#i’m currently in the toilet and it smells SO bad but there’s a really long boring talk happening in the hall rn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tennessoui · 3 years

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Ummmmmm can i please request 5

This was written all on my phone waiting for my train and I’m trying to post it through my phone which tumblr is being a lil bitch about but here is

5. Falling Pregnant After A One Night Stand (3.6k)

(squick: a/b/o dynamics, mpreg)(two tags I never thought I’d write lmao)

Anakin’s working on the couch when he hears the key in the lock of the apartment door, signaling that finally—finally—Obi-Wan’s home from his week-long hastily planned stay at Bail’s place.

Bail and Breha’s place, Anakin reminds himself. Obi-Wan’s mated friends pose no competition to Anakin’s inner alpha, which definitely thinks of Obi-Wan as his omega.

Obi-Wan comes into the main room quietly, putting his bag on one of the barstools and leaning against the counter for a second, head bowed.

When he lets out a sigh and a heavy curse, Anakin can’t stop himself from speaking up, alarmed. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Obi-Wan jolts and turns around to face the couch, clearly startled. “Anakin!” he yelps, one hand flying to his stomach and the other to grip the counter behind him, as if Anakin is an intruder, and not the man he’s been living with for six years. “I thought you’d be at work!”

Anakin fights the urge to flush. The truth is, he’s tried to go into work for the past three days, but Obi-Wan’s absense has kicked his alpha hindbrain into a special kind of panic mode, where he can’t stand to leave the den until the omega returns to it safely.

It’s not like Anakin’s going to say that though, not after five years of pining for the older omega from afar. He’s a pro at this by now.

“Working from home today,” Anakin says. And then so Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s spent his entire week alone on the couch waiting to be not alone anymore (he has), he lies, “Woke up hungover.”

“On a Thursday?” Obi-Wan says, sounding a bit concerned.

Anakin purses his lips and tries not to pout. He rakes his eyes over the omega, taking in his messed up hair and untrimmed beard and the dark circles that have popped up beneath his eyes. “You didn’t answer, Obi-Wan,” he accuses. “What’s wrong?”

The omega’s scent tinges with distress, which only proves Anakin’s point further. Obi-Wan never lets his scent leak through his blockers, not if he can help it. Anakin’s always made sure to luxuriate in his unbridled scent when he can, one that smells like maple and rain and cinnamon. But to smell it now just makes him feel more worried.

“Are you going into—“ Anakin stutters over the word heat. Obi-Wan’s at least feeling well enough to roll his eyes fondly. The older omega thinks Anakin’s one of those alphas that get wildly uncomfortable talking about an omega’s heat. It’s not true. Anakin’s helped friends through heats both platonically and sexually. Look, he’s run to the corner bodega at two in the morning to get Padmé heating pads to be left outside her door. He’s no stranger to heats.

But the idea of his prim and proper roommate writhing around in his nest, begging for something to fill him up the way he needs—that makes Anakin stutter and blush and trip over his words.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, but there’s something off in his tone, something sour in his scent. Anakin puts his laptop aside—the screen’s gone dark already anyway—and makes to stand, his inner alpha baying with the need to run his hands over the omega, to make sure he’s not bleeding or hurt or injured—

“I—I’m going to unpack and take a shower,” Obi-Wan decides, pushing away from the counter and closer to the couch. Not close enough. But closer. “And then I need to talk to you about something.”

“Are you…” Anakin casts around for the right word to say. Ill. Leaving me. Sick. Sick of me. Done with all of this. Dying.

Obi-Wan pauses and gives him his own sort of once-over. Whatever he finds in either his body language or his scent brings a soft smile to the omega’s face. “I’m fine, dear one. I—I need a shower. I don’t—smell right.”

Anakin blinks after him, hands balling into fists and relaxing as he processes those words. Usually it’s Anakin who wants Obi-Wan to shower off the stench of other alphas after his business trips or stays at his friends’ places. Obi-Wan’s always insisted he smells fine, but he’ll cave if Anakin’s mood gets bad enough.

It’s not something he’s especially proud of, but it’s worth it when Obi-Wan curls up onto the couch beside Anakin and he smells only like the shampoo and soap they share.

Sometimes if he’s tired enough, he’ll even let Anakin scent mark him so that next time he goes out, everyone will automatically assume he’s already in possession of an alpha and not looking for anything.

Sometimes, he even asks for it. Those times are the best.

Anakin tries to sit still while he waits for Obi-Wan to come back, but it’s impossible. He moves to the table, then to the kitchen counter, then back to the couch. Where should he sit, where would be a place he feels safe enough to receive whatever news Obi-Wan’s putting off telling him?

In the omega’s arms in his own bed, is the answer that comes to mind. But can he really ask that of Obi-Wan? They’ve done it before, when Anakin’s mother had died, when Ahsoka had left the city to get a degree abroad, when Anakin feels as though he’s going to shake apart if he doesn’t hold onto his omega and make sure that he at least can’t leave him too.

When Obi-Wan comes out of his room, all flushed from the shower with his hair still damp and messy, wearing a blue sweater Anakin’s pretty sure used to be his and a pair of sweatpants that are definitely currently his, there’s hardly a choice to make. If Obi-Wan wants to wear his scent, Anakin will give it to him.

Silently he takes his hand and leads him to his bedroom, toeing out of his shoes and tugging him into his bed and into his arms.

Obi-Wan goes so easily that it only makes Anakin more worried. His heart cannot take this level of stress and he has to hide his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck and inhales greedily at the pure scent of omega—Obi-Wan omega—his omega.

“Obi-Wan,” he says nonsensically, just to feel the way the omega in his arms shudders at the sensation of his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

But then Obi-Wan doesn’t stop shaking and Anakin can feel a growing wetness against his shirt. He can’t stop the distressed rumble that comes out of his throat, but he bites his tongue just in time to stop the alpha command to tell him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t like that and Anakin wouldn’t like doing it.

His hands stroke soothingly over the omega’s back as he starts purring from within his chest. An alpha’s purr is supposed to reassure an omega, make them feel safe and protected, but Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to realize this because he doesn’t stop crying.

“Talk to me,” Anakin murmurs nosing at the short hairs behind Obi-Wan’s ears. “Baby. Obi. Omega. What is wrong? What can I do?”

Obi-Wan wipes his eyes dry on Anakin’s shirt and looks up at him with a heartbroken but strangely resigned expression. Like he already knows what Anakin’s going to do, and he thinks nothing he says will change anything.

As if.

When Obi-Wan went on a two month long business trip three years ago, Anakin grew out a beard and it only took one look from the omega upon his return before Anakin was shaving it off. The point is, Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to speak half the time for Anakin to agree. He’s just that in love. It’s pathetic. He can’t remember who he was before it.

“I’m a mess, I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan finally gets out, retracting one of his hands from the tight grip he has on Anakin’s shirt to rub at his eye. “I told myself I wasn’t going to be like this, but. I don’t—it’s—“

“Hey, hey,” Anakin soothes, leaning back a bit so he can knock their foreheads together. Packmates do that all the time. “It’s okay.”

Obi-Wan nods slowly, and his scent expands with the pleasant notes of a comforted, protected omega.

“Do you remember…when I went to Seattle at the end of August for that conference?” he starts slowly.

Anakin hums in acknowledgement. He’d wanted to go with Obi-Wan, instincts demanding that the other side of the country was too far for the omega to travel alone, but he’d not been able to get time off of work.

His heart drops into his stomach at the idea that somehow maybe Obi-Wan met someone there during his four-day trip, and he’s in love with them and is trying to find a way to tell Anakin he’s moving.

Would it be pathetic if Anakin followed him? Would Obi-Wan’s new alpha allow Anakin to live with Obi-Wan still? Would Obi-Wan’s alpha be amenable to telling Anakin how he made Obi-Wan fall in love with him in a matter of days when Anakin’s been trying to get the man to love him romantically for six years?

Anakin’s heart rate is up, but it’s nothing compared to the staccato beat of Obi-Wan’s. He tries to send out more calming pheromones, but he can’t even find them for himself.

This is it. He’s about to lose Obi-Wan. The alpha inside of him whimpers, and it takes all of his willpower not to crush his omega tighter to his chest.

No. Not his.

“I met a man there, just at the hotel,” Obi-Wan says. It would have been kinder if he’d just stabbed Anakin with the kitchen knife. There’s no relief to be found in this slow death. Because—because surely, Anakin will die without Obi-Wan. Not physically, of course. He’s not one of those alphas who doesn’t know how to take care of himself.

Actually, it’s Anakin that cooks most of the time for both of them. And Anakin will do the shopping, will keep an eye on the amount of cleaning supplies they have, how much toilet paper, how many garbage bags.

But what would be the point of cooking anything if Obi-Wan isn’t there to taste it and shower him with praise? What’s the point of cleaning the apartment if Obi-Wan isn’t there to tuck himself into his arms on the couch and thank him for the work? What’s the point of anything if he’s doing it without Obi-Wan?

“Anakin, I—“ Obi-Wan stutters and falls silent. Anakin braces himself for the end he should have seen coming. “I’m pregnant.”

White noise. Anakin doesn't even think he’s breathing. Obi-Wan is pregnant. Obi-Wan…had a one-night stand in a city 2,400 miles away from Anakin, and he’s pregnant. Someone touched Obi-Wan, someone made Obi-Wan come, someone got Obi-Wan pregnant, and maybe…maybe there’s a chance they’ll get to keep Obi-Wan too.

The alpha in his chest howls at the thought. The idea that—that someone else will have a better claim on Obi-Wan’s heart. What’s six years of living together compared to a child?

Except Obi-Wan presses further into his chest, with a shaky whine. The omega is here now, not with any other alpha, not in any other city. He’s in Anakin’s bed, in Anakin’s arms.

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it, how to speak. He needs to know so much more. He needs to know what Obi-Wan is going to do, if he’s in contact with the father, if he’s planning to move, if he’s planning to raise the—

As if he can hear his thoughts, Obi-Wan starts talking again, very fast as if he’s afraid Anakin’s going to kick him out in a few minutes and he needs to get the whole story out before he does.

“I’m keeping it. Them. I—I’m so old now—“ he’s barely 38– “I’m afraid this could be my only chance at…at a family.”

Anakin closes his eyes and hides his face in the still-damp strands of Obi-Wan’s hair. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to see how devastated he is at this response. Anakin’s family is Obi-Wan. He’d thought…he’d wanted….

“I understand if you want to move out before the lease ends,” Obi-Wan mumbles, but his hands clench tightly around Anakin’s back. “I know…a baby…another alpha’s baby…you shouldn’t have to take care of them. I know it’s not what you signed up for, I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t hold it against you.” His voice gets smaller and smaller until Anakin has to strain to hear him. “I can do this alone.”

He sounds as if he’s telling himself as much as he’s telling Anakin. But Anakin can’t even focus on that because his entire attention is caught by everything else Obi-Wan’s just said. Because it sounds…it sounds as if Obi-Wan is planning to stay in the city. In the apartment. Without the sire.

Alone.

As if Anakin would ever let Obi-Wan be alone, given the choice. As if Anakin would ever leave Obi-Wan to struggle through any difficulty without him.

Obi-Wan presses impossibly closer to him. “Say something,” he demands, running his nose up and down Anakin’s neck, over his scent glands, as if he expects Anakin to be able to form whole, coherent sentences when he’s doing that with his mouth.

The pregnancy must be messing with Obi-Wan’s instincts and emotions, Anakin realizes distantly. His body must know he’s not mated, that he’s about to be a visibly pregnant, unmated Omega in a dangerous city. No wonder he’s trying to cover himself so completely in Anakin’s scent. He has to wonder if Obi-Wan even understands what he’s doing. He’s never been one to try and he in touch with his Omegan side.

“Alpha,” Obi-Wan pleads, and Anakin has a second realization that it’s been ages since he’s said something. The room fills with the scent of distressed, in pain omega.

Anakin lets out an involuntary purr and tightens his hold on Obi-Wan’s body. It would be nice to look him in the eyes, but he thinks they both need as little distance between themselves as possible. “You’re going to make a great parent,” he soothes, nuzzling along Obi-Wan’s hairline. “And I’m not going to leave you unless you want me to.”

Obi-Wan stills completely as if shocked to his bones, and then he relaxes bonelessly into Anakin’s arms. This time, Anakin feels the tears as soon as they start and he goes about stroking up and down Obi-Wan’s spine again.

“I was so afraid,” Obi-Wan admits between sobs. Anakin thinks to himself privately that he definitely knows how that feels, but one of them shouldn’t be crying. “I didn’t know how to tell you—I didn’t want you to hate me for making such a stupid mistake—“

There’s nothing Obi-Wan could do to make him hate him. Sure, Anakin’s absolutely filled with hatred for whoever caught Obi-Wan’s eye on that business trip, but none of those emotions bleed over into what he feels for Obi-Wan. Not when his love is too strong and entrenched.

“Bail said you’d understand but I’m just—a mess, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time and these goddamn hormones are making me feel out of control—“ Obi-Wan continues. The fact that Bail fucking Organa found out about Obi-Wan’s pregnancy before Anakin did will drive him crazy if he lets it, so he puts that aside for now and focuses on comforting his omega.

“We’ll figure it out,” Anakin says, scenting Obi-Wan back. “It’ll be alright.”

————

A few hours later, Obi-Wan awakens from the nap he’s fallen into with a start. Anakin’s gotten no sleep, too busy drawing nonsense lines on Obi-Wan’s back and staring at the ceiling, thinking about the future. About what’s going to happen to them, around them.

No matter how much he hates the sire of the child in Obi-Wan, he already feels attached to the baby. It’s part of Obi-Wan. Maybe they’ll have his hair color or his eyes. Maybe they’ll have his compassion, his wit. Maybe they’ll let Anakin teach them how to play soccer or swim or cook.

