#i probably screwed up the spinning wheel sorry

[egophiliac]

it's been an absolute shitball of a week, so here's something massively self-indulgent to make myself feel better.

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 09 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3028 | ao3 link

That was way easier and better than I ever thought it could be. And sweet. Sweet and just so natural, like his kisses and his touch. Like the love I felt for him. Like the love he felt for me.

✦ summary: Dave and Nore find solace in each other and cave to their desires in the chaotic aftermath of a drunk driving accident.

✦ on this chapter: NSFW!!, dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, drinking, drunk driving, car accident, vomiting, a little bit of hurt/comfort/praise, fluff, unprotected sex, mxf sex (explicit), oral sex, fingering, alcoholism/drinking issues

✦ a/n: this is a completely new part aaaand it's really explicit so keep it in mind if you're going to read it! also, since every chapter is named after a song, i made a playlist on spotify with all of them, you can listen to it while reading or just to get in the story's mood, it's right here and i will update it every time i post a new chapter. hope you like it, feedback is welcome ❤

✧ the sin I bring, called ecstasy ✧

Alright, whose brilliant idea was it to let a drunk driver take the wheel? 

Definitely not mine. 

Honestly, at that moment, it didn't seem like we had much of a choice. We were all wasted by the end of the day. We needed to get back home, and none of us had enough cash for a taxi ride from Joe's place to ours. A stumbling Lars volunteered to be the designated driver, and surprisingly, no one objected. We even cracked some jokes about the potential disaster, had a few laughs, and that was the end of it.

I don't think anyone was laughing now, though.

We stared in pure horror at the wrecked van. Lars had managed to crash it into a damn wall! Thankfully, nobody got hurt, and we were just a stone's throw away from home, but that didn't make things any better. Dave and Lars were fighting, Leanne was losing her shit, and I wasn't faring much better. My head was spinning, my breathing getting faster, and a rush of adrenaline sent panic coursing through my veins. Everything was spinning. I knew I had drunk too much. I knew I was bound to puke sooner or later. But at least I hoped I could hold it together until we got home.

I crawled over to someone's lawn and pretty much emptied my guts.

"You okay?" a voice chimed in. I glanced up and met James' blue eyes. He seemed somewhat sober, probably because he had passed out for most of the later part of the party, but I knew he was still pretty drunk.

"Do I look okay to you?" I grumbled, and he cracked up. I scrunched my eyebrows. Barfing my guts out was bad enough without an audience, but having someone witness the spectacle made it a whole lot worse.

"Maybe it's best if you go home if you're feelin' like shit. But you don't know the way, huh?"

"Does anyone here feel good? We’re all wasted and screwed with this accident. I'm surprised no one in this neighborhood has called the police yet."

"Yeah, maybe they will. Then we'll be even more fucked, right?" He laughed again and plopped his ass down on the sidewalk, keeping a safe distance from my vomit puddle. I had noticed it earlier, but he got really annoying when he was drunk. I focused on my trembling hands, trying to regain my composure. Take a deep breath, I reminded myself.

"What's going on?" Dave's slurred voice chimed in as he stumbled over to us. "Nore, what the hell happened?" 

I looked into his brown eyes, and they seemed to suspiciously fixate on James, as if he could somehow be to blame for my sorry state. I wondered what he thought was happening.

 "I was..." I gestured towards the puke pool, then spun around to continue unleashing the remnants of my stomach. Oh, lovely. 

He approached, all his focus on me, pushing my hair out of my face and gripping my waist to keep me steady. I leaned into his frame, grateful for the support, my heart still racing from the crash's adrenaline rush. My stomach wasn't faring any better; now that I'd expelled everything, an uncomfortable burning sensation was spreading through my belly.

"I think I've had too much to drink," I grumbled, fully aware of how my voice slurred and dragged. "How the hell are we supposed to go home now?" 

He glanced at the wrecked van and let out a resigned sigh. 

"Cliff's trying to borrow a phone from someone nearby to call a taxi. C'mere." Dave slung his arm around my shoulders and guided me towards the sidewalk next to the van, where Lars and Leanne were already planted on the ground. He helped me settle down beside them. He seemed a bit more composed now, but who knew if he was actually sober or just trying to hide his own level of intoxication. 

I plopped my ass on the pavement, my head spinning and my stomach doing somersaults. Somehow, I managed to hold back the urge to hurl this time. He sat down beside me, shooting me a concerned look.

"You look like hell," he remarked, and I burst out laughing, instantly regretting it as a pounding headache hit me. I groaned, wincing, and covered my face with my hands. "Come here." He pulled me close, letting me rest my head on his shoulder.

"I called a taxi for the girls and got hold of Joe. He's coming to help with the van," Cliff chimed in. "But we need some folks to stick around here and wait." 

"You, me, and Lars can hang tight," James suggested. "Nore and Leanne are not feeling well. Dave can take 'em home." 

Cliff glanced at me, clearly realizing how sick I was. He squatted down next to me and ran his hand through my hair in a soothing gesture. 

"Bit too much to drink, huh?" he asked, and I grumbled in response. "It's okay, go home and get some rest." 

I nodded, hiding my face against Dave's chest. Cliff settled down beside Leanne, doing his best to soothe her as we waited what felt like forever for the cab. Finally, it arrived, and Dave, Leanne, and I hopped into the car. The driver dropped off Leanne at her place, and Dave hopped out to make sure she'd be alright while I stayed put. When he returned, he took the seat next to me in the back.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, and I nodded, leaning my head on his shoulder. He gently stroked my thigh, sending a pleasant shiver through my skin.

When we got back home, I hopped out of the car and headed straight to the bathroom while Dave took care of paying the taxi. I quickly brushed my teeth to get rid of the nasty taste in my mouth and splashed some water on my face. The vomiting had sobered me up, but my head was still pounding like crazy. Dave walked into the bathroom, holding a glass of water and a pill in his hand.

"Got this for you," he said, offering the pill. "You know, to help with the headache."

"Oh, thank you, Dave," I whispered, grateful for his thoughtfulness. I took the pill and swallowed it with the water, letting out a sigh. I couldn't help but notice how my hands were shaking slightly.

"You alright?" he asked, coming closer and gently stroking my face, unsure of how to comfort me. "You've been on edge since the accident. I mean, yeah, it was a total mess, but we're all safe now... Back home, no harm done."

I sighed. The accident had triggered more than just nerves and panic in me. The aftermath was just a tiny part of a much bigger turmoil in my head.

"It's just... This wasn't my first car accident. I guess that’s why I got so nervous," I confessed, and then looked into his eyes. He stared at me intently, his hand moving from my face to my lower lip, his finger tracing the curve of my mouth slowly. My body heated up, suddenly aware of the closeness between us. I let out a sigh, deciding to open up and share what had been troubling me. "Last year, on my 18th birthday, me and my friends went out to celebrate. We got wasted, and when it was time to call it a night, I was the one behind the wheel... Ended up crashing the damn car." I blinked, realizing my eyes were getting watery. It was strange. I had never talked so openly about this with anyone; I felt so ashamed, especially after getting kicked out of my own house. I just hoped Dave wouldn't hate me after hearing all this. "I got hurt. And I hurt my friends too. Dave, I... I'm not the good girl you think I am. I've fucked up big time." 

"And does that matter?" he whispered, his face inching closer to mine. His eyes were serious, and I could feel his breath brushing against my lips. "You’re not a bad person because of that, Nore. And I love you... Your past doesn't mean shit. I love who you are right now."

I locked eyes with him, a shiver running through me as he leaned his hands on the sink, one on each side of my body. He was so close that it made my heart race. And there it was — the electric charge that sparked every time he got too close, the tension building up deep in my gut whenever he touched me. I lightly brushed my fingers against his lips, my breath hitching with anticipation, and let out a soft sigh as he kissed me. Our tongues danced slowly together, his hands gripping me so tight against his body that it was almost painful. 

He broke the kiss to swiftly yank off my shirt, and a little gasp escaped my lips as he started kissing my neck, sucking gently and leaving love bites all over my skin. I felt his fingertips trailing lightly over my back, sending tingles down my spine, until they reached the clasp of my bra.

I flinched suddenly, feeling my face burn and my breath quicken. He froze.

"You want me to stop?" Dave asked, his voice low and husky, a concerned look on his face.

"No," I whispered, looking into his eyes. He stared at me, seeming a bit unsure for a moment, before gently stroking my face.

"Come here," he took my hand and led me to my room. My heart raced as he closed the door, leaving the lights off, and pulled his shirt off, kissing me again. His skin felt hot against mine and my breath hitched as he sat on the bed, pulling me onto his lap. I straddled him, my knees on either side of his hips, and let out a sigh as his lips went back to exploring my neck.

His hands went back to my bra as he removed it slowly. I shivered as I felt the cold air against my skin and even more when I saw the way he looked at me. He lifted his eyes to look at mine, his gaze clouded with anticipation while holding me firmly in his arms. I giggled when he lifted me effortlessly, laying me down on the bed and positioning himself on top of me. He traced the outline of my nipple slowly with his fingertips, making me breathe deeply.

“Dave…” I whispered, and let out a quiet whimper when he sucked on my nipple, his tongue circling it slowly. I moaned, feeling my whole body on fire while he sucked on my breast leisurely, his hand grabbing my hip strongly. He grumbled, a low and satisfied sound, and the vibration of his voice against my skin sent shivers throughout my body.

His hands gripped me tightly on the hips, so strong that I squirmed, a low moan escaping from my throat. He bit my nipple lightly, massaging it with his tongue, and I couldn’t help but moan louder. It hurt a bit, but it was so good that I never wanted him to stop. He did it again on my other nipple, his tongue savoring every inch of my skin while I buried my fingers in his soft hair. His lips explored my skin slowly, kissing and licking and sucking on my breasts, my collarbones, my neck; I knew my skin would be covered in purple marks the next day, but I couldn’t care less. 

When he pulled away, he held my chin in his hand, making me look at him. His eyes were intense and hungry, and they seemed as lost in gazing into mine as mine were in his.

"If I hurt you, you have to tell me," he spoke softly, his hand caressing my cheek slowly.

"Okay," I whispered in response.

"Promise me," he asked, lightly kissing my lips. I nodded.

"I promise, Dave."

He nodded, his eyes serious as he unbuttoned my pants. I helped him take the rest of my clothes off quickly, letting out a small sigh when he saw me naked for the first time. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, looking somewhat stunned as his eyes roamed over every inch of my skin. I slowly caressed his chest with my hand, tracing the outline of his collarbone with the tips of my fingers. He brought a hand to my hair, gripping it firmly before leaning over me and kissing me on my lips again.

I whimpered when he grabbed my thigh with one hand, opening my legs and then touching my pussy, caressing it slowly, making my whole body shiver. I lost myself in his gaze, admiring his faintly flushed cheeks, his lips slightly parted while his eyes looked into mine. I moaned softly when he penetrated me with one finger, and then another, moving them slowly inside of me, exploring me at such a cautious pace that it bordered on tortuous. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked in a husky tone. I shook my head to assure him it didn’t, my lips slightly parted and my face flushed, and moaned when he moved his fingers inside me. He let out a soft laugh. “Fuck, Nore… You’re so beautiful.”

He leaned in, kissing my neck, his lips gently tracing the contour down to my shoulder and collarbone, leaving a trail of small kisses as he went down and kept moving his fingers leisurely inside me, in and out while he curled them softly. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back when he pressed his tongue against my clit, his hot breath tickling my skin. 

“Oh, Dave…” I moaned, holding onto his hair with one hand. He chuckled softly, seeming to take delight in my reaction, his breath quickening against my skin. I felt my own breath quicken while I enjoyed the combined pleasure of his fingers and his tongue, my legs shaking lightly as my back arched and I moaned. 

He reduced me to a trembling mess of moans and whimpers as his tongue explored my pussy slowly, sucking and licking my clit while his fingers moved inside me, my whole body on fire as I felt the knot of pleasure in my womb grow tighter and tighter. I let out a muffled cry when he stopped, his mouth coming back to mine, his fingers slipping out from inside me and leaving an uncomfortable emptiness that pulsed, yearning for more. I groaned in protest, almost begging for him to touch me again.

“Wait… Just a bit” he whispered while taking off his pants quickly. He gripped one of my thighs, lifting my leg while laying down on top of me. I melted into a breathy moan when I felt him start to penetrate me slowly, and flinched a little as pain and pleasure intertwined inside of me. “Nore…” he moaned, nuzzling my neck, his erratic breath against my skin as I wrapped my legs around his hips with a low moan while my body adjusted to his size “Ah…” 

I moaned when he started moving carefully. Any pain I felt was slowly giving way to the pleasure of feeling his sweaty skin against mine, his lips kissing me greedily, his fingers intertwined with mine as they pressed my hand against the mattress, and him, inside of me, making me feel things I didn't even believe were possible to be felt until then.  

He pulled away a bit, still moving slowly, and my eyes met with his. I knew by his expression that he wanted to devour me. That he was holding back, because he didn’t want to hurt me. But I wanted more of him, too; I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, allowing him to penetrate me deeper. He moaned softly, his control over himself faltering while his hand gripped my hip and he pushed hard inside of me. It was so good, feeling his warm body against mine, his fingers digging into my skin as we lost ourselves in each other.

He started moving faster, his breath becoming more erratic as he let a few muffled moans escape from his lips. I let him hold me against his body, the pain now completely forgotten as the pleasure of having him inside of me invaded my body, the knot of pleasure growing in my womb until it became almost unbearable.

“Nore, I’m so close…” he whispered, his voice almost pleading as he buried his face in the curve of my neck, one of his hands gripping my hair tightly while the other supported his body.

I couldn’t answer, I couldn’t even think straight while I closed my eyes, allowing his lips to explore my skin, the constant rhythm of his movements increasingly intensifying the knot of pure ecstasy growing inside me until I moaned loudly, feeling the pleasure inside of me become unbearable under his touch, allowing my orgasm to run through my whole body, making it spasm and contract. He grunted, shuddering and holding me even closer when he couldn’t stand it anymore and reached his high, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he came inside of me. He sighed deeply, his face hidden in my neck while he caught his breath, my own breath shallow, my eyes closed as I felt the warmth spreading through my body in waves.

That was way easier and better than I ever thought it could be. And sweet. Sweet and just so natural, like his kisses and his touch. Like the love I felt for him. Like the love he felt for me.

Dave let out a sigh, rolling off my body and snuggling up next to me. He pulled me close, and I hugged him tight, burying my face in his chest, soaking in the smell of his skin and his cozy warmth as I relaxed. His lips on my forehead and his hands caressing my back were the last things I remembered before falling asleep in his arms.

