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diedbutterflies69 · 3 years ago

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Will you stay?- Bang Chan imagine.

Contains: friends to lovers au. , Divorce, smut, fluff, blindfolding, oral sex, explicit sexual stuff etc . Minors don't interact.

Never once on your life, you thought you could get your shit together and laugh genuinely at the worst in world. falling out of love is worse but it's even more worse if it's your it's not you who fell out of love. Married at 22 and the honeymoon phase hardly lasted for a year and by the age of 26 got yourself labelled as a woman who sabotaged her own marriage in thirst of money. Your ex husband was bitter about your success even before you got married. He thought as a woman, you just did bare minimum and got yourself a high positioned rank by sleeping with one of the rich rags. You tried hard enough to hold on to that rotten red string , but he had the scissors and just cut you off. You weren't willing to sacrifice your career just because of his Immature mindset, yes you loved him, but can't a women love her own hard achieved success more? That's the question you wished to ask everyone who pointed there fingers at you. After divorce you didn't feel pain just numbness. Your self-hatred coming more stronger than ever, even hating the job, you tried Saving since years, getting life on track seemed impossible and at the end just quitted. Moved out of the city just to move back to your home town, the root of your real pain. It wasn't really a town but rather a more flashy city, expensive shits which you were unable to afford in childhood but now it wasn't any big deal. Earth is round and sometimes precious people find you all by themselves. Your highschool friend, the only friend you had throughout your lifetime because of your anti social tactics.

Bang Chan, the social butterfly who almost knew every single student in whole school, he was the hottest guy you ever saw in your life and also the kindest. You had crush on him even before you both were friends, he was your senior,used to help you with those shitty math sums, crack jokes every now and then and scolded you whenever you procrastinated. He came to congratulate you even on your graduation day, even though there were many more students whom he met you were still glad atleast someone bought you a beautiful bouquet of tulips and bellflower. The last time you saw him was before you moved out in search of cheap collages without informing him, as you thought you were just one of many friends he had and won't ever notice someone like you existed.

But god, how much wrong you were.

You met Chan after almost 9 years in convince store and his reaction was almost priceless , like finding treasure. He was now more handsome, beautiful and god-like even after all this years his style of dressing didn't Changed much, he still looked like Kim Kardashian at 2021 met Gala. nevertheless his smile still had those healing properties with his Cresent moon eyes. He was absolutely stunning.

The first sentence he spoke after confirming your identity was 'I missed you' and then tons of lectures and questions . Knowing how narrow-minded you were he gasped dramatically. Cheesiest ways of saying how could I forget my best friend and so on. That day was probably the best day of your life and maybe even the day after years you really smiled. You both exchanged numbers and addresses and his home was just 10 minutes away from yours. Destiny indeed.

Now it's been over 7 months since you met Chan again and he never made you felt like you were just one of his 109 friends. Chan made you feel special, after knowing what kind of disaster you faced he was even more supporting of you, you both used to spend weekend together watching variety of shows and movies going to stargazing, best friend goals. After many years you knew even if Chan had many people to confide with he never really did. He was alone, just a night owl obsessed with work. You were happy. And he was happy too. Being just friends was enough for you, but not for him . He was slowly trying to find courage to confess his love to you. He liked you fuck from highschool days. He found you once randomly staring at him across the room and when you suddenly disappeared all his fantasies were scattered, he knew your dreams and was willing to help you with your every step. knowing how messed up your household was from your neighbours he felt guilty for not being able to give you happiness. He loved you, but was helded by his own insecurities.

Not anymore though, he wasn't the same coward who just stared at the love of his life from distance. Being the extra human he was, he bought you one of the most expensive restaurant of the whole country, man was loaded. After driving for almost 5 hours you both finally reached there .

Now a nervous Chan sitting infront of you. You being oblivious to the fact that he has a beautiful diamond ring and a confession to make. Chan handed you the menu card and every single dish had an extraordinary name, without much thought you placed the order.