The possibilities are endless and all of them involve Obi-Wan falling in love with him because of how amazing of a father he is to his child.

It’s not the most pressing thought in his mind, but he has to admit at least to himself that it’s there. That he’s just as in love with Obi-Wan as he was when he woke up in the morning. Now he just has another part of Obi-Wan to love: his child.

Maybe their child.

“I need to tell him,” Obi-Wan mumbles from his spot laying across Anakin’s chest. “I don’t—I don’t particularly want his involvement or, or money, but he should know. He should have the option to be in his child’s life.”

The part of Anakin who has just spent the past three hours getting used to the idea of raising Obi-Wan’s child as if he’s his own bristles at the idea of the sire being involved at all.

“Do you have his number?” Anakin asks reluctantly. He can’t imagine getting to sleep with someone as gorgeous as Obi-Wan and not trying to give him a means of keeping in contact.

But Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“His address?”

Another negative. “I…know his name and where he works.”

Anakin bares his teeth at the ceiling. “And?”

Obi-wan sounds more than a bit embarrassed. “Ah. He was the bartender at the hotel. And his name tag said Set.”

“You went to a medical conference full of alpha surgeons and researchers and you…slept with the bartender,” Anakin says blankly, before he can stop himself.

Obi-Wan huffs. It’s the most Obi-Wan response he’s given since he got home from Bail’s. “Sorry my one-night stands don’t meet your standards.”

Anakin hums. The truth is the only person who will ever meet his standards as a romantic partner for Obi-Wan is Anakin. “So what do you want to do? Call the hotel and ask for Set?”

Which, by the way, is the most pretentiously Seattle name he’s ever heard of. Set’s given name is probably, like, David and he just wanted to sound cool and grunge.

“I can’t just—this isn’t something I can say over the phone, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He falls silent.

“It’s mid-November,” Anakin points out. “Neither of us are hurting for money, but plane tickets are going to be astronomical until January at least. If they’re available at all.”

There’d be shitty seats available, of course, but Anakin’s not going to let his pregnant omega cram himself into an uncomfortable, smelly seat for eight hours.

“You don’t—I don’t expect you to come with me,” Obi-Wan mumbles into Anakin’s collarbone.

Anakin just manages to bite back a scoff and the urge to point out that last time Obi-Wan went off to Seattle without him, he got pregnant. Who knows what would happen if he does it again?

“Well, I’m gonna,” he says firmly. “But I think we should drive. It’ll take longer, but I’d feel much better about what you’re exposed to, not to mention how much more comfortable my car is than a coach seat. We can share a motel bed to cut costs, and—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Obi-Wan picks himself up off his chest to stare at him quizzically. “What if your job won’t let you take the days off? They didn’t even let you leave for the original Seattle trip and that was only a few days. We’re talking weeks here, Ani.”

Anakin sets his face into a scowl. He’s worked at the same finance firm since moving to New York, but if they won’t let him take time off for this, for Obi-Wan, he’ll quit. Simple as that. “Then I’ll go anyway and they can fire me.”

Predictably, Obi-Wan has several protests. Anakin will hear none of them. If he is fired, if he can’t find another finance job in the city that makes the same amount of money, then they’ll move out to somewhere else. He’s heard good things about Denver. And if Obi-Wan doesn’t want to move that far, maybe they can move upstate. It’ll be easier to raise a kid outside of the city anyway.

He’s not dumb enough to tell Obi-Wan this, knowing it makes him sound literally insane, but he is just stupid enough to cut Obi-Wan off and say, “you’re the most important person in my life, Obi-Wan. You….you both are.”

Hesitantly he moves his hand down to rest it gently over the slightest swell of Obi-Wan’s tummy. The omega’s breath catches in his throat, but he lets him touch.

“I’m going to be there with you, every step of the way if you’ll have me,” Anakin adds, stroking his thumb over the impossibly soft skin. Pregnant. Obi-Wan is pregnant.

It’ll take a few days more to get completely used to that idea, that’s for sure.

Obi-Wan studies his face with eyes still red-rimmed and puffy from all that crying a few hours ago. Slowly he raises his own hand to Anakin’s neck and rubs up and down his scent gland with something almost like longing in his expression. They’re so close together. Anakin would let him have anything—everything.

Everything.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan agrees with an air of strained incredulity in his voice , placing his other hand over Anakin’s on top of his abdomen. “Yes. Let’s drive to Seattle so I can tell my one-night stand that I’m carrying his child.”

Anakin nods and adds privately in his head, And so I can tell him that that kid’s gonna be mine in everything but blood and he better stay on his side of the goddamn country.

He’s not losing his family to some stupid Seattle alpha.

#asks #prompt fill #I could definitely see 2 more parts of this #part 2 the road trip #part 3 the get together where anakin meets set and is very surprised when they look identical #this was so fun and cute to write that’s why it’s 3.6k btw #squick tag: a/b/o #squick tag: mpreg #stuck between calling this the roadtrip au or the baby daddy au #baby daddy vs found father showdown fight to death au #anakin would 😌❤️#anyway this was supposed to have a lot more italics but they didn’t copy from the Google doc so when I finally get home I’ll add them #obikin #omega obi-wan kenobi #alpha anakin skywalker #roadtrip au

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

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twsty-lav · 3 years

Text

valentines day but like mega late and also angst oopsie <333

Prompt: uhhh s/o(s) get slipped a love potion for someone else and neither of you know dun dun dun credit to @twst-tea <333

self indulgent so i wrote it for my faves (trey, rook, floyd)!

it’s meant to be read as an entire fic but you can also scroll down to your faves too and pretend the other clowns are not clowning in the background. hope u enjoy smooches u

anyways enjoy this absolute piece of tragedy in five parts

tw: angst angst angst also probably a panic attack or smth somewhere just sayin

The end isn't anything world-breaking, really. Actually, it's all rather casual. Yuu doesn't know which way they'd prefer it; it didn't matter what they wanted, anyways.

It was always going to be the same.

1. trey clover

"I'm sorry," Trey says one day, sitting in front of them at the cafeteria. They had thought that was odd, honestly. He had always preferred sitting side by side, "I don't think we can be together anymore."

Yuu pauses. Chews the rest of their sandwich. Swallows, and asks, "Why?"

"I just... Fell out of love." He mumbles, sounding vaguely uncomfortable. Next to them, they see a student look over with wide, curious eyes. Smart move, They think, Doing it in a crowd so I can't pick a fight. He knew them well, didn't he? They always hated being in the spotlight.

Well, it's not like they would have made much of a fuss in the first place. "Okay then," Yuu agrees, feeling a muscle in their wrist twitch, "Let's break up." And he looks so relieved at the clean cut that they can't even feel bad for themselves.

Actually, they can't feel anything at all.

"I'll swing by after class to take anything I left at your place," They say around a spoonful of stew, and that's that. They don't exchange any other words, which was fine. They were never the talkative type during lunch. Yuu’s neatness and efficiency in consuming food was well known for being Riddle-approved. They sit for a minute afterwards, at a loss of what to do.

... What did people usually do after breaking up with someone? Their fingers played restlessly with the edge of the table, pressing splinters into their thumb. It sinks a thin line of white into their flesh--not deep enough to hurt, but enough to leave a drop of blood. Should I just wait for him to finish eating..? They glanced up. That didn't seem right. It's not like they had ever done this before.

Silence.

"... Well, I'm gonna go to the library." Yuu announces with a shrug, picking off the slice of skin with their nails. They don't wait for a reply.

They don’t get one, anyways.

2. floyd leech

Floyd is not as kind as Trey. That is a fact.

They couldn't have forgotten that, surely? It's what they signed up for, after months of coaxing and a dogged back-and-forth chase. Floyd was Floyd, after all--and Yuu had thought they were warranted a bit of caution. Few things could keep his attention for long; how did they know that this wasn't just a passing fancy? Chewed up and spit out like his takoyaki fillings, which changed from one moment to the next. A challenge, not love.

But they had forgotten a part of him back then too, hadn't they? He was never predictable. He wore them down. Day after day, time after time. Actually, Yuu's pretty sure Azul and Jade were surprised as well, watching him stay on track for so long.

The point--The point was that Yuu forgot. Therefore, it was not unlikely for them to forget this time around too.

Floyd could be so cruel.

"Let's break up," He says as soon as he sees them. It's direct and to the point, sharp like the way his teeth nicked their lips. "I don't like you anymore."

His voice seems to thunder through the suddenly-too-quiet classroom; Yuu can feel the eyes crawling up the back of their head, sinking its claws through their shoulders and into their lungs, gripping, twisting, squeezing. Jade must be watching too--They walked to this class together, didn't they?

Silence. Time seems to stretch like a rubber tube, squishing their guts into meaty links of sausage; each breath scrapes their ribs clean. Their fingertips are trembling and their spine is sweaty-hot and their palms are needles and their jaw creaks and crumples into rust.

Yuu blinks.

"Okay," they agree; their voice sounds distant to their ears, calm and lazy in the current. They go back to rummaging in their bag, "Can you give back the good eraser I lent you yesterday?"

It's tossed carelessly on their desk. They pick it up with their left hand.

Not that it matters. Their right thumb is fine when they check inside the bag, despite the indent. They hadn't, Yuu supposed, been gripping the point hard enough to puncture into the nail bed. It left an inkstain, though.

Stupid. So very, very stupid.

3. rook hunt

Rook, they supposed, followed the typical model of a breakup the best. Out of consideration? Perhaps. If they were inclined to be cynical, they might pin it on his sense of dramatics instead.

... It seems like lately, there's been a lot for them to be cynical about.

That's why it's not really a surprise when Rook calls them out for a 'talk' on their way to Heartslabyul, whisking them away to some private place into the woods, all prepped and prettied. He even makes sure to declare that there was nobody else around, as if that would ease the news to them. They're pretty sure he's even memorized a script, if his more-flowery-than-usual language is anything to go by. It's of little use, honestly. His gentle voice soon fades into a high-pitched whine, scraping at the inside of their skull like sandpaper on fast-forward. For a moment, all they can think of is how sleepy they are.

The leaves on the ground smell like mulch. A beetle crawls across a branch over Rook's shoulder. A strand of hair tickles their nose, and they resist the urge to sneeze. There's nobody else around.

"... and as much as it pains me to say such things, I hope you understand..." Did they flush the toilet this morning? They're pretty sure they did--they’re not the type to forget something like that.

--Out of the corner of their eye, Rook falls silent with a look of remorse, letting them know to tune back in. Yuu wades through a bucket of sand to nod their head, calm and slow; they close their eyes when it burrows into the sides of their throat like a maggot.

When they open them again, the forest seems dark. They are alone.

"Ah," Yuu says, breath carefully even, voice painfully hoarse, "Finally." Any longer and they would have chewed a hole through their cheek, thin as it was. "Finally," They said again, for no reason in particular. Only a bird bothers to answer; the silence swells their up like a balloon. It stretches their skin until it splits in red-raw streaks, shiny with watery leaks. Any more and they's sure they'll pop--

Gently, they crouches down, curling into a ball. Their teeth sink delicately into the flesh of their wrist, pressing down. They spend a few minutes counting the incisors on their arm, watching them swell and fade. White from pressure, red from anger, pink and puffy with shame. Again.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Nobody says a word.

4. yuu

They make their way to Heartslabyul. All of their stuff is already neatly set up outside the door, out of sight from anyone who wasn’t looking. There’s not much, honestly. Trey isn’t there; consideration or indifference, they're not sure. He could be both, after all. Ace and Deuce look at them in pity; Yuu doesn’t look at them at all.

Yuu visits Octavinelle. They pick up their stuff. They forgot how much of a hoarder Floyd was. He hands them a gift before they go. It’s a scarf. They remember vaguely that they knit it for him over Christmas. They had to sidestep Jade on the way, passing by him on the way to the right room. His knowing smile, his what-did-you-think-would-happen, of course he’d get bored of you, they can’t-- Yuu hides in the bathroom until he leaves.

They don't bother stopping by Pomefiore. Rook probably had their stuff delivered to their dorm. He was nice like that. He knew it was hard for them to stand out. Beauty in effort, he always said, but it didn’t seem as if he’d make them suffer any more humiliation. Or maybe he didn’t believe they had the strength. Yuu wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, after all.

He would be right, honestly.

They're back in their room. When did they open the front door? They toss the bags into a corner somewhere before kicking off their shoes and lying down on the bed.

They don't bother getting up.

5. aftermath

Someone comes knocking. Yuu doesn't bother getting up.

They talk about some sort of conspiracy. Yuu doesn't bother getting up.

They find the culprit.

... Yuu doesn’t bother getting up.

… Floyd breaks into their room, Trey and Rook and a whole bunch of others in tow.

Yuu gets up.

“Don’t worry about it,” They say with a yawn, calm and slow, “It wasn’t your fault, right? Really, it’s no big deal.” And the way they protest makes their laugh. “No, seriously! I don’t mind at all,” they say awkwardly, waving away their words.

It was true. They didn’t mind it. Not at all.

“Uh, I have to catch up on my schoolwork. I’m super late for a few projects. Do you mind if I kick you out?”

“... Ah, sorry. I don’t really care that much about the whole mess. It’s fine like this, honestly! I hope we can still be friends, though. See you.”

They close the door in their faces, and lie back down.

None of it really mattered, anyways.

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catboyshinsou · 4 years

Text

UA teachers reacting to you asking for a hug

pairings: present mic x gn!reader, aizawa x gn!reader, midnight x gn!reader, all might x gn!reader

warnings: none, eventual vigilantes cw

these can be seen as platonic or romantic!!

Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic)

“awe yeah c'mere!"

gooooood hugger

10/10 overall

i just know he'd give amazing hugs

he's like 6’1 (without hair) too

he's taller than aizawa and that's what keeps me going

puts his arms around your shoulder and squeezes

not too little

but not too much for you to feel suffocated

he'd probably smell rlly good too

and he'd rub your back softly

depending on why you're asking for a hug (just need affection, sad, warmth etc) he'd murmur stuff under his breath

if it's like a relief hug after a long day it's just him praising you for how well you've been doing

if you're sad he's gonna be more gentle and tell you everything is okay and how you're safe

i know y'all are thinking “mic?? gentle?? he'll scream my ear off probably”

but he can be very soft and gentle

it's shown in vigilantes that in serious situations he's actually capable of being very calm and collected and offer comfort that is appropriate to the current situation

(i'm gonna start crying when i think about it)

overall… amazing 10/10

tbh i'm basing this off the fact that he's a famous radio host and famous people do have the most comforting hugs

i luv my funky little blond

Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead)

*looks at you for a minute*

“yeah come here”

that man always has a scarf around

so either you'd sneak under those l a y e r s or he'd wrap you in it himself

that being if it's not his capture weapon

(that thing has seen and done too much for him to use it in an affectionate or sexual way let's be honest i know y'all think about it but he's still a man of class okay)

he's 6 feet too so like his shoulder is just perfect for putting your head on it

ahhh he'd put his hands around your waist and draw circles with his thumb

he'd ask if everything is okay even if you are more affectionate, just to make sure

okay maybe i'm biased but like i just know if you did feel bad and he asked that his voice alone would make you just bawl on the spot

he's a *good* teacher after all and they have the most calming presence even if he is intimidating sometimes

if you are his s/o or friends he'd still have that calming presence, he just maintains it from being around kids all the time

he smells nice but like not bc he has a nice smelling cologne (that'd defeat his purpose of being ~underground~ if he just smells extravagant especially to people with sensory quirks)

*he* just smells nice

i could go into the biology of it all but i'll spare you

the reason i'm basing him around being a teacher even though these are all teachers is bc his motive for becoming a teacher is actually bc he's really good with kids and has always been quite “authoritative” but soft even as a teen

so naturally that means he has a calming nature which comes handy for more than teaching classes

Kayama Nemuri (Midnight)

“oh of course!” *walks towards you with open arms*

i'm just gonna say it bc i know we are All thinking it

her tiddies would be the best pillows

idc maybe it's the me liking women but not much is as comfortable as the soft bussum of a hot lady

*cough*

her quirk is based around scent so naturally,,, smells GOOOOD

but see i think that like subconsciously she'd activate her quirk to calm you down even more

she squeezes you really tight and probably plays with your hair

if she's taller than you she'll rest her head on yours in some sort of way but her most used ~technique~ is pressing her cheek against your forehead and stroking your hair

you'd get really drowsy during and after but like in a good way and probably just babble when she asks any questions which she thinks is cute

she holds you for like a good while even if you're already satisfied she's gonna keep holding on and play with your hair for her own pleasure

i'm basing all of this off of her character in vigilantes lmao and especially the scene where's out with pop

i know she's the r rated hero but i don't think she'd push anything sexual into just a hug or cuddles so except for the fact that she has nice friends she'd just enjoy the affection

Yagi Toshinori (All Might)

*very surprised but pleased* *opens arms and does his liddol smile*

hear me out

that man doesn't know how to properly hug

he's literally 7’2 which is over 2m even in skinny form

i'm not exactly tall but like hugging shorter people now is already just,,,, awkward

and for someone who's basically taller than anyone around him he just never rlly properly learned how to

plus in muscle form he just never had to bc nobody would ask him for a hug bc that man was over 2m tall and like 2m wide… a hug would could've probably crushed someone

he did try and it looked very funny

anyways as a result of that his hugs are very gentle

mind you he's still 2m tall so it's still awkward

but he's like a gentle giant✨

just very soft pats on the back because he's used to being able to just kachow people away with the flick of his finger

he smells a lot like cologne

he probably has one of his own and it's probably named “my smell is here” and is a eau de toilet

but you can take a breath in his arms

it's the number one status still engrained but you'll just always feel safe when he's around and especially when he's hugging you

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youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Sea [1/2]

Beta: @lillielil @aroseforyoongi @seokjinssymphony @kpooplifeforever @explosiveranga & my good friend Z (let me know if I left anyone out.) Rating: 17+ Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Fluff, Comedy, slow burn, slice of life. Words: 6.8k

Summary: After your plane to Korea takes an unexpected detour, you are stranded with someone you aren’t even sure speaks English. As the race begins to stay alive, emotions run high and tempers short. The unlikely contender in the survival race is love which snuck up on you both.

The thought of a thirteen-hour flight didn't bring you much joy. Why would it? Being trapped in a small box with wings, not to mention being stuck in said box with multiple people breathing recycled farts and eating some sort of wet styrofoam they called food that would most definitely give you food poisoning. Oh yes, what a joy it would be to be in a seat for hours on end, letting your skin slowly dry up.

Arriving at the terminal, you stood waiting for them to start boarding. You would have been sitting if there was a single seat free. Seriously, some asshole had even dared to lay across no less than five and a half seats, his bag resting on the empty chair at the end.

He was wearing all black and looked comfortable in his jeans and hoodie. His black cap pulled down over his eyes and you could see the bleached blonde hair sticking out from underneath. Big chunky headphones on his ears made it possible for this man to drown out the world around him.

You glared at his legs, growing tired, knowing that within a few hours you would be begging for the chance to stand up. If you were to take a mental count, there hadn’t been any nice experiences you could recall in regards to traveling on a plane.

Did that reflect the quality of service or your standard of air travel? No. Obviously, your standards were realistic, not expecting the flight time any shorter or the staff to give a foot massage or anything outrageous.

You really didn't want any extra luxuries other than what was offered in the pamphlet — and yes, that meant you chose first-class — because if you were to suffer, you would do so in the best environment.

Unfortunately, the reality of it was that there was no better or more comfortable way to travel. Checking in, you would be boarding first before the other passengers, not really a privilege. However you got in line anyway behind the young man who had previously been lounging across the airport seats. He was holding up the line having lost his passport and you were getting more and more pissed.

You were simply just having a bad day.

A woman behind you started openly arguing, exclaiming that this man was not allowed to ride first class as he clearly wasn’t fit for it. Bringing up his style of dress and the headphones around his neck. You turned, glaring daggers at the woman until she became silent.

Society taught people to judge based on appearance, that everyone fit into a category, never mind the old adage to ‘never judge a book based on it’s cover’. Stil, you were always respectful and treated others equally, maybe even getting to know a person that you wouldn’t in other circumstances. It always surprised you how much you enjoyed taking a risk and getting to know them.

Once you showed your ticket and passport, you traveled down the long hall towards the plane. You saw the man in front of you talking with another man. He seemed to respect him and was reading him a schedule from his phone. You raised your eyebrows and smiled at the young stewardess who welcomed you on board. Her hair was pristine in a tight bun and her crisp, dark blue outfit was paired with a red scarf.

Stepping over the small gap, you felt the cold of the air conditioning, yet the air still felt thick. There were three places you could go to feel this type of cold: the dentist, an airplane, or the movies. First class was spacious with only a single cubicle on either side of the aisle. You took your seat. It was like personal rooms where you could close a sliding screen for more privacy, even though you were sitting next to someone, you wouldn't be able to see them at all.

The seats were more like arm chairs that one could lay back completely in, made with a brilliant blue leather. The cubicle room was complemented in a similar shade but with red features. You had a tv and a tiny minibar that had a small selection of drinks and snacks.

The flight attendants took all the passengers through the safety instructions. You could practically write them at this point. However they added a few things you had never heard. You had never heard such in-depth instructions going beyond the general life jackets, floatation devices, and first aid kits.

Never before had they told you about the airbags that would be deployed if you crash in the ocean. Apparently the emergency escape slides doubled as floatation devices and could hold up to one hundred and thirty people comfortably. They even explained how they detach these rafts from the fuselage and that they have ropes that allow them to be tied off to each other or the airframe.

Distracted by a tired male sighing beside you, you wondered who would fall asleep during the safety messages. Sure they were boring, but even you pretended to care. When you turned to see the culprit, he was disappearing behind the plastic divider of his cubicle dragged by his long pale fingers.

Well, at least you had some privacy. It was something you were thankful for, you wanted to get comfortable, or as comfortable as you could.

Perhaps these new instructions and information were deemed irrelevant to domestic flights. Or perhaps it was for the very enthusiastic kid they led through the first class discussing more of the plane's anatomy. “What if a wing falls off?”

“The plane is really sturdy, the wing wouldn’t just fall off” She grinned, “Let’s see what the pilot is doing and we can get your mum a picture wearing the captain's hat!”

After the flight attendants thanked everyone for listening, the plane took to the sky. You closed up all sides of your cubicle and requested to be only woken for meals. The stewardess was very diligent and for that you were grateful.

The journey was nearing the six hour mark and all that one could see was clouds and the ocean. The collection of empty water bottles were a poignant reminder to relieve your bladder.

You stood up and waddled determined to go to the bathroom. It was inconvenient to drink so much water but you didn't want to get dehydrated.

Feeling much better, you took a few minutes to look in the mirror and moisturise as your skin was feeling particularly dry already. Startled from your self care routine by a light rapping on the door, you packed up your things and pulled open the door. Unfortunately, at that moment, the plane shook.

It was like something from a romance novel, the way you fell against him and yet, there was nothing elegant or poetic in the way you fell against him.

Your face slammed into his chest and his head hit the wall with a heavy thud. "Sorry, I'm sorry"

"Shibal" he said, his language was something unlike you have ever heard, it was rhythmic and sounded like a song. His voice was so low and rumbly it almost sounded like he was purring.

You weren’t well versed in other languages or cultures, so you didn’t know what he was saying. This was your first time leaving your country. If it wasn’t for the damn holiday raffle at work, you wouldn’t have even left your house. Every other flight you had ever been on was domestic and therefore your suffering was short lived, but this flight was long and you were getting rather bored. It seemed your mind was reeling trying to absorb all that it could and currently that meant the poor man you had body slammed into the wall was under your perusal.

His body was thin unlike yours which was curvaceous. His hair was dark and shaggy making his pale skin almost ghostly. He had sharp cat-like eyes that were quite intimidating as they glared at you and his small downturned lips were yet to speak. He seemed like a man of few words. All this coldness was juxtaposed by his cute round nose. You could tell from his features that he was from Asia, but you couldn't pinpoint where.

Grabbing your shoulders, he started to push you off of him, when the plane shook again and you both fell back into the small bathroom. Your back hit the toilet, and a searing pain bloomed from the impact causing your body to lock up as it radiated through you.

The seat belt light came on. You both scrambled to your feet bumping into the walls, sink and each other from the unstable winds shaking the plane. Struggling back to your seats when the cabin pressure changed. There was a creaking sound and the plane started shaking. You immediately felt a sick sense of dread. The pilot spoke calmly about turbulence and requested everyone return to their seats. But the pair of you couldn't move down the aisle to your seats.

There was a sound like a car backfiring and someone from economy class shouted about the wing being on fire. Your grip on the young man's coat tightened and a terrifying sound like metal groaning filled the cabin. That didn’t sound like regular turbulence, you were sure of that.

Sharing a horrified look with the young man, you got up the courage to try to push off from the wall. Unsuccessful, you were once more pressed against the wall. The plane was plummeting. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the emergency box. What was this emergency and what in that box could fix this situation?

"You need to return to your seats,” the stewardess said. The smell of smoke was strong and it filled the inside of the plane quickly. You hadn’t even seen the stewardess trying to climb through the plane. Her grip strained on the walls and seats as she fought against the force pushing her back. “We are making an emergency landing."

The metal sound was louder. Shrieking like nails on a chalkboard, it pierced through the cabin. You watched as the side of the plane ripped completely off with the ease of someone removing the plastic off a new fridge. There was a feeling of being weightless before a drop on a roller coaster, and then it was like your stomach was left behind. The stewardess was sucked out from the cabin behind you.

You and the young Asian man were sliding backwards down the aisle trying to find something to grab onto. The floor in first class was some sort of linoleum and gave you a nasty burn as you slid. It was like fire against your skin. As the pilot fought with the plane, you practically bounced off every seat.

It felt like you were weightless for a brief moment as you were lifted off the ground, your back hit the roof before you smacked the floor again. All the wind had been knocked out of you.

The pilots were fighting against the drop, so in the moment of calm before the plummet, you grabbed the leg of an economy class seat as it was bolted to the ground. You looked at the young man, watching the panic as he realized he was too far away to hold on and dangerously close to the large opening. He began slipping out of the plane, his hands flailing before clamping around your ankle. The two of you were almost hanging outside the plane.

Everyone in economy class was panicking and wearing oxygen masks. No wonder you couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath, you cursed yourself for liking all those action movies that made this look easy.

“Hold on!” You all but screamed more to yourself than the poor guy holding your leg. He was being completely battered by the wind. You felt his hands slipping and you reached down with one hand to grab his wrist and he grabbed yours. He looked thankful.

“Shibal,” he groaned, his voice straining. Your body was being stretched. The cold metal was unforgiving, and it tore apart the skin on your palm. Your eyes were watering in protest to the wind and smoke that was drying them out.

The drink trolley that the stewardesses had been moving through the aisles had gotten loose and went flying down the plane. It hit an old man in the back of the head. You knew he wouldn’t make it, and speaking of, it was headed straight for you. You watched in fear, like some horrifying game of chicken as the trolley came for you. Thankfully, it bounced on the floor inches from your hand and flew out of the plane.