[rosie-kairi]

ok. talk about *spins wheel* vor

Her death was probably the most tragic out of all of the classmates just by virtue of the dialogue. Her whole story is her self-doubt, how she'll never be able to improve as a keyblade wielder is she doesn't make an effort to put herself into situations she's uncomfortable with. It's pretty rare to see a character straight up like, realize that they have a problem and then immediately trying to make steps towards improving themselves.

And then. she dies. She puts work towards improving herself and become a better wielder that she can be proud of. and then she dies before it can come to fruition. Exercise in futility or whatever.

It's tragic. I know we all know that Union X/Dark Road (and prequels as a whole) are tragedies, but my god can Vor's death fuck you up. "Sorry, I screwed up..." she's says after she's been fatally wounded. "This is where I belong."

It's just. She's so sad. Xehanort actually cried when she died and I think that's just a testament to how messed up her death is.

[guardevoir]

Tour de Fleece update #1 (day 1)

First of all, not technically TdF, but I did get the sparkle merino plied yesterday after all because apparently spinning is more fun than video games.

Sorry for the cryptid photo, my camera has a personal vendetta against this fiber. Making 4-ply yarn is surprisingly fun and I've yet to screw it up - and I'm pretty pleased with this one too (even if it came out much thinner than I would've expected. Ah well, I can always double it up when crocheting). Will probably full this tomorrow, and then it's onto crocheting. Might have to spin up some more though, this seems a bit on the low end even for a headband.

Then, Wheel Update:

I. Adore. This fiber. If I hadn't bought the last braid, I would be ordering more right now. Last time I spun Shetland I was bored and not overly amazed, but this? Hot damn. First of all, I love the fiber prep - it's not quite as thoroughly combed as something commercially dyed, but the fiber prep is grippy without being felted and basically spins itself. Also, the combination of Shetland and silk is amazing. Sure, silk and merino would have been softer probably, but this one has definition and character and I love it. I might see if I can get a cowl out of the finished yarn or something.

Spindle Update:

Well, it's Coburg Fox. You could throw it against the wall and accidentally end up with yarn, so it's simultaneously one of my most and least favorite fibers, and those unruly guard hairs don't help. The colors are nice, though! Not sure if the contrast is enough to make for a good fractal spin, but it'll be pretty for sure.

The main challenge with both projects so far is spinning thick enough to end up with a usable 2-ply yarn that actually shows off colors while actually keeping things consistent - but it's the good kind of challenge! I can spin consistently thin, but consistently medium-weight is something I have much less practice at but really want to master.

[imogenbello]

Imogen could see the wheels spinning in his head about why she was here. She wondered what he was thinking and would give anything to be in his mind. Was he angry? Yes. Was he going to shut her out of his life? Possibly. Would he forgive her? She wasn’t sure. She honestly didn’t expect him to forgive her. If the roles were reversed, she didn’t know if she could. The hurt that she caused him not only in taking his money but also leaving him was something that she didn’t think he could get over and she would have to deal with the consequences of her actions.

It wasn’t until her name fell from his lips that she realized just how much she missed him. The love that they had was everything and she screwed it all up. She knew she would never find a love like what they had in her lifetime and it wasn’t until now that she realized just how bad that felt. A few moments passed as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I, uh” she started, but nothing she thought of felt right.

“There is so much that I want and need to say and I don’t even know where to begin.” She paused, moving closer to the counter where she laid the bag. “First, I want to say that I am so sorry for the way that I handled things. I should have talked to you but I was scared and I ran.” Her lips pressed together as she looked down at the ground before looking back up at Oliver. Gesturing toward the bag, she moved it toward him. “I know this doesn't make up for what you probably went through when I left but this is everything I took and more. I know you worked hard for this and I’m sorry that I ran with it. You didn’t deserve that.”

@olivcrashford

Oliver sits at his station, working on the last customer of the night. Once he finishes up, he takes their payment and works to clean up everything before heading to the front. He wonders if he should go grab a nightcap at the bar down the street, it beats going home by himself for the night. He grabs his backpack off the floor and puts the strap over his shoulder, moving to turn off the light and head out of the area his station was.

"We're clos..." He starts until his eyes lift up to actually take in who is standing in the lobby in front of him. He straightens his posture as he reaches one hand out to place it on the surface of the counter. He glances between her and the bag in her hand, the expression on his feature gives nothing away. He's had two painful years to think about everything she had done to him and he didn't understand what had happened.

One second they were good and the next she was gone with everything he worked hard to earn.

"Imogen."

He nods slightly. "What are you doing here?"

@imogenbello

[brainlessrot]

Twisted Wonderland characters as “If i jump at them they will most definitely catch me in their arms�� Part 5/5

Contents ;; GN!MC (referred as Prefect) mentions of minor injuries, can be seen as platonic or romantic! I call Malleus Tsunotarou instead of Hornton, MC does know who he is, just doesnt care at all

Characters ;; Diasomnia Dorm members

☰ Menu

| Part 1, Heartslabyul |

| Part 2, Savanaclaw | 

| Part 3, Octavinelle + Scarabia |

| Part 4, Pomefiore + Ighnihyde |

| Part 5, Diasomnia | <

| Extra part, Staff Members |

Prompt: Ace dares you to jump at the first person to come around the corner to see if they'll catch you.

Malleus ;; ace would be terrified and malleus would be very confused, is this some kind of… human ritual to welcome someone, child of man??

You groan, why does Ace have to do this to you? He probably cheated! Now you’re gonna have to ridicule yourself and possibly hurt yourself, great.

But, the moment you see his horns peek around the corner, you light up. It’s Tsunotarou! Surely he is capable! 

You yell his nickname loudly, swinging your arm as a greeting. Ace’s face pales, almost as white as the ghosts at Ramshackle. He tries to hold your arm to keep you back, away from Malleus, but he’s so skittish from fear that his grip does nothing at stopping you. He is merely able to call out to you, telling you that he’s sorry and that you don’t need to do it. But you ignore him.

“Hm? What is it, child of man? Is something troubling you?” He slightly beams as he lays eyes on you, corresponding to your wave. You take that opportunity and speed in his direction. His only physical reaction was the way his eyes widened, but it was so unnoticeable that if you weren’t intently looking at him like you are, you wouldn’t have seen it. But, behind his cool facade, he felt on edge. What is going on with you? Are you… perhaps mad at him? What could he have possibly done to deserve your wrath?

He was ready to accept anything that you’d do, as long as you’d forgive him for whatever he had done. But the way you beamed as you lounged at him, with open arms, dissolved the whole scenario he had created in his mind.

His lips quivered as he tried to restrain a smile. He put his arms around your body the moment you two collided against each other, and he didn’t even sway backwards.

“Is this… Some kind of human ritual, child of man?” You lie to him, telling you that you just wanted some attention, he smiles fondly at you. “You could have just asked.”

Lilia ;; another one that probably heard you and ace, deffo capable of catching you without trouble, but may do some flips in the air with you, so if you get motion sickness you’re screwed

You don’t know if you’re truly lucky or the Seven are giving you the stink eye. On one part, he seems strong enough to be able to pull it off. But on the other… you want to keep your head on your shoulders.

Ace doesn’t let you keep thinking how to curry the Seven’s favour any longer, as he pushes you in Lilia’s direction.

Sighing, you jog in his direction, calling out to him to make him see you, which, was in fact, not necessary, he knew where you were and what you were trying to do, silly!

He had a smug smile plastered on his face. He looked at you as how a pup looks at a new, shiny toy to play with, and you were definitely not content with that.

As you started to quicken your pace, he chuckled, chuckled! 

Oh, you were going to try to drag him down.

But all your plans were defeated the moment you came in contact with him. He lifted you both in the air, his grip on you surprisingly tight. Which you mentally thanked him for, you were not looking to fall down from such a height.

But the moment he started swaying you both, you regretted it immediately.

Safe to say your throat hurts after a couple of spins and wheels in the air.

Silver ;; he was feeling sluggish and decided to lay down, and then you go and crash into him, poor little guy 

Lately, Silver had been feeling slightly tired, his movements becoming sluggish with each passing moment, so he decided to find a quiet place to rest, he didn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of something important, so even if he didn’t exactly want to sleep at the moment, it was the best choice.

But oh, how wrong he was. There, on the perfect spot, the one on which he supposedly should never be annoyed by a random passerby, you two, Ace and the Prefect of the Ramshackle dorm were quietly talking together.

He hadn’t noticed you two though, and so he unknowingly became your designated target.

He yawned, putting a hand in front of his mouth to stifle it, and the first sight he caught when he opened his eyes was enough to give him nightmares. There you were, running straight at him at full speed. For a moment he was about to grab for his sword, but he would never point one at you, and he also left it behind.

He called out to you, perhaps trying to negotiate you out of whatever you had set your mind to, but you did not respond, so he quickly gave up.

You, however, did not, jumping at him when you were close enough. His arms reacted quickly, enclosing you in his embrace, however, his legs were weak at that moment, giving out under him, forcing you both to the floor. If he hadn’t felt so exhausted he could have held you without any trouble, but it was not the case.

You sat on his stomach, a little bit dizzy from the fall, but it was nowhere the same as what Silver would have felt, since he cushioned your fall. You shook him by his shoulders to ask him if he was okay, but when he didn’t respond your blood froze. Did you just kill this dude?!

Oh, he’s breathing, he probably just fell asleep. Now, you scoot him over to a tree stump so that he is a little bit more comfortable and quietly leave with Ace and a promise for a lot of tuna cans.

Sebek ;; yeah he is jacked and can catch you… but will he? youre a “HuMaN!1!!”

He noticed you before Ace even said anything, calling out to you with his classic “HUMAN!”, you could see Ace playfully roll his eyes at you and push you in his direction, an evil little smirk present on his face.

You honestly don’t trust that Sebek will catch you, on one hand he is strong and capable of lifting you up, he is Malleus bodyguard afterall, but on the other, he is Malleus bodyguard, and is fully and only devoted to him, if you are not his revered “waka-sama” you doubt he will even look in your direction. But oh well, might as well run for it.

He sees you running at him, but doesn’t think anything about it, after all, he did call your attention. But what he was not expecting was your feet leaving the soil as you jumped towards him, arms open as if you wanted a hug. His instincts took over, and he acted before he could even think about what was happening, his arms now around your body in a protective manner.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HUMAN?!” He, behind his words, was worried about you. “IF YOU HAD JUMPED AT MALLEUS YOU COULD HAVE CREATED A HUGE PROBLEM!!” You ignore him, instead complimenting him, he is pretty strong but you did not expect him to catch you!! The moment those words leave your mouth he lets you down as if your touch burns him, and you can almost see the blush that covers his ears as he turns around.

“Oh! Oh, of course I am strong… I am Malleus’ bodyguard after all!” He forgot why he had called you before.

[dreamerstreamer]

Speak Your Mind

Pairing: GeorgeNotFound / George x f!reader

Summary: Usually, you left George feeling tongue-tied, but apparently not today.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: requested by an anon who wanted a cute, clumsy george story! another anon wanted something similar, so i hope you both and all enjoy <3 this was inspired by this quote by lemony snicket :)

George slipped into his chair with a slight groan, nudging his mouse with his elbow as he took a sip of water. He watched as his screen came to life, glancing over at the time. It was still kind of early, and he had a few hours to himself before his scheduled stream.

I could probably just play by myself for a while, he thought to himself, setting his glass down to his left as he opened up Minecraft. He reached across his desk, grabbing his headphones and settling them over his head. It’s been a while since I’ve played in a hardcore survival world. 

But then his gaze flickered down to a particular server, and he found his cursor automatically clicking on it, almost like clockwork. In an instant, his avatar was standing on the Prime Path, the blocky world rendering into view around him. Shifting his mouse a few times, George smiled and opened up his inventory.

He spent a few moments sorting everything out, quietly humming to himself. A few seconds later, something popped up on the bottom left of his screen, his gaze darting over to catch it.

[y/n]: hi george!

[y/n]: how are you doing?

George’s heart almost immediately stuttered in his chest, and he spent a moment or two simply staring at the two lines of text.

He couldn’t believe just how much power you had over him.

The two of you had been friends for a long time now—nearly as long as he had been friends with Dream, even. The two of you had met almost entirely by accident, having simply been jokingly trapped together on a random server by one of the admins for a few hours. Under any other circumstances, George probably would have felt awkward to hell and back, but the two of you had just instantly hit it off together.

You were kind and cheerful, while he was practical and goofy. He loved your optimistic innocence, and you lived for his sarcastic quips. While the two of you had never met in person, both of you had most definitely seen each other’s faces before, and George would never forget the first thing he said when he saw your face.

“Woah. You’re really pretty.”

He had blurted it without warning, surprising even himself at his own words. Your face had flushed while you immediately turned off your face cam, letting out a quiet whine. “George, you can’t just say that!”

He remembered sputtering in his chair, then sending an earnest smile at his monitor. “But it’s true!”

“George!”

The image of your cheeks plastered with an embarrassed, sheepish grin and your wide, shining eyes would forever be ingrained in his mind.

Years later, that picture hadn’t changed a bit, still as clear as ever in his head, but the feelings he held for you had transformed. It didn’t happen quickly, nor did he ever want to admit it, but he was incredibly aware of it—almost too aware of it.

You made his cheeks hurt from how much he smiled around him. You filled his stomach with butterflies just with a single giggle. You made his ears turn bright red whenever you made a sly joke.

The three little words sat at the back of his head at nearly every hour of the day, and he just knew that one of these days, he was going to tell you what they were.

Hopefully.

With a smile on his face and a million thoughts swirling around his head, all of them beginning and ending with you, he closed his inventory and began to type back a response.

GeorgeNotFound: i’m doing good haha

[y/n]: i’m happy to hear that! <3

His breath caught in his throat. A heart—you had sent back a heart. He could feel his own heart seize in his chest at the sight of two simple symbols on his monitor screen.

Oh god, he was so screwed.

He walked forward a bit, his head still spinning with thoughts of you and that stupid heart as he contemplated what he should do next. An idea popped up just then, a small wave of anxiety creating over his head. With shaky hands, he began to type.

GeorgeNotFound: wanna join vc 2?

A moment ticked by, and George chewed on the side of his cheek. Then, your username appeared in the corner of his screen.

[y/n]: okay! i’ll be there in a sec :)

A smiley face. His own lips curled upwards to match the smile emoticon as he entered the voice channel, patiently waiting. A few moments later, something caught his attention from the corner of his monitor. Turning, he flinched as your avatar jumped down and landed in front of him, briefly turning red from the fall damage. A split second later, he heard a familiar ping.