"atleast tell me now, why are we here?" You asked the man infront of you who was behaving extra weird today, he looked sick and was occassionally asking you random questions.

"No reason, I was in mood for long drives and... You know have a nice meal" Chan said fidgeting with his fingers he was acting like a flustered high school guy it was clearly indicating that he was lying but you didn't really care, Chan was weird sometimes.

"Sounds fake, but okay. By the way you aren't sick right?" You asked Chan out of pure concern as he was sweating profusely even in an cold AC room.

"I am fine, just feeling a little hot. Don't worry", Chan said it was more like he was convincing himself that he was fine and shouldn't worry. He wasn't a teenager but a human with responsibilities who once again fell for someone out of his league, he used to think that and he still sees you as a literal goddess. While he was lost deep in his thoughts, the waiter came with food , and this was his opportunity to shoot his arrow. You both started eating and talked like being in paradise.

"did you liked anyone in highschool?", Chan asked you out of blue making you almost choke on food. The only person whom you liked throughout your highschool days was the guy sitting infront of you and you didn't really remembered much guys and the best answer was probably saying a lie with little truth.

"no one lol", you answered trying to sound chilled but since highschool crush topic was out you weren't able to keep your curiosity with yourself.

"What about you, liked someone?", You asked trying to sound nonchalant and not desperate and bitter.

This was the Exactly the conversation that Chan planned in his mind. And here started his way to either heaven or pit of rejection.

"I loved someone", Chan said and you this time you really choked from the depth of your heart, you thought Chan was anti romantic type of guy as he never talked about of his female friends with you or bragged about his non existent dating life. Trying again to not sound jealous or bitter you spoke again.

" Who was that lucky bit-- I mean girl yes girl? Who was she?", You asked, almost letting out the bitch loudly. You weren't sure but you saw Chan smiling cheekily, he was really getting old acting weird more and more everyday.

"Well... Someone from our school",Chan said and you swear you didn't made a disgusting face showing pure jealousy. The best human in your life and your first ever crush had crush on somebody, you didn't knew why you were feeling so fucking bitter but you weren't able to handle the curiosity anymore.

"Tell me her damn name", you asked Chan in a frustrating tone not being able to keep jealousy to yourself.

"Why you being angry", Chan asked followed by his small laugh.

"I am angry, just the food was a little spicy you answer me now, her name?", You answered Chan with your defenses up and still sticking with your previous question.

Chan in response got a little serious now,you thought he was being childish now, he wasn't a kid who was given a dare to name out his crush yet he was acting like one.

"You won't leave me right, I mean after I answer your question?", Chan asked you and you didn't knew what to say in response you were now a little sus about him.

"fine don't answer, keep secrets", you said and continued eating. The next thing Chan said made you now choke and die on food.

"I loved you and I still love you" Chan said looking down at the table head hanging down like his teenage self just confessed he watched porn infront of his parents. You were shocked, frozen and the your heartbeat 10x faster, you didn't knew how to react and tried to find humor in this extraordinary situation.

"Chan, you kidding right?", You asked Chan with a nervous smile on your face. Chan looked up at you , his eyes trying to find yours but you avoided the eye contact.

"I am serious, I liked you from HighSchool times, I saw you for the first time in library when you were looking at me, I swear you were so beautiful and even now after all this years after seeing you I can't, I can't help but fall for you all over again, sorry"

Chan confessed, his voice filled with sincerity and vulnerability his sentences were scattered here and there and incomplete explanation but still you understood everything he really poured his heart to you, you felt like crying even if you both weren't such stupid cowards back then, then today you won't have turned out a divorced women and Chan a guy who grew out lonely even if he had a world for him.

