#it's the beatification of him that makes me fuming

[dracimexidae]

Can i just fucking enjoy the match between Katie and Leylah without that fucking strip that occupies a third of the screen the tv broadcast put about Sinner?!?!?!

[malk1ns]

november 19 vs lightning, 3-2 OT loss

sidney's milestone yips return 🙄

this series is now on ao3! i'll be adding games in chunks from now on :)

Sanja never believes Zhenya when Zhenya says he doesn’t really get angry with Sid.

Oh, they bicker, of course—you can’t spend practically 24 hours a day with someone for nine months out of the year without small irritations flaring up. One of them will be overtired and crabby, or they’ll disagree about where to go for dinner near the end of a long roadie…stuff like that.

But major arguments, flaring tempers and angry, icy silences? They don’t do that. It’s something Zhenya’s always been smug about.

There is, of course, an exception.

Having a front-row seat to Sid’s career has been a privilege and an honor. Zhenya doesn’t regret a single decision that’s kept him at Sid’s side since 2006; even taking their relationship out of it, because it’s not like they’d break up just because they temporarily lived apart, getting to watch someone live up to the type of potential Sid has and work his way into the record books is not something Zhenya would give up willingly.

The time those records take, though.

Sid overthinks every aspect of his play when he’s getting close to some sort of milestone. He handles the puck like he’s never seen one before, passing when he should shoot and hesitating when he should pass until the lane disappears. He retreats into his routine with a rigidity that he’s mostly shed as he’s gotten older, and he gets snappy with anyone who dares to so much as hint around the concept of a milestone.

It was funny at first. And then Sid entered top-ten categories, leapfrogging over the types of players that most guys won’t come near to matching ever, and the milestones started coming faster and faster, and Sid took longer and longer to actually achieve them.

The goalless drought before 500 had been comical, and ultimately happened in the type of storybook ‘how is this real’ fashion that only Sidney Crosby is capable of and made the wait worth it. Six hundred, though?

“Next time,” Zhenya fumes, slamming the pantry shut perhaps a bit harder than he means to, “you shoot on power play, like, not pass right back to me, I’m get yelled at during break!” He brandishes the bag of trail mix at Sid before ripping it open and cramming a handful into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open just because he knows it pisses Sid off.

“Oh, fuck you,” Sid scoffs, glaring at him so hard that if Zhenya were even slightly less ticked would have him cowering and apologizing. “You passed up plenty of your own fucking chances, eh, how about you get a goal one of these games!”

Zhenya throws his hands up, scattering trail mix across the kitchen island. “I’m not hold whole team up while I pick around on ice, forget how to play hockey, like, need extra-special time for score big goal!” he practically shouts. “Everyone tries to help, like, gets you puck, sets you up, and you’re not shoot. Have to score and move on so we’re play games for real, Sidney, not think about stupid records!”

“You think I want this?” Sid hisses, sweeping some of the spilled M&Ms into his hand and throwing them into the sink so hard a few of them bounce right back out. “All I want—all I’ve ever asked for, every single time this happens, is for people to play.like.normal! I can’t focus when everyone’s watching me, I can’t see the net, I can’t get my grip right…” He tugs at his hair, a nervous habit that Zhenya used to warn would make him go bald until Zhenya’s own hairline started to recede and Sid’s stayed stubbornly put.

Zhenya opens his mouth to snap back, but Sid’s face is twisted in genuine upset, so he takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down.

Sid needs to get out of his head. Sid needs a distraction. Zhenya’s always been good at that.

“You’re think grip is bad?” he asks, smiling beatifically at Sid when Sid looks at him suspiciously at his abrupt change in tone. “Seems fine this morning, like, tight but not too tight, you know? You’re want to go upstairs and check, practice some more? I’m tell you if it’s good.”

Sid’s expression flickers from suspicion to confusion to disgust to…intrigued. Zhenya mentally high-fives himself. Time to seal the deal.

“And then maybe,” Zhenya purrs, circling the island and crowding close to Sid, “you’re help me get it in goal, like, I need practice too, you know?”

Sid smacks at his arm, but he’s laughing as he abandons his attempt to clean up and drags Zhenya upstairs.

They forget to set an alarm and get yelled at when they skid in late to video review the next morning. Sid’s smiling again, though, and Zhenya would bag-skate himself for a full 60 minutes to make that happen.

[juneknight]

.Be Lost. || 2.5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5

Next chapter is the last.

*

His grin is broad, beatific. It turns teasing almost right away. He leans down and brushes his nose against yours before releasing your wrists and rolling off of you. 

“I want to be just friends for just a while longer,” he admits in a whisper. “Throughout dinner. There’s something important I need to tell you.” 

*

‘There’s something important I need to tell you’. Have more infamous words ever been spoken, besides ‘we need to talk’? His sentence infuses you with dread and a strange calm all at once. This is it. The other shoe is about to drop. Marc deciding that he doesn’t want to dominate you will be the best-case-scenario outcome. 

Worst case scenario? He’s already done too much with you to salvage the friendship, and you both will have to part ways. Maybe that’s what he meant by wanting to stay just friends for a while longer. All these thoughts spin in your brain like a cyclone, sucking up your sanity while you pick at your entree at the (expensive) restaurant Marc insisted on bringing you to for dinner. Your hand is clammy where you are clutching your fork. You consider stabbing yourself with it to end the dinner early. 

It isn’t the worst dinner you’ve ever had together (that honor goes to the miserable time you and Marc had tried double dating, each of you bringing a lackluster date and spending the whole time—as you understood it now—fuming when the other showed any hint of affection towards their partner). But this is close. So close. 

Even Marc seems nervous. He is quiet(er). He clears his throat every now and then like he is about to say something, but then just reaches for his wine and takes another sip. When he cuts himself off after one glass and moves on to water, he drinks nearly two entire glasses thanks to this procrastination-sipping. You want to scream. Go ahead and say it! Break my heart already! Just get it over with. 

When he insists on dessert, you can’t take it anymore. Over dark chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, you sit your fork down and say: 

“What is it?”

“Have you ever seen the birds outside your window?” he blurts out. You stare. He clears his throat. Another sip of water. “At your apartment. On your balcony, you have a bird feeder. I just—do you ever stop and watch the birds?” 

“Yes,” you say, twisting your napkin in your lap. “Hence the bird feeder. Why—?” 

“You have this one bird that comes back often. It’s a house sparrow—I looked it up. House sparrows are like most birds, where the males are all beautiful and the females are more plain. Except this one bird. She had a bib, like the males do, but her’s was a downy gray instead of black. She came back every day. Multiple times a day, sometimes. Maybe she had babies that she was raiding your feeder for, I don’t know. 

“But I started talking to her about you while you were gone. Because I missed you. And I always miss you when you go away during the winter, don’t get me wrong, but this time…Well I had to talk to that fucking bird, or I would have—yes, another water would be fine, thank you—” 

You glare at the waiter’s back, irritated by the interruption. Something about this strange tangent has your attention. Maybe it’s the serious expression in Marc’s eyes, marred only by a hint of something sharper. Desperation, maybe. Maybe that’s what makes his words string together, turns him into a rambler. Still, you would have him see this through. 

“Go on,“ you coax. 

“I started talking to that fucking bird, because I couldn’t call you all day, and if I didn’t talk to something, I’d go crazy. I told her all about you. The way your skin gets lit up at night when you fall asleep while we’re watching television, colors changing blue, red, brown, white with whatever is on the screen. I told her about how you can’t let your food groups touch when they’re on your plate. I told her how you laugh so hard sometimes that you snort, and that those are always my favorite laughs.” 

“This bird knows all my secrets then,” you murmur. “I hope she doesn’t work for the government.” 

“All birds work for the government. I told her about my day. Work. Friends. Traffic. Dreams. Besides our every-other-night phonecalls, this…fucking…bird was the highlight of my day. I mean that unirionically.” 

“I’m starting to get jealous.” 

“And then one day she was gone,” says Marc. “She missed the morning rush. I sat on your bed, looking out at the balcony, waiting. And she never came. She never came back. I didn’t realize it until sunset, when she’d missed dinner, that I’d wasted my entire day off waiting. That whatever happens to birds—wherever she went when she wasn’t with me—she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

“That made me think of you. Going away from me, going wherever birds go. Taking all these pieces of me with you, and never coming back with them. You have those, you know. Pieces of me. So many pieces. I’d say that I have one last one to give you, but—” he snorts softly, looking down at his plate, “—you’ve had my heart already.

“And I don’t mind leaving them with you. I don’t mind you leaving. I know your work is important, and that you love it. I just want to know that you’ll always come back. I want you to have a reason to always come back—to me.”

“What are you saying?” you wonder, eyes wide as moons, mouth feeling a little numb. It almost sounds like he’s—

“I’m in love with you. I don’t want tonight to be a one-and-done, and I don’t just want the sex—yes, thank you, the check is fine—-” 

“I’m sorry,” you say to the waiter, holding up a finger. “Could you give us a moment without interruptions? Very important conversation. I apologize—thanks! You…you don’t want the sex?” 

“I don’t just want the sex. Important distinction,” says Marc. He laughs a little, but it sounds weak, punched-out. “You’re scaring me a little. Everytime I went over it in my head, you said it back straightaway. Then there was usually a spontaneous firework show, maybe some birds—” 

“Doves?”

“House sparrows.” 

“Marc—” you get shy suddenly. He’s opened himself up to you, fulfilled your wildest dreams (except the thought of Marc Spector loving you was so wild that it hadn’t even been in your dreams), but the idea of opening yourself up in return was terrifying. Couldn’t he just…tell? “Come on. You have to know…” 

Marc’s jaw gets tight. His eyes fall to his plate. “I didn’t. I thought—maybe I’ve just been seeing things. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have fucking—God, I’ve gone and fucked it all up, haven’t I?” 

“No—Marc, you aren’t getting it. The way you feel—it’s the way I feel, too,” you admit, nearly at a whisper, so quiet that he is leaning closer to you across the table straining to hear your words. “I’ve felt this way all this time. A long time before I even let myself realize it. It’s always been you. It would break my heart if all that happened tonight was amazing, kinky sex—excuse me, I just said—!”

The waiter clears his throat. He brandishes a bottle of wine from behind his back. “For new love. On the house.” 

“Is it corked?” Marc asks, his eyes on your own. There is something dark in his eyes, something that makes your mouth go dry in an instant and your hands clench into fists in your lap.

“Yes, sir.” 

“We’ll take it to go.”

*

Marc goes to open your car door for you but instead crowds you against it right there in the parking lot, one hand braced on the window beside you and the other on your hip. His body throws off warmth, and you find yourself arching away from the cool metal of the car against his body, all the breath rushing out of you in a whoosh. 

“Listen,” Marc says, leaning in to nuzzle against your temple. “You have to tell me now if you have any doubts. If you do, we’ll get in the car and I’ll drive you back to your apartment, and tomorrow night I’ll take you on another date like nice normal people do when they’re in love. But if you don’t, if you get in this car, you’ll belong to me. You know that, don’t you? Your body—”

“I want it, Marc, I want it,” you breathe. “I don’t have any doubts, I promise—”

He reaches up and grips your chin firmly, pressing your lower jaw up until your teeth clench together. His thumb rests over the seam of your lips, locking them closed. Something about the simple act makes you whine in the back of your throat. “At, At. It’s my turn to talk, yeah? Be a good girl and wait your turn. 

“If you get in this car, then for tonight you’re mine. Your body, your mind. Your words and your actions. Your sounds. Your pleasure. All of it will be mine to do with as I see fit. And I’ll treat you so fucking good honey. So goddamn good. Because I know that’s how good of a girl you’d be for me. So what’s it gonna be?” He lets go of your mouth. 

“My safeword is wine.” 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips thinning. He nods, like he knew it was headed this direction. His hand drops and finds the handle of the car door, and but he doesn’t open it. Not yet. 

“One condition,” he says. “Non-negotiable.” 

Anxious, you say: “What is it?” 

“We kiss first. Here. Now. While we’re still just us.” 

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, do it, please—” 

He kisses you, and it’s—wow. There could be fireworks, for all you know, but they’d be coming in second. Second to the taste of wine on Marc’s tongue. Second to the soft firmness of his lips. Second to the way his broad hand cups the back of your head and tilts it just-so, so that he can deepen the kiss the way he likes. Second to the way he starts to smile against your mouth. A smile that turns into a broad grin. 

“Oh my god,” he laughs. “That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.” 

“I found your bird,” you whisper shakily against his mouth. 

He pulls back, startled by your words. “You—what?” 

“Your missing bird,” you say, reaching for his hand. You place it over your racing heart, which feels like the beating of wings beneath his touch. 

[iamtaran]

WIP game! The 72nd Cycle 👀 many of my faves + intriguing premise

Yeeessssss blessings on your family, cow, etc.!!! This is 100% one of those fics of "I want to read X and it doesn't exist, so I guess it's on me." Please enjoy C: I really like writing characters reuniting, and side character POVs of the mains, and so!

Setting the scene: Din, in need of a place to lay low, heads to Mos Pelgo to beg his friend the Marshal's hospitality. He agrees to allow Din et al to stay the night, but Vanth finds himself faced with a difficult decision: repaying the Mandalorian's kindness, or protecting the people of Mos Pelgo from the danger that follows him.

Clear air, a sandstorm somewhere out in the Sea set to scrub the town clean, and there was fresh caf in his canteen. A damn fine morning, fumed Marshal Cobb Vanth.

It was his first thought when he woke up in the tepid damp of his own sweat that smelled like another nightmare and too much ale. In naught but his skivvies, sweat tickling its fingers down his throat. Crusts still in his eyes. Between one moment and the next he was awake and thought, Sorry, partner, you and that catatonic lump of linens on my couch gotta go. He swore and climbed dissolutely out into the beatific air.

Mos Pelgo had few laws, simple ones as far as some places in the galaxy go. They wrote them together, and Vanth as Marshal followed them. Any situations when it wasn’t clear what was best, they’d all of them meet up in the basement of the cantina and hold a council down amongst all the liquor crates and bread root flour, and jabber until a decision was reached.

There was nothing grey about what Vanth the Marshal was meant to do here. The responsibility to vet those who came through fell on him. Which meant the responsibility of telling those who brought too much heat to Mos Pelgo to skedaddle, politely and otherwise, was also his as well. 

That would be his duty today. 

It felt wrong, not just for who the Mandalorian was, but that it would be from his home. His. Chase the two of ‘em out of the corners like they’d snuck in when his back was turned, nudge them gently but firmly out the door with the side of his foot, s’kkt, s’kkt, like trying to bully the local stray out before it spreads fleas in the nice rug. Sorry, buddy, you know I like you fine, but…

This to the man who rolled up steel plated and deceptively mild and changed all of their lives. Vanth had figured him the holder of the bad end of a number of sticks until he saw the kid. Then it was maybe just one, maybe two. 

And then the bastard helped him kill a dragon for the low price of Vanth selling a piece of the man’s own culture back to him. He’d taken care of their trouble, but when he shows up with troubles of his own-

Sorry, Mando, but with no dragon around we just cain’t keep you.