“Boo!” you chirped, your voice echoing in his ear as bright as day. He felt warmth blossom in his chest just at the sound of a single syllable spoken in your voice.

“What a grand entrance,” he said teasingly, unable to hide the fact that he was grinning while he spoke.

“You know me,” you said, giggling, “I always have to make a big show of things.”

“I sure do,” he said, secretly thinking to himself.

But I wish I knew you better.

“Woah,” you suddenly breathed, something like awe seeping in your voice as your character stepped forward. “I feel like we haven’t talked in, like... forever.”

He blinked, shifting his mouse slightly toward you. “We talked yesterday.”

“No,” you said quickly, your pitch raising, “I mean like, talk talked. You know, over call or something?” Your voice grew quiet. “I missed hearing your voice.”

George wanted to throw a pillow across his room. Cute. “Well, I’m here now,” he said softly, chuckling, “so you get to hear it all you want.”

He heard you cough, but it was slightly muffled. He wondered what you looked like right now, and he half-wished that you two had your face-cams on. “Now that you’re on the sever,” you prompted a second later, suddenly sounding normal again. “what do you wanna do?” 

He thought for a moment, the wheels in his head turning. “Well, I kind of wanted to work a bit more on my house.”

“Oh, you mean your new house? The one you were building during the, uh—” You paused, searching for the right words. “—big battle?” 

He could imagine you making fake air quotes with your fingers, and he laughed, thinking of your scrunched up face. “Pfft, yeah. That’s the one.”

“I haven’t seen it yet,” you admitted, some rustling coming through his headphones. “Do... do you mind showing me it?”

He smiled sheepishly. “No, not at all. But I’m not a very good builder, I hope you know.”

You let out a brief shout, and he jumped in his chair. “Nope! Illegal!”

His eyebrows knit together. “‘Illegal’?” he parroted.

“Illegal,” you said in an affirmative tone. “It’s illegal to be mean to GeorgeNotFound. Even by GeorgeNotFound himself. Sorry I don’t make the rules.” Before he could even think of a response, your character began jumping up and down on his screen. “Now, show me the goods! I’m sure it looks great.”

He was pretty sure he was just a puddle in his chair, now. You were just far too much for his poor heart. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take of this before he lost his mind.

Shaking his head free of thoughts of you, he pressed the W key and watched as he moved forward down the Prime Path and over a hill. “Here, follow me. It’s a bit far from the rest of the server’s homes, but I kind of like it.”

You hummed, thoughtful and soft as the two of you jumped your way over a few hills. “I get you. I mean, we all need our space. I think having your home being more far away is just cozy. Quaint. Probably not going to get robbed by Tommy. It’s a win-win situation!”

He snorted at your words. Probably not going to get robbed by Tommy was a positive he would never pass up. “I’m glad it’s not just me who thinks that.”

It was then that a splash of red among a horizon full of browns and greens came into view. You let out a soft gasp as his hobbit-hole house came into view. “Sooo,” he began, clicking his mouse, “ta-da! Here it is! I know it’s not much, but it’s pretty okay, I think?”

A cry of awe flew from your lips. “Are you kidding me? Your house is so pretty!” You ran forward, your eyes wide as you gazed at the hobbit-style home. “It’s so round and cozy and—oh, the mushrooms!” Your avatar jumped up and down, punching at the air towards his house. “You even added a little moat with a bridge!”

A certain sincerity flooded your voice as you added, “George, don’t lie to me and tell me you suck at building. I love your house.”

He felt his heart melt at your eager tone. Just how endearing could one person be? 

“Can we go inside, can we go inside?” you asked, your voice growing bolder as you turned to look at him expectantly. 

A bashful smile shot across his face, even though he knew you couldn’t see him. “I—ah, I haven’t actually built the inside yet,” he admitted shyly.

You let out a soft squeal, your avatar running around the screen with a hop. “If you want, we can build it together!” you offered. “I know you’re not super confident in your building skills, but I’m more than happy to help out!”

His heart melted. You were so kind. Too kind, really. How could he say no?

“I would love that,” he said. He moved inside the house, revealing the hollowed out, blank space that would serve as the interior of his house. “So, as you can see, it’s still a work in progress.” He glanced back at you. “Where should we start? 

There was a slight pause. “Hmmm.” He could imagine the way you scrunched your nose as you thought, your fingers tapping against the nearest flat surface as you did so. “We could make most of the inside out of birch planks,” you began, “and have some dark oak details. You know, so there’s some really neat contrast between the light and dark parts of your house.”

He could hear you growing giddier and giddier with each passing second. “And we can also add some red and white carpet to match the mushroom aesthetic! Oh, that would look so good! “Your character turned to look at him, a block of birch wood already in hand. “What do you think?”

His heart beat a little faster. I like you, he thought, clear as a bell. I really, really like you, that’s what I think.

“You what?”

He froze.

Oh my god. Did I just say that out loud?

Your voice filled his ears, quiet and shaky. “Um. Yeah.”

A second passed in awkward silence. Then another.

If a Minecraft skin could blush, George’s face would be a tomato.

“I, um,” he stammered, his eyes darting every which way in search of an excuse to leave the call. Just then, his gaze caught on the glass of water he had set to his left. He barely gave himself even a second to think about what to say before he started rambling, speaking in a single, blurted breath.

“I just um spilled water all over myself and wow it’s about to get all over my set-up and that would be really bad so I’m just uh gonna go now okay great bye—”

Before he could embarrass himself anymore, he found himself pressing the ‘end call’ button and closing the window, hanging his head in his hands as he let out a long groan of despair.

Why did he do that? How did he do that?

Groaning again, he slammed his head into his desk, turning to press his cheek into the wood as he stared at his keyboard. 

He was an idiot—a big, fat idiot.

In the corner of his eye, he watched as his phone screen lit up. It‘s probably a message from [Y/N], his brain helpfully supplied. She’s probably confused as hell.

“Not helping,” he muttered to himself, sitting up once more.

Well, there was really only one thing he could do now, and that was to get help. Fortunately for him, he knew two people he could definitely ask for advice. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he knew how this conversation was going to go.

Sighing, he opened up Discord again on his monitor.

He was sure things could only go downhill from here.

“You what?!”

George grimaced. He was right. This was a terrible idea. “You don’t have to rub it in my face,” he grumbled.

“I’m—” Wheeze. “I’m not rubbing it in,” Dream explained between gasps for air, “it’s... it’s just that it’s funny.”

George pursed his lips. “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like you’re rubbing it in.”

Sapnap’s voice cut through Dream’s laughter. “Okay, okay, Dream, you’re not helping. Gogy here is having, as Tommy would put it, ‘women problems’, and he needs some help.”

All of a sudden, Dream’s laughter stopped. “If I’m being totally honest,” he said, “I’m not really seeing the problem here.”

There was a beat of silence. “How are you not seeing the problem?” Sapnap said. You could hear the frown in his voice. “George just prematurely confessed his feelings to [Y/N].”

“Yeah, and?”

Another beat of silence.

“What the heck do you mean, ‘and’? That’s the problem!”

George sighed, sinking down in his desk chair. “Dream,” he muttered into his headset, rubbing at his temples, “just spit it out.”

“Look,” he began, “I’m just saying that here’s no advice we could possibly give you, because there’s only one solution.”

“Which is?” Sapnap prompted.

“You just have to tell her outright how you feel.”

George’s jaw dropped and he scrambled to sit up. “No way I’m doing that. Nuh-uh, no thanks.”

Sapnap made a noise of approval. “No, wait—Dream does have a point.”

George felt a stone of uneasiness drop into his stomach. “You’re just saying that because you want to see me make a fool of myself.”

“No, no, nonono, I’m telling the truth!” Dream cried. “Seriously, what other options do you really have? Pretend that you never said anything and just act like nothing happened to confuse her and hope that she forgets?”

“Pretty sure that’s called gaslighting,” Sapnap mumbled.

George glared at his monitor, knowing full well no one could see him. “Not helping.”

“Ignore her for the rest of eternity?” Dream continued. “You’ve already declined six of her calls!” There was a pause, then he carried on. “George, seriously. I want the best for you, and I’m not kidding when I say this is the only viable option, really.”

He stared down at his lap, his hands shaking where they lay. “What if,” he began, “she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, tough luck then, Gogy,” Sapnap said bluntly, “You’re just gonna have to suck it up and move on like the rest of us.”

George pressed his lips into a thin line. While it wasn’t exactly the nicest way to put it, he supposed Sapnap was right. “What if...” He swallowed. “What if I’m not ready?”

A soft sigh came from the other end. “George,” Dream said, his voice sincere, “believe it or not, but no one’s ever ready, really. But if we all waited until we were ready, then we’d be waiting for the rest of our lives.”

George fell quiet. A strange sense of comfort fell over him as he let Dream’s words soak in. Mustering up a deep breath, he smiled.

“Okay. I’ll call her back tonight, alright?”

Sapnap let out a hoot, the sound of clapping filling his headphones. “Let’s go! Get ‘em, Gogy!”

“You really need to stop calling me that.”

“Nah. It’s funny.”

Before George could retort, Dream stepped in. “Remember buddy, no matter what happens, we’ll be here for you, okay? Don’t let your fear hold you back. Hell, you know what? Don’t let your—” Dream suddenly cackled, his voice wheezing into his mic as he sputtered, “Don’t let your dreams be dreams, George!”

George let out a groan, barely able to hear himself over the deafening sound of Dream’s wheezing. “Oh my god, I’m hanging up.”

“Good luck, Gog—”

It was at that moment that he clicked the ‘end call’ button, the sweet sound of silence washing over him. Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the ceiling, the tiniest of smiles gracing his lips.

Maybe calling his friends wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

George stared at his monitor, the dark screen reflecting a mirrored image of himself. His hand opened and closed on his lap, itching to hold onto the mouse.

It had been two days since he’d blurted the words he’d been procrastinating saying for the last god knows how long. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he could only see fluttering shots of you. You, with your mouth agape, staring at your screen with your headphones sliding down your neck. You, frantically texting on your phone about everything that had just slipped out of his mouth. You, with your face inevitably twisting in disgust at the thought of someone like him liking someone like you.

I’m not ready, he thought, his reflection blinking back at him.

That’s exactly why you’re going to do this, his reflection said back as his hand moved to his mouse, hovering over it.

You suck, he thought.

The monitor smiled back at him as he moved his cursor. I know.

His screen burst to life, Discord already open and waiting for him. George moved his cursor to hover over your username, his palm starting to sweat. Clicking, he reached over to his keyboard and began to type.

GeorgeNotFound: hey! did you wanna video call?

The moment he hit enter, he ripped his hands away from the keyboard like it was made of hot coals, wiping his hands on his pants. With bated breath, he waited, staring at the green circle accompanying your profile picture. Suddenly, his screen moved.

[y/n] is typing...

His heart leapt into his throat.

[y/n]: okay!

He exhaled a sigh of relief through his nose, his mouse moving to press the hit ‘video call’ button. A few seconds passed with the ringtone echoing through his headphones. A moment later, the ringing stopped and your face filled his screen, the familiar set-up of your room fading in at the corners. His heart swelled at the sight—both with affection and anxiety.

“Um, hi!” you said with a shy smile, your gaze darting away from the screen as you waved at the camera. Despite your bright demeanour and cheery tone, he could practically feel the tension in your shoulders the moment he laid eyes on you.

“H-Hi,” he said back, swallowing as he mustered up a shaky smile. Your gaze flickered to his for a brief second, and in that moment, it almost felt like you two were actually looking at each other in real life. Then you looked away again and something in his chest cracked.

“How are you doing?” he asked slowly, trying to prompt a conversation. “It feels like we haven’t talked in forever.”

Your lips quirked as you tilted your head at him. “We talked, um, two days ago.”

He ignored the embarrassment flaring up on his cheeks. “I mean like, see-each-other-talk talked.” He paused, then adding in a near-whisper. “I missed seeing your face.”

Your rosy lips parted in awe, and he was almost certain that he was never, ever going to forget that expression of yours.

“And, um, h-how—how are you, George?” you stammered out with a shaky voice, curling up a little in your chair. “Are you doing okay?”

George opened his mouth, then shut it. Whenever people asked him if he was okay, his mouth always defaulted to “fine” or “good” or “okay”. Rarely did he ever find himself telling the truth. But now, as he looked at your shy, bashful face, he knew what he had to do. Straightening up, he looked his webcam dead in the eyes.

“I,” he said, “am really, really nervous right now. Like, nervous out of my mind.”

You blinked, finally turning to face him directly at last. “Really?”

He nodded, his anxiety slowly falling away. “Yeah. Do you know why?”

Recognition flickered through your eyes, and your cheeks grew hot once more. “Why, George?”

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and smiled.

It’s now or never.

“I like you, [Y/N]. A lot. What I said earlier was true. It wasn’t some bit, and it wasn’t just some spur of the moment thing. I really do like you a lot, and I would like it if you would be my g—”

He almost choked on his own words, oh-so very aware of just how hot his face was. “And I,” he began again, squeezing his eyes shut, “would love it if you would be my girlfriend.”

He couldn’t look—he couldn’t. He missed seeing your face, he really did, but he knew that if he looked now, he would only be met with disappointment. You, with a frown on your face, only deepening with each passing second. You, with guilt in your eyes for not reciprocating his feelings. You, with your soft lips mouthing four words he wish he didn’t have to hear. 

I’m so sorry, George. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—

“I like you, too.”

His eyes flew open, his mouth agape.

Those were not the four words he was expecting to hear.

He lifted his head, his gaze taking in every inch of his screen. A bright, glowing smile was plastered across your face, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“For real?” he breathed, disbelief wracking every inch of his being.

You nodded, a laugh tumbling from your lips and lighting up his insides. “Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

George felt a smile of his own creep across his face as he ran a hand through his hand, something happier than joy rushing through his veins. 

Oh god, he thought, wanting to scream it from the top of the nearest building. I like you, I like you, I like you. I like you a lot lot.

“I like you a lot lot, too.”

He froze. Did I say that out loud, again?

Your grin widened. “Yes.”

For a second, he almost shriveled up in shame. But then he shook his head and laughed, basking in the warmth of your smile.

A few days ago, he might have been embarrassed. But now? 

Well, if it was with you, he supposed he wouldn’t mind speaking his mind more often.

[coldsandfluff]

Friday Night Fever (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Wrote this little original F/M care-taking fluff fic inspired by something that happened to me when I was in college (basically, caught a cold, three friends came over unannounced and insisted on me coming with them to the bar until one of them noticed the thermometer on my nightstand and realized I really was too sick to go). I've changed all the characters personality/appearance (including myself) so that we are completely unrecognizable, and added more to the story of course 😚

So if you like group of friends, platonic to maybe romantic care-taking fluff and F/M illness, read on!