"What should I say Chan?", You asked Chan you were sounding like a girl whose bf told her to breakup even if the situation was exact opposite. Even if you love Chan , you didn't think about him reciprocating same feelings back to you. You were beyond insecure with your love emotions. One thing was sure you won't be able to love Chan without being a bundle on him. Your emotion Baggage was too big and you didn't want Chan to get his heart too with your stupid emotions.

"I love you and I will be really really good to you. Please try staying with me I will try really hard to earn space in your heart, please?" His confession was like literally begging. You weren't able to believe if he was real or not, if it was a dream that will end as soon as cruel morning comes, this felt like fantasy. Chan was a amazing man, he had everything money ,honour ,beauty a nice heart. He was like a character written by women so perfect so delicate yet strong, and he loves you this fact was enough for to lose your mind. but you thought you were a taint to his beauty, you were a character full of inferior complexes and a person too easy to dislike thats what illusion you made about yourself. A random extra in her own story.

"I will pay the bill, let's talk later", you said and walked away immediately to pay the bill leaving a clueless and disheartened human behind. Chan was able to see how you stopped yourself from saying love you too and throwing yourself in his arms. He wasn't same from HighSchool a guy who gets overwhelmed by his own emotions and gets unable to see others. He knew you had atleast a small space for him in your heart and to make a big room for himself he had to throw out all your insecurities and self hatred. He followed you like a lost puppy and he wanted to pay for food but you already did and now you were already out of restaurant searching for his car to get back.

Chan sitted beside you, without doing anything silence and awkward air surrounding you both.

"start the car", you said breaking down the silence, you were extremely worthless and trash as you made the only one person whom you love feel like nothing.

"Just answer me, will you try dating me please", Chan said his voice again passing draggers into your heart. Trying to form any logical explanation you spoke again.

"I am not looking for relationship right now, see Chan you are amazing, but I can't make you happy now and did you forgot that I am divorced, please understand" you said expressing your real insecurities and fear, fear of not being able to keep a man happy.

"you don't want relationship because you divorced that fucking trash of a man?", Chan asked he was getting frustrated you thought but he just wanted to make you happy and not deny what your heart wants.

"my mind isn't stable, I might just irritate you everytime with my mood, you will will get tired of me and leave me -- I don't want to be alone again I will die if you leave me", you confessed tears threatening to fall out of your eyes there wasn't any doubt that you loved Chan he filled the void in you in just months made you happy but you didn't wanted to just take and take and give nothing in return. Chan's hand found yours interlocking your fingers with so much delicateness that you might cry.

"you think so low of me, just stay by my side I will make you so happy that you will hardly get time to think about your past, trust me", Chan said his fingers slightly lifting your chin up to look into your eyes, you looked in his eyes filled with so much care and this was your last straw before breaking down in his arms.

"I love you, I love you so fuckin much, you were my first love my only friend, my everything, please-- please love me", you confessed tightening your arms around Chan, his scent making you feel safe and like home, his one caressing your hair and other wiping away the tears. Even though the scene was more like a dramatic clique scene whatever emotions you both felt was unexplainable.

"So you my girlfriend now hmm?"Chan asked you for first time in night his voice containing pure happiness and excitement.

"I have a sexy boyfriend", you said smiling from ear to ear against Chan's chest. The label boyfriend making your heart flutter, you didn't knew happiness like this can even exist.

"My love", Chan said his voice sweeter than honey, suddenly the night was more starry."now can we go home?" You asked Chan finally breaking the hug, reality hitted you now Home was 3- 4 hours away.

"I made a reservation in hotel, we gonna spend night there", Chan casually said making your heart jump out of your chest.

"pervert, you planned everything seriously", you said dramatically and giving him a playful digusting look.

"I booked two rooms", Chan said now starting the engine making you feel embarrassed. "Who is pervert now~" Chan said in air teasing you more.