Headachey and a little hungover, and in desperate need of at least another two hours of sleep, Vanth shambled squinting out into the den to see about breakfast. Instead of finding grey quiet and a couple sand lizards scuttering for cover, he found sulfur yellow light drooling out the propped door to the fresher. Inside and equally startled to him, the Mandalorian stared back from where he leaned strangely deflated against the sink basin.

Deflated because, stripped to the waist with only his helmet and the arms of his flight suit wagging disconsolately about his legs, he was surprisingly… person-shaped. Broad, but not nearly as much as the armor made him seem, and rangy through the arms. It was that moment Vanth knew with great certainty that he was flesh and bones, partially because he saw every muscle bunch and freeze with the type of surprise that makes an animal bolt.

The rest came when, no longer held taut, the bandages Mando had been fixing about his ribs escaped to slither down his waist, and Vanth saw what was underneath.

Cursing, he shouldered his way in.

"What-"

The fresher was not large. Mando reeled back like some undiscovered space would open up for him to slink in to. 

Vanth could have told him it was futile. Already straining to contain ten square kilometers of Mandalorian, the fresher had barely enough room for him to wedge his boots up against the opposite wall. Which is maybe why he jerked back with a strangled sound when Vanth hiked a leg over and thrust himself into the only space left. 

The Mandalorian's shoulders shot up to his ears.

“Vanth,” he started. 

Vanth batted Mando’s hands aside. It gave him his first good look.

“What the hell is this?”

Mando prickled at his harsh tone.

He looked like a dewback had tried to kick in his ribs and nearly succeeded. Considering Vanth had seen idiots turned to mincemeat by an ornery dew, it was an ugly comparison for an ugly wound. He hadn't even known bruises came in all the colors Mando was sporting,covering the whole of his right side.

“There a good reason you were hiding this? I’m assuming no.”

Mando proved him right with a stony silence. From so close, Vanth was front row to the tendon in his neck jumping and pulling tight. He nodded once.

“Karking bounty hunters,” he announced with feeling and grabbed for one unraveling end of bandage. Jumpier than a fathier, Mando twitched and made a concerted effort to set Vanth on fire with his mind. Easy enough to ignore, especially with his hands busy with the mess Mando had left. It was pathetic.

“This is pathetic.” Vanth sucked his teeth.  “What was this gonna do for you, really?”

“Nobody asked you,” Mando snapped, defensive. 

“Sure didn’t,” Vanth agreed. 

“I don’t need your help.”

“Uh-huh.” He did something obnoxious with his eyebrows.

Mando twitched without Vanth even having touched him this time. The Mandalorian’s apparently boundless restraint was finding its borders real fast. Well-accustomed to the signs of his own imminent slugging, Vanth put his money on the mitigating gratitude from the night before and hoped his luck would uncharacteristically hold.

“You should have said something last night. Could’ve done you up then,” he griped, proving why his luck was what it was, and then added testily, “straighten up, more like you’d normally stand.” 

A pointed thump to Mando’s instep startled him into an indignant shuffle. 

An awkwardly mincing dance followed as they struggled to reorient too many limbs in too little space. Proving Vanth right, Mando could barely lift his arm on that side, and a twist too far made his breath audible even past the helmet. ‘Don’t need help’ my ass.

Vanth briefly considered feeling for a break himself. A glance up at Mando ominously still visor made him re-evaluate. 

Just to check, “You sure those aren’t broke?”

Mando scowled with his entire body as answer.

Whether they were or weren’t, bandages were the best Vanth had at hand. And so he went about applying them, while Mando managed to provide minor inconveniences at every available turn.

Despite the silence, the injury said a lot more than the Mandalorian was maybe willing to divulge. Its edges hadn’t even started to green and yellow up. The heat off it radiated furnace-like on the backs of his fingers. 

Vanth was like most from Tatooine. He’d seen a lot of hurt done. Which is why he knew it was only a couple days old, at most, and painful. Vanth couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed or sympathetic.

“Making the ride out here with busted ribs - you’re something else. Ootmian,” he added under his breath. After a beat, “So what is it? Too proud to ask for help?

“I didn’t need help,” Mando replied immediately, then hissed when Vanth tightened the pressure. One of his hands flashed out to grab him. “Vanth!”

Like all bounty hunters, Mando could read a room. The change in this one had him freezing about a half-tick after Vanth. When Vanth shook off the hand that had seized his wrist, Mando let him. 

His hand had been cold. Vanth, meanwhile, felt hot across his shoulders, his neck. He saw his own eyes reflected back when he squared up to the Mandalorian’s visor.

“You wanna tell me you weren’t having any trouble, then?” 

Unfooled by the extreme mildness of his question, Mando said nothing. Vanth nodded anyway as if he’d spoken. 

“That’s what I thought. You got your pride, Mando, but I got mine. You’re the one who asked me for hospitality, which around here means more'n just shelter and water. This is it. Now, you gonna let me finish or are we gonna have words?”

After another moment, conspicuously silent, Mando’s helmet inclined a bare centimeter. Vanth nodded back. The Mandalorian remained about as comfortable with the handling as a feral tooka.

Being so close gave Vanth's curiosity some fodder to chew on despite his best intentions. Mando had a spectacular scar down his left flank about which Vanth couldn’t help but speculate. And on the other side, dark where the other was white, a long, shiny dimple where a blaster bolt had creased him just beneath his floating rib. Those always left the same, distinctive burn. This one couldn’t have been more than a month old. 

Looking at it, sympathy pangs zinged through him. A glance up told him Mando had glued his gaze to the opposite wall. 

Despite his exasperation, Vanth wasn’t in the game of torturing folks. Even if they were spectacularly hardheaded. 

“So.” No matter how conversational, his voice made the other jerk. He pinned the bandage in place before it could sluice off. “What exactly took exception to your having ribs?” 

Mando unclenched his jaw with visible effort (and that had Vanth’s gaze flinching away, realizing that just under the helmet's lip he could see-)

“Droid.” 

“A droid did this?”

“...Battle droid,” Mando allowed. It clearly pained him to talk when he was this unhappy. Vanth didn’t feel a sympathy pang this time. “Bigger than humanoid standard - closer to Devaronian height. Found out pretty quick it was blaster- and fire-proof.”

Vanth whistled down at his hands. If he didn’t look up from his work, it’d probably be better for the both of them. In theory.

“How’d you destroy it?”

“Got it-” Mando hissed abruptly. Vanth murmured an apology and tried to avoid jostling him again as he checked the tension of a final few coils. “...Got it with a spear under the faceplate.”

Huh.

“A spear.” 

“Yep.”

Damn helmet, but Vanth would have paid to see what expression Mando was making behind it. Bet he’d clear me out at sabacc. 

“Blaster- and fire-proof, and you’re telling me you killed it with a pointy stick?”

For a moment Vanth thought he’d jostled the wound again and opened his mouth to apologize. It was only then he recognized the rasping in the Mandalorian’s throat for a laugh. 

“A pointy stick made of beskar.”

...Huh.

“Huh,” said Vanth intelligently. “Yeah, that��d bout do it.”

In an unexpected twist, Mando produced a bottle of spray bacta from thin air (or, a pocket in his flight suit) and handed it to him rather than trying to apply it himself. Vanth took it with his fingertips. It was one of those little canisters about the right size to come from a field kit. 

He’d only seen it in expired surplus. Never like this --mostly full, and even the date was good. It gave him pause more than the wound had. 

When Vanth asked him where he’d found it, Mando shrugged. The movement translated somewhat awkwardly given one of his hands was propped on Vanth’s shoulder to get his arm out of the way.

No bigger than his palm, but enough to treat Vanth didn’t know how many fingers and arms broken in the mines. Using it like this was extravagant, especially for a bounty hunter. He couldn’t help how his nose wrinkled.

“Grabbed it from Jabba’s palace,” Mando answered at last, sounding winded. Bacta on deep bruising like that must have felt like being injected with coolant. “There were store rooms of it. Fett said I could take what I wanted.”

Well, if Fett’s paying… Vanth gave him an extra spritz. 

Of course, as he was tucking that final bit of wily, squiggly bandage into place, that damn thought. Just on the underside of the unwieldy stone of a conversation Vanth had dropped between them and had the audacity to demand Mando help carry. You can’t stay here, Mando. We don’t need any Devaronian-sized, missile-resistant super droids rolling into town looking for you. He sure felt like something on its belly hoping against hope no one tipped his rock over and found his ugly self underneath. He mumbled some excuse and retreated to his room to finish getting dressed, and to wonder if he could just stay under this particular rock forever. 

The Mandalorian, in his mind, had remained unchanging from how Vanth remembered him. Steel; determination; a juggernaut that sometimes moved slow enough to play at being mild, up until he really got some momentum going and could take out the world with dispassionate violence. Vanth had wondered - well, anyone would wonder, he thought defensively to no one; it was just, well, it was natural to - but Vanth hadn’t actually tried to picture him under all that shine and armor weave. He hadn’t tried to imagine that there was a body inside there. 

He couldn’t have imagined the Mandalorian with a blood-hot bruise that would hurt him the way it would hurt Vanth himself, the kind that made you hiss through your teeth and move like an old man. Or that he hid rangy arms the same sunless pale of a skink’s belly where they weren’t composed mostly of scars.

That was all of him, really. Gossiping scars, calluses in odd places where armor met the borders of the person wearing it. Dark hairs on his chest and down his belly which rolled at the waist band when he leaned forward. The Mandalorian was human. The Mandalorian had a belly button.

There was a man living in there. It was a revelation. 

Vanth had thought his morning couldn’t get any worse.

[searidings]

Kara moving in with her best bud Lena for Reasons (maybe her apartment is temporarily fucked up?) and now Lena has to watch her exercise/weight-lift/do yoga in a sports bra in her apartment

It’s already been a capital D type of Day, full of misogynistic potential investors and minor workplace explosions, when Lena opens her front door to the sight of Kara Danvers in a perfect-form downward facing dog on her living room floor.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters, dropping her keys noisily onto the kitchen counter and making a beeline for the booze cupboard.

“Did you say something?” Kara asks angelically, transitioning smoothly into a cobra that very delightfully and extremely unhelpfully causes her biceps to flex like a Greek goddess. Her eyes, bluer than ever against the vast expanses of smooth golden skin on display above the sinfully tight cerulean sports bra she’s wearing, flutter angelically. She beams beatifically up at Lena from her yoga mat as if there’s any possibility her superhearing didn’t pick up on Lena’s words. As if she isn’t just trying to make Lena repeat herself for her own amusement.

“What are you even doing?” Lena asks a little more sharply than she intends, jaw clenched as she wills herself not to so much as glance in the direction of Kara’s exposed abs. She treats herself to a heavy pour of scotch, pauses to consider, then adds some more. “It’s not like you need to exercise. Like, at all.”

“Surely I get to indulge in whichever recreational activities I choose in my own home,” Kara replies cheerily, avoiding Lena’s carried-home-after-a-shitty-day snark with practiced ease.

“You gave up that privilege when you moved into my home instead,” Lena deadpans, Kara’s irrepressible affability in the face of her own bad moods beginning to chip away at her steely CEO armour. “That’s what you get for letting a flea-infested mongrel into your apartment—”

“Hey, Toto couldn’t help having fleas—”

“And not only that, letting it all over your couch, your bed—”

“He was cold! He just wanted to snuggle—”

Lena shudders. “You snuggled with that monstrous thing? I hope to god you burned the clothes you were wearing. And maybe the whole couch too.”

“Toto was not a thing, he fit perfectly on my—”

“And isn’t Toto usually the name of a small dog?” Lena asks incredulously, throwing back the scotch in one smooth swallow and pouring herself another. “That beast was almost taller than you!”

“Being a lap dog isn’t about size, Lena. It’s a state of mind.”

“A state of mind that’s meant your entire apartment has had to be fumigated. Twice.”

“And I’d do it again,” Kara says resolutely, pushing up into a high plank and inadvertently flexing her shoulders in a way that has Lena’s fingers slipping around the tumbler in her grasp. “Toto was homeless. He needed someone to take him in and love him, and I did.”

She drops to her knees and pushes back into child’s pose, tilting her chin up to gaze at Lena from between her extended arms. “Just like you’ve done with me.”

And Lena curses Kara and every one of her ancestors right back to the dawn of time for how endearing she is in this moment. For how physiologically incapable Lena is of maintaining her façade of annoyance in the face of those earnest eyes. God, when had she gotten so fucking soft?

But any thoughts of the blonde as cute or adorable evaporate into thin air as Kara pushes back up into downward dog, lifting one leg straight above her in a graceful arch. Her forearms flex as long fingers grip into the soft mat and Lena chokes a little on her next sip of scotch, eyes unfortunately, deliciously glued to the jut of Kara’s hipbone through her yoga pants and the toned lines of her tightened thighs.

“Seriously though,” Lena manages, turning away from the sight and congratulating herself on the fact that her voice is only slightly higher than normal. “Why do you even bother? It’s not going to tone you up any. Not that you need it,” she mutters into her scotch glass, tipping out the dregs of the bottle and reaching into the cupboard for a fresh one.

When she turns back to face the living room Kara’s cheeks are flushed, almost as if she’s blushing. Or maybe all the blood is just rushing to her stupid, unfairly attractive head.

“Yoga is about more than just muscle tone, Lena,” the blonde says disapprovingly, her gaze fixed on her mat. “It’s a mind-body connection. Mindfulness. Inner peace. It’s doing wonderful things for my stress levels.”

“It’s doing terrible things for mine,” Lena mutters, knowing Kara will hear her but finding herself increasingly uncaring as the scotch warming her throat begins to course hot through her veins.

“Then maybe you should get down here and join me,” Kara murmurs, voice low as she switches legs.

The blonde’s tone is practically a purr and Lena chokes for real this time, spluttering out the scotch attempting to find its forever home inside her lungs. Kara is behind her in a second, hand hot through the thin material of Lena’s blouse as she rubs gentle circles between her shoulder blades.

The offending appendage doesn’t withdraw, however, even once Lena’s regained full use of her airways and is wiping the tears from her eyes. In fact, it’s joined by a friend, and both of Kara’s hands slip up and over her shoulders quite without Lena’s permission, fingers kneading into the tight muscle.

“Wow, you are tense,” Kara murmurs, thumbs doing something absolutely sinful to the knots in Lena’s neck. The blonde steps closer, bracketing Lena against the cool marble of the kitchen island with her hips and it takes every single shred of self-control Lena possesses not to sag back into the hot body hovering against the length of her own.

Lena shuts her eyes and bites down on her lower lip, hard. Anything to keep from focusing on the warmth radiating off Kara’s oh God partially clothed body like a furnace.

Long dextrous fingers dig delicious into the tense set of Lena’s shoulders and she barely manages to hold back the breathy sounds of pleasure she’s fairly certain she should not be making at her best friend’s touch. Kara, if anything, seems spurred on by Lena’s restraint, fingers slipping inside the collar of Lena’s blouse to press firmly against her bare skin and oh God Lena is not going to survive this.