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

Annabel left the sandwich shop at the end of her evening shift, feeling the cold autumn air seep through her jacket. Darkness had blanketed the town hours ago, and college students were already filling the streets on their way to the bars to celebrate the end of the week. Not that they’d really needed a reason to drink, of course.

As she launched the trash bags in the large dumpster in the back alley, Annabel felt an uncomfortable shiver running down her back. She’d been feeling under the weather for a couple of days, downing vitamin C fizzy drinks to stave it off. What she’d hoped would end up being a little annoying cold was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for. She could feel the icy tendrils of a fever crawling on her skin, and all she wanted to do was slip under the covers of her warm bed and sleep all weekend.

Her phone pinged as she started making her way back to her apartment.

Finn: We’ll be there in 40 minutes. Zack wants to pick up some pregame vodka from the store first.

Annabel sighed. She’d met Zack, Finn and Alex at her second job—a fancy new restaurant in the heart of town where she’d been waitressing part-time for the past two months. They’d hit it off on opening day, when Zack had accidentally broken a whole stack of plates. No one had seen what had happened but the four of them. Zack had gotten his dishwasher’s apron stuck on the door handle, and his hands had slipped at the sudden pull.

The crash had been deafening.

Right before the owner had rushed in to ask what had happened, Zack’s best friend, Finn, had kicked the wheel of the cart where the plates had been sitting a few moments ago, giving Alexander and Annabel a knowing look.

They’d all told the owner that the cart was broken and had tipped over without anyone touching it. Somehow, the owner had bought the lie. That night, Zack insisted on paying them a round of shots at the bar, and a tradition was born: The four of them. Every Friday. With lots of alcohol.

It was the only time Annabel let loose. With her two jobs and college, she was struggling to find free time, but Friday nights had become sacred. There was nothing like downing drinks and letting the buzz take over, following her three new friends wherever they wanted to go. It was always an adventure. Especially with Zack at the helm.

But tonight, there was no way she could make it.

Annabel: Actually, I can’t come tonight. Sorry.

She walked past a group of friends laughing and hollering, wishing she’d felt as good as they did. But the headache growing behind her eyes wasn’t going to let up, and adding alcohol to the mix would only make it worse. Not only that, but her nose had started running in the past two hours. She’d had to go blow it in the restroom every half hour, getting herself banished from the front of the store by the manager. She’d washed her hands so often that her skin was almost raw.

Just like her nose.

Finn: Nah, you’re coming. Nobody cancels Friday night. Come on.

Annabel couldn’t hold a smile. She typed back, sniffling. Her sinuses were prickling like crazy, as if she’d accidentally inhaled a cloud of tiny fireworks. She stifled a sneeze in the crook of her elbow, mid-word. “Ehh—Ehh’KSHHeeww!” Her eyes watered from the force of it. She wiped the tears away and resumed typing.

Annabel: I’ll make it up to you guys next weekend. Drinks on me.

She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and dabbed at her nose. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, beckoning her. As she crossed the last stretch of sidewalk to the entrance, she kept checking her phone.

No reply.

Shrugging, she unlocked the front door and took the stairs.

***

Back in her apartment, she made a beeline for the bathroom to the right and used toilet paper to blow her nose, finally free to make as much noise as she wanted. She winced from the roughness of it on her chapped nostrils, but it was all she had. She wasn’t exactly the planning type. Her idea of a grocery list was memorizing the first three items and hoping the rest would come to her as she walked through the aisles. Most often than not, she’d have to make a quick run at the convenience store down the street to get what she’d forgotten.

She gathered her thick curly hair into a bun and looked at herself in the mirror. It was enough to confirm that she’d made the right decision. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin was so pale that her freckles popped like they did in the summer. Except for that slight flush high on her cheeks, of course. She popped a thermometer under her tongue and removed her work clothes, leaving them in a pile in front of the bathtub.

Shivering from the sudden change in temperature, she covered her arms with her hands and ran to her dresser. Her warmest, softest sweater was the first thing she grabbed and put on, before throwing on a pair of comfy leggings and wool socks. The thermometer beeped.

100.8 °F. Figured.

She rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the “kitchen” of her studio apartment, which was the size of a matchbox and only contained a mini fridge, a microwave and an old sink. She poured herself some water and walked over to the bed, placing her glass and the thermometer on her nightstand. She would have brought over medicine as well, but she’d run out last semester after catching the flu going around campus, and had forgotten to replenish her stash. No matter. She could sleep this off. It was just a cold.

She suddenly sneezed twice in a row, as if her body wanted to protest her minimizing her illness, then got under the cover. Just as she was getting a little warmer, propping up her laptop to watch a movie, there was a knock at the door.

Annabel sat up, startled.

“Anna, open up!” a voice said behind the door.

Zack.

Annabel chuckled. Of course they wouldn’t give up that easily. She groaned, getting out of the warmth of her bed. She considered rushing to the dresser and putting on cuter clothes—they were her friends, but they were still boys, and she didn’t want to look like shit in front of them—but the thought of it was enough to drain her energy. Screw it. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Finn told us you don’t want to come,” said Zack as he walked in. It was her friends’ first time coming up to her apartment. They’d usually wait for her downstairs. “So we’re here to change your mind.” He didn’t look at her, too busy checking out her place. He was dressed for the night—a buttoned-up shirt, navy blazer, jeans and dress shoes. His casual chic style always stood out in the local bars filled with broke college students, but he liked it that way.

Finn walked in after him, a crooked grin on his lips. “See, I told you you can’t cancel Friday night.” His shaggy blond hair half-covered his eyes, as always. Finn and Zack had been best friends since high school, and couldn’t have been more different from each other. At least physically. Finn was tall and lanky, Zack was smaller and worked out a lot. But they were both party guys, always ready for a crazy night—even though Finn was a bit more mellow than Zack.

Finally, Alex came in, and Annabel closed the door behind him. He had a sheepish look on his face, as if apologizing for the other two. He was a lot more like Annabel. Quiet, chill, along for the ride—whatever it may be. His deep brown eyes held her gaze for a second too long, and Annabel noticed one of his eyebrow raise ever so slightly. She bit her lip, feeling self-conscious about her appearance. They’d never seen her in such a state before. Thank god she hadn’t had the energy to remove her makeup yet.

“So this is where you live, uh?” Zack said, sitting on her desk chair and spinning it around and around. “I like it. Dorms suck.”

Before she could reply, Finn tsked. “Wow. So no love for your roommate, uh?”

“Dude, I love you,” Zack said, “but between you and an apartment all to myself, the choice is obvious.” He stopped spinning and turned to Annabel, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s so important that you can’t come with us? Do you have a date?”

All three boys turned to her. Annabel almost laughed. Could they not see the condition she was in? She cleared her throat. “No, I’m just not feeling well.”

Finn sat on the edge of her bed and examined her from afar. “Like what? Stomach thing? Flu?”

“Probably a cold, I guess.” Annabel could feel Alex’s gaze on her at her side. She glanced at him, then looked down, feeling silly. Now that she was saying it out loud, it sounded like a poor excuse. But she did have a fever, after all. She just didn’t want to start listing her symptoms.

Zack clasped his hands together. “You know what will make you feel better? Alcohol!” He grinned, as if proud of his solution. “Didn’t they used to give brandy to people when they were sick? We’ll make a special mix for your throat. Something with lemon and orange juice. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, I already have a headache…” Annabel said.

“Just take a couple of Tylenol. It’s like a hangover in advance,” Finn said with an encouraging smile. “One time, I went out clubbing with an ear infection and everything was fine. Actually felt better the next day, weirdly enough.”

“I don’t know guys, I won’t be much fun if—” Annabel was interrupted by a fierce tickle deep in her nose, spreading like wildfire. She ducked to her side, away from Alex. “Ehh’KSSHeeew! ‘KSSSHeeew!”

“Bless you,” the three boys said almost in unison.

“See?” Annabel said, pointing at her nose and sniffling. “You want me to sneeze all over you guys all night?”

Finn shrugged. “We’ll bring tissues. Whatever.”

Alex walked over to the bathroom and grabbed the toilet paper roll from the counter, then handed it to her. “Here.”

Annabel ripped a piece off and wiped her nose. “Thanks,” she said, sheepish.

Alex’s gaze paused on her for a few seconds before he turned to the other two. “Guys, she’s obviously sick. Let’s just go and let her sleep.”

“It’s just a cold,” Zack said. “She’s young and healthy. It’s nothing.” He got up and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Give it an hour, and if you’re not feeling better after a few shots, we’ll walk you home.”

Annabel considered it for a second, trying to fight the shivers. Maybe if she wore something warm and took a few shots, she wouldfeel better. Numb the pain a little, at least. While she pondered it, Finn laid down on top of her bed spread and locked eyes with the thermometer on her nightstand. He frowned and sat up, picking it up.

He looked at her, thermometer in hand. His voice softened. “It’s that bad, uh?”

Annabel blushed. Why did admitting that she had a fever feel so vulnerable? She looked down and nodded. “Kinda.”

Zack looked at the thermometer, then back at Annabel. He narrowed his eyes and put a hand on her forehead. “Ooof,” he said, a hint of concern slipping in his tone.

Finn got up. “Let me see,” he said, walking up to her and placing his own hand on her forehead. His eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, you need to be in bed,” Zack finally said, guiding her back to bed. “Why didn’t you say you had a fever? Jesus, Anna.”

She shrugged, sitting on her mattress. “I don’t know. I just get fevers with colds. I guess it’s normal for me.”

“Fevers suck,” Finn said. “Last time I had one, I stayed in bed for two days and everything hurt.” He walked over to the front door. “We’ll miss you tonight, though.”

Zack followed. “Hope you feel better. We’ll text you all the crazy shit that’s going to happen so you don’t miss anything.” He followed Finn out of the apartment, leaving the door open for Alex.

Alex watched them walk by, then grabbed the roll of toilet paper on the counter where Annabel had left it. He brought it over to her nightstand and gave her a sad smile. “Do you need anything?”

Annabel shook her head, relieved that she was going to be able to stay in bed. “I’ll be okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a second, then nodded. “Let us know if you want us to get you food later. I know I can never sleep when I have a fever.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. Her nose scrunched up, overtaken by another annoying prickle. “Ehh… Iihh’KSSSHHeeww!”

“Bless you.”

Zack’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Alex, you coming?”

Alex snickered. “I guess I should go.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Feel better, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

***

Annabel tried to sleep, but her fever and runny nose kept waking her up, leaving her floating halfway between dreams and reality. It was clear that she wasn’t going to get any rest in her state. She needed cold medicine.

It took her a long time to finally convince herself to get out of bed and go to the convenience store, but she managed to push the covers away and get up. She shivered, causing another tickle in her sensitive nose—it had only gotten worse in the hour since the boys had left. She ducked at the waist in an exhausting triple. “Ehh… Hehh’KSSSHeeeew! ‘KSSHHeeew! Hiihh’KSSHeeew!”

Just then, another knock sounded at the door. Annabel frowned and made her way to the door, cracking it open.

It was Alex. Alone.

“Bless you,” he said with a shy grin.

Annabel let him in. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with the guys?”

He shrugged, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might need this.” He showed her a plastic bag filled with tea, tissue boxes, ramen, cough drops and—she gasped—cold medicine.

Alex chuckled. “So I was right. You don’t have any medicine, do you?”

Annabel laughed. “How did you know?”

“Your nightstand. You only had a thermometer on there. When I’m sick, I take Nyquil everywhere I go.” He handed her the bag. “And I wanted to make sure you had tissues instead of toilet paper. Your nose will thank me.”

Annabel touched her chapped nose, smiling. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He stood there for a second, as if not knowing what to say. “I’ll uh—I’ll let you rest.”

Before he could go, Annabel put her hand on his elbow. “Wait. Do you want to—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, her nose scrunching up yet again, her eyes fluttering. She spun around and sneezed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hehh’KSSHH! Ht’Ksshht!” She turned back around, blinking away the tears and laughing. “Sorry!”

Alex laughed, too. “Bless you.” He held her gaze, then looked down. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh—I was just wondering if—maybe if you’d like to watch a movie with me. I don’t think I can sleep until the medicine kicks in.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted saying them. Of course he didn’t want to watch a movie with her. This was Friday night. What kind of college guy wanted to hang out with a sick, sneezy, nose-drippy girl on a Friday night instead of getting drunk with his friends. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “I forgot that the guys are probably waiting for you. I guess I’m kind of loopy from the fever.”

Alex took a step forward and placed his hand on her forehead. The gesture was so gentle, so soft, that Annabel closed her eyes, appreciating the coldness of his palm on her hot skin.

“You are definitely burning up,” he half-whispered, frowning. “I was wondering if the guys were exaggerating. Guess not.”

Annabel bit her lip. “I’ll be okay after I take the medicine. You don’t have to stay.”

Alex removed his hand. “I do,” he blurted. “I mean, I do want to watch a movie with you. And stay.”

“Are you sure?” Annabel asked through her blossoming smile. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my cold?”

“Actually, I have a confession to make.” Alex led her to the bed and placed the content of his bag on her nightstand. “Last Friday, I kind of had a cold. It wasn’t as bad as yours, pretty minor, but… Zack convinced me to come out anyway and I—I think I might have given it to you. You drank out of my glass and I didn’t have time to stop you.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Annabel laughed. “I can’t believe Zack didn’t rat you out earlier. It would have been the perfect example of someone going clubbing with a cold and ‘being fine’ anyway.”

“He probably knew it was partly his fault that you’re sick and didn’t want to admit it.”

Annabel shook her head. “Well, you owe me a Friday night.” She got into bed and patted the spot next to her. “That means I get to pick the movies.”

Alex grabbed the throw blanket at her feet and draped it over her. “That sounds fair.” He walked over to the other side of the bed and settled next to her. “But when you fall asleep, I can’t guarantee I won’t change it.”

“Deal.”

After taking a dose of Nyquil, Annabel started the movie, snuggling under the blanket. She wondered what kind of crazy adventures Zack and Finn were getting themselves into. She expected to feel FOMO, but instead, she shot a glance at Alex next to her, and realized she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was Alex’s shoulder touching hers, but it felt like this was the start of a different kind of adventure. Maybe not alcohol-fueled, but Nyquil was pretty close.

All because they’d shared a not-so-secret cold.

And Annabel had a feeling it would be worth the fever. And the countless sneezes to come.