It was a mix of flinching and the force of the wind that made your hand on the chair slip. You slid further out of the plane, grabbing the exposed shell of the plane with your free hand. Your other hand desperately clutching the young man's hand watching in horror as he smacked into the side of the plane unconscious. “Shit!”

His body was limp and you had to do something. With all the strength you had, you tried to pull his flailing form closer to protect him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the ocean quickly advancing. You were going to hit the water.

The breeze pressing against you was fierce. Your eyes were dry, making you think of your eyedrops in your carry-on luggage. You could see the water coming up quicker now; you tried to gauge what would be a survivable height. Knowing you had a higher chance of surviving freediving as opposed to hanging halfway from the plane, where you would both slam head first into the plane. You decided to take the leap.

Screaming in absolute terror as you watched the fast approaching water, you let go just in time. It was equivalent to a few stories on a building from the ground. Wrapping him in your arms, you pointed yourselves down deciding to break the fall. Lifting your free hand above your head like you were doing a high dive, you hit the water. It was such a shock, the liquid was so cold it caused your muscles to lock up.

Your adrenaline was pumping, and one of your arms felt numb and unresponsive. You swam oddly to the surface, gasping when you felt the air on your skin. He was unconscious, and you held his face out of the water.

The plane wasn't too far away and for now was on the surface of the water. The emergency exit inflatable slide, which doubled as a raft, had been deployed but no survivors seemed to climb out.

You swam in a side stroke to keep your damaged arm and the young man's unconscious form out of the water. You hoped he was going to be okay. The only thought in your head was making it to the raft and you were doing everything in your power to get there, even contemplating leaving him behind. But you weren't going to give up, a part of you wanted to prove you could do it.

Reaching the raft felt euphoric. Taking a deep breath you pushed him into the raft. Doing a quick check of his head and body, you noticed he was breathing oddly. You turned him on his side and tried to clear his airway. A little bit of water trickled out before you performed CPR. Your saving grace came when he coughed and spluttered, placing him in the recovery position and hoping he would be okay on his own for a moment. You looked around for any more survivors. There was luggage floating around, and you picked up all you could from the water.

Walking along the inflatable back into the plane, the water was not as high in first class. This was probably due to the hole in the plane in the economy. The right side being the only one of the inflatables that had inflated beside the plane. Keeping the plane precariously afloat balancing on two inflatables which had malfunctioned and inflated under the plane.

Moving quickly and wading through the icy water, you grabbed the emergency kits on the wall. You had passed by deceased passengers and tried not to look. It was eerie and unbelievable even though it had only just happened.

Bags littered the water and you guided them towards the exit and put them on the raft. You could save these people's possessions for their family, or there could be items inside that could be of use and save your life.

You also noticed the flight attendant area and raided the cupboards as quickly as you could. You grabbed the medical kit, some slippers, a range of very thin blankets that were wet and even some snacks carrying everything back to the floatation rafts. As an afterthought you braved a second trip back into the plane to grab your and the other man’s overhead luggage as you knew he would likely appreciate it.

Finding a bunch of cell phones floating around the cabin. You grabbed them all hoping one would be waterproof. You found a few that were still turned on, but only one seemed to have some sort of signal. The plane creaked as you started making the emergency call.

“Come on” you begged the phone to connect. The whole plane creaked again and tilted; it wouldn’t last long. You had desperately searched for survivors but there was no one obviously alive. You tried your best to check their vitals, but time was running out. Hopefully, you wouldn’t be cursed for pronouncing everyone dead.

"Hello, this is an emergency service hotline?" A voice cut through the silence, you looked at the phone about to cry in relief "fire, ambulance or police"

"Hello, we were in a plane crash, my name is y/n, we were on a flight from Los Angeles to Seoul"

"What is your location?" the woman said, confused by your description.

"The ocean" you hissed "we are on a life raft"

"How many people are with you, what are their names?"

"Just one. I don't know his name. He is asian. Um really thin, um, has dark hair and—”

"You seem to be breaking up" the emergency operator said with the voice cutting out. You looked down at the phone in your hand and sighed. Of course, if everything was going wrong, a phone in the middle of the ocean apparently won’t save you. You thought to yourself, ‘it is 2021 so why isn’t service available everywhere?’ Pocketing the phone you began making your way out the plane.

You headed back to the inflatable and made the decision to cut the plane free. Scared that it would bring the raft down with it. Grabbing more luggage from the water, you thought it best not to watch the plane sink. It would only make you feel worse.

The time went by slowly. It took hours for the plane to disappear. Even though you had promised yourself not to look, you had. Taking glances as the plane slowly sank and you drifted further away.

The moment the plane was no longer in sight, you curled up and let the tears fall. The sun began setting and the heat turned into a bitter cold. Your wrist was still quite swollen, and you decided to wrap it as you drifted along. You had been so sure that there would be something or someone to see you drifting, and you would be saved.

However one cold night became two, and then three, only breaking for the scorching heat of the day.

You thanked yourself for watching all those ‘lost on an island’ movies and television shows; you had learned some things along the way. You also had your father to thank for always dragging you along to the volunteer emergency services programs, ones where you learned how to survive in a forest. At the time you thought it was super lame for your friends to go to nice hotels by the beach for their holidays and you were making some sort of mealworm dish while making stick shelters.

Going over the information you had in your head, you knew water was the priority. The instructor had said humans can go three weeks without food, three days without water, three hours without shelter and three minutes without air.

The sun would dehydrate you quickly. You had made a small shelter with luggage and blankets to protect you from the sun.

If you didn’t find land, you were going to have to make some sort of man-made evaporation device to create water. As it was, you were slowly getting the unconscious young man to drink little amounts of bottled water, for he too needed to stay hydrated.

The man you were with had awoken the third day. He seemed a little freaked out about being alone at sea. You explained calmly, not wanting him to do anything drastic and he sat there processing things.

You gave him a bottle of water and something to eat. The two of you continued drifting, not speaking a word to one another. You spent most of the time trying to craft something to float on the ocean and create clean drinking water.

(This evaporation device floats on the ocean and mimics rain by the water droplets sticking to the plastic cover over the whole device when weighted in the middle it then drips back down into a bottle. I can find a reference picture if you need. [Here] [Here] [This one is like what I made in 7th grade camp])

But you couldn’t get the water to land in the bottle and the bottle to stay upright. He was no help, just laying in the shelter out of the sun. The raft was big enough for about one hundred and thirty people. And yet, the two of you sat close by and didn’t say a word.

You were covered in sweat and felt absolutely disgusting. It was time for you to get changed. What a stupid way to die, not from dehydration, or malnourishment, or even sun exposure, but from lack of hygiene. It was decided.

“I am getting changed, don’t look,” you breathed, opening your carry-on bag.

“I don’t want look,” he muttered back in English and turned away. You quickly put on something that covered your shoulders and tried getting some rest. You didn't want to alarm him, but you both had consumed the last of the water and food rations.

It was late that night when you heard a different sound. The raft was moving a lot more. These were big waves and a part of you hoped it was not a tsunami or whale activity.

When the sound got louder, you were reminded of the beach when waves crashed on the sand. Looking up, you saw something big approaching. It was a body of land. Suddenly, your chances of survival greatly increased, now that you had a way to get out of the water. Nervous about putting your hands in the pitch black water, you looked at your companion peacefully sleeping and made the decision to paddle slowly. Anything to increase your chances of getting to safety. You eventually washed up on the beach, arms aching and stepped out to drag the raft onto the sand.

It was late and still dark, but you had to do something. Thinking that perhaps if you found someone, you would both be saved straight away. You waited on the raft until the sky lightened, and then you got to work collecting sticks and starting a small fire. You took the empty water bottles, hoping to find a clean water source or some fresh water that you could boil.

You walked to the highest point in sight, not seeing any signs of large predatory animals was a good sign. When you reached the top, you felt a sense of satisfaction as you had overcome the many trials and tribulations. You made it through a plane crash, survived on the water, and made it to land.

Looking around, you saw something bone-chilling. This was an island and judging by the lack of people, houses or establishments, it was uninhabited. There was no civilization to be seen. You saw the tufts of smoke from your fire and tried not to cry. You were stuck here until someone could rescue you.

Pushing the minor breakdown aside, you thought about water, it was important. Scanning the island, there seemed to be a small waterfall and tiny lagoon at the bottom. Since the rain, the waterfall was running pretty fiercely. You mapped out a path back to the beach which would detour past the waterfall.

By the time you reached the beach, your arms were exhausted with the weight of the now filled water bottles. He was awake and briskly brushing his reddened cheeks with his sleeves, turning his back to you. Sympathising with the man who probably thought you died, fell overboard or abandoned him.

You pulled out the metal pot from the plane and began boiling the water, in an attempt to kill any bacteria in it. The tide was going out. you knew you should be thinking about food as the next priority, but you wanted to sleep. Being primarily awake for a few days was taking its toll.

It took everything in you to get yourself to move and get to work. Taking large rocks, you carried them into the water until you were knee-deep. You were building a V- shaped wall, so when the tide came in, it brought with it fish and when the tide went out, they would be trapped.

Pouring the now cooled water into the bottles, you started thinking about your plan. First, you thought about short-term needs, in case you were rescued soon, and then long-term needs, in the event you weren’t rescued for months or perhaps years. You paused, forcing yourself to think and accept the fact that there was a chance you would never be rescued.

The Asian man had gotten up and looked around hopefully. Handing him a now clean and sterile bottle of water, you frowned looking around with him. "There is no one here." He didn't say a word, staring at you while drinking slowly.

You huffed, trying to figure out how you two could survive on an island. He watched you fuss around trying to make a shelter out of sticks but it collapsed everytime.

“Just no,” he muttered. You tried not to openly sneer at him. Grabbing the raft, you dragged it across the sand. As the raft was built for a large group, it seemed all you were doing was digging your feet into the sand. But little by little it was dragged up the beach thanks to the tide. It took some convincing but you had gotten help from the young man. The two of you madly struggling to lift the inflatable slide to a tilt against a tree. It was still inflated so you hoped you could use it for something else if needed.

Before the tide came in that evening, you ran out to the water. Your hopes were crushed when you found no fish and saw that the wall had broken. Carrying more large rocks into the water and making the V bigger and stronger, things weren't looking great, but you were trying to do your best. Cold from splashing around in the water, you went back to the shelter, but the fire had gone out by this point.

Looking at the young man, you let out an exasperated sigh. Did he not care for his life or yours? Contemplating while gathering more wood, you realized that you had been doing all the work, while he was just lazing around. “We need more wood, come help,” you gestured for the young man to follow, but he sneered at the thought and leaned away from you.

“I just lay uh here and wait to…” he thought over his words, slowly forming an English sentence “die or be rescue,” he mumbled. You were too exhausted to argue. It could wait until tomorrow, and you would both freeze tonight. Maybe then he would understand the importance of working together towards a goal.

You felt absolutely disgusting. hearing the loud patter of rain, you walked down the length of the shelter. On one side was the raft, and on the other was the luggage, built into a wall. You took out some clean clothes and stepped into the rain. Peeling off your seawater and sweat drenched clothes, you stood in the dark and tried washing your body with a tiny travel soap you had found in a bag.

You scrubbed your body of sweat and turned back to the shelter. Grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around your body, you stepped inside. He was laying on the makeshift bed you had prepared. He looked over, and when he saw you just in a towel, he rolled away. It was embarrassing, you who loved privacy and comfort were showering all exposed in the rain and getting changed in the same vicinity as a stranger. That night, he took the only dry blanket, so you laid there with wet hair and damp skin, shivering.

You were thankful for the sun rising, and it took a few minutes for you to thaw enough to move, but when you did, you deemed it time for him to do some work. The two of you gathered sticks and leaves. He barely helped, and when he got back, he laid back down and fell asleep in the shelter.

Building a fire, with the wood, took some time as it had rained the night before. The leaves helped fuel the flames. The fire didn't have to be amazing, you just needed it for warmth. You also hoped some rescue teams might even see the faint smoke.

At the sound of your stomach calling for sustenance you got up and went to check the rock wall you made and found a fish swimming in the shallow water. You grinned, carrying it back making sure to stoke the fire. You were doing your absolute best with the emergency kit knife.

You must have looked pitiful, as your companion took over, filleting the fish with ease, and he even cooked it. The two of you had fish for breakfast and you felt satiated. You took some of the supplies and got ready to set out for food and fresh water. He was dressed and trying to follow you, so you let him carry some of the empty bottles.

Except he wasn't cut out for endurance, he got winded quickly. It reminded you of the time you passed out during a school marathon. Yet you made the best of the situation that you could, walking slowly until you came across some sort of fruit that the birds were eating.

You took a couple of pieces of rotten fruit and then carefully dug up the small plant and began carrying it back. He followed you back. You placed the plant down. Using your hands you tried to shift the dirt until you had a decent hole where you could plant the little fruit tree. Watering it with some of the water you had collected from the lagoon, internally wishing the plant would flourish. It was hard pouring the fresh water on the plant but you had to if you wanted food.

You mapped out an area and put sticks in the ground in a box-shape, in hopes of starting a garden of any edible plants found throughout the island.

You took the old fruit you collected off the ground, put it around the bottom of the tree, and gave a small hopeful sigh. “Hopefully it will break down in the soil and feed the plant. Our fate is in your hands little plant”

You spent another night sleeping in the makeshift shelter and had to decide on what to do, so you sat up and turned to the young man.

"Hey, are you awake?" He sat up, his eyes narrow, "what do we build? Shelter? or a garden for food?"

He blinked before choosing "Shelter?” you giggled at his confusion, not trying to be rude. He knew more English than you knew Korean and that was definitely a feat.