In fact, she can actively feel herself giving in to the pull, to Kara’s ineffable magnetism. She sways backwards just slightly, and Lena swears she’s not the only one who sucks in a sharp breath when their bodies fully connect. The frame pressed to her back is warm and firm and God, Kara is solid against her in a way that has all the blood in Lena’s body migrating south with pinpoint precision.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Kara whispers, her breath ghosting the shell of Lena’s ear and making her shiver. “I could walk you through some asanas. Might help loosen you up.”

Jesus fuck.

“Nope!” Lena squeaks, cheeks aflame, pushing away from Kara and snagging the bottle of scotch on the way to her bedroom. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Enjoy your practice.”

The quiet sounds of Kara’s chuckles follow her all the way down the hall.

Lena spends the first five minutes of her shower staring unseeing at the tiled wall, mind blank but for the image of Kara’s washboard abs over the waistband of her yoga pants, the firm press of her body against Lena’s back.

The second five minutes is spent in intense silent conversation with herself, administering an internal pep talk worthy of a high school spirit rally and trying to convince her racing heart to resume its regular rhythm.

The third interval consists of Lena shampooing her hair in mounting despair, trying desperately to foresee a way of surviving the next three days of cohabitation until Kara’s apartment is deemed safe and fume-free if the blonde is going to insist on doing distracting activities and wearing distracting sports bras and just generally being distracting the whole time.

It’s only by minute sixteen of Lena’s long indulgent shower that a plan begins to form in her mind. She steps out onto the bathmat, appraising the various towels slung over the heated rail until she finds one fit for purpose. Tucks it snug round her body and pulls her dripping curls over one shoulder before making her way back out to the living room.

She can pinpoint the exact moment the blonde notices her entrance because the quiet room is suddenly filled with a rubbery tearing sound as Kara, on her hands and knees for a spine stretch, rips the mat beneath her hands clean in two.

Lena bites her lip to hold back a smirk, watching as blue eyes track slowly up the expanse of her bare legs, unimpeded by the towel that only barely reaches to mid-thigh, and then up to follow the droplets of water tracking their way down Lena’s chest until they disappear into the soft fabric.

Kara’s mouth is hanging open, arms and legs splayed wide where they rest on either side of the torn mat, and Lena relishes the thrill of victory that zips up her spine like a firecracker. Two can play at this game, that’s for sure.

“I was going to ask if you were ready to order takeout for dinner,” Lena says, letting her own voice drop low as she quirks an eyebrow. Her gaze falls pointedly to the sad remains of Kara’s yoga mat and this time she can’t hold back her smirk. “But it seems your mind-body connection might still need some work. I’ll leave you to it.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel and saunters back to the bedroom, Kara’s eyes glued to her swinging hips like a physical weight on her body.

Cheeks pink, heart pounding, she drops onto her bedspread as a heady combination of relief and pleasure courses through her veins. Lena hasn’t had a roommate since boarding school but maybe this cohabitation – temporary as it may be – will end up having a few unanticipated perks.

[cinnaminsvga]

body of mine | Seokjin (M)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of learning to shift—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x x x x x

[December 3, 11:39 PM]

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

Usually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from: joonieboobie to: y/n

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x x x x x

[December 4, 9:14 AM]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seokjin—”

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

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

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

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

“Are you gonna go challenge him today?”

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

“Such as?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?” you say lamely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not even wearing any socks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you mean mutual pining?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You literally just complained though?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? How does it work?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you… smell anything odd?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Squeak!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gasps, unable to finish his thought as he accidentally tightens his grasp on you. He pulls you closer until your bodies are aligned, nuzzling into your neck. His teeth scrape your skin slightly, pulling a loud moan from you. You flush, embarrassed, but you have no time to worry about that when you feel how incredibly hard and solid he is against your stomach.

“P-please, help me? It doesn’t have to mean anything; we can forget about it after but right now, I don’t think I’m going to live past tomorrow unless I have my cock stuffing your pussy right this very moment,” he says in one breath, his hands reaching behind you to squeeze your ass. He inhales deeply, releasing it with a content sigh. “Fuck, I can already smell how wet you are. I just know my cock will stretch it out real good, just like how I always dreamed.”

“You… you dreamt of me like that?” you whisper, shocked. You don’t know why your brain latches onto that piece of information out of all the filthy things he just said, but you have to admit that the thought of him having wet dreams about you turns you on greatly.

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?” He sounds incredulous, like you’d just said something completely unfathomable to him. “Fuck, do you remember when I got my rut two months ago, and I stayed with Namjoon and Yoongi so that you wouldn’t feel awkward around me? They love to tease me about the number of times I moaned your name every time I came,” he admits. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you even if I tried.”

“Fuck, Seokjinnie,” you whine, your fingers scrambling to hang onto his chest, his back, his neck—anywhere, really. Your legs feel like jelly, afraid that you might stumble from how weak you’ve become from your own arousal. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“I’m sorry I had to confess this way,” he says, caressing your hair with unexpected tenderness. He chuckles quietly, his breath tickling your neck. “But I really mean it, horny juice or not.”

Your heart squeezes inside your chest, not believing your lucky stars for allowing you to meet this wonderful boy in front of you. You can hardly believe your ears; never in your wildest dreams would you ever expect that he would also like you back.

“Seokjin, I also—” you begin, ready to spill your feelings all over the floor, but the moment is broken when Seokjin abruptly lifts you by the ass, his palms squeezing you as he barrels determinedly to his bedroom. You shriek in surprise, clutching onto his neck and holding on for dear life. “What the fuck? Seokjin, put me down!”

“No time for feelings! We can talk after we fuck,” he hoots, bouncing you onto the bed. You grunt from the impact, disoriented by the quick turn of events. Your head is spinning, so you don’t even register Seokjin’s hands peeling off your pants in one smooth motion.

A mixture of the cold air and nerves causes your legs to be littered with goosebumps. Seokjin, ever the attentive familiar, notices and rubs soothing circles all over, the heat inside of you coming back with a vengeance. “Sorry about that, baby,” he coos, massaging you. You shake your head, telling him it’s alright.

You are embarrassed when you feel how your panties stick uncomfortably against your skin, already so painfully aroused as if you had been the one affected by the potion. Your shame melts away when you see how much worse Seokjin is, however, as his nostrils flare with want. 

“I’m glad my nose still works, by the way. I don’t know what I’d do if I missed the opportunity to smell your pretty pussy,” he sighs, situating himself in between your legs. He blows gently against your clothed slit, effectively causing all coherency to leave you for the night.

He watches your reactions slyly, his body heat radiating off of him in waves. For once, he looks more like predator than prey. “I know I said I was desperate to fuck you, but do you mind if I start with an appetizer first? I wanted cake today, but turns out my dessert was here all along…” he trails off, smirking when he catches the steadily growing spot on your underwear. “Oh, baby. I know you’re going to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I-I,” you stutter, shuddering with desire. You whimper pathetically as he traces your panties with a fingernail, your stomach clenching with desire. “I didn’t know you could be like this.”

“Like what?” he hums, pulling your panties off to join your discarded pants. He grins at the sight of your glistening core, wetting his lips in anticipation. “God, you’re so pretty. I could just eat you up.”

“Then why don’t you?” you reply, trying to gain some semblance of control. That silly notion is thrown out the window, however, the moment Seokjin licks a fat stripe up your cunt. “Ngnnhh, fuck!”

Seokjin moans in tandem with you, slurping you up like a starved man. “Baby, you’re just as good as I thought. I could cum from eating you out alone.” He takes a deep breath, kissing your core almost chastely. “Fuck, I know I could cum from this alone,” he amends, rubbing his clothed length against the bed sheets.

The velvety wet heat of his tongue on your dripping pussy makes you clench around nothing, ripping a scream out of you when he focuses directly on your clit. He sucks with an obscene grin on his face, holding your hips down when your entire body begins to tremble.

“So sensitive,” Seokjin says, sluggish and gravelly like he’s drunk on your taste. “So fucking sensitive. How are you real, baby?”

“Jinnie, please,” you whine, doing your best to grind on his tongue despite his iron hold on you. “I want more, please.”

Seokjin only chuckles darkly, continuing his vicious pace. “C’mon, use my tongue like you want,” he says, letting go of you and allowing you to hump his mouth with reckless abandon.

You do as he says, swirling your hips against him with reckless abandon. The heat in your abdomen steadily builds, and you know you’re only seconds away from tipping over. “I’m close, Seokjin,” you huff, chasing your high. “Please, let me cum? Can I cum, Seokjinnie?”

He nods his head, unable to respond verbally as you continue to assault his tongue. After three more licks, you release with a silent scream, writhing violently from the strength of it. 

He gives your clit one last sweet peck, sitting up with a feral grin on his face. His chin is dripping with your arousal, his plump lips redder than usual. He makes a show of licking your juices around his mouth, chuckling when all you can do is swallow wantonly.

“Thank you for the meal, baby,” he teases, his lust-riddled gaze slightly clearer now that he’s had a proper taste of you. However, the glaring tent in his shorts is still painfully present, a small darkened patch visible on his crotch.

“Wan’ your cock,” you slur, boneless and blissed out but still filled with the longing for more. “Fill my cunnie until I can’t walk anymore,” you croak, pussy twitching for extra measure. Seokjin’s expression twists, his pupils widening until his eyes are pitch black.

Seokjin doesn’t waste any more time. He rips his shorts off in record time, stripping himself of his shirt as well. You remove your own shirt and bra, causing your nipples to harden from the cold air. You tweak them as you wait for Seokjin to get himself situated, hungrily appreciating his beautiful torso and god-like shoulders. “Don’t use a condom, Jinnie. I want to feel all of you,” you say when he begins to reach inside his dresser. You can physically feel his unhinged desire growing from your words, your pussy dripping in anticipation.

“Gonna fill your pretty pussy, huh? Fill you until you have my babies?” he rasps, positioning his cock in front of you. “Gonna plug you up with my cum, Y/N? Is that what you want?”

You cant your hips upward, whining when his tip only just grazes your lips teasingly. “Fuck me already,” you beg. “Want you to ruin me.”

“Who am I to deny you? Ask and you shall receive,” he grins, before slowly pushing inside. Your jaw drops at the intrusion, as it’s been a while since you’ve last gotten fucked like this. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Almost like your pussy is sucking me in,” he groans, straining to keep himself from thrusting all the way into you. “Like you’re made for me.”

“You can m-move faster. I can take it,” you whisper, eyebrows pulling together. You sound desperate to your own ears, the pain and pleasure mixing deliciously and making your cunt weep with want. 

There is a moment of hesitation on Seokjin’s part, but that all drains away when he sees your determination. Without another warning, he shoves himself up to the hilt, causing you to arch your back with a loud cry.

“Fuck,” he curses, but there is still worry in his eyes. “Baby, are okay? Are you good?”

It takes you a moment to remember how to speak. “C’mon, Seokjin. Move. I can take it,” you beg. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he moans, but nods his head anyway.

Seokjin pulls back until only his tip remains inside you before slamming back harshly, hard enough that you’re sliding backward. He begins his brutal pace, his dick stretching you out nicely like he promised. You let out tiny squeaks with every pump of cock, hitting you perfectly in the spot that makes you see stars.

“Kiss me?” you gasp out in between moans, pulling him by the hair until you’re kissing him sloppily. It’s more teeth than anything, as Seokjin grunts into your mouth with every tug of his roots. You bite his bottom lip after a particularly rough thrust, but it only encourages him to pick up the pace.

You wrap your legs around his torso, pulling him as close as humanly possible. You can already feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly, your toes curling in anticipation.

“Seokjinnie, I’m gonna cum soon. Please, I can’t hold it—”

“I’m close too,” he says hotly in your ear. He sucks a bruise into your neck, moaning when he feels your pussy tighten in response. He drills into your cunt faster, the rhythm of his thrusts growing sloppy as he reaches his own release. He reaches down between the two of you, rubbing circles into your clit. “Fuck, baby. Cum with me?”

You sob his name, your muscles contracting as your body lights up with intense pleasure. Your back arches off the bed, your walls milking Seokjin dry until thick white ropes of cum start leaking in rivulets down your sopping cunt and all over your thighs. You can feel his throbbing length inside you as continuous streams of hot seed keep flowing from him, filling you to the brim.

Seokjin slowly comes to a complete halt, but he still hasn’t pulled out. “I’m gonna keep my cum in you for a moment, okay? Don’t wanna waste any of it, right?”

You can only nod tiredly in agreement, completely tuckered out. Your chest heaves from your laboured breathing, but the smile on your face can only be described as content. “Wow. Color me surprised. Didn’t think you’d wanna be a father so early,” you say hoarsely.

Now sated, Seokjin’s demeanor returns to its normal state, his aura less crazed than before. He has the decency to look embarrassed, but the twinkle in his eyes shows that he doesn’t regret it in the slightest. “I’d be more than happy to be the father of your children. We’re already going to live with each other forever, so I might as well raise your children anyway.”

“Might as well?” you laugh, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. “You make it sound like it’s your obligation. And who said I’d live with you forever?”

“Well, I mean, who else is going to love you the way that I do?” he murmurs, nuzzling your noses together. “Who else would be your annoyingly handsome hamster familiar?”

“Quite,” you grumble, allowing him to maneuver you into a more comfortable cuddling position. You kiss him properly this time, enjoying the sweet, warm pleasure of his affection. You’ve never felt so happy in your life. “Happy birthday, Seokjin. I’m sorry this isn’t the way I planned for it to go, but I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Agreed. It’s just like us, huh?” he snorts. He cushions your face against his chest, carding his fingers tenderly through your hair. “Say… Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me, what does your pink hair actually mean?”

You chuckle, snuggling deeper into his comforting scent. You feel yourself slipping into slumber, eyelids threatening to fall. You’ve always loved cuddling Seokjin, after all. But most of all... 

I love you, of course. “I think you already know, genius.”

Even when the sun finishes its descent from the sky and darkness fills the room, the bright pink of your hair glows—unfaltering.

[valdomarx]

Lost in Translation

McShep + fake relationship, for @lamberts <3

John glances around warily. The people of this planet seem friendly enough, but with Teyla and Ronon off visiting another village, he feels acutely vulnerable.

“Will others be joining you?” The village elder gives him a inquiring look.

“Just McKay. He’s my scientist.”

The elder frowns. “What is scientist? We do not know this word.”

“Oh.” He looks around the mud hut and contemplates how to explain it. They clearly don’t have a frame of reference for astrophysics or computer programming here. “He’s part of my team. He travels with us and, you know, gets us out of difficult situations. Opens doors. Fixes things when they break. That sort of thing.”

“Ahh.” The elder smiles beatifically. “This we know. He is your chap’tah.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“It is good for one who travels to have a chap’tah.”

John grins. “He has his uses.”

Some of the villagers raise their eyebrows at that, but it’s soon forgotten as they move onto the trade negotiations.

-

“I brought you food.” One of the village women smiles at him shyly as she hands over some kind of bread and fruit. “Should I bring more for you to give to your chap’tah as well?”

“Thank you.” John waves her off. “But don’t worry about McKay. I’m sure he’ll track down the food himself soon enough.”

The woman draws back in horror. “You do not feed him?”