THE END

[morganaspendragonss]

fic request because i am d e s p e r a t e : tarlos carlos whump with supportive gabriel reyes ??? if you’re down to write him that is. i love ur work n ur whump n i think u would write a p good gabe. 🥰

holly’s august extravaganza day 1: against all odds (we're still here)

i'm always down to write gabriel! thanks for the prompt trick, i hope you like it!

ao3 | 2k | car accidents, whump, major character injury, angst with a happy ending

“I told you we should have brought the car.”

Carlos scowls over at TK, shifting one of the many bags he’s carrying higher on his arm. It cuts painfully into his skin, his good mood from earlier long since soured. The knowledge that TK is, of course, right isn’t exactly helping matters.

“In my defence,” he starts, for probably the fifth or sixth time, “when we texted your dad to see if he wanted us to pick up anything from the store, I wasn’t expecting a full list.”

“We could have told him no.”

“TK, he’s your dad and we are literally crashing his home right now. I’m not gonna tell him no.”

TK opens his mouth, presumably to retort with a comment about how his dad loves Carlos and loves having them around. Both of which are things Carlos knows perfectly well, thanks, but he’s still not interested in testing it by refusing to get Owen’s kale chips or that specific brand of shampoo which took half an hour—and two stores—to track down.

Whatever TK was about to say is abandoned when one of his own bags slips out of his grasp and falls to the ground with a depressing thud. It bursts open—because why wouldn’t it—and spills their purchases across the sidewalk. The only solace is that nothing breaks, but that’s where the good news begins and ends; Carlos’s eyes track a can as it rolls down the street and into the gutter, landing in a puddle of dirty water. TK looks forlornly between the dropped bag and those still balanced on his arms, then heaves a long-suffering sigh and crouches awkwardly, easing the other bags down as carefully as he can manage.

“Call an Uber,” he grumbles. “We are not walking home like this.”

On that point, they’re in agreement. Carlos spares himself a moment of idle amusement at TK’s predicament before beginning the arduous task of extracting his phone from his pocket without dropping any of his own shopping.

He’ll hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

Oh my god!

Someone call 911!

Are they even alive?

Just hold on, son, you’re going to be just fine.

*

Beeping.

Carlos frowns, slowly blinking his heavy eyelids open. It takes a minute to register his surroundings for what they are—a hospital room—and a further minute to notice the presence at his side. It’s his father, looking exhausted, turning his cowboy hat in his hands as he stares at the floor.

“Dad?” he croaks, wincing at the soreness in his throat. “What happened?”

His father’s head jerks up, his eyes going wide as he sees Carlos awake. “Mijo. It’s good to see you awake.”

“Dad, why am I here? What happened?”

He sighs, reaching out to pat Carlos’s arm. “There was an accident,” he explains. “A drunk driver lost control of his car and mounted the curb right where you boys were standing. He was speeding, so he hit you pretty hard. Your foot was crushed under a wheel, you have a fractured wrist, and you bumped your head when you fell so you probably have a concussion. The doctors say you should heal just fine, though, gracias a Dios.”

Carlos lifts his head to look down at his body, only just registering the casts on his arm and foot. There’s a dull ache radiating through his entire body and his head is pounding in time with his heartbeat, but he’s alive and he’ll heal. He should be happy about that, but the only thing occupying his mind is his dad’s silence on TK.

“What about TK?” he asks, part of him dreading the answer. “I remember him pushing me; is he okay?”

“He’s…” His dad hesitates, sending a cold slither of fear down Carlos’s spine. “Alive.”

Carlos stares, the beginnings of panic stealing his breath. “What does that mean?”

His father blows out a long breath. “It means you were right,” he says, meeting Carlos’s eyes. “He did push you, so he took the brunt of the hit. He suffered a serious open pelvic fracture and broken ribs, which punctured his lung. Last I heard, they managed to fix him up and they’re not expecting any further complications, but we won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”

“He hasn’t woken up?”

“Not yet. He will, you’ll see.”

“I want to see him.”

And Carlos knows what the answer will be to that—a resounding no. He also knows that he won’t be able to argue; his father is incredibly stubborn, and when he digs his heels in, there’s no moving him. But he needs to at least try—he’s not going to stop worrying about TK until he sees him, and probably not for a long time after that.

His dad sighs and fixes him with a firm look. “Carlitos, you and I both know that’s out of the question,” he says. “You’ve only just woken up, you need to give yourself time to heal before exerting your body even more. Besides, he’s in good hands and Owen is with him, so we’ll know as soon as there’s any change.”

“Joder, Papá, I know all that,” Carlos cries, frustrated, barely able to refrain from throwing his head back on the pillow. “I just hate that he’s here, hurt, and I can’t even see him.”

“Lo sé,” His dad smiles gently, something that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but really only gets on Carlos’s nerves. “Escúchame, hijo. Descansa. Cúrate. Then you can focus on TK.”

It’s easier said than done and his father knows it, but Carlos has no choice. The conversation is effectively put to an end by his dad reaching over and pressing the call button next to the bed. A nurse comes in and quickly sets about checking his vitals and asking enough questions to make Carlos’s head spin. His probable concussion becomes definite, but otherwise he’s in good shape, all things considered.

He can’t help but wish he weren’t.

*

Two days later, Carlos is deemed fit to be discharged, providing he has someone to help him and providing he agrees to rest and not do anything even close to strenuous. TK is also awake now but, according to Owen, he’ll be kept in the hospital for at least another week. The break to his pelvis was bad, so he’ll need a wheelchair for a while even after discharge, and his refusal to take strong painkillers means his recovery is going to be long and painful.

Carlos is itching to see him. It’s been torture cooped up in his room without knowing how TK was doing—there’s only so much relief messages passed through their fathers can bring. It had only been his father’s stern and steady presence that had kept him in that bed when he felt like he was losing his mind with worry.

But now, finally, he’s being wheeled into TK’s room and helped onto the chair next to the bed. Owen stands off to the side, watching the two of them with a mixture of affection and sadness in his gaze, and his dad hovers behind him, but Carlos only has eyes for TK.

He looks incredibly tired, but he attempts a smile when he rolls his head to look at Carlos, extending his hand out across the distance between them.

“Hey, Ty,” Carlos says softly, taking TK’s hand in his good one. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better. Not sure if I’ve been worse. I think this might just beat getting shot to that title.”

“That’s not funny.”

TK just hums, his eyes drifting closed for a second. “Maybe not.”

“Why did you push me?”

TK’s eyes fly open at the question, confusion overtaking his expression as he stares at Carlos. He moves as if to sit upright before groaning in pain, his face screwing up. Carlos reaches out for him, but he’s beaten to it by his father, who places a reassuring hand on TK’s shoulder.

“Take it easy, son,” he says gently. “Don’t move too much.”

“I hate this,” TK mutters, his body relaxing bit by bit. His gaze is still clouded when he looks back over at Carlos, but he manages a soft smile all the same. “I pushed you because I didn’t want you to get hurt. The car would have hit me either way; I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to get you out of the way in time.”

Carlos blinks at him, dumbfounded. “You’re sorry?” he asks, disbelief colouring his tone. “Ty, you’re in the hospital, seriously injured, because you chose to save me instead of yourself. Why would you do that?”

“You know why.”

Carlos does; of course he does, but it’s not enough to assuage the guilt still bubbling in his stomach at the sight of TK in the bed.

TK sighs, squeezing his hand. “You would have done the same for me,” he points out. “We both know you would have, so don’t you dare ask me to apologise for my choices.”

“I know. I won’t.” Carlos closes his eyes, deflating a little. “I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“And I hate seeing you hurt, so maybe you can do us both a favour and go home. I’ll be fine.”

Carlos must need his hearing tested, because there’s no way TK just said that. There’s no way his boyfriend told him to leave right after calling him out for hypocrisy. Except apparently he did, because he’s trying to disentangle their hands, and Carlos is not having that.

He grips onto TK even tighter and glares at him. “TK, if you think I’m leaving you here—”

“Carlos,” TK interrupts quietly. “I get it. But, babe, you need to rest and heal, and you can’t do either of those things sitting here.”

“Watch me.”

“No.” TK shifts his gaze over Carlos’s shoulder, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “Mr Reyes, can you make sure he rests?”

His dad laughs, leaning over to pat TK’s shoulder. “Of course. I’m sure once his mother sees him, she won’t let him out of her sight for a week anyway.”

TK grins. “Good to know.” He yawns and resettles himself slightly in the bed, his eyes fluttering shut. “Carlos, if you’re still here when I next open my eyes, I’m not kissing you for a month.”

“You shouldn’t make threats you know you can’t follow through with.”

“Don’t make me make it two.”

Despite himself, Carlos laughs. He leans over and presses a lingering kiss to TK’s temple, then stands as well as he’s able, leaning on his dad for support. “Alright, I’m going. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

TK already sounds half-asleep when he mumbles, “Love you too,” back, and Carlos can’t even be embarrassed by how ridiculously smitten he must look, even though he’s in front of both their fathers.

He allows his dad to move him back to the wheelchair and says a quick goodbye to Owen, keeping his eyes on TK for as long as he can. Just as they reach the door, he catches TK’s eyes opening to slivers, obviously checking to see if Carlos is actually leaving. Carlos shakes his head at him, causing TK to flush at the knowledge he’s been caught. His eyes slam shut again, his tongue poking out childishly, and Carlos laughs, a lightness settling in his heart even as TK’s room disappears from view.

It’s going to be a long few months for the both of them, but they have family behind them to help them get through it.

And they have each other. Which, given everything, Carlos thinks is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.

[softbtsickies]

hii can i request A6 and G4 for sick jimin with yoongi as caretaker? thank u:) i love ur writing

“I think I need the toilet."

"Can we pull over at the next stop?"

To the anon that requested this, I’m so sorry this took me so long 😭, Also I’m not sure if this is the direction you wanted it to go so sorry if it isn’t.

Thank you though for requesting and thank you for liking my writing 🥺

Also side note I’m trying to learn to use proper paragraphing so sorry if the paragraphing is weird or wrong, please let me know :)

♡sickie: Jimin

♡caretaker: Yoongles (romantically)

♡warnings: emeto, a weirdly written argument, idk it’s 3 am here, probably shit ending I’m sorry I haven’t written in a long time I’ve forgotten how to.

i will rewrite this one day when it’s not 3 am

Enjoy tho x

Jimin's body had become an odd system of nauseated cycles that washed through him as the car slowly rocked from the country’s road. He was sure only a couple more waves of nausea is all he could handle before finally losing it.

There was a scrap of anger accompanying his dinner tossing in his stomach, dinner that he should have been enjoying with his parents and lovely partner, Yoongi, but no management had to screw things up for the pair. He and Yoongi were meant to spend the week with his parents to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary, and specifically this night was planned to wine and dine in the most luxurious place Jimin could find for his parents. Though that had to be ruined as after they had polished off their main courss (which just had to luckily be a heavily loaded, steak dish, oozing with the upmost prestigious thick sauces) during desert (Which had of course been just as loaded and rich in flavour as dinner) Yoongi had received a call from their 'reliable' management team that there was a last minute change in schedule, and they needed the couple back in Seoul before sunrise to prepare for their new timetable. He was pretty sure he had completely ruined the night for his parents and left all his socks behind.

Remembering the disappointment plastered on his parents face's as they assured they were understanding to his and Yoongi's predicament was just one of the triggers for his botheredness and because of the well-kept relationship between him and his body, an unhappy Jimin meant an unhappy tummy as well.

Yes the car was cruising at a relatively comfortable pace but backtracking to a couple of hours ago; Yoongi had sold the idea they take a shortcut route to get to the countryside quicker without mentioning the amount of curves and twists to be endured without Jimin consuming any travel sickness tablets beforehand in addition to him watching the way Yoongi handled the steering wheel without remorse the thought of the spinning and turning had started a running race along with his anger through his mind, dizzying himself.

His technique to try to stop the carsickness harassing his body was trying to stay as deathly still as he could with the ambition to trick his body into falling asleep and finally be free from the nausea that had been gripping his gut into shambles, but no the R.E.M he wished for seemed to not want to stop by anytime soon.