“A home”

“Home, food later" he shrugged

It rained heavier, bringing with it a sense of sadness. There was no one waiting for you, no one looking for you. The tears began falling and you tried to stifle the sounds. He was still and you hoped he didn’t hear the breakdown. You hoped he was sound asleep as this seemed to be his skill. You were sadly mistaken; he wasn’t asleep. He moved and draped a blanket over you. He only drifted off when you exhausted yourself from crying.

Waking up with your back pressed to his back, the two of you had shared a few airplane blankets. Your body was aching, from sleeping on the ground. It was time to build the shelter both of you had been discussing. You needed someplace safe from the elements and a place with some sort of makeshift bed. Sand felt so soft, but was uncomfortable to sleep on.

Standing in the morning breeze, you began thinking: “How does one even build a house?” If people can make houses with only the land, then so could you. You had no excuse.if it didn’t work, you could try again until you figured it out. You knew there should be some sort of foundation. You could build between two trees, or with a big pillar in the middle, or four walls like a traditional home. Whatever you were going to do, you needed the materials, namely wood, but it’s not like you could just rip a tree out of the ground with your bare hands. You needed tools. Unfortunately, this island didn’t have a hardware store. This wasn’t like minecraft; you couldn’t just create perfect tools from nothing. Or, could you?

You got to work trying to make some sort of mock Stone Age axe. It gave you blisters, but you had successfully chopped a single tree down. Getting the hang of chopping the trees with your primitive tool, you had four trees ready on the seventh day. You dug holes in the sand, but it wasn’t holding the trunks at all. They kept toppling over. He told you it wouldn’t work, and you only huffed in response.

You would have to dig, until you found harder ground. This took another week, but you had four tree trunks in the ground in a modest square. You had started feeling dizzy while working, and your head felt clouded. It had been raining ever since you arrived, every night and lightly throughout the day, you didn’t think you had felt warm in a few days.

While making a wall frame out of trees, you started to feel dizzy again. You tied together the thin logs with multiple vines, and you hoped they would stay. The more you worked, the more your hands got torn up.

You were tying the last of the frame, when you felt your body grow heavy. You were so tired. You thought you would die by the hands of the lazy man. With that, all other thoughts left you as the darkness crept in.

The shelter was warm. There was a fire, and the blankets were wrapped around you, keeping you warm. Beside you was a bottle of water and a packet of painkillers. “Fever,” he sighed, “all work makes you uh… quick death?”

“Well, at least I am doing something. I have kept you alive, in the plane, in the water and now. I have done everything and what have you done other than act arrogant and lazy?” You said, “You haven’t even told me your name. We are stranded on an island. Maybe we will be rescued tomorrow, and it will be all in vain but what if it’s not tomorrow? What if it's months or a year from now?”

“What if never safe?” He argued, not looking at you.

“The point is, I don’t want to die in my twenties. I don’t want to die in general. I had dreams, to get married, have a family and be a loving wife. I was working a stupid office job, and I loved it. I won’t give up that dream. I will live with the hope that one day we will be rescued, and I will keep us alive goddamn it.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” He gave a dry laugh, “I have no care. I was not… supposed be on the plane.”

“I need you alive. I can’t do this on my own. If-” You took a deep breath, “If you die, I might do something stupid. I can’t live an undetermined number of days on my own”

He went quiet.

“Think about someone else for a change, it’s not all about you, Mister Asshole.”

“Yoongi,” he mumbled

“What?” You asked, too tired to be mad.

“My name is Yoongi.” He left the shelter, and you were left sobbing in the dark.

You woke up to Yoongi cooking fish on the fire; you were not expecting it. He hadn’t really done anything to help you. He mostly sat around, but the two of you ate together before you got to work. It was after a few hours you noticed Yoongi was gone again. It disheartened you that he was off doing whatever again, while you were working. You were completely exasperated by the young man, he maddened you, always on your mind. He was hot and mysterious and you hate that you couldn’t stop thinking about him because he acted nice once.

You began opening the suitcases hoping you wouldn’t offend anyone by going through personal belongings of the deceased. Clothes in all different sizes mens and womens, all different styles and one suitcase broke you, filled with tiny onesies and cloth diapers, dummies and ointments and medicines for a tiny baby. A pretty purple rattle with a cute butterfly on the handle.

You slammed the suitcase shut and pushed it across the sand to look at another day but for now you needed to step aside, the wound was too fresh. These were real people who died and yet why did you two survive, the most unlikely pairing with the worst odds and yet you survived when countless innocent lives were lost. It wasn’t fair.

A few days had passed, and you were trying to create something sturdy enough to withstand wind and rain with a roof and walls. You had plenty of resources, but you had to pick the right ones that would last.

You thought about it and decided to use the raft to line the inside of the house in the tarp-like material. It was super long, so you could do the roof and the four walls and still have the whole underside left over. You would weave leaves and sticks together to make them sturdier and layer them on the outside.

Putting your plan to action seemed easy yet tedious. You collected long palm leaves, removed the spines, and weaved the leaves tightly together, and laid them on the floor. The more you weaved, the faster you got. Painstakingly working every day, you rejoiced when all four walls, roof, and floor were finished and stable.

While you were doing all this, Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. He returned at night, as he always did. He looked unbothered by all the work you had accomplished that day. You finished up, and the two of you ate and went to bed, which was just a collection of woven leaf mats covered in some of the leftover tarp from the raft.

You had moved the items from the shelter into the new house area. The two of you sat on the remaining raft fabric. “I made a bed out of leaf mats and covered it in the leftover material.”

Yoongi seemed impressed looking around, “잘 했어.”

“Jal haess-eo?” you repeated the sounds “What does that mean?”

“Uh… good work” He took your hands and pulled out a small succulent leave from his pocket snapping it and squeezing out the liquid inside. Applying it to the cuts and scratches on your hands gently. You noticed his hands were rough too, for he had cuts and blisters littering the his palms as well.

“Where did you find aloe vera?” you asked curiously. What had he been doing?

“Near the…” he made an action with his hand “폭포”

“The what?” You laughed, and he cracked a slight smile.

“Water shaaaa!” he made the sound and gesture of water falling. You laughed hysterically. He was so cute, when you got to know him.

“Waterfall?” you prompted, checking that was what he had meant.

“Ah waterfall!” he nodded, “Near the waterfall”

“What did you call it?” you said. You were genuinely interested. He had been trying his best to communicate with you in your language, so maybe you could learn some of his to ease the burden “Pog-o”

“폭포” he corrected.

“Pogpo” You smiled at him. he seemed a little happy that you were giving his language a try. “How do you say good night?”

“안녕히 주무세요” he said and you blinked shocked, so he grinned,speaking slower in syllables “Ann-yeong-hi ju-mu-se-yo.”

“Annyeonghi,” you repeated. He seemed eager to teach you more, so you stayed up as long as you could, learning Korean phrases until you both fell asleep.

[Part 2/2] coming soon...

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jjfics · 3 years

Text

Room 19 ll 01

ship: Harry Potter x female!Reader

summary: Harry and the reader both work at the Ministry and are sent together on a mission. their feelings for each other start shifting as they arrive at the hotel.

author: Jane Jack aka your girl JJfics

word count: 2050

a/n: i usually like writing established relationships so this is something new to me but it is a trope i have always enjoyed so i hope you will too. i was on a phone call with my best friend while writing this and they said, and i quote, i dropped my french fry, on the couch

Dragging a suitcase full of clothes can be very exhausting when you are not allowed to do magic. While you could theoretically obliviate all the muggles that happen to see you two, it would be a waste of time. You and the oh-so-famous Harry James Potter were placed together for this mission by the Ministry of Magic, and so far it has been going great. If not talking to each other unless you had to is considered great.

You had expected him to be cockier and pretend to know everything. It’s what the Daily Prophet says anyway. But he has been very silent around you and even though you would never admit this to anyone, especially to him, you have been wondering if he is like this with everybody or if this is about you.

You were supposed to pretend to be a muggle couple who goes on vacation while investigating the activities of some suspicious wizards. Those wizards and witches you were assigned to keep an eye on live somewhere in the countryside of Scotland. No train and no bus could take you this far.

You were currently on a deserted road with Potter on your right checking a map as you did your best to not kick the suitcase that contained both of your clothes out of annoyance. You hated having agreed to take turns with it but at this point, you wanted to give up.

It has been an hour since you last turned left on this road. There was a village somewhere ahead but it seems so far away you might as well just sleep right here. Stargazing with Harry Potter did not sound like a bad story to tell your friends later, but you had to remind yourself how awkward that would turn soon as he refuses to talk to you at all.

“We should be there in about half an hour,” he said suddenly. Oh, so now he talked, good to know.

“Okay,” you sighed.

“What?” he looked up from the map in his hands to face you.

“I don’t even know… Can’t we take a break? We’ll get there eventually.”

“No, y/n. There is a perfect timing at which we have to be at the hotel. We have to arrive at the same time as the group. Is something you would have known if you actually read the instructions we were given before this trip,” he furrowed his brows and said with exasperation latched in his voice.

“You think you’re the only one who cares about this mission? Not everything is about you, Potter,” you said with a cold voice. Maybe he hasn’t been talking to you not because he doesn’t like you personally, which you would totally not even care about, never, but because he was too obsessed with himself to acknowledge anyone else.

“I never said everything is about me!” Harry shouted back at you. “I don’t even want it to be. But I do want this mission to go well, specifically.”

“Why?” you let the suitcase fall on the ground completely moved closer to him.

Potter looked over your head at the road, avoiding eye contact. “It doesn’t matter,” he said and he hated it because his voice sounded a bit unsure. “It doesn’t matter” he repeated.

You rolled your eyes and took a step even closer. “Then why do you care? I bet you didn’t even want to be placed with me, did you?” you shouted back with pain. “You think I’ll screw this up for you, don’t you, Potter?”

“No, y/n, God, just shut up!” he grabbed your arm and pulled you off the road. You were both so concentrated on getting the stress of the trip out on the other that you didn’t even hear a car coming down the street. Its speed slowed down as it approached you and the driver rolled down the window.

The man inside looked you up and down and then stuck out his hand. “Ben Nelson.” he introduced himself.

Potter shook his hand and gave him a small and awkward smile. “Harry Campbell,” he said. He nodded his head in your direction and added shortly “And y/n Campbell.”

The driver laughed stiffly and raised his eyebrows. “And what might you kids be doing here alone?”

“We were just trying to get to the village, not too far away from here,” Potter told him.

“Ah, that’s where I’m heading… yeah… well, come on, do you want me to help you put that trunk of yours in the back?” the man chuckled.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Yeah, I’m taking you there, come on.” he took his seatbelt off, but Harry held his hand up.

“Thank you, sir. We can put the suitcase ourselves.”

“Okay, but hurry up you. I don’t have all the time in the world like you young ones.”

Potter smirked at you, and you tried to hide the way you blushed by bringing your hands up to your hair to tie it back before dragging the suitcase once more and closing the trunk loudly. You and Potter got in the backseat together, just to make it clear that you were a couple, you thought; he probably wouldn’t sit next to you otherwise.

“You two have been together for long?” Nelson asks.

You are still very mad at your partner, but you have to put on an act. You are not y/n y/ln anymore. Now you are y/n Campbell. “One year,” you falsely giggle. “But it has been the best year of my life” you put your arm on Potter’s thigh, and you could swear he stopped breathing for a second.

“My wife and I have been together for 30 years. Met her when I was young like you… Good times, good times.”

You got to the hotel way faster than you had assumed at first, making your argument from earlier look stupid now. You didn’t apologize though, and neither did he. As you entered the hotel you left Potter in the hall with the suitcase and handed him your ugly muggle coat (you missed your soft travel robes a lot) and headed to a toilet.

After fixing yourself in the mirror, trying to delay having to talk to him again, you finally exited the restroom and looked for him in the cold entrance hallway. There he was in a corner, with your coat over his shoulder and his arms crossed, making you wonder how even women’s clothing looked this good on him. He had a frustrated expression on his face as if something was bothering him a great deal.

“Where are my clothes?” you asked.

“Our clothes are in room 19. A kind person offered to take them there for us while I waited for you. Let’s go.” It didn’t make sense. What was his problem now? You arrived early; everything went as planned.

He walked in front of you through the large lobby of the hotel to the stairs like he knew the way already. The woman must have shown him where the room is. He didn’t stop until you reached the second floor. There were many tall brown doors down the hall but you kept passing them. The numbers on the wall next to them kept increasing until, at last, there was 19.

Potter reached in the pocket of his pants for a small golden key to open the door. Inside it smelled like old wood and fresh air. It was truly a beautiful room that reminded you a bit of your own at home. Everything had a nostalgic feeling to it that made you feel welcome. But there was one small thing you didn’t realize at first. One small problem.

There was only one bed.

A big bed with white sheets stood in the corner with your suitcase underneath. Your tired feet begged you to jump on it and immediately fall asleep, but your brain would not let you. Because Potter must have wanted to do the same, but none of you moved.

“I will sleep on the floor,” you said quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. You have to rest.”

“Listen, Potter, I know you want to be a gentleman for once, but I’m not that tired.” Lie. “You can take the bed."

“But you carried the suitcase; you deserve this more” he scratched the back of his head. Did he believe you to be weak?

“I will sleep on the floor” you hissed and walked over to the bed to take one of the pillows.

The watch on your hand told you it was 1 am when you woke up on the hard wooden floor. Your back and feet hurt like crazy and you regretted being the brave one more and more. All you wanted now was to lay on the soft bed next to Potter. His breathing was even as his chest rose and fell back slowly. His hair was messy, his lips parted as he slept. He looked peaceful like this, almost like someone you could suffer being around.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights as you crossed the room to the bathroom. The moonlight which came through the window was enough to guide you.

You tried falling back asleep after, but woke up disappointed at 3 am again. You searched your entire memory for any Sleeping Spell but you couldn’t remember any. Perhaps Potter would not even know what had happened to you next morning when he couldn’t wake you up and worry.