“What? No?” John boggles. “I mean. He’s allowed to eat. Does so a whole lot, actually. But I don’t typically oversee that personally.”

“In our culture, we honor our chap’tahs by providing them with food. Is it not so where you are from?”

“It’s not.” John thinks about the last time the Daedalus came by to restock Atlantis and the frankly incredible volume of snacks that were distributed among the scientists. “Not officially, anyway.”

“Perhaps you should try it.”

He thinks about the way Rodney’s face lights up when he brings donuts to the lab. “Perhaps I should.”

-

“We have prepared a hut for you and your chap’tah.”

“Great.” John isn’t crazy about staying the night here, but the gate is a long hike away and they clearly aren’t in any immediate danger.

The villager, a young man with broad shoulders, leads him to a hut on the edge of the central meeting place. “We hope you will be comfortable.”

John sticks his head inside. It is exceedingly small, barely enough space for one person. It was going to be cramped as hell with both him and Rodney in there.

But they are guests, and he doesn’t want to be rude. “Lovely. Thank you.”

The young man gives him a knowing wink. “We know that a man likes to keep his chap’tah close.”

And that was… weird. But okay, having a scientist close at hand was pretty useful.

-

Rodney storms up to him and John laughs so hard he nearly chokes. He’s wearing some kind of elaborately tied white tunic and has flowers woven into his hair. His face has turned a furious puce color and he is fuming.

“Fun day?” John asks when he’s regained enough breath to speak.

“They insisted on dressing me like this and it’s all your fault.” He waves a finger in John’s face.

“How’s that?”

“They said I had to be presented handsomely. As if my usual attire is anything but! And the more I argued, the more they insisted I had to because of you. ‘When one is chap’tah, one must be at one’s most agreeable.’” Rodney does a mean impression of one of the village elders. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Honestly, nothing! Just that you were my team scientist. Maybe they really love celebrating science here?”

“Oh, right, because this is a bastion of forward-looking experimental thinking!” Rodney gestures wildly around the village. “I feel so celebrated.”

John suppresses a smile. “I think you look very nice. White suits you.”

He keeps a straight face for all of two seconds before Rodney tries to throttle him.

-

That night, there’s a celebration in honor of their new trade alliance. The villagers build an enormous bonfire and smoke meats and vegetables over it like the galaxy’s biggest barbecue. After the food, they hand around gourds full of sweet mead which leaves sugar on John’s lips and tingling in his throat. And then the dancing begins.

Dancing has a long tradition in this culture, he learns: dances in the hope of a good harvest, dances to give thanks, dances to celebrate births and to commemorate deaths. Every family seems to own a drum or pipe of some kind, and they bring them out to play relentless, rhythmic music to which they twirl around the fire.

The mead must have been stronger than he thought, because when one of the villagers invites him to dance he takes her up on the offer, letting her show him the steps. He catches sight of Rodney watching him from the other side of the fire with a frown, and he’s compelled to pull him to his feet and to wipe that frown away.

Neither of them have the elegance and agility of the others, but that doesn’t seem to matter. John does his best to show him the footwork, but they mostly end up bumping into each other and laughing. At one point they collide so hard that Rodney nearly goes sprawling, and John catches him around the waist to hold him upright.

The firelight paints them both in hues of orange, and a red flush is spreading across the tops of his cheeks, the way it always does after more than one drink. John longs to trace it with his fingertips.

If I kissed him now, he catches himself thinking, he'd taste of honey and wood smoke.

They make it until dawn before staggering back to their hut. The villagers are still dancing, and they fall asleep to the sound of drumming.

-

John wakes up far too hot, with something fluffy tickling his nose and something soft and appealing pressed up against him.

He blinks, stretches, and realizes the tickling thing is Rodney's hair, which his face is buried in, and the heavy weight is Rodney's ass, which he's grinding up against.

Erm.

“Jesus, Sheppard, you could at least buy me dinner first.”

John stills, embarrassed. Though Rodney sounds bleary but not exactly adverse to the idea.

Interesting.

"How about once we get back?"

"Huh?" Rodney is not at his sharpest first thing in the morning.

"Dinner. You. Me. Atlantis."

"Oh." Rodney snuggles back into him. "Yeah, alright."

Nice. "Okay. Good "

There's a quiet moment, and John enjoys the warmth of his arms around Rodney.

Rodney never could appreciate quiet though. "Why did you stop?" He sounds almost petulant. It's kind of cute. "With the -" he gestures vaguely, "- you know."

"Technically I didn't buy you dinner yet."

"Ehh, I'm pretty easy. I'll put out for a potential dinner."

Really nice.

He smiles into Rodney's hair. "If you insist."

-

It’s several hours later that Teyla arrives. John is sat on a muddy bank playing a game involving balancing piles of sticks with some of the local kids, and Rodney has been hustled off to have more flowers braided into his hair. When the village women tugged him out of the hut, giggling and waving flowers, he’d thrown his hands up and barely even complained, so he must be in a truly good mood.

“John,” Teyla gives him a polite nod as she approaches, flanked by two of the villagers. “Caton and Sar’ai tell me that negotiations went well.”

He stretches lazily. “They did. I think we can get enough food to keep Atlantis stocked for several months.”

“Good. Well done.” She comes and sits by him on the bank. “They also told me that you were here with your husband.”

He blinks at her.

She’s hiding a smile. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

“Erm.” John thinks back over the last day. The chap’tah. The food. The flowers. The shared hut.

Ahh.

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding about me and McKay. Though, on reflection, I can perhaps see how they might have got the wrong impression.”

Teyla nods sagely. “It would be best if you, how shall we say, play along for the rest of the visit? No need to risk a diplomatic incident.”

Very well. If he must, he must.

When Rodney comes back, this time dressed in a fetching blue sheet with violet flowers tucked behind his ears, John pulls him close and kisses him. Rodney makes a happy humming noise and none of the villagers seem perturbed, so he’s going to count that as a win.

As they collect their gear and begin the walk back to the gate, John takes Rodney’s hand in his own.

Teyla inclines her head knowingly. “I am glad your mission was successful,” she says.

"Just doing my part,” he replies, giving Rodney’s hand a little squeeze, “in the spirit of intergalactic understanding."

[peppermintquartz]

minific, Playroom!verse / White Collar crossover

Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Tyler Breeze, Finn Balor

*

"For the record, I do not like how you're making me spend this holiday," Peter Burke repeats as they get into the car - a Ford, how plebeian - and Neal does what he does, which is smile prettily, nod, and say, "I know, Peter."

It's Hollywood they're headed to, all porcelain veneers and big parties and backstabbings and beautiful people, and if not for the bright sun that threatens his complexion, Neal would have liked to move here.

Well, a younger, more reckless Neal.

(It's not been the same for Neal since Peter's caught him for the final time, the two of them reconnecting in Florence, both of them finding each other where Galileo's preserved middle finger pointed right at the heavens. Then they had nights of accusations and arguments and pleas, followed by angry sex, followed by makeup sex, followed by 'come home with me' sex, followed by 'we love you and want you here' sex.

It was a lot of sex, to make up for the years Peter couldn't have Neal, not while Neal was his CI, and somehow between the fucking and the promises that Peter will not try to resurrect the dead Neal Caffrey and instead be satisfied with Geoffrey Neil Anderson, professional art restorer who sometimes travels for work but is based in Brooklyn, they have found an equilibrium together with Elizabeth.)

The address they have is in a very nice part of town, but not in the flashier districts. Mansion after mansion, but nothing too ostentatious as to be gaudy. It is clear that everyone in this neighborhood has old money. The security at the gate scrutinizes Peter's credentials and even calls to check, which earns him Peter's grudging admiration, and Neal hands over his name card. The actual address is for a mid-century modern, its black roof and pale cream walls almost plain and modest, if not for the huge estate it is situated in, and at the door are two men, one blond and one dark-haired, of about the same height. The blond man is in a white shirt and tight pale blue jeans, while the brunet is wearing an all-black suit with a black shirt.

Neal lights up in recognition. "Oh, my god, it's him!"

"I didn't think seeing Tyler Breeze would get that out of you."

"No, Finn!" Once the car stops, Neal hops out and practically runs up to the dark-haired man and hugs him. "Finn! Oh, sir, I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Likewise," says the man named Finn, and from his accent Peter knows he is Irish. What bugs him more is the sir that fell so easily from Neal's tongue. Then Peter's eyes widen when Finn tips Neal's chin and kisses him, hot and passionate, right out here where everyone can see-

"Mm, sorry, sir, but, uh, I'm spoken for these days," Neal murmurs as he pushes away - not quickly enough, if Peter's glare is anything to go by - and Finn just smiles that beatific smile of his.

Smiles like an angel, fucks like a demon. Neal's mind drags some very pleasant memories of Tokyo and Bullet Club from the depths, and he locks eyes with Tyler Breeze, who has a mischievous smirk on his lips. Princess. I haven't seen you in ages.

"Hello, Geoffrey," Tyler says with a wink, despite remembering Neal as Nicholas back in the day, and shakes hands. "It's been, what, ten years?"

"Eight, at least," says Neal, "and please, call me Neil." The names sound the same, but when Neal says it, he thinks about the different spelling.

Peter fumes politely. "Well, it's nice how everyone but me seems to know everyone else but me."

Neal laughs, quiet and fond, and goes to take his lover's hand. "Peter, this is of course Tyler Breeze, whom you know, and this is Finn. Finn, Tyler, this is Peter Burke. He heads the White Collar unit at the FBI."

Neal leaves out Finn's last name. Peter definitely has noticed, but it's okay; Neal knows that Finn erases all his digital footprints on a regular basis.

Finn's smile doesn't alter in its wattage as he shakes Peter's hand. "Nice to meet the man who's tamed Neal." The way he says the name indicates that he knows it's Neal, not Neil, and that he knows a Caffrey, and Peter suddenly knows in his gut that Finn is a criminal of some sort. Not a con man, not the sort to hurt any of them, but now Peter is itching to dig for the truth.

"Oh, that sounds naughty," Tyler says, teasing, and then jerks his head at the door. "Come on in. What would you like to drink?"

"Vodka, Ketel One," says Neal.

Peter says, "Water. I'm driving later."

"What? Of course you're not. I have six guest suites and Finn is only using one of them, so you two are staying here." Tyler sounds affronted.

"But Neal already made reserva-" Peter's protest dies out when he sees Neal's apologetic grimace. "You planned this. You had me take a holiday all the way across the country to be stuck here."

Neal holds up his hands. "El said you needed a proper break of at least two weeks after that gruelling La Monte case, and I can't keep you from your work if we just drove upstate, and I know you'd be pissed off if I had you fly to a different country, so getting you here and into Tyler's mansion is what I can do."

Peter restrains his temper. "That's it. We are flying home right now-"

"You can't leave if you don't have your keys," Finn remarks, and holds up a set of very familiar keys.

"Or your wallet," Neal chimes in. Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Neal must have lifted his wallet when he wasn't focused earlier, damn that charming bastard.

"Neal," Peter says, a growl in his voice.

"Ooh, now I see why you were tamed by him." Tyler bites his lower lip and flutters his lashes at Finn. "I oughta learn how to pick pockets. Roman would totally do that growly voice at me."

"Or you could just go to your Daddy Joe and beg for it," Finn replies, but his gaze is on Peter, who suddenly feels very exposed under the scrutiny of jewel-blue eyes. The Irishman takes the wallet from Neal and passes both wallet and keys to Tyler. "Lock these in your safe immediately, gorgeous."

Peter wants to grab the wallet back; his badge is in there and he can't risk someone copying it. But Neal was the one who insisted that they come here (although his initial claim was to meet a client for some restoration work on a portrait) and he deliberately stole the wallet and his badge and handed them over, and if Neal trusts them...

Tyler practically skips away with his prizes. Finn walks around Peter and Neal, head cocked, like he's studying something. Peter squirms inwardly, wanting to turn and watch him, but is also reluctant to show that he's unnerved.

"I can see the appeal," Finn finally says to Neal, though he is still looking at Peter. "You've found a good one."

"He found me," Neal demurs.

"I caught you," Peter corrects, almost on automatic, because he can't look away from Finn, or from his indecently red lips.

Said lips curl into a languid smile, and now it is a smile that is the downfall of saints and angels. "Mm. Catching is easy. Owning, now, owning is difficult." He pauses. "Would you like to own him, Peter?"

Neal's breathing picks up. Peter's gaze flicks over to him, concerned, but Neal only licks his lips, as if mesmerized.

Finn walks up to Neal and runs a finger along his shaven jaw. "Have you submitted to him?"

"Not yet," Neal admits.

"Do you want to?" Finn's voice drops lower. Peter has to strain to hear what he said.

"Not until... not until he learns how to handle me," Neal whispers. His eyes dart over to Peter. "How to control me."

Finn looks at the older man again, his eyes as startlingly blue as Neal's. Another slow smile. Finn then murmurs, "I can teach him. But I want you to show him what it is to submit." Then his voice hardens. "Neal."

Neal goes to his knees instantly.

It takes a second for Peter to realize that what Finn said was a command and not a name, and then his eyes take in the scene properly and his mind processes what just happened, and his breath catches.

Neal falling to my knees at one word. Neal never running again because I can stop him, with one word. It's a heady promise of power. Neal, finally listening to me and obeying me.

Finn has a very eloquent smile. It's arrogant now, amused. "If you'd known about me, back in the day," he tells Peter, "I could have handed him to you in chains within three hours. And he'd have thanked me for the honor."

Something hot and hungry unfurls in Peter's gut. He smiles back, like a shark. "What would be the fun in that?"

"Oh, so much." Finn winks. "This is going to be a very educational two weeks."

[aksthetwosainthijimiko-blog]

I’m Not Zero

So... what happens when I turn Zero as a Vaishnava (someone’s whose Navigator is God, Krishna)?

Not what you’d expect.

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

Phantom struggled, he had lost the fight, he was as close to shut down as he could... and would bring Zero with him to the void.

Or... this had been the plan.

But it seemed the Red Plague had other plans.

“G... Get of me!” Phantom scream as he tried to dislodge the maverick currently plugged in his system, hacking his programs and turning of the self-destruction module that had been about to activate...robbing the Shinobi of his glorious sacrifice in the most shameful and disgusting of manner.

“Nope... Not after what you tried to do, coward.” Zero spat as he reduced Phantom’s mobility to that of a newborn kitten. Still pressing onto him, preventing the already damaged reploid from even attempting to fight him off...

He had a mission to finish, and if he had to take his own miserable life to get the wily old model scrapped.

Said wily old model was now currently crushing him against the far wall. And despite Phantom’s superior processing speed, Zero’s movement speed had been beyond what he could record.

And for this... he was now disarmed and experiencing the horrifying reality that Zero was in his OS.

Unable to lift his weight, the Shinobi was lowered to the ground by the bane of Neo-Arcadia. Said bane unplugged from Phantom and turned him around so that he was sitting more or less comfortably with the wall at his back.

“Hey... you alright there?” He dared to asked as if he really cared for an enemy.

“You hacked me!” Phantom accused as he tried to burn the sicko with his eyes.

It was inefficient, but it would have to do.