The rest of the ride you both talked about anything and everything. Confessing how you used to find ways to always be in each others vision etc. Both of you finding a new thirsty side of each other. Nothing felt uncomfortable, it was happiness those inhumane laughs crazy tricks you both used to pull everything was heaven. After some time you both reached infront of a gaint hotel , it looked expensive af but regardless Chan knew how to waste money and you were tired of lecturing him about savings.

"let's go", Chan said removing your seatbelt and getting out of car to open the door for ya. He was being so cheesy gentleman and you were enjoying every minute.

"room 42 and 43" Chan said to the receptionist and she handed two keys to him. Thanking her then getting on elevator, you were a little disappointed that you weren't sharing room with Chan, yes you were pervert and total simp for Chan, he was too hot and your sexual drive was getting higher each passing second. The elevator doors opened and you got off. Chan handed you the room key and softly kissed your forehead, both you wished it was your lips.

"if you want anything, just knock okay?" Chan said in his lovely tone, I want you you internally screamed, nevertheless you gave him a nod and got inside that expensive room .

Starring at the ceiling while lying on the bed your mind was full of Chan, you knew he wasn't probably sleeping and was wasting time in watching random shit on internet and you were hungry, hungry for Chan, it wasn't your fault that Chan was so hot. Trying to fall asleep and fidgeting here to there you finally decided to knock on Chan's room door. A danger zone. You noticed how the door flunged open in less than few seconds.

"Hi" you said scratching back of your head and trying to think what next to say.

"Hi..?"Chan said being confused.

"there is cockroach in my room, let me stay with you" you said a clear white lie. Taking impulsive action were never good for you.Chan sighed before opening the door fully and signalling you to come. This was your happiest day ever.

"whY you lying", Chan asked you as you plopped yourself on sofa besides bed. He asked the sentence in a sarcastic way.

"Do you you wanna kiss me?", You asked Chan with a straight serious face catching him off-guard, you didn't wanted to waste more time, you wanted to do everything with Chan, yes fucking on first day of dating was a little too early but you fantasized about this gorgeous man since ages, in your eyes he looked total dom but his reaction to your question was making you doubt your thoughts.

"Are you sure", Chan asked you clearing his throat.

"Are you virgin?"you asked Chan, he was being too nervous.

"Obviously not"Chan answered you in duh tone, rolling his eyes. And it was getting awkward.

"The cockroach must have gone by now I should go, bye", you blabbered and got up ready to leave, you were about to open the door but Chan grabbed your hand and before you knew anything his hands were on your cheeks cupping them softly and his lips so close to yours, Chan's eyes were looking straight in your orbs , your heartbeat stronger than ever.

"Can I?", Chan asked your consent his thumb softly brushing against your lower lip. This man had totally made you insane, something stirred inside you. Chan was perfect he was everything you wished. You gave him a small nod and slowly his lips touched against yours, you wanted to cry, his lips felt so good, he didn't rushed his movements everything was happening in slow motion, he holded you with such a vulnerability like he was afraid that you will go, your hand reached his head, fingers moving through his soft locks. You felt his tongue inside your mouth , you felt a electricity run down your body when the kiss deepened.

We kiss again. The next kiss is the kind that breaks open the sky. It steals my breath and gives it back. It shows me that every other kiss I’ve had in my life has been wrong.

Breaking the kiss Reluctantly in need of air, Chan rested his forehead against yours. He was hot almost like burning, sweating.

"Why are you so nervous, Chan?", You asked Chan hugging him tightly clinging like the last leaf to the tree.

"I am scared, I just love you", He said engulfing you in his arms. And you Finally felt, what real love feels like.

"Love you too", you replied softly.

"Do you wanna continue..?"Chan asked you his tone little less scared.

"Off course", you said looking at him with smile, something inside you told it was okay to let out your freaky side infront of Chan. Chan smiled back and suddenly turned you around , the large bed infront of you.

"Lie down there",Chan whispered in your ears , his low register sending shivers down your spine. This was exactly how you pictured Chan to be, your inner submissive almost died. You followed Chan's word and laid on your back on the bed, now you were feeling like a virgin. His eyes roaming through the room in search of something.