You did not want him to be worried, ever, so you stopped trying. You sighed and looked over to the comfortable bed once again. He was still in the same position. Nothing was bothering his perfect sleep.

He would not mind, after all, would he? If you just got 3 hours of actual sleep and then moved back on the floor in the morning? He would not notice your presence. He did want you to take the bed, so why not do it?

You hugged your pillow close to your chest and watched him in case he woke up as you made your way next to him. Doing your best not to touch him you stood as far as possible on the bed. He rolled over and you could not tell if he was awake for his face was turned to the wall. Anxiety was flowing through your veins but only for a moment. Who cares if he woke up? He would say something if it really bothered him.

You fell asleep quite instantly. Even though it was more like a short nap it was the best sleep you had ever had in your life. So warm and comfortable. It was a refreshing dreamless night. You yawned softly before opening your eyes and you wanted to stretch your arms, but you found that you couldn’t. Something was restraining you.

And then you realized that it was a bit too sunny inside the room for it to only be 6 am as you had planned.

You opened your eyes slowly only to be met with Potter’s face very close to yours. His eyes were still closed and he looked very content with the position you two were in: cuddling with his hands around your waist and your head previously on his shoulder. You found yourself not wanting to move or disrupt him. You wanted to stay there forever. He was more than just sufferable like this.

But you did not want him to know about this, that is, if he still didn’t. So you attempted to get off the bed. It was almost painful, leaving him and the bed, but you had to get ready for the first part of the mission today. He smiled in his sleep as you sighed, wondering what he could have been dreaming about that made him happy.

He woke up 15 minutes later when you were already dressed. You made sure to return your pillow to the cold floor and hoped he didn’t realize what happened during the night. With the wands hidden in both of your coats you made your way to a cafe in the village for breakfast, where, according to the instructions from the Ministry, you should observe the group of wizards from afar.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fandom #hp imagine #hp fic #harry james potter #harry potter fandom #harry james potter x reader #harry potter golden era #harry x reader #harry fanfic #harry imagine

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mandareeboo · 3 years

Text

Unfinished Work #43: “Run Girl Run” (Completed)

Title: Run Girl Run

Summary: Anne has a mental breakdown

I stayed up until two in the morning to start this bad boy, months ago! I wrote it directly after True Colors aired. I’m thinking of breaking down my patreon and rebooting it as something else, and this was one of the ones I originally posted there. It just didn’t feel big enough for it’s own posting.

———————————————————————————————————

The hard part is, shockingly enough, not picking her way across a highway and towards the nearest map, then home. It's not even reuniting with her mother, though the bitter tears soak her sweater and drip down her breast plate. It's not even explaining where she's been- a feat, were it not for the trio of frogs and currently damaged robot frog with her.

It's being gently led to her room, lined with dust and very much Not Who Anne Is Anymore, getting handed some towels, and being told, "Wash up, คนดี. You smell like a sewer." Hop Pop smiles and nods like he understands the problem with that, hovering behind her mother, and then it's just her, Polly, and Frobo's head.

Alone.

Anne fiddles with the collar of her chestplate, perched precariously on her bed. It's too soft, after months of basement mattresses and traveling caravans. The idea of sleeping on it feels almost alien. It didn't help that her armor, of Newtopian make and model, isn't exactly designed to come off by hand. It's more of a two-newts-one-screwdriver maneuver. She liked that. Liked it couldn't be ripped from her.

Not like Marcy.

Or Sasha.

Or Frobo.

Or Sprig.

She watches out of the corner of her eye as Sprig shuffles closer, reaching out to touch the edge of her skirt. That's too much touch for now, she decides, standing abruptly. "You guys wanna see a shower?"

Sprig's hand pauses. He tilts his head. "Those... weird waterfalls?" he asks tentatively. "I thought you were making those up."

"Dude, you saw one in Suspicion Island."

"You said that I shouldn't trust the moving pictures."

"Oh. Right." Anne flings the towel across her shoulder and confidently leads them into the bathroom. Once, she'd considered the place pretty banal. Sink, shower, toilet, small window to air out steam. It looks like heaven compared to hurried dunks in streams. She pulls back the curtain, gesturing to the metal sprocket. "Here it is. You twist the knobs on the bottom to make water come out. It can be as hot or as cold as you want."

"Oooh, weird water magic." Polly scrunched up, wiggling her rear. "I'm gonna jump in! Like a grown up frog!"

Anne felt something hot and shameful lick her insides as she noticed the pollywog's little legs tremble. She didn't think getting your legs was something the average frog related to almost dying. "Here, Polly." She took the girl and held her up close to the nozzle. "I'm gonna need someone to make sure my water magic is just right."

It's not a hot shower. Anne would be pressed to call it lukewarm. She pulls down dusty bottles and shows them off one at a time. "This is shampoo. It cleans hair. Conditioner can help make your hair softer and shiny. And this bad boy is body wash- you just scrub everywhere else with it."

Polly wrangles the shampoo open and sniffs, recoiling instantly. "It's like your bath bomb thingy."

"It's oatmeal and vanilla. It's to make my hair smell nice."

"Why would you want your hair to smell nice?" she replies. "That'll just make you more enticing to predators."

"We... don't really get a lot of those here." Anne flicks it shut and sets it on the lip of the tub. "You should get first wash. To celebrate your legs."

Polly perks up a little bit, proud, before her mood dips. She tugs her bow nervously. "Can we give Frobo a shower?"

Anne felt her fingers start to clench and forced them to stop. She didn't want to risk hurting the poor pollywog. "I don't think the stuff I use will be good for him."

"Oh."

"But I can go down the street and get some good robot shampoo and body wash after! How's that sound?"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Sprig is waiting for her in her main bedroom, legs swinging restlessly off her bed. He looks around with a surprising amount of keenness, considering how rough a day they've all had. "Wow," he says. "You live here, huh?"

Anne plopped down beside him with a tired sigh. "Yeah."

"I mean, I knew you lived here. But it's different to see your home and know you live here, you know? You've got a bunch of junk, just like me! And toys!" Sprig twiddled his thumbs. "I got so used to you living in our basement, I forgot you must have important stuff too."

"Can't exactly stuff nostalgia in a backpack for school, buddy." Anne reached around, so used to the weight on her back, before pausing. "Oh. Right. I left it behind."

He winced and nodded. He rustled around his jacket and pulled out a screwdriver, also Newtopian in design. "You want me to get that?"

Anne twisted so her back was to him in lieu of a reply. The familiar squeaking of screws coming loose made her shoulders relax a little. Like prying a particularly revolting ooze from her foot after a long day in the fields.

"That was nice of you," Sprig says finally, scooping up and pocketing a screw, "Letting Polly have the first shower."

Anne shrugged. "She's earned it."

The lengthy pause only seems to confirm it, before Sprig slowly wraps his arms around her midsection. "You did too," he says, soft. "I- I think you did, anyway."

Anne thinks of Marcy, of Sasha, of Frobo, and even of Sprig, and shakes her head. "No, I haven't."

And she cries.

Because nothing will ever be okay again.

#Unfinished Work #Writing #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Amphibia #Amphibia Fanfic #Amphibia Fanfiction #Anne Boonchuy #Sprig Plantar #Polly Plantar

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years

Text

How We Met

here it is, my last fic for rowaelin month! thank you so much to everyone that’s read, liked and commented on my fics, it’s been so much fun reading and writing these last four weeks! i’m glad to know that i’m not the only one that is in dire need of more rowaelin content (srsly, i would pay sjm a truck load of money for a strictly rowaelin book bc i miss them sm)

here’s part 4 for the little series i had going on. i was so tempted to make this an angst piece but held back lol.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

cw: none

1.8k words

enjoy and thank you again!!! :) 💕💕💕💕

Gathering the ingredients for the cake that she and Ophelia were going to make for Rowan, Aelin plopped them down on the kitchen counter and tied her and her six year old daughters hair back. Even in the kitchen light, Ophelia's hair was a vivid shade of silver and when she turned to look at her mother, the golden ring in her eyes were just as bright.

“Up, mama!” Ophelia asked, pointing to the step ladder that Olive made for her little sister in her woodshop class at school. Getting it off from atop the fridge, Aelin and Ophelia started their baking session for today. It wasn't often that Aelin baked cakes from scratch but it wasn't every day that her firstborn turned sixteen—not that Aelin could really comprehend that her Olive was sixteen—but Aelin wanted to do this for her, wanted to make something special.

She hoped that it wasn't going to taste as bad as the last cake she baked. Rowan had been sick afterwards and didn't go to work the next day.

That was five years ago, so surely with gaining wisdom as people said when others got older, her baking skills grew too.

“Where did everyone go?” Ophelia asked, her little tongue poking out as she helped Aelin sift the flour.

“To get dinner for tonight. We're having Ollie's favourite.” Which was cuisine from the Southern Continent, there was a restaurant that specialised in the spicy food, and Aelin couldn't wait—she and Rowan often tried to recreate their favourite recipes, but it was never right, so Olive wanted to have the genuine stuff for her birthday and not her parents shoddy attempts.

Not that Aelin could blame her.

They continued making the chocolate cake, Ophelia babbling on about her day at school, when her little one asked, “How did you and papa meet?”

Aelin blinked at the sudden question, but answered it nevertheless. “At the grocery store.”

Ophelia furrowed her brows, and with the way her nose scrunched up, she looked so much like Rowan that it made her heart sing. When Aelin first realised that she was pregnant, she was nervous, they had only been married for seven months and while they spoke about having a child of their own, she didn't think it would happen so quickly—but Rowan's enthusiasm melted away her fears. She would never forget his tears of joy when she showed him the pregnancy test, his beaming smile when they heard her heartbeat for the first time. Aelin would walk through hell, as long as Rowan was by her side, or waiting for her at the end.

It wasn't always perfect, however, they had their ups and downs like every long-term couple, they had moments where it felt like they were walking on tightrope, either because of their own personal issues or marriage issues, or when Egan was fourteen and completely lashed out at Aelin, accusing her of replacing his mother—but she worked with her son, telling him that she had never intended to do that, that Lyria would always be the woman that brought him into the world, and that Aelin was raising him. Her heart broke in two at his pain, but she understood, he grew up with photos and stories of Lyria.

Or when they had the awkward conversation when Olive was eleven and asked why she didn't look like Rowan, and Aelin had explained her story, about Sam being her biological father, but he had given them space for Rowan to raise her instead. That had lead to brooding silences and confusion, but otherwise, Olive still saw Rowan as her dad, but she did ask from time to time about Sam, what he was like and what he was doing (the last update Aelin received from him via email that his wife was pregnant with their second child. Aelin was so happy for him that he was able to have a family, a feat that was made easier since Arobynn had been dead for years by this point) and that she would like to meet him properly one day; Aelin had kept that to herself, not wanting to tell Sam in case Olive changed her mind—Aelin hoped that she wouldn't.

Overall, their life together was what she needed, she went to bed each night loved and fulfilled. It was better than what she might have had with Chaol all those years ago, she was fairly certain that if she had married him, it wouldn't have been a long marriage.

“How did you meet at the food store?” Ophelia asked, her brow still furrowed as she and Aelin stirred the cake batter. It surprisingly smelled good.

“I needed something from a high shelf,” Aelin said, “and I couldn't reach it. Your papa was only a few feet away from me, so I asked him to get it for me.” She might have also subtly ogled him as his shirt exposed his tanned skin, and Aelin had damned near swooned at the sight of his six pack.

“Did you get married at the food store?”

Aelin laughed at the question. “No, we got married at the beach. And then you arrived not long afterwards.” Sometimes they wanted another, but things financially were going so well that they didn't want to jeopardise that by adding another mouth to feed.

“Can you have another wedding?” Ophelia asked, looking at her mum with wide eyes. “So I can go? Please?”

“I'll talk to your daddy about it, but I like the sound of that.” Kissing her daughters forehead, they continued. Just as they were putting the cake in the oven and the icing mix in the fridge, the front door opened and three booming voices infiltrated the house and the mouth watering goodness of food.

Aelin's eyes widened at the amount of food that Rowan piled on the table. It looked like they were feeding a small army and not a family of five.

Ophelia helped her older brother set the table, Egan ruffing her hair as he recounted their little adventure to the restaurant.

As they sat down, Aelin mentioned Ophelia's request. Rowan pretended to mull it over as their daughter pleaded, giving her best puppy dog eyes. It didn't take for Rowan to relent—he really had trouble saying no to her—saying that a second wedding was a great idea.

Ophelia squealed in delight and squealed even more when food was placed in front of her (she was very much like Aelin in that regard).

“How did the conversation of another wedding start?” Rowan asked as they all started eating.

“Phia here wanted to know how we meet.”

Olive snorted. “Yes, the ever romantic story of meeting in the toilet paper aisle.”

“It was not the toilet paper isle!” Aelin protested. “It was the cereal aisle.”

“At least you kids have inherited my manners,” Rowan said, “your mother didn't even ask nicely. She just came over to me and said, 'You're tall, could you get that box for me?'” It had taken him a moment to realise he had been spoken to, too focused on deciding what box of porridge to get when Aelin showed up, wearing a faded band shirt and shorts, pointing to the box of cereal that had far too much sugar to be healthy. He had said 'yes' because it was the nice thing to do, and had stayed behind, talking to her for so long in the aisle that his vanilla ice cream had started to melt.

It was the best decision in his life back then, he never thought he would have gained a friend in the grocery store—and that the friend would become his wife.

“I have manners. I said, 'Excuse you' first before I told you what I needed.”

“That's not really using manners there, ma,” Egan said, smiling as poked her tongue out. He looked so much like Lyria that it was almost scary—he still loved flowers and plants too, and was currently studying to become a florist and then one day horticulture. The backyard was full of flowers and plants thanks to him, making into a little wonderland instead of the barren plain it used to be.