“You were about to suicide.” Zero stated as he peered right into Phantom’s soul. His dark eyes holding a power beyond anything the Shinobi had experienced before.

Not even from a fully grown elf.

“... and why do you care?” He challenged as he tried to unlock his detonation protocols, only to discover that it was completely gone. “Curse you...curse you to the deepest pits of hell!” He tried to scream, but he only managed to hissed it.

Then... Zero did something that took Phantom completely off guard.

Zero smiled.

“Oh... Thank you.” He spoke with not a shred of sarcasm. “May you reach Goloka then.” the bid to the downed guardian.

“Gee, thanks... may you go to Goloka too then.” Phantom slathered as much hatred and sarcasm he could...like a human would do with this brown stuff.

But instead of anger born of a bruised ego, Zero’s gave an even brighter smile! “Great! So don't you dare suicide again, and I’ll personally let you pass Chandranana stick.” he declared as he finally moved out from Phantom’s face... only to sit beside him on the most infuriating and casual manner as possible. Even daring to appeared tired as he let out a huff.

Phantom did his best to ignore him... and attempted to contact reinforcement. Only to be met with a disabled transceiver. Zero had cut whatever access to help he had.

The black and white reploid managed to slid his eyes toward the maverick... he was all alone with the beast, the killer of all mutos and... there was nothing he could do.

Phantom closed his eyes...and began to empty his mind of all thoughts and fear. If he was about to face death...or worst, then he would rather prepare himself and enter the void even before Zero had any chance to corrupt and kill him...or worst.

Time became meaningless, his body but a suggestion...and his mind silent...

“Hare Hare...Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare...Hare Krishna Hare Krishna..”

Phantom’s eyes flew open, his meditation broken. And openly gapped at the maverick.

Zero was sitting in a lotus position, he still had his erect back to the wall, his head held high and gently swinging to the Mantra.

Oh, Phantom knew what a mantra sounded like...and he knew what Mantra meditation was. He was just taken aback as to how the bane of Neo-arcadia’s well-being knew mantra meditation... Not that it was such a great thing.

Those mantras were just crushes, aids for calming the mind. Eventually, the practitioner would keep them inside his purified mind...and finally, they would need nothing.

“So... you still at level one.” Phantom sneered, more than willing to rib the beast until he would either go mad and or leave. “ Pathetic, you can’t even remain in silence.”

“...not really.” Zero admitted. “The Maha-Mantra is meant to be shared with other’s. The more you share, the more potent it gets.” He revealed with a (beatific) smile. Then he turned to Phantom. “How about you? What do you meditate on?” He asked... “Actually, can you wait for... I think thirty minutes? I just have four rounds left to chant and... I would like to finish them today.”

Phantom stared.

Zero sighed. “Listen... the reason why I’m hiding here is that I didn’t have any peace for the last five days since my resurrection. And I barely had anytime to chant any rounds... and my Gayatris.” He admitted with a grumble.

Phantom gapped... this... His intel had told him nothing about that.

“I just want thirty minutes... more if possible.” Zero sighed. “I really don't want to cause any trouble.”

“Not cause us trouble?!” Phantom scoffed. “Well, didn’t you destroy our most important supply train? Took over a factory... And now you’re here to kill master X!” The Shinobi accused the mad man.

“Yeah... Sorry about the train... I still have no idea why Ciel wanted the thing gone. And the computer’s too.” He admitted as he rubbed the back of his helmet.

“Wait... What computer?” Phantom asked.

“You know, the one Leviathan used for Hacking the resistance... I was supposed to destroy them but... I just turned them off, I hope it didn’t cause any inconveniences.” Zero admitted as he let his head heavily rest on the wall, his helmet noisily hitting it. “I swear... I had no idea what I was doing half the time... Thank God for.... God.”

Once again, Phantom hidden brows reached the top of his unseen hair. “God?”

“Yeah... you know, Krishna. He helped me realized that what I was doing was dangerous. Still had to stop this damn train tough, it would have derailed by junction 2-b, by the park... That’s what He said anyway.”

A shudder intruded in Phantom’s frame. Yes, he knew this infamous junction in Neo-arcadia’s most popular park.

Why was there a park in such a dangerous area, and why was a centennial overpass above it that kept dropping pieces of concrete... it could only be a device by the urban sector to do some population control...

‘Alright... Have to look into this mater...’ Phantom tried not to be to happy and admit that Zero’s presence and destructive behaviour had work out for the best in the end but...

“What are your intention?” He asked, not expecting much from the maverick.

“Serve Krishna... Stop the fake from spiting on my X’s legacy and memory and find his tomb.” He revealed like one listed a grocery list.

Phantom stared at him owlishly. “I beg your pardon?”

“My ultimate mission is to constantly serve the lotus feet of God, Sri-Krishna. And He just so happens to like X enough to help me get him out of trouble again.” Zero elaborated to a still confused guardian. “He told me he was between Area X and the throne room at the top. I may have to face Ciel’s copy... But He told me killing him will only make things worst.” He huffed.

“Wait, wait wait! What do you mean by... Ah...”

“Confused?”

“Yes...” Phantom peevishly admitted. “Let’s start with the...copy.”

“Four years ago, Ciel made a copy of X, he went crazy...like all copies do, and now she wants me to kill him.” The ever infuriating Zero explain. “Even X want’s him dead... By the way, do you have any idea why X is now a Cyber-elf?” He asked the Shinobi, who was still trying to compute what Zero had just said.

“What?”

“ X got turned into a cyber-elf... so I guess he’s a... like  Ghost, but Krishna told me he’s more like an astral-projection.” He explained.

 “So God told you.” He pointed at Zero. “That our master X... is a copy.... and that the real one is... still alive and astral-projecting as a cyber-elf... and he never spoke to us?” Phantom scoffed. “Alright, what Type of third-party program you downloaded to get this High?”

“None... That was Ciel, the one who made the copy... who told me about the Copy.”

“And you are aware she’s a traitor to Neo-Arcadia?”

“And you are aware that her information was confirmed by a disembodied X?”

“And how do you know it was X? For all you know, this crazy-cyber elf is just pretending to be X and Ciel, being the junior terrorist she is, tricked you all to assassinate our glorious master.” Phantom shot back. “And aren’t you supposed to suffer from amnesia?”

“ Oh, Krishna cured me of that... I just didn't tell people.” Zero gave a shrugged. “Listen, I’ve known X before the first maverick war, and we’ve been partner for fifty years before I did my dumb pro-move.” Zero informed the practically immobile phantom. “ I Know my Partner...and I know that his biggest pet peeve is to have a fraud use his face to propagate racism and wholesale slaughter. Oh, and speaking with which, were you aware as to how they retire reploid at the centre?” The now incense reploid asked the still very confused Phantom. “They crush them to death under a spiked platform... the operator stand on top.” Zero glowered.

Phantom stared at the fuming mad-bot... “Ah! And you want me to believe that?!”

Zero’s gaze did not move from Phantom’s... but his featured now held the eyes of a man who saw too much. 

And suddenly... Phantom received a tiny video package... it was the fight with Aztec Falcon... on top of a very oily platform... some retired units crushed limbs and a very small reploid’s head was still stuck on the spikes. Their empty gaze boring a hole in Phantoms artificial soul.

Now... Phantom was used to the horrors of wars... and he knew what torture was, but those he would question would always have a swift death by his blade and their bodies respectfully disposed not... not...

“Harpuia... Harpuia must not... this is...” He felt sick... quite a feat for one who lacked a gagging reflex. Something that was useless in his thankless job.

“If he’s aware of it... Krishna gave me permission to cut off his head...” Zero’s tone held a dark promise of retribution. And Phantom was certain he would and could see it through. “This is what the resistance is fighting against... and this is why X told me to destroy his Copy with extreme prejudice.”

Phantom’s head snapped back toward the red nemesis.

“And... Gods... what did God have to do with all this again?” Phantom weekly asked, feeling his whole world to be reduced in rubble.

“Ah... Krishna’s just navigating me toward and auspicious result. Something that won't leave a bloody crater at my exact location.” Zero informed the Shinobi as if this was a complete normal thing to go through. “And he told me where I could find X... He’s in a coma and... Basically, he sealed a very confused elf with his frame, this caused him to... get pushed out of his current body and now... I have to get him out of this tower and try to convince the goof to return.”

“And then?”

“And then... if I succeed, I give a new name to the copy, teach him how to be the best ruler he can, then I bring X to Mayapur where we will live our last decades away from politics, wars and whatever else made this place famous.” Zero enumerated as he once again took to the lotus position. “Now... If you’ll excuse me, I have a few rounds I have to chant...”

“Why did you tell me all this?” Phantom asked, still shaken by the numerous revelation he had just received from the second oldest reploid in the world.

“Krishna told me I couldn’t to it alone... and from everyone in Neo-Arcadia, you're the sanest.” And with that, he began to chant again, leaving a very stunned Phantom to compute all the information he had just received.

Thirty minutes later, Zero’s pleasant drone stopped, and he got up. “Alright... I’ll just... give you back your limbs, I couldn’t risk having you have another go again.” He mumbled as he turned Phantom around and, after repluging it to his system in the most respectful way possible, switched his cerveaus back on. even going as far as to help the ninja up and dusting him off.

Then he took a step back, inspecting Phantom under a critical eye...

Then he reached in his meta-pocket.

Phantom... quite stupidly froze. Only to be proven wrong when Zero pulled out an Energen tank. it was already open... And half-drained.

“I know... It’s all I have.” Zero apologized.

Phantom stared at... maybe a peace offering.

Reviewing all that he had learned, and the revelation the mad man had given him....

He pushed the can away. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’d rather you have it Zero.”

The Red Legend stared at Phantom, his features unreadable.

“You need it more than I...” Not really, but the Guardian of darkness knew where to find the emergency rations. “ I will humour you and let you look in every nook and Cranny of this tower for X. If you find it and prove that the one I’ve been serving is a Plagia, then I will personally kill him. If not... Your life will be forfeited.” He intoned darkly. “You have twenty-four hours...”

“Oh ah... Thank you. I...” A small and infinitely grateful smile light his features. “This... this is more than I deserve.”

“Indeed.” Phantom inclined his head, sending a message to his fellow guardian. “You may stay here and prepare... Mediate as long as you desire, the day is not over yet.”

“No... I’d rather not waste anyone's time. And Krishna’s telling me the earlier I start the better. Thank you for the offer tough.” Zero paused... it was clear he was listening to someone. “Krishna just told me that you have to come with me since I will need a trustworthy witness. You fit the bill.”

“You know I’m a ninja, right?” Phantom asked.

“So am I... and as He said, your trustworthy.” And with that, Zero closed the subject and turned his heels. “Come on, we need to get to area-X, He said that’s were the service door to Yig... Yadra... To where X is.”

“Alright... lead the way.” At this point Phantom had nothing to lose... and he had the feeling this would prove to be most entertaining.

“Oh, by the way. You may call me Dhira-Lalita Das... Or just Lalita, for short.” Zero informed the shinobi... who had that point just nodded, humouring the clearly insane obsolete model.

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

And this monstrosity was born after that failed R.P...to be continued.

[kuriquinn]

Wayward Son [SPN Fusion]

The Usual Disclaimers ETC (Also, Supernatural doesn’t belong to me either)

Author’s Note: So I didn’t actually write this recently, cuz I’m still not having a great time of it writing-wise, but I had outlined it like two months ago and just fleshed it out today. 

Warning(s): Appropriation of dialogue from the spn episode Lazarus Rising.

Dedicate to: All my followers who are part of other fandoms than the SS fandom :)

The only light in the warehouse comes from naked lightbulbs hanging and spluttering from the roof, loose wires winding down the walls to the generator.

Kakashi draws an obscure character on the cement floor with a spray can, one of countless symbols on the ground, walls and ceiling. Sasuke frowns at the nearest ones, studying them for a clue as to their meaning.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen most of these symbols,” he remarks.

“Traps and talismans,” Kakashi murmurs, adjusting his bandana around his face to keep the fumes at bay. “I had to dig deep into mythologies all over the world for some of these.” He glances up. “How are you doing?”

“The usual fare,” Sasuke replies, nodding at his stash of stakes, knives, tire irons, silver bullets and salt. “I suspect we can catch or kill anything I have ever heard of.”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

Sasuke doesn’t reply.

He knows exactly what Kakashi’s thoughts on the matter are. If he’s being honest with himself—which he has always actively avoided—he feels the same. There’s nothing good that can come out of this, but he has learned better than most that ignorance can kill you just as much as knowledge.

His head feels too full, too busy since he awoke in an unmarked grave somewhere in Shiga Prefecture, surrounded by a field of dead earth and trees. He doesn’t remember Hell—it’s a small mercy, and one he doubts will last much longer, given his luck. All he remembers is being torn apart by the hellhound, and then waking up and looking for Kakashi, and then Itachi. His reunion with Itachi, and his brother being…different.

Sasuke knows Itachi is hiding something but getting him to open up will take time; it has never been easy to get him to talk, and there’s somehow too much distance between them to reach him right now. He suspects at least some of that is residual guilt—Itachi is the oldest, he was supposed to protect Sasuke and find a way to save him from Hell, but he couldn’t—and perhaps resentment of Sasuke for putting him in the predicament in the first place.

For bargaining his soul to keep his older brother alive.

But it’s been twenty-four hours since he’s been back, and he can’t do anything to deal with Itachi just now, and he’s never been good at waiting. With all the strange things that have been happening since he dug himself out of his grave—the high-pitched scream following him around, that seer Kin getting her eyes burned from her skull, the yōkai at the restaurant being too afraid to even try to kill him, the burning hand-shaped brand on his right shoulder—he wants answers, and he wants them now.

He wants to know why this—Sakura, Kin called her before her face erupted into flame—is hunting him.

He doesn’t say any of this to Kakashi, of course, and the man who all-but raised him and Itachi knows better than to prompt him. He simply nods, reluctant, and treads over to a rickety table nearby to take a pitch of some foul-smelling powder and sprinkle it in a large bowl.

Smoke wafts in the air, and Kakashi begins to chant in an ancient Chinese dialect; Sasuke doesn’t know what it means, but he’s familiar enough with most incantations to get the gist of it. He half-expects there to be an explosion, or the air to vibrate and twist the way it does when a ghost materializes, but nothing happens.

The smoke keeps billowing until it vanishes completely, and the warehouse remains empty.

Kakashi seems unsurprised, and hoists himself up to sit on the table, drawing a battered paperback novel out of his pocket.

“Is now really the time?” Sasuke grumbles, scowling at the lurid cover.

“It could be a while,” Kakashi answers, opening up the book. “For all we know, whatever it is that’s been following you around is out of phase with this dimension and needs time to materialize. Or it could be a yōkai created by whatever spell brought you back and is simultaneously existing and not existing. Sort of a Schrodinger’s Demon.”

He’s worse than Itachi when he gets started, Sasuke grumbles to himself. Out loud, however, he prompts, “If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be best to be prepared when it shows up?”

Kakashi’s attention remains glued to the bodie-ripper, but he lifts his rifle with his right hand, and Sasuke knows there’s no point to arguing with him. Besides, even when he’s supposedly immersed in his books, Kakashi has the best reflexes Sasuke has ever seen outside of the Uchiha family.