The prompt Jimin would like to go for is falling asleep and escaping consciousness of being stuck in a car or the less desirable sitting through his queasy bout until it fades away rather than the actual act of puking and getting that haunting heavy steak out of him. Can you blame him though? not matter what he always ends up barfing out his nose, he can not go through that again.

~~~~

It had been another 20 minutes and Jimin still hadn't found any comfort except for the soft humming coming from his fiancé who had believed he was knocked out.

He curled slightly into himself trying to keep his shudders in, his stomach started annoyingly rumbling inside him without making any noise while deciding to not actually digest and just toss his dinner around.

Fed up with trying to get some shut-eye, he fluttered his eyes open with a soft groan, interrupting the sweet humming of the rapper.

"Awake sleepyhead?" The was a slight adoring chuckle from Yoongi.

"Was never asleep." Jimin mumbled while reaching for the glove compartment just to sigh, haven remembered they had run out of the remedies they kept in the glovebox for Jimin's normal motion sickness aliments and were intending to restock in the morning before they were originally going to leave. The only thing left was a half empty packet of gun for Yoongi when he was the one affected by motion sickness. Gum just made Jimin's jaw ache from chewing too much.

"You're good at faking sleep, you know that, fooled me." Yoongi's tounge clicking stuck an unknown cord in Jimin. For the fact that they had both eaten the exact same thing, and it was the rapper's driving that had started his tummy trouble in the first place yet was completely fine stirred the fondness he felt earlier into a salty mood.

"Yep." Jimin‘s impulse was to reply with a snappish tone, indulging in his frustration with the world without thinking about it. He decided it would be better to pop a piece of gum into his mouth while sulking back into the chair than having nothing to try to quell the flutter in his belly.

Yoongi looked at him, face lit up with surprise before breaking into "Oh, are you feeling alright?" Jimin crossed his arms just above his stomach and shrugged, smacking the gum loudly, "Not really."

“I'm sorry that we didn't have time to get any tablets or ginger for you." There was something about the sympathy in Yoongi’s voice that clawed at Jimin and not in the good way that Jimin normally loved when Yoongi looked after him.

"Probably wouldn't even help with the way you drove earlier." Jimin slapped a hand across his mouth with a small squeak. Yes, his tummy was starting to gurgle rapidly, and his vision was getting blurred around the edges, but his affliction was no reason to get cranky at the person that will probably end up looking after him, yet he still felt irritation slip through his regret.

"I apologised about that earlier, I didn't know the shortcut would have that many turns."

"It's a shortcut, most shortcuts are the worst roads you can drive on!"

"I didn't realise that at the time, I said I'm sorry for that."

"And I didn't realise that I would end up having to ruin my parents anniversary and get stuck in stuffy car that makes me want to lose my guts everywhere!"

Yoongi sucked in a deep sigh of defeat, he looked back to his partner with an open mouth wanting to say something but shook his head and turned back to the road, shoulder’s sagged. he shouldn’t have snapped, but it would be best to let both their emotions simmer down before apologinzing.

The vocalist went back to chewing on the now flavourless gum, feeling the tension mix into the already stuffy car, Jimin realised his grave mistake of chewing so loudly earlier since now he had his full attention centred back to his belly that had grown uncomfortably full of air.

‘Oh fuck.’ One of the air pockets ventured up into his chest, becoming trapped within the instant sallow Jimin forced, only to end up burping it softly a second later, his throat becoming increasingly warmer and sourer.

"You really aren't feeling good, are you?" Jimin pressed his fist to his mouth, burping more wetly this time, "No, I’m really not." He placed his other hand to his tummy, gently circling it as it moved intensely. “I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"No offence, but you always get crabby when you aren't feeling well." There was the fond chuckle Jimin cherished.

"Still, I shouldn't have lost my temper at you." He sat back up, grabbing a napkin they kept in the cup holders to spit the gum into, not forgetting to grab a spare hairband while he was at it.

"Yeah, but I did know you haven't taken any motion sickness tablets and still took the bad rode."

"Yeah, you did." Jimin wetly burped again into his hand, a wad of saliva landing into it.

oh, fuck.

His body was starting to feel light enough to slip into the night’s breeze, yet his middle weighed down with a million rocks, rocks that were swiftly moving up his gullet. Jimin pulled the hair tie from his wrist and messily gathering his hair into a ponytail. "Yoons, Can we pull over at the next stop?" He pryded his lips shut with a sudden wave of hot saliva, ticking his gag reflex. “I think I need the toilet." He whimpered, feeling his fringe fall loosely back onto his forehead from the hasty job he did.

"If you want a to puke over a toilet and not the road, we still have miles before we are anywhere near the next stop."

Jimin's abs tugged in, he smushed his head between his thighs to try to stop the belch toggling in his gut. "I don't think i can hold on that long- HIC"

“Oh no no no." The car came to a sudden holt, his stomach contracted in again and fluttered dangerously.

"No, no,no not now." Of course, the seat belt decided it would be the perfect time to not unbuckle from the tremors in his hands. He thought he had at least another ten minutes before he would be sick, but no his shitty digestive system decided it had to be now.

Jimin gagger wetly into his hand, nothing coming out yet, but it came deep enough from his stomach too leap, the next movement wouldn't be so lucky. Yoongi quickly unbuckled him while Jimin kept one hand still pressed deeply into his gut, the other thumbing to open the caR door.

Just as he kicked the door open and got one arm and leg out the door, his body involuntary folded with a grunt followed by a wet and warm substance coating his arm and lower half.

“Oh no sweetheart." Yoongi’s hand rubbed gently over his back as the next bout choked up his esophagus, struggling to make it past his lips some burned through his nose. Jimin collapsed between his legs as the rest of his dinner reached out from him, not stopping till nothing but yellow liquid squirted from him.

Finally, empty, Jimin whimpered looking at his bile stained arm and lap, his stomach didn’t even feel that much better. Instead of that lightweight sensation of finally releasing what was making him feel so bad, his core stayed rigged, burning like he had completed 1000 crunches in a minute.

"Alright, alright, you think you done. dove?" Jimin sheepishly nodded as he wiped his mouth with a small sniffle. “Okay can you wait a second dove?”

Remaining focused on the mess on his lap, Jimin hadn’t noticed Yoongi actually had gotten out of the car until a pale hand held onto his forearm, wiping it down tenderly with a wet napkin. “I can do that myself.” Jimin muttered at the gross job, thinking about doing it himself was enough to make him squirm. “It’s okay, just try to get your tummy to settle okay, dove?” Yoongi sweetly stopped for second to unwrap Jimin’s clenched fist and replace it with a bottle.

A brief exchange of eye contact was enough to settle that there was not a hint discomfort on Yoongi’s face, just concern for the sick boy. A part of Jimin felt his face flush from the sweet gesture, even though he had been yelling at him only half an hour ago.

Yoongi finished wiping down his body and helping him change into a new set of clothes. As Jimin got back into the car, Yoongi lowered the seat until Jimin was fully laying down. “We’re not moving until you fall asleep, then I’m taking us straight to the nearest hotel.”

“We can’t do that, what about our schedule tomorrow, management-”

“Can kiss my ass, now go to sleep, your eyelids keep dropping.” Yoongi leaned over to kiss Jimin’s forehead before shutting the car door, walking back to his side.

“Thank you.” Jimin whispered, cuddling into the seat that had now been warmed by the heater.

“Shh you are meant to be sleeping.” Yoongi got back into the driver's seat, a smile present in his voice. “Yoon, can you hum for me, please?”

“Anything for you, dove.”

[sleepycatmama]

Hi ma'am, I'm one of Origin's friends, and they've mentioned often you like to sew. I've always wanted to learn, but I get anxious about failing or learning incorrectly. Would you happen to have any advice on how to start sewing by hand?

Hello, sorry for delay but I was downstairs knitting most of the night. Christmas and birthday presents, oy.

Firstly, know that most of my stitching is ornamental. I've done cross stitch for decades, needlepoint for about a year, free hand embroidery and blackwork occasionally. I've done some clothing sewing, but way more for SCA garb than for modern clothing. And I've done patchwork sewing. So I don't know how good my advice will be, but I'll try for you.

The biggest thing I want to tell you - and this is true for sewing, for any of my other fiber arts (knitting, crochet, bobbin lace, spinning, inkle and tablet weaving, starting hardanger, and I've mucked about with a few more), and probably for ANY art - choose to give yourself permission to screw up. EVERYBODY doing this kind of work felt awkward and weird and like they were doing it all wrong at first. Anybody who tells you otherwise has probably been doing it so long that they don't remember what it was like to start. One of the things I'll tell people who watch me and say stuff like oh, I wish I could do that, or I could never do that - usually for stuff like knitting and bobbin lace - I ask them can you tie your shoes? Can you sign your name? If they say yes, I say then you can do this. They used to have 6 year old kids doing this. The tricky thing is, people don't tend to REMEMBER how awkward and difficult it was to learn to tie their shoes and write their name! But now they do it easily, it's in muscle memory. So it's OKAY to be awkward and have mistakes, don't let that stop you. You have to take the time to develop that muscle memory. And even for someone experienced, when you start a new project of something you already KNOW, it will generally look/feel awkward to start - when I first cast on the sock I'm knitting now, as always, it looked like some sort of weird tangle on needles, until I get about 12 rows in.

Also I'll put this in now before I forget it - little quilter's tip, if you poke yourself with a needle (okay, WHEN you poke yourself with a needle), if you bleed on your work, your OWN saliva will dissolve your OWN blood. So yeah, spit on it a little and rub and it'll come right out. And if you're like me, you'll want to work with really long lengths of thread because it feels like a PITA to bother with the steps of tying it off and threading again, but try not to work with really long threads - it tangles, and the thread undergoes wear as you pull it through, and you can end up fighting with overworn thread that's coming apart and that's not good.

You totally can do this. We get intimidated because there's people out there with the fancy sewing machines (I never have been able to figure out sergers, they intimidate me!), but this ALL used to be done by hand! You can learn it. Especially now that we have this wonderful thing called the internet. oh it's SO MUCH easier to learn new things than when I was a kid. Here is a link for what looks to be a decent video going over some basic stitches:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvxqtc8thRg

There are HUNDREDS more.

I recommend natural fibers, they are WAY easier to work with. That's cottons, linens, wool, for the most part. Cotton is what you're likeliest to be dealing with, try for 100% cotton fabric, it breathes easier and is easier to work with. Try to get thread that's cotton, too. Hand sewing means you can work with little projects that you can carry around with you. Hand vs machine sewing is going to be like drop spinning vs wheel spinning - yes, the machine or the wheel is faster per hour, but the hand work is faster per month, because you can take it with you, do it wherever you are. I take hand work with me to waiting rooms, and I've had people tell me oh, they'd never have the patience to do that! I tell them I don't have the patience to sit in a waiting room with nothing to do. You might try learning basic simple classic patchwork, stuff like ninepatch, it's a nice way to practice getting an even running stitch, learning your seam allowances, you can carry it with you, and you can later turn it into a pillow or a baby blanket. And don't get intimidated by fancy equipment in videos - yes, the fancy cutting mats and templates and rolling cutters ARE awesome, but you don't have to have that to start - pioneer women did this on the trail with a needle and a pair of scissors and maybe some paper pieces if they were lucky.

this one looks pretty good - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPJTcK9tgn0

yeah, she's doing minimum equipment and beginner instructions.

I can't give you lots of clothing help - when it comes to patterns and people start talking about different types of inset sleeves, I tend to go hyperventilate and hide. Never really got that sort of thing. My mother was expert at it. And my mother should honestly never teach a beginner anything. Sigh. BUT - there are SO many resources out there. The internet is the one I know you have access to. I have no idea what country you're in or if you're in a city or a rural area. BUT there are often shops with classes - I know quilt shops do great classes, many machine oriented but they might have hand sewing classes too. And they may know where else to go. Craft shops like Michael's or JoAnne's sometimes host classes.

Where ever you go with this, I want to encourage you. Taking up this sort of thing WILL enrich your life. Textiles are one of the oldest technology humans have, and it's a great rabbit hole to go down. I hope this gives you some good starting encouragement and let me know what more specific questions I can try to answer for you.

Wishing you the best,

Sleepycatmama / Mama Laura

[takaraphoenix]

Heyoooo ^-^ Could you please do 💡, ⛰️ and 🗝️ for your story called 'Something Went Wrong'? Pretty please? :3

Of course I can! Thanks for playing! ^-^

Something Went Wrong:

💡-What was the motivation behind the story?

Porn. Uh. Sorry, probably a boring answer, but when I wrote this, I just really wanted to write filthy, dirty monsterfucking porn.

It's not actually always that deep. Some fics I really just write because I'm horny and I have always compensated my own horniness into writing fics because sex is ew. xD

Many of my... kinkier... works are really just born out of "filth. on today's menu, there is filth aaand *spins the wheel* oh interesting kink okay let's try that". In this case, the kink was monsterfucking. Never written that before and thought that could spice the usual smut up some and make it more interesting. *chuckles*

⛰️-  What was the hardest part?

Posting it. To this day, I... don't really understand how exactly it works that this is my most commented and appreciated oneshot. Of all of them. The one that I was sure I would get shit over.

Like, seriously, that was the one I was actually considering not posting because I thought it'd be too extreme and that I'd get shit for it; that was back when you got shit in this fandom for writing gays because "nooo Percy is STRAIGHT AND IN LOVE WITH ANNABETH!" kinda 2010s homophobia. So I was just sure that this fic would get them to call an exorcism or sth.

Still baffled that I got crap over super tame fics but uwu age gap and meanwhile have actually never gotten shit over this one. At all. Blows my mind. And makes me happy that I decided to say "ah fuck it, let's post this bastard".

🗝️-What were you thinking when you wrote it?

How to make it filthier. No, seriously, it was a very "head empty, just kinks" kind of situation? Wondering what kinks would fit this ship, how to work it, how extreme to make it. In the end, I kinda went "ah, screw that, let's throw all the things in there, have fun".

Writings Asks

[icefire149]

You are good at angst so 28 bestie <3

I hope this was angsty enough for you Rubi! I spent yesterday and today's warm up on this one. I swear all the prompts I've done, they've all gone in directions I wasn't expecting. This definitely wasn't the scene I meant to write, but I quite like it. Please enjoy <3

#28 – When I am dead – Dean/Castiel

“I know I’ve screwed up more than any of us could have predicted, which is….impressive in it’s own way, but….I’m glad that you have Jack.”

With the tips of his fingers, Dean lightly twisted and turned the beer bottle on the bunker’s kitchen table. As he spoke, he was still hunched over and watching the last third of his drink splash and move against the glass. The silence stretched longer than he’d hoped. He glanced up to find Cas staring at him confused.

“Oh, come on,” he breathed. “We all know I haven’t done a bang up job.”

Cas’ eyebrows pinched together. “Jack idolizes you. You know that, right?”

A painful laugh tore from his throat. “You really need to introduce him to….honestly anyone would be a better role model.”

“It’s not your call. Dean, he loves you.”