“I did say 'thank you' afterwards.”

“You said 'thanks',” Rowan interjected, laughing as Aelin threw a chunk of her flatbread at his head. Ophelia's cute laughter rent through the air.

“It's the same thing!”

“If you say so, love,” Rowan muttered, his lips twitching. Aelin rolled her eyes in the dramatic way Rowan was used to, but he saw the mirth behind the movement.

“Like I said Phie, it's very romantic,” Olive said drily, sounding very much like Rowan. She had even inherited his scowl, which she was wearing now as she sniffed at the air. “Is something burning?”

Aelin had never run so fast as she did right then, the kitchen filling with smoke as she took in the blackened cake. Swearing viciously under her breath, Aelin chucked the cake into the bin, apologising to Olive as she did so.

“It's okay, mum, dad got me an ice-cream cake earlier today anyway.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at her husband, who simply gave her an innocent smile in answer.

Rejoining her family, they talked well into the night, helping Aelin to forget her failed baking attempt. Ophelia asked more questions about their time in the grocery store and how that moment lead to friendship, to pining for the other without realising it, to a life together.

And to think, Aelin almost didn't go to the grocery store that day.

Rowan thanked the gods that he had remembered at the last moment that he had no porridge left, otherwise, he might not have met Aelin at all. Might not have had this life, this family. Part of him would always be sad that things had gone so wrong with Lyria, and he would always miss and love her. But he learned in therapy that it was good to have a life, and Rowan was glad that he heeded that advice.

He thanked the gods all the time.

And thank the rutting gods he did right now for the umpteenth time that Aelin deemed him tall enough to get her food for her, to stay in that aisle with him as they got to know each other.

Rowan was a very happy man indeed as he and Aelin went to bed that night, the smiles still on their faces at Olive's unrestrained joy at the sight of the car they spent weeks looking at second-hand dealerships at, hunting for the perfect car for their daughter.

Thank the rutting gods for all those moments in the past, present, and future.

Rowan couldn't wait to marry her again, and neither could Aelin.

Life was good.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work #thank u!!

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aravas-writing · 3 years

Note

jaune saves summer before heading to beacon. the only issue is that he doesn't know he saved summer. see salem sent summer into a pocket dimension with magic no time has passed for summer but it's been ten years for her. jaune heroically fought his way past several grimm! (the were killed by a falling tree because salem made them stand in one place to guard the rift and a storm blew in) over treacherous terrain! (there's actually a deer trail up the mountain now, it's small but it's there) and undid the magical riddle that salem put up to protect her spell "there are 88 keys" (piano, jaune answers before the riddle can finish, any riddle with 88 keys inevitably has piano as the answer.) and before summer could thank him he was gone mysteriously (he tripped backwards down the ridge after summer was freed) but now she sees that same boy at beacon. she has to contact him she has to thank him! but how? also i'll grant bonus points for the ozluminaughty reacting to this new player in the great game! (hopefully this just stays as a fun one shot lol i just thought the idea of summer trying to subtly get a teenage boy's attention and all the chaos that comes from her being as subtle as ruby would be funny)

There he was! Summer's saviour! The Boy who Dared, who had managed to free Summer Rose from her eternal magical prison!

She had looked everywhere for him, once she came home to Tai, that is. The man had aged, which was how she found out about being gone for a decade. Of course there was a bit of a delay from thanking the nice boy, what with making up for lost time...and the recuperation of not being able to use her legs the next day.

But after that, she sent missive to Ozpin, who actually fell out of his chair upon hearing from her! Then she got to tell him that there was this blonde boy who freed her, and if the headmaster could look for him. So he found him!

Indeed, there was Jaune Arc, right at Beacon, where her daughters also were! Two good reasons to go there, but Tai felt like second honeymoon again...

After those incredible three days - she got her man to keep her return a secret from the girls, so she could surprise them - off to Beacon she went! To find this Jaune boy!

Who Tai joked about inviting him to a threesome...

No! Bad thoughts! No thinking horny thoughts now!

In any case, Beacon! Sure, Summer would like to meet her daughters, but she also wanted to thank her savior. Decisions, decisions...

Alas, there he was, and with company! Summer could stride forth, self-assured and thank him!

If only she knew how to be a social human! Poor Summer was no social butterfly, which was why she suddenly found herself hiding behind a tree, nervously staring at Jaune.

Oh crap, the way she was hiding was sending the wrong message! Already other students spotted her, connected imaginary dots and thought up their own conclusions.

Quick, Summer, do a thing!

"A weird bird!" She yelled as she pointed up to the sky, then ran away.

------

How was this so hard?? All Summer had to do was to up to him and thank him for her rescue. Though so far, all she got was a faceful of ice cream (she tripped into a cone), untoward rumours, a chastising from Glynda for punting a ginger jerk away (he knew what he did) and a left foot smelling like toilet (don't ask, please).

She dejectedly walked around Beacon, until a voice jolted her out if her funk.

"Hey, Rubes, she kind of looks like you."

Looking up, Summer saw her little Petal growing up into a beautiful flower, staring at her in shock and disbelief.

"Hey, sweetie," she tried. "I'm ba-"

"MOMMY!" Ruby crashed into Summer with the force if a missile, blubbering between sobs about finally seeing her again and not heeding the fact that Summer was currently on the floor.

"Wait, mommy?" Jaune exclaimed. "You're Ruby's mom?"

"Yes, hello," she tried as Ruby wailed into her chest. Thanking the guy could come later.

Her daughter needed her.

Wait.

"Hey Yang? You might want to see this."

"What is it, Vo-" Yang stopped short. The little blonde spitfire had grown into a blonde Raven, but with far more warmth in her features. "Mom?"

"He-" Yang was even faster than Ruby. "Oof!"

Welp, thanking her saviour would have to wait.

---------

Not that long, fortunately.

"You saved my mom??" Ruby exclaimed from her position at Summer's side. She hasn't stopped hugging her mom all this time. Jaune looked a bit awkward, as Yang's own expression was unreadable.

"Kinda? The puzzles weren't really hard, so..."

"Hey, mom?" Yang spoke up.

"Hm? Yes, Sunflower?"

"Want some grandkids?"

"Huh?"

As Yang charged forward and Jaune screamed in fear of a very...aggressive? Yang, Summer could only close Ruby's eyes and tell at her daughter in all but blood to cut that out, as he was to be invite- NO!

Dangit, this became a real pear-shape...

#rwby #summer rose #ruby rose #yang xiao long #jaune arc

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motherjoel · 4 years

Text

you like me (spencer reid x reader)

summary: you unfortunately run out of tampons and theres only one person who can bring you some

a/n: i get terrible cramps on my period so this is honestly based off of personal experience

wc: 2.5k

tw: vomiting

“Are you sure you can’t make it Y/N? Girls night won't be the same without you,” Penelope begged through the phone. You could almost hear her pout.

“I’m sorry Pen, I really can’t. My uterus is seriously trying to kill me right now and I am in no position to put on a tight dress and do shots,” you laughed into the phone. Penelope sighed.

“Okay, I guess that's a reasonable excuse. I hope you feel better soon, my love. I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you’re okay,” she said. You loved how sweet Penelope was, and although she was upset you couldn’t make it, she most definitely understood.

She let you go soon after that, so you decided to turn on the TV to take your mind off of the pain in your stomach. Your cramps tended to get so bad that it was difficult to walk- you sometimes even got dizzy. You decided however to brave the pain, going into your bathroom to look for some medicine to possibly end your suffering. Your heart dropped when you remembered you had left your bottle at work in your go-bag. Your heart dropped a second time when you couldn’t find any more tampons.

“Shit, shit shit,” you said to yourself, sitting on the bathroom floor and moaning in pain. Thankfully, your phone was in your pocket. You pulled it out and scrolled through your contacts, trying to decide on who to call. You didn’t want to disturb the girls night out, so you couldn’t call Pen, JJ or Emily. For obvious reasons, you decided against calling Rossi or Hotch, and you didn’t think Derek knew the first thing about menstruation. As much as you didn’t want to call your best friend and (not so) tiny work crush, he seemed like the best option at this point. Pushing your embarrassment aside, you hit the call button and let it ring.

“Hey Y/N, whats up?” Spencer asked. You would’ve internally squealed at his cute voice if you weren’t about to pass out from pain.

“Spence, hi,” you answered, said pain evident in your voice. Little did you know, Spencer felt his heart stutter at your use of the nickname “Spence.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, slightly worried at your pained inflection.

“Well, not really,” you sighed, pushing aside your embarrassment at your situation. “I’m currently having my time of the month and I have come to realize I am completely out of…. tampons. And medicine,” you blushed and so did he. “I was wondering if… you could possibly pick some up for me?” you asked, fingers crossed. He didn’t even have to contemplate for a second.

“Of course, give me 10 minutes,” he said before hanging up. You looked at your phone in awe before you were hit with another wave of nausea. Doubled over the toilet, your peanut butter and jelly sandwich from an hour ago made a guest appearance.

You had yet to move from the bathroom floor when you heard a quick knock on your door.

“It’s open!” you yelled, soon hearing the rustling of bags and footsteps following your voice. Spencer looked down at you with pity, setting the bag down on the ground and sitting next to you.

“Thank you, Spence, you really saved me,” you said, taking the bag from him and looking inside. You saw not only a box of tampons and some tylenol, but a bar of your favorite chocolate and a heating pad.

“My mom used to make my dad get her chocolate, when they were still, you know…” he trailed off, not wanting to mention his parents' early separation. You felt bad about his eidetic memory for once- that he had to remember even the bad things.

“Did you know that menstrual cravings are caused by hormonal imbalances? It’s theorized that the drop in your progesterone and estrogen cause an increase in hunger,” he explained, speaking with his hands. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What?” he asked, a confused smile on his face.

“It’s just… I'm sitting here on my bathroom floor with my coworker, who is incredibly sweet for doing this by the way, while I basically die from period cramps 10 minutes after throwing up,” you continued to laugh- Spencer just looked concerned.

“You threw up?” he asked, worry written on his face. You nodded, opening the box of tampons as Spencer walked into your kitchen.

“You need to eat something. I’m making you toast,” he yelled from the kitchen. You smiled and shut the bathroom door, taking care of business.

You brought the bag of medicine, chocolate, and the heating pad with you onto your couch. You plugged in the heating pad and held it close as you curled into the fetal position. After a few minutes, Spencer came into the room with a plate of toast and a cup of green tea, your favorite. You smiled and accepted the plate, taking the medicine with the tea and sitting back. Spencer continued to stand in front of you awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands slightly. You wordlessly patted the couch, motioning for him to sit down, which he did.

“Thank you again for this Spence, you really went out of your way,” you said, hoping he knew how thankful you were for his kindness.

“Of course, anything for you Y/N,” he said, trying to mask his blush after he realized how intimate that sounded.

“So… did I ruin your Friday night plans?” you asked, hoping he didn’t have anything to do.

“Oh, no,” he started, and you were relieved. “Well, I had a date, but-”

“You had a date?!” you yelled, hitting him on the arm.

“Ow! Yes, I did. Is that so hard to believe?” he asked, grabbing his arm.

“Well of course not Spence, you’re a catch,” you told him, and he blushed. “What’s hard to believe is that you ditched it for me! I would’ve been fine!” you lied, which was evident on your face.

“Y/N. You so wouldn’t have been fine!” he laughed, and you began to speak before he continued. “I saw a... friend in need and I helped them. Besides, I wasn’t really even interested in her,” Spencer said, looking at his fidgeting hands.

“Why did you agree to go out with her if you weren’t interested?” you asked, wondering why the genius, a man of reason, would waste his time.

“Morgan set us up,” he started, and you nodded immediately understanding- when Morgan was trying to set someone up, he was relentless until you agreed. “He thought she’d help me get my mind off of… nevermind,” he blushed, seemingly accidentally saying too much. Your heart cracked a bit at the thought of your crush having feelings for someone else, but you continued to pry.

“Ohh I see. Who’s the lucky girl?” you asked, with a bit of an edge.

“I can’t tell you that Y/N,” he answered, avoiding eye contact. You pouted for a moment. “Besides, I think she just sees me as just a friend,” he continued, disappointment on his face. It hurt you to see him upset but you couldn’t help but feel relief that he wasn’t about to be taken anytime soon.

“Well, I guess you can say I’m in the same position as you,” you confessed, not going into any more detail. His face visibly dropped at this- he seemed disappointed, but you were sure you were overthinking things.

“Well Y/N, any guy would be lucky to have you,” he said softly, finally making eye contact. Maybe it was your hormones, or maybe you were just feeling cuddly, but you scooched over to him and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest. He raised his arms in surprise at first, before wrapping them around you.

“You smell good,” you told him, before regretting it immediately and blushing profusely. You could hear his heartbeat, which may have been at an elevated pace. You pulled away and he looked a bit disappointed.

“Would you… would you stay with me for a bit Spence?” you looked up at him, stars in your eyes.

“Of course,” he said softly. You sighed with content before another wave of cramps set in. You groaned and clutched the heating pad, once again in the fetal position. Spencer felt helpless, just watching you in pain. In a movement that surprised both him and you, he leaned behind you and wrapped his arms around you, basically spooning you. You were too in pain to react, but the feeling of his warm chest on your back had the ability to simultaneously soothe and excite you. He rubbed circles on your arm with his hand and you could feel your heart rate spike. You hoped he couldn’t see the blush rising on your face.

“This is nice,” you mumbled, earning a soft hum from Spencer behind you. Before you knew it, you fell into one of the best sleeps of your life with your long time crush.