Rolling his eyes, Sasuke leans back against the table, arms folded and stares at the sealing circles, bordered by jumon incantations and mantras, and surrounding the Devil’s Traps on the floor.

What is there that exists that wouldn’t get trapped by that?

“Are you sure you didn’t get the ritual wrong?” Sasuke asks twenty minutes late when still nothing has occurred.

Kakashi glances up from his book, raising an eyebrow at him as if he’s just been insulted. Sasuke doesn’t back down—he’s said much worse to the older man in his time—and Kakashi shrugs.

“It’s a dead language,” he replies. “Older than Buddhism. One that isn’t spoken anymore. It’s possible I mispronounced something, but that shouldn’t affect the invocation itself.”

“But how can you be sure—”

A loud rattling shakes the roof.

“I’m sure,” Kakashi remarks, jumping to his feet with his rifle. Sasuke checks the two semi-automatics in his shoulder-holster, then puts his hand to the katana at his waist. The demon-slaying Kusanagi has killed every supernatural beast it’s come up against, and so it stands to reason he might need it now. 

The air is charged, like it might be just before a bolt of lightning arcs through it, and there’s a thundering sound moving closer. When it hits up against the far-end of the warehouse, the walls themselves tremble as if they are about to fold inward. Before they can do so, however, the wide door slams open.

The gust of wind that emanates from behind her makes Sasuke’s eye’s water, and he blinks rapidly to keep his eyes on the figure that has materialized in the doorway.

That’s…not what I expected.

The creature has the form of a petite woman, dwarfed by the giant doors still straining back against their wall. Her hair is the colour of cherry blossoms, a somewhat bizarre contrast to her pantsuit, tie and what appears to be an immaculate white lab coat.   

She glides toward them with a slow, deliberate ease that is marred only by the light bulbs that shatter above her as she passes, raining sparks down on her.

As she gets within their range, Sasuke and Kakashi both open fire, intending to slow her down.

It becomes apparent almost immediately that the bullets have no effect, and so Sasuke tosses his semi-automatic to one side and bends into a stance for battōjutsu.  

“Who are you?” he bites out, hand poised and thumb ready to flick his sword from his sheath.

The woman cocks her head to one side, as if confused by the question. “I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

“Allow me to thank you, then.”

He darts forward, drawing Kusanagi and slicing the blade upward and across her abdomen, before reversing the blade to shove through her chest. He waits for the flicker of electricity to sizzle through her body, the sign of the blade destroying its host, but nothing happens.

She doesn’t even flinch.

He is sure of this because his move brings him within inches of her face, close enough to observe that her eyes are a startlingly clear green for a Japanese woman. Something about them makes him release his hold on the sword and jump back.

What is she?

The woman considers the blade sticking out of her front, and then slowly pulls it out. There is no blood on it.

As the sword clatters uselessly to the floor, Kakashi attacks, charging forward while shooting his rifle point-blank at her face. With a movement Sasuke barely sees, she slides forward, taking hold of the weapon and using it to draw close, before touching the side of Kakashi’s head.

He crumples to the ground while Sasuke’s heart clenches, and the woman then looks up at him beatifically.

“We need to talk, Sasuke-kun,” she tells him. “Alone.” He swallows painfully, eyes flicking to Kakashi. “Your friend is alive.”

“Who are you?” Sasuke asks again.

“Sakura.”

“I figured that out already. What are you?”

“I have been called many things. Tennyo. Apsara. Angel of the Lord.”

“There’s no such thing,” Sasuke says immediately.

“Oh, Sasuke-kun…” she sighs, sounding disappointed and comforting at the same time. “This is your weakness. You have no faith.”

Lightning flashes—from where, he’s not sure, because they are still inside the warehouse—and he watches in astonishment as the shadows of two massive wings stretch out against the wall, like a bird about to take flight. An aura of unquestionable power radiates from the woman before her, and for a moment he thinks he sees something on her forehead gleam, and black designs crisscross around her body.

The electric light fades away and the image disappears, leaving the small woman before him, looking human but not.

“I apologise for earlier,” she says, looking contrite. “My real voice can be a little overwhelming to humans.”

It takes a beat for him to realise what she’s talking about, and he remembers the high-frequency, glass shattering scream that had him bleeding from his ears for several hours the day before. “That was you talking?”

A little overwhelming?

“Yes. I am sorry. Normally, certain people—special people—can perceive my true form and my true voice. I believed you would be one of them, but I was wrong.”

“And what form are you now?” Sasuke demands, flicking his eyes over her form again. “Holy hospital CEO?”

“This…this is a vessel,” she replies, sliding her hands down the curves of her body in a way that a human might intend as seductive, but comes off as clinical.  

“You mean you’re possessing that girl.”

“She is a devout woman. She prayed for this.”

“Bullshit. No one volunteers to give up their body,” Sasuke snaps. “What are you really?”

“I told you.”

“Even if I believed you, why would a celestial being pull me out of Hell?”

“Good things do happen, Sasuke-kun.”

“Not in my experience.”

In his experience, everything always goes to shit just when they seem to be getting better. He and his brother haven’t been able to catch a break since the fire that burned their mother to death on the ceiling of his nursery. The fact that he survived as long as he did before getting himself killed was dumb luck.

It has always been Itachi doing everything for him and protecting him. If anyone should be saved, should be given a second chance at life, it’s Itachi. Itachi, who was happy in law school before Sasuke dragged him off to look for their missing father, who was cursed with a demon’s powers, who had his spine severed right in front of Sasuke which led him to make the deal in the first place.

Sasuke clenches his fists, and Sakura frowns, cocking her head to one side. Those luminous green eyes fix upon him again, and he has the uncomfortable feeling she can see right through him.

“What is the matter?” she asks him. “You do not think you deserve to be saved?”

“Why’d you do it?” he asks harshly, though it comes out in a whisper.

She smiles then, pleased at the question. Reaching out—farther into his personal space than he allows even his family—she settles her left hand firmly on his right shoulder. Immediately his entire body feels bathed in light, burning from the inside out, but it’s not a painful sensation so much as disquieting. There’s a very real, very terrifying sense that this woman—this creature---knows every molecule of his being.

When she pulls away, he is torn between leaning in and scuttling away from her as fast as possible.

At last, she tells him in a serene voice, “I saved you because it has been commanded from on high. Because you have a greater purpose.”

Staring into those clear, sure green eyes, Sasuke almost believes it.

I realise it’s an odd choice to have Sakura as Castiel, but I find that comparing Team 7 and Team Free Will, she has the most in common with Castiel. Also, the only brothers of consequence in Naruto are Itachi and Sasuke, so they had to be the Winchesters. I would probably make Naruto Crowley. You know, since he’s BFFs with Sasuke/Dean lol.

Don’t think I’m going to go anywhere with it, but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone :P

栗

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

young Peter gets the xth time arrested by Deputy Stilinski, who can't understand why nowadays Peter gets caught every time (since he fished a very wet Peter out of the fountain on mainstreet)

Well this turned out much angstier than I thought it would, anon! Whoops. 

(And you can check out all my drabbles over on AO3 in Word Soup) 

The End Chapters

There’s something in Claudia’s laughwhen he tells her that John doesn’t quite get.

“What?” he asks, jostling for spacein the tiny kitchen of their tiny apartment, and her smile grows. “What?”

She reaches past him to help herselfto a handful of the corn chips he just tipped into a bowl. Her eyes are brightand sparkle with mischief. “He’s got a crush on you!”

“What?” John scoffs, the color risingin his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Claudia laughs, and hooks her fingersthrough his belt loops. She reels him in for a kiss. “Who’s being ridiculous?You’re hot as hell, Deputy Stilinski.” She slaps him on the ass. “And you’reall mine too, and don’t you forget it!”

Forget it? John’s the luckiest manalive. Of course he’d never forget it.

***

The next week when John fishes a verywet, very dripping, very clingy Peter Hale out of the fountain on Main Street,he figures that Claudia very possibly has a point. Peter only seems to get introuble when John’s on duty, and he bites his lip when he’s being frisked  and pushes back in a way that isincredibly disconcerting. He’s a teenager.The kid’s only fifteen years old, for god’s sake, and John really can’t evenbegin to list the ways that’s creepy as all fuck.

“I’m getting pretty tired of this,Peter,” John says as he’s putting Peter into the back of his cruiser. “Watchyour head.”

Peter clambers in, his wet jeanssquelching. He pouts a little. “Don’t be such a killjoy, Deputy Stilinski.”

Then, when he knows John’s watching,he swipes his tongue over his lower lip and blinks slowly.

Dammit. Claudia was right.

John slams the door shut and climbsinto the driver’s seat.

He has absolutely no doubt that, ifhe asked, Peter would happily drop to his knees and blow him. Jesus. The mostsickening thing about that scenario is that somewhere there exists the sort ofpredator who would ask.

“You need to stop this nonsense, Peter,” he says sternly. “I’m prettysure your parents are getting tired of picking you up from the station.”

In the rear view mirror, Peter slumps against the back seat and rollshis eyes.

“And I’m getting pretty tired of it too,” John says. He holds Peter’sgaze. “I know what you’re playing at, and it’s not cute, it’s not funny, andit’s never going to happen.”

Something that’s almost like vulnerability flashes across the kid’sface, before he juts his bottom lip out in a petulant scowl and rolls his eyesagain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Deputy,” he says.

He clearly does though, since he doesn’t cross John’s radar again formonths.

***

The house is incredible. Okay, so it needs some work, but it’s incredible.John and some of his buddies from the station make a weekend of it and get thefence repaired, the kitchen linoleum torn out, and the roof fixed. Then, in thefollowing weeks and months he and Claudia work on the rest.

They paint the nursery walls yellow.

It’s their first house, and it’s going to be their baby’s home.

It’s incredible.

***

“Congratulations,” Peter Hale says. He’s seventeen now, and he’s drunk,and he’s leaning on the hood of John’s cruiser breathing out bourbon fumes thatare as strong as paint stripper.

“Mr. Hale,” John says. “Long time no see.”

“Congratulations,” Peter says again, shoving his hands into hisimpossibly tight jeans.

“For?” John prompts.

“Your kid,” Peter says. He juts his chin out. “I saw the birth notice inthe paper. Little Unpronounceable Stilinski. I’ll bet you’ll be a good dad.I’ll bet you’ll be…” He tugs one hand free and waves it in a vague circle inthe air. “Not an asshole.”

“That’s the plan,” John agrees, and wonders how much of Peter’s behaviourstems from the fact he can’t say the same about his own father. There’s nooutward sign that John’s ever noticed when it comes to the Hales, but who knowsbetter than John the lengths kids go to hide their own mistreatment? “What areyou doing out here tonight, Peter?”

“Drowning my sorrows,” Peter says, and then flashes him a brilliantgrin. “Turns out those fuckers can swim though.”

“They sure can,” John agrees. He leans on the hood beside Peter. “Wantto talk about it?”

“I really do not,” Peter says. “Not with an officer of the law.”

“Hypothetically,” John says.

Peter sighs. “Hypothetically, my boyfriend dumped me because his father hastold him he has to get married to a woman he doesn’t even know.”

“What?” John scrunches his forehead up in confusing. “You’re a teenager.”

Peter gives him the side eye. “My boyfriend’s not.”

“How old?” John asks, keeping his voice level.

“Twenty-four,” Peter says, and the corners of his mouth lift in afleeting, bitter smile. “Hypothetically.”

“Peter.” John feels a stab of guilt. Is this what happened? He rejectedthe kid, so he went looking somewhere else for an older guy who wouldn’t? Johnwants to find out who the fuck this boyfriendis, and beat the living hell out of him. “What’s his name?”

Peter shakes his head. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Peter, he deserves to be in prison.”

“It’s complicated,” Peter says softly.

“It’s really not.”

Peter’s eyes shine blue in the light from a passing car. “You ever lovedsomeone you shouldn’t, Deputy?”

“No.” John’s voice sounds gruff to his own ears.

Peter sighs. “Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do.”

The silence between them is laden.

“It was more than a crush,” Peter says, and panic flutters in John’s gutbecause in this moment he knows that Peter’s not talking about his olderboyfriend. He knows. “It was love,for what it matters.”

“Get in the car, Peter,” John says, “and I’ll drive you home.”

***

“I saw Peter Hale tonight,” he tells Claudia when he gets home.

She’s nursing the baby, a towel over her shoulder and bags under hereyes, but she’s still the most beautiful woman John has ever seen. “Oh?”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” John says. “It’s worse than that. He’sactually in love with me.”

Claudia is silent for a moment, and then her mouth curves into a gentlesmile. “He sounds like a smart kid.”

***

The story should end there.

It doesn’t.

Peter Hale graduates high school and goes off to college. He doessomething to do with art history. John doesn’t really know, except it seems anodd choice for a boy he vividly remembers hauling out of the fountain in MainStreet, his wet clothes clinging to him, and tendrils of his hair stuck to hisforehead. Peter was wild, a teenager pushing back against whatever cage it washe found himself in, and John really can’t imagine him quietly soaking up theatmosphere in museums, or surrounded by dusty books. Except, also, he can.

He hopes Peter finds a way to be happy.

John is happy.

He is married to his beautiful, amazing wife, and they have anenergetic, miraculous, frustrating son who fills their life in a way Johncouldn’t even imagine before he became a parent.

John is happy.

And then Claudia is diagnosed.

***

Toward the end he is rushed off his feet. Claudia is in the hospital,and they both know she’s never coming home. John wants to spend every secondwith her, but he still has his job, and he still has to get Stiles off toschool in the mornings. The world should have the fucking decency to stop whenJohn’s life is falling apart so dramatically, but it doesn’t. Claudia’s momentsof lucidity are fewer and farther between, and Stiles starts wailing when Johntakes him up to visit and John tries to tell him that Mom doesn’t mean thehurtful things she says, that she still loves him, she will always love him, thatit’s the disease talking, not Mom. Stiles is eight though, and too small totruly understand. One day he decides not to take Stiles to visit, and of courseClaudia is lucid then, and cries because Stiles didn’t come.

Whatever John does, whatever he decides, he’s hurting one of them.

It’s a mess.

He goes to the hospital one afternoon, Stiles clutching his hand tightlyand looking like he’s going to be sick, and they walk into Claudia’s room tofind she’s not alone.

There’s a young man sitting beside her, reading aloud from a book.

Peter.

Peter Hale.

He sets aside the book when he sees John and Stiles, and color creeps uphis cheeks.

“Oh,” Claudia says. “You must finish the story. John, tell him he mustfinish the story.” Her voice is faint, and John doesn’t know how present shereally is today. She reaches out and curls her trembling fingers around Peter’swrist. “You have the end.”

“Excuse me?” Peter asks.

She smiles, beatific. “The end. All those chapters at the end are foryou.” Her brow wrinkles. “John? Where’s my wedding ring? I can’t find it. Didsomeone steal it?”

Peter slips away while John takes her hand to show her she’s stillwearing her ring.

***

After the funeral, John comes back to visit her grave. Someone has lefta book underneath the headstone. It takes a moment for John to place it. It’sthe book Peter was reading her in the hospital.

