself and releases me. “Sorry, I’m—sorry,” he says, and I’m surprised how easily the words fall from his lips. He nuzzles the place where he bit me, then lets out a nervous chuckle. “That, oh, that wasn’t on purpose.”

I am confused for a moment before I remember what I had asked of him, just before all of this started. It is hard to think. “Are you trying to end up with a mate at nineteen?”

“Twenty.”

“Whatever. Get off of me.”

Now he pauses. “I… can’t.”

I kick myself. Of course he can’t. We had discussed this, and both of us know the logistics of it. We’re stuck like this for a while. I am uncomfortable and relieved at the same time; a choice has been taken away from me, but maybe it’s okay. The heat rolling off of him is keeping me comfortable, and he is trembling, oddly vulnerable. I’m not alone in that. Even better, my brain is no longer clouded by fever. It must have broken while we were distracted.

“Here,” he says, and he rolls us onto our sides, which is a little better. His arm is draped over my waist, and his skin is still warm—warmer now that I don’t feel so feverish. I can feel his face pressed to my hair, hear his breathing, so when he inhales deeply, there’s no hiding it.

“Are you smelling me?” I mean for it to come out hard, annoyed, but instead I feel like it sounds curious and calm. I am so tired, and a little achy, but water has been thrown over the frantic fire in my chest.

“What?” Cardan’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“Never mind.” I shift, settling against him. “You were definitely smelling me.”

“Mmm.” He noses at the nape of my neck. “You smell good.”

“The pheromones must be going to your brain, Greenbriar. I could have sworn I reeked.”

Now Cardan outright laughs. “You’re the worst omega I’ve ever met, you know.”

“You’re not such a great alpha either.” I turn my head to try to look back at him. “You don’t hate me?”

It comes out as more of a question than I mean for it to be. Cardan shifts uneasily behind me. “You should try to get some sleep. It’s probably going to start again soon.”

“Can you sleep like this?” I ask, incredulous. He is very hard and still very inside of me. But I think I had expected that to feel worse than it does, awkward and invasive. Instead, I am strangely comfortable. I got used to him quickly, and now he fits.

“Well, I guess I’ll find out—ah.” He presses his forehead to my shoulder and I feel his cock twitch inside me which is, frankly, weird. His hand grips my bicep, hard, and he shakes all over again. “Oh.”

“So that seems like a ‘no,’” I manage, feeling flushed all over. I had almost forgotten the purpose of knotting us together like this was to lock in semen and ensure a better chance of pregnancy. Ugh. I should be getting some of those spontaneous, rolling orgasms, too, but I don’t know if I want them. I mean, yes, in theory, orgasms are good, but not being able to control when they hit…

“I’ll get used to it.” His voice is strained.

“All I’ve done is sleep for two days,” I say, but I have to stifle a yawn as I say it. I also sweated, and shivered, and maybe cried. Plus, it’s not like any of the sleep I got was particularly restful. But I won’t admit he has a point about trying to sleep. “So you… do you like me?”

Cardan smooths his hand over my side. His trembling has subsided, and he turns his head to rest his cheek against my shoulder. “That’s what I was going to tell you,” he says, “when I followed you to the beach. Before we got taken.”

Nothing, not even the fact that I just had sex with Cardan Greenbriar—something that hasn’t really sunk in yet—could have shocked me more than that admission. “What?”

“Yeah, I was going to say, uh, sorry, and that I thought you were cool, and that maybe we could start over. Locke said Taryn said you’d be there, and I figured I wouldn’t have a chance once you got busy with college, so—”

I cut him off, because it seems like he might go on forever if I don’t. “So you were going to be like, ‘Sorry for the years of psychological damage, I actually like you, can I make out with your face?’”

“Yes?”

I laugh wildly. It’s like someone’s stuck a key in my chest and unlocked it. “Wow, you are really bad at this.”

He groans. “I know.”

“I would probably have punched you.”

“You’d be well within your rights.”

I pause. “Are you into that?”

“Huh.” Cardan considers this. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t actually know. I’m going to go with ‘No, I’m probably not into erotic face-punching.’ Except maybe if you did it.”

“Oh my god.” I hide my face in the pillow even though he can’t see me. “Terrible alpha.”

“The worst.”

“You like me.”

He drapes his arm over my waist. “You’re okay.”

“You do,” I insist, more to contradict him than anything else. Do I believe it? It is so hard to believe. And yet… “It’s the most… it’s the most stereotypical thing in the world. It’s a cliché. Alpha likes omega, alpha makes omega miserable over it.”

“Alpha and omega get locked in a basement together for a few days.” He nuzzles my shoulder. “That’s how that normally ends up, right?”

I shake my head. I don’t understand how I feel so different. Our circumstances haven’t really changed. Sure, I’m not in excruciating agony anymore, but we’re still kidnapped, waiting for ransom or rescue. And yet it’s like every part of me that was coiled up has come loose in his arms. I blink. “We had sex.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” I can picture his brow furrowing as he asks, “Wait, did you somehow not notice?”

“I should be freaking out,” I inform him. “I mean, this is—you’re—”

“Your body’s flooded with happy chemicals right now,” he reminds me. “Dopamine or whatever. If you’re going to freak out, it’ll happen when your heat’s over. All the way over.”

“Yeah, right.” I shiver, but pleasantly. I’m not sure if it’s an aftershock or something else. The mattress is still grody, the blankets are still scratchy, but I am somehow more cozy, more at ease, than I can remember being in a long time. I yawn again. “Cardan?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I think I could sleep like this.”

His hand brushes my hair away from the nape of my neck, and I feel his lips come to press against it. “You should,” he says. “I’ll make sure to wake you up before it starts again.”

Again. There’s going to be more, at least a few hours more. I don’t know what to do with that information, so I don’t do anything with it. That’s a problem for the Jude who’s had a little bit more rest. With Cardan’s face against my hair, and with his body fitted against mine, I steal a precious few minutes of real sleep for the first time in days.

Next