The next morning, you woke to whispering from the one and only Penelope Garcia. You opened your eyes to see yourself face to face with Spencer- you must have turned around during the night and cuddled into his chest. Your face felt hot when you noticed he was still asleep- you slowly untangled yourself from him and stood up to greet Penelope, who had apparently put her spare key to your apartment to good use.

“I called it!” Penelope said, half to you and half to Derek, who was currently facetiming her. You shushed her and dragged her into the kitchen, Spencer still fast asleep on the couch.

“So that's why you ditched us last night!” she laughed, mouth wide open in shock.

“I didn’t know the kid had it in him!” Derek said from the phone. You were confused.

“What do you mean?” you took the phone from Penelope.

“You mean… Reid didn't… tell you anything?” he asked.

“No, I… I ran out of tampons last night and I called him to bring me some, I guess we just fell asleep on the couch,” you explained. He cringed when you said tampons.

“Why didn’t you ask me princess?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Derek, you almost passed out when I said ‘tampons’” you told him, he just shook his head. Penelope took the phone back from you just as Spencer walked into the kitchen.

“Oh hey, what are you doing here Garcia?” he asked, yawning mid sentence.

“I’m just here to drop off some pastries for my lovely Y/N to make her feel better. Although i'm sure you don’t need much help with that G man,” she said with a wink. You and Spencer avoided eye contact like two high schoolers with a crush. “Well, I guess i'll be on my way!” she announced, hugging you both and speedily leaving your apartment, which was odd- if anything, Garcia tends to overstay her welcome.

“Those smell good,” you said, walking over to the bag from your favorite bakery. He mirrored your actions, seemingly hungry as well.

You both ate the pastries in silence for a few minutes when you noticed Spencer had a bit of icing on his chin. Without thinking you reached up and wiped it with your finger, licking it off your thumb. He stood there, with his mouth open for a moment before his cheeks turned red. When you noticed his embarrassed reaction you immediately regretted it.

“Oh im sorry, I forgot you have a thing with touching Spence,” you apologized.

“No no, it’s okay. I don’t mind when it’s you,” he confessed, finally meeting your eyes for the first time that morning. You nodded and continued to eat your breakfast, ignoring the flutter in your heart.

“So, about last night…” you brought up the elephant in the room. “It was really nice,” you confessed, remembering the feeling of his arms around you.

“Y/N, what I’m about to say is either really stupid of me or the smartest i’ve ever been, but, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he confessed, your astonishment written on your face. “And- and not in a friendly way,” he said, before frowning. “Well that sounded, wrong, of course it was ‘friendly,’ but I meant it as more than… that,” he finished, biting his lip. Your mouth was open, surprised at his confession.

“Oh, Spence-” you started before being interrupted.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer Y/N, you just made me so flustered and when I saw you hurting last night it hurt me too, so i thought it was a good opportunity to get close to you. Not that I was taking advantage of you! God that sounds bad, uh,” he made a face, trying to think of a better way to word it. You just wrapped your arms around his midsection, much like you had done the night before, and held him tight. He smelled like apples and coffee. You lifted your head to look up at him, arms still around his waist.

“Spencer, I’ve liked you for a very long time,” you laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize sooner, I mean I thought it was obvious when I always sleep on your shoulder during jet rides or when I bring you coffee like every day, or when I-” you were interrupted by his soft lips on yours. Your eyes widened before they closed, and you moved your hands to the sides of his face, his hands on your waist. He pulled away, leaving you in a daze.

“Sorry, I’ve just been wanting to do that for awhile,” he smiled softly.

“Oh, uh, no problem,” you replied, still flustered from the kiss. “You like me,” you teased, poking his arm and giggling like a 13 year old.

“Well so do you!” he laughed, poking you in the stomach. Your eyes darkened with mischief and so did his. Before you knew it, the two of you were on your apartment floor, tickling each other's ribs. Spencer eventually got the high ground, straddling you and relentlessly tickling you until you couldn’t breath. He stopped after a moment, looking down at you in awe, before you grabbed him by his collar and pulled him in for another quick kiss.

“Penelope’s gonna be so excited,” you giggled.

“Oh yeah, her and Morgan will finally stop teasing me about liking you,” he said, standing up from his position over you and holding out a hand to help you up.

You spent the rest of the day with him cuddling on your couch and alternating between playing cards and watching shitty reality TV (which he got surprisingly invested in), and it was arguably one of the best days of your life. And you knew from the way that Spencer kept stealing loving glances at you, he felt the same.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid/reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds reid #criminal minds spencer reid #penelope garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner #hotch #david rossi

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ejlovespie · 3 years

Text

Hold Me Up

Fandom: Supernatural

Author: EJ (@ejlovespie)

Summary: The reader falls very ill when she unknowingly touches a cursed object. Luckily, Dean is there to care for her.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1966

Warnings: Angst/Cursing/Fluff

Reader’s Request: Can I pleaaase request a dean x reader one shot where the reader gets hit by a witch curse but none of them noticed, then during their way back she starts getting sick and by the time they arrive to the bunker she has a raging fever and it keeps getting high no matter what dean and Sam do. I looove when dean gets worried and when he cares too much. Also I live for angst so feel free to make it as angsty as u can.

A/N: I tweaked a few details but this wrote itself, thank you for the request anon; I really hope you like it! 💙 Any feedback is greatly appreciated and any mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading! :)

Driving down a long mountain road, you were headed back to the bunker after a difficult hunt in Colorado. Garth had called about a case where people were being burned alive in their homes. You, Sam, and Dean had found the cause was from a vengeful spirit who had happened to be a witch in life. Apparently, she had been killing the ancestors of a rival coven in order to get revenge when she and her people had all been rounded up and burned at the stake in the 1600’s. With no bones, this left you guys with the challenge of finding whatever was tying her to this world. It had taken longer than it should have but eventually you found the item; it was her old spell book. You were the one to salt and burn the thing. It had been small, fitting into the palm of your hand, but you remembered the weight it carried before you had tossed it into the flames.

You had been feeling strange ever since. It was almost like just by touching the book, you had been physically affected by its power and it was making you sick. Your head was pounding and you were fighting back the nauseous feeling in your stomach. Dean would kill you if you threw up in the backseat of his baby. Deep down, you knew something was wrong but you told yourself you were just feeling sick from the drive through burger you had eaten earlier. You had food poisoning. It was no big deal. You slept, off and on, during the long car ride and somehow managed to not throw up. Now, you were finally pulling up to the bunker. You heard Dean mumble something in front of you that sounded like, “Home sweet home.”

After Dean parked the car, you made the move to open your door but you kind of just slammed into it without properly pushing it open. Vertigo made your head and stomach swim and you rested your cheek on the cool window’s glass for a moment, breathing deeply. Dean had witnessed your attempt to get out and had come around to the other side of the car to open the door you weren’t currently laying on. Knowing something was wrong, he half climbed inside to unbuckle your seatbelt and pulled you to him. You flinched when a cool hand felt your forehead then moved to feel your cheeks. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see Dean’s handsome face full of worry. His green and gold eyes were concerned, looking you over, while he continued to move his hands. He pushed a few damp strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheeks again.

“You’re burning up Y/N.”

You could see Sam standing outside of the car, observing what was happening and you blushed a little. You brought your hands up to Dean’s larger ones on your face and pulled them away.

“I’m fine Dean. I think the burger I ate was bad, that’s all.”

To prove a point, you had turned back around and swung the door open but the motion was too fast and you toppled out of the car in a mess of limbs. You groaned when you hit your head on something and Dean swore behind you. A second later, Sam was helping you up and asking if you were alright. Before you could assure him that you were fine, your legs gave out and Dean was there, swinging you up into his strong arms. The movement had the vertigo coming back and you shut your eyes tightly and buried your face in Dean’s neck as he hurriedly carried you inside. You heard him telling Sam to go get the med kit before he brought you into your room and laid you down on your bed. Opening your eyes was a mistake. The room spun around you and shut them tightly again before the spinning made you puke. Oh God, you thought to yourself. Please don’t let me throw up in front of Dean Winchester.

You turned over on your side, away from Dean, just in case you lost your cookies. The spinning sensation was so strong, you groaned in pain and kept praying. Dean was sitting on the bed, running his hands over you, looking for some kind of evidence of the cause of your illness. He yelled at Sam to hurry when your breathing became more labored. Pointing to the trash can in the corner, you hoped Dean would understand. He jumped up quickly and brought it to you right before you started heaving. Sam was rounding the bed now, holding a large white case. He sat it down and started refilling through it. Breathe through it. Do NOT puke in front of both of these guys. Finally, the spinning had slowed down and you were able to calm your breathing a bit. Dean had his hands on your face again and was telling Sam to get the thermometer. A second later, he was shoving the tip into your mouth and telling Sam to go get towels while he waited for the reading. You tried pushing his hands away, to tell them you were fine but you felt so damn weak.

The thermometer beeped and you saw Dean’s eyes go wide when he read it. At some point you had started to shiver and Dean was now murmuring to you, telling you he was going to help you, while rubbing your back. Sam rushed in with towels and Dean put one on your forehead while he put another on your chest. Your teeth were chattering and it sounded so loud to your own ears. Was it loud to Dean too? Dean barked at Sam a few more times while he tried getting you to drink water, most of it dribbling down your chin. You had a hard time focusing on Dean and what he was telling Sam.

“She has a fever of 101 Sam. This sure as shit wasn’t caused by a burger. Can you hit the lore? I’m going to stay here and try to get it down.”

"Maybe we should take her to the hospital Dean."

Dean was opening a bottle and shaking a few pills into his palm. You complained a little when he reached over to bring them to your lips and then made you take a sip of water. You were so cold. You just wanted to curl into your blankets and go to sleep. Noticing your shivering, Dean took a minute to pull a blanket over you before he stood up and walked out of the room with Sam. You were so delirious it could have been a few minutes or a few hours but Dean came back into the room and sat on your bed again. You didn’t complain when he popped the thermometer back into your mouth. When the thermometer pinged again and Dean read your temperature, he cursed and started peeling the blanket off you. He jumped off the bed and was out of the room so fast your foggy brain couldn’t keep up with him. He was back in the room in a minute and bending to pick you up. You groaned and complained but he wasn’t listening to you. You were being carried again but this time he was rushing you to the bathroom.

The shower was running. Why was the shower running? Did you smell? You were pretty sure you hadn’t puked on yourself. Dean sat you on the toilet and was standing in front of you, peeling his clothes off. Wait, what? You questioned him groggily but he ignored you until he was stripped down to his boxer briefs. Turning to face you, he grimaced before saying,

“Your turn. I’m sorry for this sweetheart.”

Dean’s hands reached out, his fingers grazing your abdomen as he pulled your shirt above your head. You shrieked and pushed at his hands, confused about what was happening and somehow still feeling self-conscious in this moment. Gripping you around the waist, Dean stood you up and started unbuttoning your jeans. Your legs were so weak, you had to lean on him as he pulled your jeans down your legs before ripping them off completely. You were now left in your bra and panties and you felt so exposed but Dean was barely looking at you. He was laser focused and pulling you into the shower. If you were at full mental capacity you probably would have realized what was happening but as it was, you were shocked when the freezing spray of water touched you. You screamed and tried, weakly, to fight Dean, to get out. Gritting his teeth, he just wrapped you into his arms and stepped fully into the shower. Your teeth were chattering violently and goosebumps appeared on your skin. HIding your face in Dean’s chest, you let him hold you up as you shivered violently from the cold.

You both stood like for a while until your entire body was numb from the cold. After what seemed like an eternity, Dean reached over to turn off the water and pulled you with him out of the shower. He wrapped you up in a towel before slipping one of his shirts over your head and carried you back to your bed. He wrapped you back up in your blankets before stepping out of the room for a minute. When he came back, he was once again fully dressed. Dean brought a glass of water to your lips and made you drink half of it before he set the glass down and felt your forehead. Suddenly, Sam was stepping into the room again with a book. He started talking at a fast pace.

“I think Y/N’s illness was caused by her touching the spell book. I found some lore here that some witches would put curses on their spell books to keep people from being able to use them. If Y/N had read anything inside the book, she could have died. The lore says some cursed books can be so dangerous that just touching one can cause ‘disease to the bearer’.”

That didn’t sound good. In an impatient voice, Dean asked, ”I suspected as much. How do we fix it though?” You had started to lose focus again, fatigue was pulling you under as Sam explained the details to a cleansing ritual.

The next time you woke, you were surprised to find Dean sleeping next to you in bed, his large arm draped over your body. You had a slight headache and a hungry stomach but the aching fever was gone. You felt completely fine. Did they do the cleansing ritual or whatever? You gazed at Dean and his peacefully sleeping face and blushed remembering the events from the day before. Other than not puking, you had made a fool of yourself. Embarrassment heated your cheeks as you thought about falling out of the impala and being stripped down to take a cold shower. Dean had seen you in your underwear. You groaned and Dean stirred in his sleep before opening his eyes groggily. Looking up at you he smiled and asked you in a sleepy voice,

“How are you feeling sweetheart?”

“Much better...Uh thank you for taking care of me Dean. I didn’t know you could be so attentive and...motherly.” You giggled as Dean groaned and smacked you with a pillow at the last part of your statement. “Seriously. You’re good? No fever. No puking or anything?” Nodding, you leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek. “I'm good. Thank you. You guys will have to fill me in on what happened but for now, I am going to go make us some breakfast.” Dean smiled and whispered, “Anytime Y/E. I’m just glad you're okay.”

His eyes were soft looking at you and you blushed before climbing out of bed. You blushed harder when you realized you weren't wearing pants and Dean laughed as you darted to your closet to find some. In a hurry, you got dressed and rushed out of your room, not missing Dean's teasing wink before you went.

Tags:

@akshi8278

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #sam winchester #garth #spn #supernatural #supernatural angst #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction

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