 ***

John tries to drown his sorrows for longer than he should. Turns outPeter was right. Those fuckers can swim.

***

The Hale fire is a terrible thing. Eight people die, including children.There’s one—so badly burned that John isn’t even sure which child it is—that hecarries outside. The child stops breathing in his arms, and all John can thinkof is how Stiles weighs the same.

He doesn’t drink that night.

He doesn’t drink again.

In the morning he hugs Stiles so tight that Stiles complains he can’tbreathe.

***

It’s the same book, but it’s not the same copy. John ordered this one onAmazon. He finds the prose rather heavy-going in places, the imagery beautifulbut complex. John’s not ashamed to admit that most of the story goes right overhis head, but he sits beside Peter Hale’s bed in the hospital and reads italoud anyway.

He doesn’t know if Peter hears him or not.

When John finishes that book, he buys another, and then another.

The days turn into months turn into years.

The books stack up in a pile beside Peter’s bed.

 ***

Peter’s eyes are not blue the next time John sees them. They’re red.

The world is a very different place than the one John thought he knewwhen he got out of bed this morning. Suddenly he’s standing outside the remainsof Hale house, Kate Argent is dead on the ground with her brother standing overher, half the high school is apparently here, and Stiles is holding whatappears to be a Molotov cocktail.

Stiles.

If Stiles survives tonight, he is so fucking grounded.

“Hurt my son,” John tells Peter, “or any of these other kids, and I willput you down, Peter. Do you hear me?”

Peter growls, and shakes his head, and suddenly he is human again.Suddenly his eyes are blue again. “John?” he asks, his tone uncertain. “JohnStilinski?”

 ***

Werewolves are a thing.

What’s craziest about that statement is how much it makes sense.

 ***

It takes weeks for the dust to settle from the fallout at the Hale housethat night. It takes longer than that still to even begin addressing theemotional trauma of most of the participants.

“Derek will never forgive me,” Peter says one night, his voice quiet, ashe and John sit on the back porch with a beer each. Upstairs, Stiles’s light ison, and John is not thinking aboutwhether or not Derek is sneaking into his kid’s bedroom.

“I’m not sure you can expect him to,” John tells him.

Peter compresses his mouth into a thin line and gives a jerky nod. Hereminds John of that vulnerable teenager from all those years ago. “I justwanted…” He closes his eyes briefly. “Now that it’s over…”

John reaches out and takes his hand. Squeezes it. “It’s not over, Peter.”

Peter opens his eyes and meets his gaze.

“You and me, Peter,” John says, “we’ve still got all the end chapters togo, remember?”

“The end chapters,” Peter echoes.

“Let make ’em worth reading, huh?” John says and then leans in andkisses him.

The story doesn’t end there either.

[anavoliselenu]

In flight chapter 12

“I don’t have panties now.” It was an accusation.

“Yes, I know. They’re in my pocket,” he said blandly, straightening his own clothing and refastening his slacks.

I watched his every move, my eyes glued to his mouth-watering length as he pushed it back into it’s confines.

“I could use my mouth on you,” I said, watching that instrument of pleasure disappear and licking my lips. I was impetuously ravenous to do just that.

He straightened, watching me like a hawk in the mirror. He brought a hand to my face, pushing his index finger into my mouth. I opened, sucking it in. He pushed his finger in and out of my mouth, a parody of the act.

“Harder,” he told me, and I sucked him roughly. “Use your teeth, just a bit.”

I did, and he made a sound of approval in his throat.

“I’m going to f**k your mouth tomorrow. But not until I’ve f**ked your cunt into submission.” He pulled his finger free as he spoke.

I squirmed at his coarse language, somehow never in the least offended by the dirty things he said. In fact, I was hugely turned on by it.

“You have a filthy mouth,” I told him, my eyes heavy-lidded.

He smirked. “Is that an invitation? I could get it that way in a hurry.” He ran a tongue over his teeth as he spoke.

My insides clenched at the sight.

I shook my head, trying to get my mind back on the fact that I was working and that I needed to actually do some work.

“I need to go.”

He gave me a twisted smile. “If anyone complains, you can always say you were servicing a passenger.”

I wrinkled my nose at his choice of words, opening the door to ease out of the bathroom. I shut it behind me, assuming he would wait a moment before following.

Stephan was in the galley when I opened the curtain, fixing more rum and cokes for the couple in first class.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, going to the counter and leaning against it.

He glanced at me with a wry smile. “You don’t do anything half-assed. You go from stone-cold celibacy to being too loud in the bathroom at work. You’ve got it bad, Buttercup,” he said, but with good humor.

He swept from the galley to deliver the drinks and I was still blushing when he came back in.

Justin joined us, coming to hug me from behind, as though completely unconcerned about the fact that I was working.

I tried to pull away. “Justin, I’m working.”

He just hugged me harder, kissing my neck.

“What has gotten into you?” I asked him.

“You guys should be fine, if you stay in the galley,” Stephan piped in with a smile. “The plane is practically empty, the couple in first class just used the restroom in back, and they show no signs of moving at the moment. Canoodle away, lovebirds.”

I glared at him. “You’re supposed to be the voice of reason, Stephan.”

He shrugged. “It’s not as though it’s a crowded flight. If nobody knows, there’s no harm done.”

As though taking those words as an invitation, Justin pressed against me harder.

I elbowed him. He didn’t budge.

“What about the rest of the crew? Anyone could write me up for this.”

Justin kissed the top of my head, putting his hands lightly on my hips. He hadn’t said a word since he’d come out of the bathroom. I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking. I could only tell that he was suddenly as affectionate as a baby kitten.

Stephan shrugged. “I doubt anyone would. Melissa doesn’t like you, but I have way more dirt on her, so she wouldn’t dare. Just relax. Flight attendants bring their significant others on flights all the time. You think you’re the first one to join the mile high club?”

I wondered briefly about what kind of dirt Stephan had on Melissa, but we were interrupted before I could ask.

As though cued into our conversation, Murphy stepped out of the cockpit, grinning at us.

“Did you consider our offer, Selena?” he asked jovially, taking in Justin without comment.

Hard arms wrapped just under my br**sts from behind.

I smiled at Murphy, hoping that Justin wouldn’t turn things awkward.

“Murphy, all you did was scare the poor girl away next week, as well,” Stephan told him with a grin.

Murphy looked crestfallen. “Is it possible I’m not as sexy as I think I am?”

We laughed. I looked up and even Justin was smiling.

Murphy went into the restroom.

“See, Mr. Beautiful, he’s not so bad.”

His grin died. “He’s not the one I’m worried about,” he told me.

How could such a beautiful man be insecure? I wondered. It was baffling to realize that he was.

I hadn’t thought Justin was worried about Murphy, but I was still totally bewildered that he was actually jealous of Damien.

“You’re the most gorgeous creature on the planet. How do you not know that you’ve completely ruined me for other men?” I asked him quietly, and he gave me a beatific smile.

He bent and ravished my mouth until I yielded. I was hesitant at first to share such a hot kiss outside of a bedroom. But it was hard to remember that in the moment. He swept a tongue into my mouth, and it went on and on.

I was moaning low in my throat when he pulled away.

“Tell me that again,” he murmured against my kiss-softened lips.

“A male supermodel would look downright homely standing next to you. No man could compare to you. Why would I ever bother with another one?” I spoke the words quietly, and he was swiftly kissing me again.

I realized I had found a weak spot. The words were nothing but the truth, but I needed to remember to use them when I needed them. I doubted he could stay mad when I reassured him in such a way.

I had no idea how long we’d been necking like teenagers when he pulled back again. I looked up into the startled gaze of Captain Damien, and a sheepish Stephan.

“Oh, hey,” I murmured through kiss-swollen lips. The two men looked like they had been trying to speak to us and I hadn’t even noticed.

Justin wrapped himself around me from behind again, his arms under my br**sts and dangerously close to brushing too close for decency. He kissed my neck, giving me a soft bite as he pulled away. It was way too sensual for company, but I knew he didn’t give a damn.

He reached out a long arm to the shorter Damien. “Hi. I’m Justin Cavendish. Selena’s boyfriend.”

Damien shook his hand, looking stunned. “Oh. Boyfriend? Oh, well, hi. I’m Damien. Nice to meet you. You must be a pretty great guy if Selena gave you a chance.”

Justin kissed my neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He kissed the spot again as he pulled his face away.

I squirmed uncomfortably. Things were getting awkward fast.

“We were made for each other. It’s as simple as that. Selena told me just a moment ago that I had ruined her for other men.” His voice was all charm, but I glanced up and behind and found that, unsurprisingly, his smile was all predatory challenge.

I elbowed him in the ribs. I couldn’t believe he’d said that. I blushed profusely.

Stephan laughed, though it died away when he saw my look.

Damien coughed uncomfortably. “Well, okay. I’d better get back. See you later.” He left.

I was fuming.

Justin began kissing my neck again.

I tried to stomp back on his foot and missed. “That was embarrassing and out of line, Justin. You can’t take things I say and use them like that. It makes me want to never tell you things like that.”

He murmured an apology against my neck. “I’m sorry. I just had to set him straight after the things you said to him earlier. I won’t do it again. Forgive me?”

His teeth tugged at my ear, and it was hard for me to concentrate.

“You need to go back to your seat,” I told him sternly, far from appeased.

His hands drifted up to my br**sts, and I looked around, scandalized. But we were alone. I hadn’t even heard Stephan leave.

“I love you br**sts. I’m going to clamp them tomorrow. I would pierce them for you, if you’d let me. I would love to mark you like that.”

I knew he was trying to distract me, but even knowing that, his tactic still worked. I was shocked. It sounded like such a hardcore, permanent thing to do. I had never in my life even considered doing something like that. And he said it as though he’d do it himself.

“You could do that? As in, you could do the piercing yourself?”

He murmured a yes against my shoulder, kneading my br**sts with just the right pressure.

“You think I would allow anyone else to handle these? To do that to you? Fuck no. That would be a job for me.” He pinched them roughly as he spoke.

“You’ve done that before?” I asked him cautiously, my back arching automatically. I wasn’t really thinking of doing it. I was more curious about this odd skill of his.

He rubbed his hard erection against my butt. “I’m properly trained and quite good at it. It can’t be painless, but I’ll try my best to lessen the pain.”

I noticed that he didn’t exactly answer the question. I had a sudden vision of all of his ex-lovers sporting nipple rings for years after he was done with them. It did seem like a small price to pay, I supposed, considering how good he was in bed.

“Do you pierce all of your lovers?”

He snorted. “You have the oddest notions. No, I do not normally pierce my lovers.”

“Just your favorites?” I asked, half-serious.

“I only have one favorite,” he replied, nuzzling against me.

“What was her name?” I asked, getting annoyed that he wouldn’t give a real answer to the question.

He pinched a nipple hard enough to make me yelp. “I was referring to you, you silly girl. And to finally answer your persistent line of questioning, I have pierced three of my ex-lovers. Now, I believe it’s my turn to get some information from you. And, considering that you got to pick the question for me, I’ll do the same to you. Have you ever gone out with Captain Damien?”

I couldn’t have been happier with his question. I’d just been about to protest the exchange when he’d asked it.

“Nope.”

“Has he ever asked you out?”

“That’s two questions,” I said smugly.

“I believe I answered more than one.”

I sighed. “Yes, when we first started hanging out with them, he did. I said no, and he’s been completely platonic ever since.”

“Why did you say no? You seem to like him.”

I turned my head just enough to give him an arch look. “I wasn’t interested. Apparently it takes a very specific type of man to get my interest.”

He practically purred against my neck.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Mr. Gratification

We were taking our seats to land before I remembered to ask Stephan about something curious he’d said earlier.

“What kind of dirt do you have on Melissa? And why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” I asked him. He didn’t, as a rule, keep things from me, even minor things.

He flushed a little. “It was a very crude story, and frankly I wanted to shelter you from it. You’re not a virgin anymore, but what I saw made me feel dirty, so I didn’t want to unload it on you.”

This did nothing but pique my curiosity even more, of course.

“What on earth happened?”

He grimaced. “I walked in on Melissa in the cockpit last week. She was, um, she was giving the captain, Peter, um, oral pleasure.”

I gasped, a hand flying to my mouth. He just nodded with a disgusted look on his face.

“Where was the co-pilot?” I asked, not sure why that was the first question that popped into my head.

“He was just sitting there, looking uncomfortable. I think Melissa thought he’d be into it, but he sure wasn’t. And then, after she saw your watch, I overheard her talking to Brenda and Jake as I approached the back galley. She had the nerve to tell them that she was planning to write you up for accepting gifts from passengers. She had the gall to actually imply that Justin had been paying you for something that you did for him in the bathroom of the aircraft.”

My jaw literally dropped.

“That lying skank,” I said in disgust, reacting quickly with temper.

He held up a hand. “I handled it. First of all, I confronted her in front of the others, making sure they knew that she was a flat-out liar. They had no trouble seeing that she was just jealous of your watch. Brenda and Jake both know me better, and they trust me, so they easily took my word over hers. And then I made sure they all knew what I had caught Melissa doing in the cockpit. She at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it. I even spoke to the first officer, and he agreed to back me up if I needed to write a report about it. Melissa knows I won’t hesitate to get her fired if she tries to hurt you. She’s lucky I didn’t get her fired for trying to spread nasty rumors about you. I still get furious just thinking about it.”

I patted his hand comfortingly, mulling over the drama that had unfolded around me while I had just been going about my work, oblivious.

“She’s a piece of work,” I commented, then dropped the subject.

“Justin is so crazy about you,” Stephan murmured to me quietly.

He’s crazy, all right, I thought, but I didn’t comment.

I considered sharing every scandalous detail about our relationship with Stephan, but decided against it. It would dispel his strange notion of Justin falling for me like some romantic hero, but it would also make him unnecessarily sad.

Justin was waiting just outside the door as we walked out of the jet bridge as a crew, finally done for the night turned morning.

“Drive with me,” he ordered as he fell into step beside me.

I slowed until the others passed us.

“I can’t,” I said to him quietly. “We’re supposed to drive with the crew, and I need to go check into the hotel to reserve my room.”

He flushed, his pretty mouth curling as he reached to pull my luggage for me. “That’s all unnecessary, Selena. For the love of God, just stay at my place.”

I set my mouth. “We’re not going over this again.”

He walked beside me in silence until we were nearly at our pick-up location.

“Fine. A driver will come pick you up at the hotel,” he said finally, handing me my bag.

“When?” I asked, but he was already striding away.

It was an entertaining bus ride, with Murphy at his most amusing. I wondered, as he was telling a funny story, if Melissa would try to go down on Damien with Murphy looking on in the flight deck this week. Or would she go down on both? I didn’t know how that sort of thing worked.

I was just discovering my own kinky nature in full, but taking on two men just seemed too sordid to me. No matter what kind of spell Justin seemed to have me under, I knew I could never be talked into something like that.

Murphy interrupted my scandalous thoughts by addressing me directly. “You can’t tell me you’re not gonna be sorry to miss out on us tonight! Admit it, you love us!” Murphy had adopted his atrocious mockery of an Australian accent as he spoke. He did so often, claiming that it if it worked for Damien, it could work for him. Damien always winced when he heard the butchering of his accent, which just made it funnier.