"Are you okay with being blindfolded?", Chan asked you as he came back with the tie he wore today and was rolling it slightly in his palms, and you swear you never saw a man so hot in your entire life. Getting blindfolded was one of your unfulfilled kinks.

"ye- yes", you replied your tone filled with thrill and excitement. Chan came back to you standing near you, his hand softly cupped your cheeks , before bringing the tie to use it in sinistrous way tonight. The cloth felt strange to your eyes, his cologne smell hitting you and Chan caught your shy smile, His heart felt so fluffy. Tieing a comfortable knot Chan sat on bed near your waist. His hands slowly crept near your stomach leaving a direct lingering touch on the sensitive skin, eventually going upwards while giving a little squeeze to add stimulation, his hands reached your boobs, you didn't wore bra, and he wasn't surprised maybe your nipples perked up enough to get noticed, his middle and index finger Rolling your sensitive bundle of nerves, the blindfold making his every touch more intense, your breath was heavy you let out a suprised moan when Chan gropped your right boob in an erotic way, this sole action increasing your wetness down there you were getting impatient. You moaned his name a little loudly when his lips came in contact with your sensitive neck, sucking in a painful way, inorder to leave a hickey.

"Should I touch you here", Chan asked you as his hand reached to your area where you needed him to the most, hands going directly inside your panties ,but not touching he was a teaser.

"yes please", you moaned almost breathlessly too tired of intense foreplay. You just wanted Chan to rip off your clothes and fuck you till sunrise. Getting satisfaction with your answer Chan finally removed every clothing of your lower body, leaving you completely bare, all at his mercy. His finger moved up and down on your opening , the wetness making Chan easily slip his one finger deep inside you.

" my baby is so wet, because of who?", Chan asked you as his finger was moving slowly inside of you and thumb rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves.

"because of.. you", you admitted without any hesitation trying to grind yourself on his hand, begging for more.

"Good", Chan said and without saying anything he added another finger inside you moving a little faster inside your cunt, rubbing your walls with a little pressure, scissoring them inside you painfully and making way for a third finger too and by then you were a complete moaning mess, his fingers were pleasure yet torture the blindfold making your senses weak. Mind full of whatever Cham was giving you. Your legs were shaking sign of your orgasm approaching you, by one hand Chan holded your thighs tightly to their place fingers now moving more faster to make you reach the peak of pleasure.

"Chan.. I--I-I-- wanna cum please", you moaned your little squeaks and begs almost making Chan's cock cum right inside boxers. With some final thrust of his fingers, you cummed the hardest you could imagine, squeaky sounds coming as Chan was fingering you through your orgasm, you almost crying from overstimulation. Moaning his name like a chant.

"you did well",Chan praised you finally removing his fingers from you leaving you empty, but it won't have last wrong. Chan removed your blindfold , the bright lights hurting your eyes, you adjusted your vision and the image of Chan sucking his wet fingers coated with your liquid came directly in front of your eyes. Letting out a helpless whine.

Chan plopped himself on knees on either side of your thighs, finally letting his cock out, leaking with precum, and he was big, thick , you didn't thought he could get even hotter.

"Ready baby?", Chan asked you as he fully undressed himself as well as removing your top, your mind hazey . The scene which you pictured since highschool finally happening.

"yes", you replied Chan, he came down to kiss you passionately and slowly entering inside you. You moaned painfully, tears pulling your vision, it was a painful pleasure. Chan kissed away your tears and hand interlocking with yours after finally being fully inside you he started to move at slow pace.

"you feel so good Chan", almost screaming from pleasure, your whines were fuel to Chan's ego and he increased the pace. Body slapping sound filling the room, his groans were most sexy thing you ever heard. Again and again his tip hitting your deepest spots.