“He’s a toddler. He doesn’t…..” Dean pushed the bottle aside and ran his hands roughly through his hair. Exhaling, he leaned back in his chair. “Cas, he didn’t even get to be a baby because I shot him not even an hour after he was born.”

Cas sighed exasperatedly, “Maybe you’re right.” He held Dean’s gaze for several heartbeats before letting his head slowly tilt. “What’s important is that Jack has all of us. He’ll always need you.”

“Even without the Michael situation….” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the same. He’ll have you. You’ll have each other long after the rest of us are dust in the wind.”

“Dean.”

“What! It’s true.” He picked up his beer again. His eyes locked on the lip of the bottle. “I’m glad you’ll have each other. I don’t want you to spend the rest of existence alone.”

Cas sighed, but this time his stare softened. “Dean, I….” His voice was laced with pain.

“I know,” Dean cut in. “It’s heavy and I’m not aiming for any kind of big emotional moments here, but...with Michael trapped-” He tapped the side of his head with his left index finger. “I figure I don’t have a lot of time.”

“You have decades,” Cas said firmly. “We’re going to solve this problem just as we’ve always done and you’re going to be here to see Jack’s 5thbirthday.” He stood up and laid both hands on the kitchen table. “And then his 10th, 16th, 21st, 25th, 30th, 40th, and 50th!”

Coughing, Dean put his beer down and raised his hands, hoping that Cas would calm down. “Do you realize how old I’d be?”

“Yes,” Cas said with a deadly serious aura. “I’ve done the math, several times.”

“You might wanna run it again,” Dean joked. He wasn’t able to stop his tongue. “If you ask Claire she’d tell you that I’m already geriatric for a hunter.”

The corner of Cas’ lip twitched. “I don’t doubt her assessment. If you remove hunting from the equation, then there’s no reason why you couldn’t see any of those milestone birthdays for Jack. Claire’s milestone birthdays as well.”

“You’re asking an awful lot,” Dean shook his head. He could still vividly remember the days where he honest to God thought that living past 30 was a pipedream, and now, Cas was expecting him to see his 90s….

“It’s the bare minimum.” Cas sat back down in his seat. He still had the palms of his hands resting on the cool table.

“As long as you’re in the wheel chair next to me,” Dean grinned. The thought of living to a ripe old age was terrifying, but he could do it if Cas was there with him. His nervous heartbeat started to settle the moment he imagined the angel there at his side. His hair would be more than peppered with gray patches. He’d probably be wearing reading glasses so much they’d be glued to his nose. And he’d have a closet of colorful, chunky knit sweaters to replace his long worn out trench coat.

Cas’ warm smile quickly wobbled and wavered before some other emotion won in his eyes. Dean almost chased it, but then it too was replaced with something else: a more teasing glint. A hint of Cas’ teeth caught his eye now. “I’ll try my best, but I’d imagined I would be kicking your wheel chair to every event.”

“Oh right,” Dean mumbled, remembering the whole point of this conversation. “Angels are eternal.” He laughed. “People will eventually think you’re my grandson.”

“I was thinking…..more like nurse, or doctor.”

Dean swallowed sharply. He nodded, trying to ignore the way his ears burned.

The look dimmed in Cas’ eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t want you to give up. I can’t imagine this world without you in it.”

“I get it,” Dean said, losing himself to his memories. There was something about that kind of pain that made any complication seem solvable. Like it wasn’t until he’d been cleaved open by death’s scythe that his truth was free.

Dean still remembered his father pulling Sammy free from his arms as their house burned down, and how even still his mouth couldn’t stop whispering to empty air the same promises: I love you. Dad will fix this. We’re safe.

What felt like a life time later, he remembered whispering almost the same words into his brother’s hair as he bled out in his arms. I love you. I’ll fix this. I’ll bring you home.

The worst was when his hands shook uncontrollably in the dirt and ash outside of Kelly’s cabin in North Cove. Dean waited from the moment the light extinguished from Cas’ eyes all the way until the final coals cooled for a miracle. He waited for Cas to rise. He waited for his world to start spinning again.

It wasn’t until he was down on his knees with his wrist buried in the pyre’s remains that he was torn in half. The sun was never gonna shine again. And now there was no warmth to hold, hair to comb, and skin to touch. Dean cried until he was too exhausted to keep spilling out the same words over, and over again: I love you. Come back to me. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t leave me.

His throat hurt like he was suffocating on the pyre’s smoke. Dean’s gaze slid back to Cas, and he was able to breathe deep again. Cas’ studied him like he was desperately trying to uncover what horrors he was reliving again, so Dean downed the last of his drink, but he couldn’t bear to break the eye contact. Like a part of him was still afraid that Cas would turn to ash dusting the meadow’s flowers once again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean lied. How do you tell someone that you’re incapable of loving them until they’re dead? “I just….” Dean shook his head. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything, of course.”

“When I die-”

“Dean.” Cas leaned back in his chair.

“Dude, just listen. When I die, I need you to promise me that you’ll come visit me. Break me out of whatever memory loop I’m in.”

Bewildered, Cas’ eyebrows furrowed. “Okay.”

“There’s something I’ll only be able to say then.”

Cas leaned forward in his chair. His stare pierced into Dean, unwavering, like he was certain that he could learn all he needed from his eyes alone. “Dean, you can tell me now. You can always tell me, anything at all.”

“I know, but just promise me this. It’ll be worth the wait.”

Ask me more writing prompts (I’m using these as warm ups so send a number and a ship)

Prompts I've done so far

[katblu42]

Stuck

Installment 2 of my whump wheel spins - still not particularly whumpy! (Sorry.  I’ll get there - I think!).

This one is Alan, Imprisonment and Staircase.

“Scott!” the little voice called.

Ignore it, Scott thought to himself, this assignment is important.

“Scott-ie!”  This time louder and in a sing-song tone.

Scott closed his eyes and tried to shut out the insistent calls.  Ignore it and he’ll go and find someone else.  Except only one other brother was home and he was probably still asleep.  Ignore it. Maybe he’ll get bored and give up. Opening his eyes again with a sigh he tried to focus on his history essay.

“Scott?”

He sat up straighter, every fibre of him now on high alert.  The voice was quieter but somehow more urgent, having an almost whimpering edge to it.

“Alan?” he called back. “Are you okay?”

“Scottie, I’m stuck.”

Fast as lightning Scott was up from his seat and out of his Dad’s office where he had shut himself away in an effort to get his work completed in peace.  He didn’t have to go far to find his baby brother, who had begun to cry.  He was sitting near the top of the stairs with his head protruding between two of the banister spindles, hands tightly clasping a spindle on each side of his red face, tugging desperately to try and free himself.

“Allie!  Calm down, stay still, okay?”  Scott stood where Alan could see him, trying to keep his own heartbeat from pounding in his ears at the sight of his distressed brother.  Alan stopped struggling and glistening blue eyes that had been tightly scrunched shut opened and latched onto the promise of safety found in the matching blue eyes of his big brother.  “Take a deep breath for me.”

Alan did as he was told, eyes firmly fixed on Scott, who also took a deep breath in, then slowly out. Scott repeated the slow inhale and exhale, with Alan copying him, calming them both.

“That’s better,” Scott soothed.  “Now, I’m gonna come up there and get you out, but first I need to get something from the kitchen, okay?”

“Okay,” Alan managed, only a slight waver in his voice.

“I’ll be right back.”

As promised Scott was only gone from Alan’s sight for a moment before returning and racing up the stairs.

“Okay, Allie.  We’re gonna try something, but if it doesn’t work I don’t want you to worry because there’s another way to get you out, okay?”

“Okay.”  The amount of pure trust in that quiet reply almost made Scott falter.

“I’m gonna spread some of this around your ears, and the sides of your head to make it slippery, and I’ll put some on the spindles too.”

“What is it?” the little one asked, screwing up his nose anticipating an unpleasant answer.

“It’s just butter,” his biggest brother reassured him, “just like we spread on your sandwiches.”

“Oh, okay.”

As Scott worked at slathering globs of butter on his baby brother’s head, he asked how Alan had wound up in this predicament.  After all, the five-year-old should know better.

“I wanted to know where you were, but you told me to stay upstairs and I knew you’d get mad at me if I came down, so I tried to see where you were from up here, but I couldn’t see enough, so I thought maybe I could see more if I put my head through here, and . . .”

“And you got stuck.” Alan’s words had come out in such a fast-paced tumble Scott almost felt the need to remind him to breathe. Instead he just kept his voice and his actions calm.  By the time the torrent of words had ceased Alan had been on the brink of shedding more tears, but the quiet, gentle calm Scott was steadfastly maintaining was enough to soothe him.

Having spread butter liberally on both Alan and the stair spindles, Scott wiped his hands on the kitchen towel he’d grabbed along with the tub of butter.

“Alright, Allie, we’re going to try and get your head back through here.”  Scott indicated the gap between the spindles just under the bannister, where the gap was widest due to the shape of the turned wood.

Alan had to raise himself up a little as Scott helped try to ease his slippery head between the bars imprisoning his little brother, paying particular attention to his ears.  The two of them tried various angles, re-positioning this way and that to try and gently squeeze Alan’s head back through the narrow gap.  A few times it seemed they were close only to have Alan whimper in pain.  Each time they stopped Scott worried that Alan would end up bruised and battered by the process, but the other option had its difficulties, and this way out was preferable if it didn’t take too long.

Alan’s ears were starting to hurt, he didn’t like the greasy feeling of the butter smeared all over his head and he was beginning to wonder whether he’d be stuck there forever, but his big brother wasn’t panicking, so neither would he.  Scott had promised him that there was a way to get him out, and when Scott made a promise he knew he could trust it.  Scott would fix it.

“How’re you doing, Allie?” Scott asked him.  “I know it hurts, but we were really close that time.  Do you want to give it one more try?”

He took a deep breath, the top of his nose creased and his brow crinkled into an expression Scott recognised as his scowl of fierce determination.

“I’m ready.  Let’s do it,” Alan declared with such attitude Scott had to stifle a fond laugh.

After a count of three, with Scott helping with angles and ear-wrangling, Alan grunted and gritted his teeth through the painful squeeze and suddenly he was free, crashing back into the arms of his big brother.  Both of them sat there for a moment, breathing hard, Scott’s arms wrapped protectively around Alan, holding him safely against his chest.

“Good job, Sprout. Everything okay?”

Alan ran his hands over his head, rubbing his ears and smearing butter all over his hands in the process.  Everything seemed to be where it was supposed to be, and nothing was really hurting.

“I’m okay, Scott.”  He turned and smiled up into a concerned frowny face that quickly softened into a smiling expression full of relief and love.

“You did way better than Gordon did when he got stuck,” Scott said with a laugh.

“Gordon got stuck in the stairs too?”

“Yep.  The first time Virgil managed to get him out the same I way we got you out, but it took ages and Gordon cried the whole time.  I don’t think Mom and Dad ever found out about that one, but the second time . . .”

“He got stuck twice?!” The look of wide-eyed incredulity on Alan’s face made Scott snort with laughter.

“Yeah.  The first time he was about three years old, but the second time he was six or seven, and he was really stuck.  After half an hour Virgil was just about ready to grab a hand saw from the toolshed to cut out one of the spindles, but then Mom came home and she got him out in less than a minute.”

“What did she do?”

“Well, Gordon had got himself stuck much closer to the bottom of the staircase, so Mom showed him how to twist sideways, get his shoulder between the spindles and squeeze out forwards through the spindles where Virgil could help him out and down onto the floor.”

Alan sat processing all this information for a moment.  He was glad Scott hadn’t suggested going through the bars forward at the height he’d been stuck – it was a long way down to the floor from here.

“We don’t have to tell Gordon about this, do we?” Alan asked.

“Nope.  We’ll get everything cleaned up – including you – and it will be our secret.”

[sidnihoudini]

fic: let’s not try to figure out everything at once

post-15x20 read on ao3 instead

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean says with a smile. “Let me buy you dinner.”

*

Just like on earth, Dean’s idea of a nice date is flicking a fake credit card at Sam, rattling off his food order, and waiting in the car.

Sam bounces back down the little roadside diner steps with a plastic bag stretched heavy with food.

“Hey,” he says through the open passenger window, startling Dean’s hand away from the tape deck. “Remember Three Rocks?”

He opens the door as Dean screws up his face and asks, “What, like Oregon?”

“Yeah.” Sam gets his legs in and Dean starts the engine. “Spring Equinox. You got hexed, and we didn’t figure it out until you started to hoard like… cornflower and cinnamon sticks and shit?”

That’s the nicest, shortest way to tell the story. Dean snorts.

“Of course I remember that,” he says. “Friggin’ fertility witches, man.”

Sam laughs again, because Dean’s foibles with the dark arts always tickle him.

“Remember how it made you go crazy?” he presses. For three long days, Dean oscillated between hoarding, sweating, and acting like a prickly pear around everyone who wasn’t Sam. That’s why it took them so long to notice -- it wasn’t until late on day three that Dean started with the stockpiling. “Well, the waiter you wanted to knock out is the one who just served me your pie.”

Dean scoffs and starts eyeing the bag. “Everyone has bad days, man. What do you want me to do about it now?”

“Well next time, you can go in, for starters.” Sam punctuates his request by throwing the credit card back at Dean. “And they didn’t have any cherry left.”

As Dean catches the card with a hand slap to the chest, he also leans over to curiously peer into the bag. “What’d you get me?”

“Apple.” Sam reaches back for his seatbelt, even though there probably aren’t any car accidents or speed traps in Heaven. He catches the sudden weird look on Dean’s face and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Dean’s eyes go all squinty into the distance as he tries to figure something out.

“Why is the place where I threatened to knock some guy out up here in Heaven?” he wonders, gaze suddenly snapping over to Sam. They make direct eye contact, and Sam feels his face get hot when Dean starts smirking. “Something you want to tell me, man?”

Sam snorts, overcompensates, realizes it, and then tries to play it off with a casual, “Like what?”

“Like,” Dean dramatically announces, raising both eyebrows. “Maybe you got all tingly when I defended your honor, and now you want to relieve that memory again and again and again?”

Even though Sam knows he’s all twitchy, he tightens his expression and plows through.

“Keep dreaming, man.” He shakes his head and snorts again, but when he glances over, Dean is still staring at him with that look on his face. Sam clears his throat and quickly changes the subject. “Can we just find somewhere to park for the night?”

Dean’s expression softens from I’m calling you out to I’m reaping the benefits.

“You got it, Sammy,” he grins, officially letting Sam off the hook.

They pull out of the tiny parking lot, and Dean stretches his arm out along the back of the seat, fingers curling to rest against Sam’s shoulder.

Sam cranks his window down. It’s a perfectly balmy midsummer night, even though they haven’t been up here for a whole day yet, and they both died in winter.

As they get back on the highway, Dean knocks his fingers into the back of Sam’s ear.

Sam bites back a smile.

*

The highway runs up the coast, and then out onto a peninsula that hangs over the water.

Sam knows they aren’t earthbound anymore, but the blue ocean and the tall trees are all unmistakably redwood country. They bomb down the peninsula with Dean’s favorite mixtape playing. There’s nothing out here but dusky blue skies and deep blue water.

“It’s kinda like driving right into space,” Sam comments. “But like, uncanny valley.”

Dean parks the car near the end of the road and turns off the ignition. “I wonder who controls the scenery, me or you.”

“Maybe both of us?” Sam raises his eyebrows. “We’ve been in all the same places.”

With a shrug, Dean digs into their takeout bag, and pulls out his gigantic burger in a double-wide styrofoam container that buckles when he tries to hold it one handed.