I smiled. “I made plans before I knew about yours, Murphy. Don’t take it so hard.”

“Just have Justin join us. If he has a romantic evening planned, just tell him to save it for another night!”

I thought of how he was going out that night without me. I briefly considered meeting up with them after that. I knew, from other nights we’d gone out with these pilots, that they would have no problem staying out late and then getting up early.

“Maybe I’ll swing by the bar later,” I conceded. “I’ll have to play it by ear.”

Murphy whooped as though he’d won a victory. I met Damien’s eyes, and he was smiling warmly. I felt a little uncomfortable, and couldn’t place why. We’d gone out with these pilots many times and there was usually never an uncomfortable moment.

Am I just worried about what Justin would think? The thought troubled me.

We reached the hotel and got our room keys in short order. Everyone was lingering in the lobby, chatting with the hotel staff. Murphy was convincing them to join up at the bar after work. It sounded like he was succeeding. Murphy was nearly as charming as Stephan, in his own silly way.

“Ms. Karlsson.” A quiet voice spoke behind me.

I turned in surprise. It wasn’t the usual way I was addressed. I was a little surprised to see Clark standing there, both in New York and in our hotel. I hadn’t realized that he traveled with Justin outside of Las Vegas..

“Hi, Clark. How are you?” I asked, smiling.

“Great, Ms. Karlsson. The car is out front. Please, allow me to take your bag.” He did so without waiting for an answer.

Stephan kissed me on the forehead. “Have fun, Buttercup. Call me if you need anything.”

I nodded absently, seeing the strange looks on the rest of our crew’s faces as I made a somewhat hasty departure. I gave them all a quick wave as I departed.

Justin could have told me that he meant right away. He probably hadn’t told me for a reason, thinking I would argue with him. He may have been onto something.

Clark had already loaded my luggage and had the door open for me when I caught up to him. He was very fast. I smiled at him as I ducked into the low town car.

Strong arms startled a yelp out of me as I was plucked immediately into the now familiar lap of Justin. He hugged me tight, burying his face in my neck, nuzzling.

“You love that spot, huh?” I asked him, referring to the neck he was kissing.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured against me. “I love all of your spots.”

I rolled my eyes. “We both need a nap,” I told him, wondering at his plans.

“We can nap after. I’m dying to show you some things. All of my self-control has deserted me. And to think, I used to be a man who believed in delayed gratification.”

I raised my brows at him. “Seriously?”

He laughed richly, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“Yes, believe it or not. I can’t seem to help breaking all of my rules with you, Selena.”

Justin’s apartment was a scant five minute drive from my hotel, but there was a world of difference in those blocks. We were passing swank high-rise buildings when Justin addressed Clark. “Go through the garage, please. I don’t wish to use the front entrance today.”

It made me stiffen a little. He was hiding me away. In spite of myself, I felt hurt. He was embarrassed to be seen with me, and I was getting too involved with him emotionally to just shrug it off for long.

He must go on some dates, I thought. He was just choosing not to do so with me. A flight attendant was hardly in his league. I just tried to add my hurt to the list of reasons why this was going to be a short, if intense, affair.

Clark drove us into an underground parking garage that looked typical of New York. Justin pulled me quickly from the car when Clark stopped in front of an elevator, not even waiting for Clark to open the door.

“I’ll see you out front at 9:45,” Justin told Clark briskly, pushing the elevator button impatiently.

Clark slipped back into the car and drove away without a word.

The elevator door opened and Justin pulled me inside the expensive looking cab, using a key to push the penthouse button.

Of course it was a penthouse, I thought.

“I have something for you,” Justin said. “I’m not sure you’re going to like it at first, but I want you to give it a chance.”

That sounded ominous, and I just blinked at him.

He grinned at me. “I know you’re new to the whole BDSM thing. New to all of it. And I’m not sure how fair it is that I’ve shown you things rather than explaining them to you, but I’m not sorry for any of it. Perhaps I owe you more of an explanation for some of it, and I will get to that. But I had something made for you. It has significance for me, and I want you to wear it.”

I just pursed my lips and looked at him. “Is it some kind of a piercing?” I asked him.

He laughed, pulling me against him. He fondled me. I tried to elbow him away.

“That’s not an answer,” I told him.

“No, it’s not a piercing, though I’m not done trying to talk you into that, either.” As he spoke, he kneaded my br**sts.

“Well, I won’t agree to anything if you don’t tell me what I’m agreeing to.”

“I want you to be mine, Selena. Will you be my submissive?” he whispered in my ear.

My heart stopped. I wasn’t exactly shocked by the submissive thing, but the formal way he asked it sounded almost like a romantic proposal on his lips.

“I don’t entirely understand what that means, Justin.”

“It means anything we want it to. What it means to me is that I want you to belong to me, and that you will submit to me, and trust me to dominate you how I need to.”

I had no idea how to respond to that, but I didn’t have to for a moment as the elevator opened and I was pulled swiftly into Justin’s sumptuous apartment.

It was a frivolously open space, considering the usual New York cramped living spaces. I could see that it had at least three stories just from the entryway.

He had chosen a clean, modern decorating style, with floors lined in a stark gray hardwood and glass walls interspersed throughout. Heavy vases and expensive looking artwork added most of the color to the mostly gray, neutral space. The splashes of color were vivid, brought out exquisitely against the lack of color, as though the floors and walls were meant to be the perfect frames.

“It’s lovely,” I told him as he pulled me through the opulent space without pausing. As we passed through room after room, I marveled at the size of the place.

“Do you like it?” he asked, still pulling me along. He was glancing into doorways as though he was looking for something.

“Yes. You have impeccable taste.”

He flashed me a grin. “Yes, I do,” he said, giving me the warmest look, and I blushed. “I’m glad you like it.”

He approached a large open dining room. It had a spectacular view of central park. He drew me to the window.

“Stay here,” he told me, walking through a closed door to my left. I heard him speaking to someone in the next room. Staff of some sort, I noted, from the snippet of conversation I could hear.

I felt overwhelmed by his home, but still appreciative of it’s beauty. I ran a finger along the gleaming dark gray top of the heavy, colossally large table that dominated the room.

I admired the huge arrangement of flowers in the middle of the table. It was a mix of vibrantly colored orchids, displayed in a short, square, intricately carved crimson vase.

I was studying the extravagant view of central park when Justin reappeared a few minutes later, holding a thin square box and smiling.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Mr. Mercurial

He took my hand and began to lead me again. “I’ll give you the grand tour later,” he muttered, hurrying. He led me up both flights of stairs, then down a long hallway.

“I seem to only get to see very specific parts of your houses,” I responded archly.

He sent me a conciliatory smile. “I’ll make it up to you. Later.”

He pulled me into a room that I could see was the master bedroom just from the monumental size of the bed. The blinds were opened to the same amazing view of the park as the dinning room, just a few stories higher. The window lined nearly an entire wall of the room, floor to ceiling. The bed was a more modern take on the one he had in Vegas, with cleaner lines, but I was sure it had the same function by the cage-like top and thick, square posts. The hues in the room were a mix of bright, varying shades of green, accented with white, with starkly dark wood dominating all of the furniture and the floor. With an entire wall framing a spectacular view of the park, it had the feel of an indoor forest.

“It’s amazing,” I told him honestly.

He smiled, pleased with my reaction.

I noticed a small door with no handle near the open bathroom. It was conspicuous because there was a lit panel with a button beside it. I pointed at it. “Is that an elevator?”

His smile turned wicked. “Yes.”

“I didn’t realize the apartment had an elevator.”

“It has a few, actually. But that one goes somewhere special. I’ll be showing you soon. First, I want you to get on your knees and close your eyes.”

I sent him a startled look. He had switched gears without blinking, as usual. It was hard to keep up with his changing moods.

I knelt, obeying him because we were in his bedroom, and it was just so natural to let him rule me here.

I closed my eyes. After a few heartbeats I felt something cool being placed against the very upper edges of my collarbone.

Justin straightened the collar of my uniform, shifting it around.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “You can wear it to work.” He tucked what felt like a slightly rough circle of some kind against my chest.

“Okay, open your eyes,” he said finally.

I did, and he pulled me to my feet, leading me into a large, softly lit closet. The closet was twice the size of my bedroom, with expensive men’s clothing lining the walls. It smelled divine, like Justin himself.

He positioned me in front of a large floor-length mirror, and began to undress me without a word. He undid my tie first, politely hanging it on a hanger. He showed me a large, bare rack in the closet. “This will be for your things. If you run out of room, I’ll make more for you.”

I was a little stunned at his assumption that I would be keeping things here.

“I would very much like for you to use my personal shopper to buy a wardrobe for you here in New York, so you don’t have to move your things across the country. She should be getting in touch with you in a few days.”

“That’s silly. I don’t want you buying me clothes,” I told him, trying not to get angry. “It feels too much like being kept.”

He sighed. “It’s just clothing. I thought we had decided that you weren’t going to balk at gifts.”

I glared at him, and he saw my expression.

“Please, just consider it. You don’t have to decide right now. We have other things to talk about, at the moment.”

I lost my train of thought as he removed my jacket and vest, hanging them. His fingers lingered on the button at my throat. He undid my top four buttons, spreading my shirt open to reveal the necklace he had placed around my neck.

It was lovely, made of some kind of silver metal into what looked like one solid band, but was in fact soft and moveable, just a very seamless looking, tightly linked necklace. It sat right at the very top of my collarbone, at the base of my throat. He was right. It had been hidden just perfectly under my uniform. At the center of the thick choker sat a large diamond studded hoop. I fingered it, and he reached around me to hook his index finger into the loop, tugging lightly.

“It’s lovely,” I told him, but I was troubled. What was it’s significance to him?

“I had it made as a sort of workable version of a slave collar.”

I froze at the word, instantly wanting to take off anything with such a name. He gripped my hands tightly, holding them down at my sides firmly, as though sensing my intent.

“Just hear me out. We already have a dominant-submissive relationship. It comes naturally to us. It is just who we are. But that can mean whatever we want it to mean. Do you understand? I want to find the best balance for us both.”

I was already shaking my head at him. “That only comes natural to us in bed. I don’t want this going anywhere else. You don’t get to boss me around in any other part of my life. And I’m no slave.”

He inclined his head, although he looked displeased.

“I’m not trying to boss you around anywhere else. I’m trying to have a relationship with you, something I’ve never done before, and I’ll take what I can get. I want you to see that I will work with you. I will make…concessions for you, if there’s something that you can’t accept. I simply want you to give me all that you can. And not to run, if you get overwhelmed. And it’s called a slave collar only because it denotes ownership. It is a symbol of your commitment to me, to give your body only to me and no one else. To submit your body only to me. There is a lock and a key that only I will be the owner of, but I won’t lock you in until you agree. I want you to tell me when you’re ready for that. Until then, you can wear it unlocked.”

I stared at him for long minutes, my mind having a hard time processing what he was saying, when I was conflicted about so much of what he’d revealed.

He wanted a relationship? What the hell did he mean by that? I shook myself, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

“What if I’m never ready to be locked in?”

He gave me an almost sinister smile. “I will endeavor to convince you.”

He began to unbutton the rest of my shirt. I didn’t stop him, just stared at my collar, my mind racing.

He stripped me with quick sure motions until I was only in stockings and garters. He watched me for a long time in the mirror, wearing just that, but eventually stripped those off too. He tugged off my watch and even my small stud earrings. My first instinct when standing completely nude in front of him was to cover myself with my hands, but I stifled the urge with effort. I knew it wouldn’t please him, and my overpowering urge to please him had only grown during our short, tempestuous acquaintance…

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a tiny scrap of see-through black cloth. He wrapped it around my hips, fastening it with a tiny silver chain. It fit perfectly, sitting right below my waist, as though I’d been measured for it. It seemed to show as much as it concealed, every curve clearly visible beneath it, but Justin seemed very pleased with the results, his eyes positively glowing as he stared at me.

I assumed by it’s ready location in the drawer that it was some sort of submissive uniform for him. God only knew how many women he had dressed in just this way. I tried my best not to think about that.

He pulled something out of his pocket. It just looked like a lovely silver chain at first, but I saw the little clamps as he straightened the chain into a smooth line. He used a tiny clip on the chain to fasten it to the hoop in my collar.

I gasped.

He wrapped it through the hoop several times until there was just enough of the chain left to reach my n**ples with the clamps. He fastened them, his eyes hooded, while my breath grew rough in agitation. It looked like a sort of obscene halter top of metal. With a slave collar…

He smoothed my errant hairs into the chignon at my nape. He couldn’t seem to stop touching me. He stroked my shoulders and my waist and hips, but his fingers always found their way back to my br**sts. He was tweaking the clamps until I could hardly stand the wait.

“If you enjoy the clamps, you should be well suited to the piercings. The clamps actually apply more pressure than the piercings, after the initial pain.” He continued to play with my tortured n**ples, tugging until I moaned.

He pulled me by the hoop at my neck through his room and to the elevator. I could feel every step and pull in my achy br**sts. I trailed after him, barefoot and nearly nak*d, him fully clothed in one of his mouth-watering suits. I looked back at his bed longingly.

“I want you to take me on your bed,” I told him, a strange note of a plea in my voice. It just looked so perfect, and I was suddenly so needy.

“I will, Love. But, first things first, ” he said, pulling me into the elevator the second it opened.

The elevator began to move, descending smoothly.

“How far down does this thing go?” I asked him, after it seemed like we had gone impossibly far.

“Just four floors.” The elevator finally stopped, opening slowly.

Justin tugged me out. “Welcome to the 4th floor, Selena.”

We entered a plain gray hallway first. The floor was smooth gray wood. It was clean and flawless, but starkly monotone.

It feels like a dungeon, I thought with a shiver.

We passed by two rooms before we entered the door at the end of the hall. I wanted to ask what the other rooms were, but I was suddenly terrified, my mind running wild with strange possibilities, feeling transported into another century. For all I know, he could have other women in them.

The thought stopped me, and Justin had to tug harder to get me to follow him this time.

“This is not the place to be obstinate, Selena.”

“Yes, Mr. Cavendish,” I said, a tremor in my voice.

What was the worst that could happen? I asked myself, trying to talk myself out of my sudden, disproportionate terror.

He positioned me in front of him, giving me a full view of the huge, dark gray room that he’d led me to. He waited patiently, giving me time to process what I was seeing.

It was indeed a playground. It was a BDSM wet dream, from what I understood of what I saw. Chains, whips, shackles. Various torturous looking devices were set up in stations around the room.

My attention seemed to focus first on some sort of swing to my right. It was a series of leather straps and metal that fascinated me. I shifted towards it without thinking.

Justin followed my gaze and my movement. “So you like the swing? We can start with that. Since it’s your first time on the 4th floor, I’ll let you pick. I’m feeling generous today.”

“Are you going to punish me?” I asked, my voice breathless.

He just tsked at me, pulling me towards the swing. “If you disobey me in here, I will punish you. Until then, consider this just a lesson. Do you understand?”

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