“I don’t know, man,” he says, briefly glancing over at Sam. Sam stares back, and then drops his gaze to watch as Dean flips his container open and lifts the top bun off his burger to remove the pickle. “You got me extra sauce,” he gasps, picking up the drippy, shitty burger with both hands. “Have I told you I love you lately?”

Smiling, Sam shakes his head slowly, and unwraps his ever reasonable sandwich.

“About thirty years ago.” Sam takes Dean’s pickle slice and adds, “Once.”

The smile on Dean’s face is big and bright. A thousand megawatts lit up, brighter than anything else even in Heaven.

“Well, I love ya, Sammy,” he says, fondly.

*

The stars come out, and all of the little adobe houses sprinkled up the coastline turn their lights on.

“We could find a motel,” Dean suggests, gaze fixed out on the water.

Sam turns away from Dean and looks at all the houses scattered away from them.

“Nah.” Sam wrinkles up his nose. Dean wrinkles his back. “I wanna sleep here.”

On earth, every new day had possibility -- kismet, and advent, and Dean. The comfort in knowing they were only separated by death is what kept Sam alive some days; he knew this, that he would be here again, whether it happened under the stars or in hellfire.

When Sam got into bed on the mattress Dean never laid on, in the big house Dean never lived in, he would close his eyes and sink away. Just so he could see stars, like these stars, and be here again.

Small, lonely celebrations. They can find a motel to sleep in tomorrow night.

The houses up the coastline glow for a little while longer. Sam lays on the hood and stares up at the sky.

*

“Catch,” Dean says, tossing Sam’s toothbrush into the air.

They keep looking at each other, grinning and laughing as they stand on the bluff and spit toothpaste off the rocks.

“Mine definitely went further than yours, Dean.” Sam is both eternally Player 2 and the one who makes the call. He points out into the dark black water like he can pinpoint exactly where his last one hit and gives Dean a smug look. “Beat that.”

Dean imitates him in a wobbly high-pitched voice, “Mine went further than yours,” and then loses interest in going for distance and turns to spit at Sam instead. Sam can tell he’s going to do it by the look on his face, so he laughs and jumps away right as Dean loads up and aims for his feet.

As he bounces by, he smacks Dean in the chest.

“Don’t swallow,” Sam unhelpfully cackles when Dean starts choking on his toothpaste.

Dean bends over, gagging and spitting, and even with tears in his eyes he still shoots a dirty look in Sam’s direction and smirks, “Why I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before, Sammy.”

“Shut up.” Sam laughs some more and goes back to angling his toothbrush over his back molars. “You know, I didn’t miss your sex jokes.”

He actually missed everything, but that’s nothing Dean has to know about.

Even so -- Dean looks scandalized for the first time since Sam has been topside. “I’m the funniest person you know.”

“You’re the only person I know,” Sam counters.

He knows he screwed up last time they were in Heaven. There wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t think about Dean’s hurt expression lit up in those streetlights.

Dean looks like he wants to say something, too. They stare at each other as Dean clearly works out whether he’s going to cop to whatever it is, or keep it to himself for a while.

“About that,” he finally starts, hedging. Sam raises his eyebrows. “We’re not alone up here anymore.”

Sam gives him a look. “That’s cryptic, Carol Anne.”

“I was here for about a minute before Bobby found me, man,” Dean explains. Sam’s eyebrows knot; that actually is a surprise. “Well, I guess I found him.” Dean pauses to reconsider, clearly still trying to figure out his train of thought. “He gave me a beer.”

Still not totally following, Sam asks, “What, like a memory?”

“No, not a memory.” Dean shakes his head. “Bobby told me Heaven is different now. Jack busted all the walls down.”

Both of Sam’s eyebrows jerk up. “Seriously?”

“That’s what he said.” Dean shrugs. “Mom and dad, Rufus, Ellen.” He dramatically twirls his toothbrush around in a circular motion. “Everyone. They’re all around here somewhere.”

So even with the walls down, he and Dean are still stepping in the same footprint.

“Wow.” Sam smiles a little. “So it’s like, fairytale Heaven now.”

Dean shrugs and digs around in his toiletry bag. “Guess so.”

“So… what.” It’s not like Dean was ever a social butterfly, but… Sam watches as he packs his toothbrush away, and looks at him curiously. “You didn’t go and see mom? And dad?”

They stare at each other for a minute, and Dean gets shifty.

“I just drove around until you got here,” he finally shrugs, playing it cool.

Which really means he’s circling the drain and acting all bugged out, because that’s how Dean always gets when he has to admit he has feelings for Sam in a way that doesn’t include suicide or the death of whoever else gets stuck in their crosshair.

And Sam doesn’t help, because he starts to crack up in a truly uncontrollable way.

“Moment ruined,” Dean scoffs, throwing one hand up.

He turns back around to face the car, and Sam scrambles after him, still laughing.

“I’m sorry,” he calls, voice coming out all lopsided when he tries to swallow another laugh. “I’m sorry, Dean. Hey.” He reaches out and snags Dean by the back of the jacket; Dean spins around and glares at him. “Hey,” Sam says again, serious this time. He clears his throat and raises his eyebrows earnestly. “I would have done the same thing.”

Dean is still glaring up at him but he does let Sam get in a hug.

“You wouldn’t have had the wheels to do so,” he says petulantly.

Sam smiles and tilts his nose into Dean’s ear. “Guess I would have been waiting for you at the side of the road, then.”

“Yeah, sounds like something you would do,” Dean crabs back.

But under Sam’s jacket, he worms his fingers around until he finds Sam’s waist.

��I was scared I would wake up in the dark.” Sam finally admits it, quietly, into the soft collar of Dean’s flannel shirt. “I memorized a druidic memory spell. Just in case.”

Dean snorts, but his grip on Sam tightens, as well. He whispers, “I would have found ya.”

“Yeah.” Neither of them moves an inch. “I know that.”

*

sam and dean’s fuckin around in heaven playlist: * red bull & hennessey - jenny lewis * between the bars - elliott smith * love me anyway - chappell roan * fake empire - the national * pacific coast highway - hole

[ask-mirror-and-prime-simon]

The Mirror Car II

Summary: A familiar face implores Simon to confront his feelings

A/N: None

Chapter: 3/?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: Implied suicidal thoughts/Self hatred

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

"Hey...are you okay?"

His eyes burned as he forced them open,face still warm and bright red. "What do you think?"

"Simon...I'm sorry..."

"Stop it"

The other looked to him with confusion. "Huh?"

"Stop it" Simon repeated. "Stop apologizing,its annoying"

"But I made you upset,even if I did get mad I shouldn't have taken it out on you"

"You're so patronizing,you know that?" The boy said. "Stop acting like you're better than me"

"I'm not trying to" He attempted to explain. "I'm just saying sorry"

"Then stop saying it in my voice!" His prime snapped. "I can take dealing with nulls that want to fight back but I'm not letting you mock me"

"I'm not mocking you!" The other insisted. "I can't help sounding like you or looking like you,I was just born like this"

"Then I'll make you!" He lunged towards the other,right hand ready to grab him by the hair while the left reached for the glass shard. His knuckles were first to hit the reflective surface,the boy letting out a pained hiss before shooting him a glare. "Get out of there and fight me!"

"I don't want to fight you!" The reflection shouted. "Just please talk to me! I can help fix everything,just-"

Simon swung his leg forth,kicking the cube by his side with as much force as he could muster. His foot ached from the harsh slam against the chrome but he dare not stop. He continued to swing and kick with frustrated grunts,hoping that eventually he would knock that sorrowful look off the douple-gangers face. Yet each time he pulled away all he saw was himself,arms shielding his face with a look of fear in his eyes. The sight was enough to make his blood boil.

"Stop it!" The other begged with a cracked voice,scared that the barrier could somehow break. "Just listen to me! I want to fix everything too!"

Simon froze,foot hovering over where the other's face would be. "What?"

"I want to find Grace," He said. "I want to find her so we can start over but be better"

"Why would I want to get better if I was never wrong to begin with?" Simon asked. "You're just as brainwashed as she was"

"You know you were wrong" His reflection said. "If...If you really did think you were right you wouldn't be here"

The passenger grew a sneer,hands curled into a fist. "I'm here to find Grace and take her home. She's been in that projection thing long enough to be back to normal"

"But you don't want to leave her there" His reflection began. "And I know this has been eating you up since then. I felt everything you did when it happened and I know you felt something"

He slammed his fist into the wall,looking to the other with rage. "You don't know anything!"

The other flinched,Simon leaning in closer. "You don't know what we've been through together,you don't know how much it hurt knowing she picked that null over someone she knew for ten years,YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH IT HURTS KNOWING EVERYTHING WAS A LIE!"

Tears welled in the corner of his Prime's eyes,the mirror boy slowly reaching out for him. "Simon..."

His face grew red,the corners of his sneer twitching as he struggled to keep from sobbing. "We've been together for ten years...the Apex wasn't just some after school group we made. Leading it by her side...I just...I felt like I had a purpose. I actually meant something here"

"You are here for a reason" His reflection reminded him softly. "You're here to get better and heal"

"From what?" The boy questioned. "Coming here was the best thing to ever happen to me and you want me to give everything up just because some old woman said I had to?"

"Well,Grace tried to"

"And look where she is now"

There was a moment of silence,the passenger wiping the tears from his eyes. The chrome boy laid back against the barrier,listening to his sniffling. "I just thought...I thought you'd get better after hearing everything."

"Hear what? That I'm the worst,most worthless person alive and I should rot away?" The boy let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah,I really needed to hear that"

"I never said that" His reflection quickly responded. "What I'm saying is..." He took a deep breath,leaning against the barrier separating their worlds. "You messed up,but you can still fix it"

"How?" Simon asked,defeat in his tone. "I can't just go back and pretend nothing happened. What if...what if she hates me?"

"I mean..." He hesitated a moment before looking away. "I wouldn't blame her,we deserve it"

“Stop acting like you did anything '' Simon half heartedly demanded.

"But I'm a part of you and you-"

"You are NOT a part of me" He quickly said. "You're just - just a stupid,stupid null that's making me say dumb shit"

"I'm..." He hesitated,brushing aside the idea of correcting him. "But you said all of this to me,maybe you can say it to her"

"As if she'd let me," The Prime said bitterly.

"Well...maybe I can do it"

Simon raised an eyebrow,looking to him. "What?"

"You said I didn't do anything right?" He asked. "I know you're scared to say this to her,so what if I tell her for you?"

"Why would she listen to you?" He shot back. "You're just a null"

"She listened to Hazel," The other reminded him. "I know I don't mean as much as you did to anyone,but maybe she'll listen to me"

"And how are you going to talk to her huh?" Simon folded his arms,an annoyed look in his eye. "You can't even get out to fight me"

"I know how but...but we'll have to switch places. Only one of us can go,” he explained nervously.

The other held back a laugh,a twisted grin peaking through in its place. As if he'd let a null trick him into another sort of trap. Just as he thought,they could never be trusted. What a waste of time. "Wow,I can't believe I almost let you trick me"

"I'm not trying to trick you!" His reflection said in a panic. Damn it,he was so close to actually letting him acknowledge the long list of screw ups. "I'm trying to help you,I promise"

"Nice try null" His smile quickly fell,the boy pressing his hand against the chrome. "Tell anyone about anything I said and I'll kill both of us"

He began to stand,heading back towards the door. The reflection stood with terrified tears in his wide eyes. No,he could still change! He believed him,if only he'd just listen! "WAIT!"

He reached for his Prime,their palms finally touching save for the thin chrome barrier. His feet were slowly lifted off the ground,the world spinning with him as he let out a scream. Just as fast as the spinning had started it stopped,the boy left shakily standing.

The reflection nervously looked around,trying to make sense of what had just happened. The air felt different somehow,more fresh and cold on his metal skin. A sudden feeling burst in his chest,a shaky hand placing a hand over the area.

A heartbeat

His eyes grew wide at the sudden revelation. He was out,finally free. Tears welled in his eyes,falling like rain drops as he looked at his own reflection in his palms. "I...I'm real"

"HEY!"

His happiness was short lived,the boy looking below him to find the other banging on the chrome floors. He hurled profanities at him,fighting to return to the other side.

"Simon!" He immediately fell to his knees,eyes full of worry. "Are you okay?"

"YOU TRICKED ME!"

The once reflection flinched,a wince on his face. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"YOU LIAR!" The other yelled. "I SHOULDN'T HAVE TRUSTED YOU! YOU NULLS ARE ALL THE SAME! YOU'RE ALL JUST THE WORST!"

The boy's face grew warm,another brand new feeling,finally shouting. "You wouldn't be in there if you just listened!"

"I DON'T NEED TO LISTEN TO ANYONE!"

"You should've listened to Grace!"

Simon tensed,sneer frozen on his face.

"This never would've happened if you just listened!"

The other opened his mouth to find any sort of retort,words sharp as a blade to destroy the person who dared make him spill such raw emotions. No,he's a liar just like everyone else,how could he lie to himself and say he felt sorry about doing the right thing? All he'd have to do was wake Grace up and go back home and pretend nothing ever happened.

But...could he even do that now?

"What if...what if she hates me?"

He grit his teeth,body trembling as his eyes grew watery. All he could imagine was the girl he loved so much waking from her torturous nightmare and staring at him. Her usually kind eyes would hold nothing but malice,betrayal even as she looked at him with unfiltered disgust.

"I hate you" She would shout between sobs. "I'd rather die than have anything to do with you!"

Warm tears rolled down his cheeks,lowering his head so the other couldn't see the pain only his dearest friend had ever witnessed. His entire body shook,breathing heavy as he held back a sob.

"Simon..."

"Just get out," He choked. "Get out and leave me to die"

The other remained silent,anger melting back into concern. He debated on whether or not to switch back,a part of him knowing exactly where he would walk straight to first,flesh torn in the train wheels.

"I'll come back for you" He said softly. "I'll fix everything and come back,I promise"

"Go away..."

Reluctantly he sat up,feeling something sharp under his palm. He lifted his hand,finding the glass shard lovingly handed to him by the young Lucy. By the looks of it,it was probably best to keep anything sharp as far away from his Prime as possible.

He quickly tucked it in his sock,glass pressing against his ankle. With that he stood,giving the boy one last glance before opening the dark wood door.

The air was fresh,whipping his metal hair back. With a deep breath he stepped outside,fully expecting to be pulled right back in.

Nothing.

For the first time he stood with both feet out the door,entire body free from the shackles of the mirror world. He watched the world around him,the train even bigger than he could ever imagine. So many cars,so many new worlds full of life that he could only dream of seeing before.

He stepped forward,flinching once he caught sight of the spinning wheels. No - it's fine - Simon’s in the chrome car and Grace wouldn’t hurt any denizen after the brief moment of happiness she had with Hazel. It's...It's fine. Everything’s fine.

In the wheel he caught a glimpse of himself. That face...the longer he looked the more his stomach churned.

Careful hands undid the small ponytail,blond hair falling to his shoulders. He reached for the hem of his sweater,pulling the article up and over until it was off and crumpled into a hasty clump of fabric and twine. Shaky arms held the ball of old belongings over the railing,eyes shut tight. No more wheeling,not after this.

The boy let the elastic fall,band snapping as the fabric ripped under the wheels into scraps and thread. He hesitantly opened an eye,looking to his reflection once more. It was a start at least.

He turned back to the bridge,continuing the long walk onwards. What lay ahead,even he wasn’t entirely sure. What he did know was one thing,he was going to fix whatever mess was left behind by his Prime. It didn’t matter how long it would take,just so long as no one else had to suffer anymore.