"I am close", you moaned out breathlessly, pleasure becaming too much to handle .you released around his cock, reaching the peak second time at night.

After giving a few more thrusts Chan cummed at your stomach, he was still sane enough to not curse you with kids while being lost in pleasure."I love you", he said as he settled beside you hugging you tightly. This was heaven.

"love you too", you said , your voice a little hoarse.

"by the way I forgot that I bought a ring to propose you", Chan said, realisation hitting him, that he forgot to say the long ass paragraph that he was supposed to say while sitting on one knee. You smiled at his guilty face.

"don't worry, propose me after having shower", you said heart filled with pure joy and happiness . Happiness of knowing that You love someone who will always love you back.

#skz smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #bangchan smut #skz chan smut #bang chan imagines #chan fluff #bangchan #skz chan x reader

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akabane-yum · 2 years ago

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Barren (Us.)

Dear Karma,

I am not cheating. Very upfront of me, yes, but I know that cheating is probably the first conclusion you would draw from this abrupt decision of mine to pack up my things and leave. I assure you that there is no one else. I also know that right about now you’re reaching for your phone, ready to call me and ask if this is some sick joke. It’s not. I packed my bags earlier today while you were out with friends, and I’m writing this letter to explain why. It would be a lie to say that my life with you hasn’t been fulfilling until now, and that I’m leaving out of boredom. I know you, remember? You’re the least boring person I’ve met, the most exciting, the most unpredictable. The smartest, the loudest, and the kindest. I know you, but I don’t love you.

I was listening to a few songs a while back, about love and all the juvenile things I wouldn’t do so much as think about in my youth. The most I listened the more I realized that in all our time together I had never felt a connection as strong as the ones described in the lyrics, with you. Then I reached out to some friends, and had them describe the sensations of love to me. Real love. The tingles and warmth they described were as foreign to me as ancient scripts (with lack of a better comparison. Forgive me, I’m running on two hours of sleep and a shot of espresso). One of our mutual friends even described love as a need to protect, a desire. He said that, should an armed man come to do away with his partner, he would sacrifice himself for her. He would choose to die. Rather than live in a world without her, he would choose to die. I thought long and hard about that one, at first I dismissed my reaction to such a thing by saying that I wouldn’t need to protect you, but the longer I thought about it, the more everything seemed to line up. That’s when I sought professional help, someone to help me make sense of my emotions, or rather the lack of. To close off this sad and long sob story, I need to leave. I can’t be confined to this diluted idea of love that we have, and I’m sure you can feel it too. This barren relationship will do neither of us any good. I doubt I’ll be able to find a partner who I feel warm and tingly with, or even anyone as amusing as you, but for the both of us I’ll try. Does this sound selfish of me? - GA

Dear Gakushuu,

Yes, yes it does.

Love,

Karma

Note: I don’t think I captured what I wanted to with this, but it’s this concept I thought of. Where I don’t see Karushuu being the type to be madly in love with each other yk? aside from the tension and the passion, sometimes i don’t feel the love. other times i DO feel the love tho, like when they’re domestic but idk how to explain it it’s just not love in the normal conventional sense and that’s why i feel like gakushuu in this au felt like their love wasn’t real if yk what i mean😭😭😭😭 OOC definitely but that’s most of this blog at this point lmao. byeee

#karushuu #asano gakushuu #akabane karma #karma akabane #love #conventional love #didn’t reread #probably typos #i’m too into karushuu #ooc

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

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Play Pretend

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~4170

Warnings: I don’t think there are any? Some language. Egregious amounts of fluff. A blanket fort and a Star Trek onesie. Gratuitous descriptions of Spencer Reid’s bone structure, because apparently I can’t help myself.

A/N: For the “treat yo’ self” square on my @cmbingo card, and also for @railmereid‘s 2k challenge! Prompt for the latter is bolded.

It’s been a godawful case, and in the BAU, that’s saying something. At least nobody ended up in the hospital this time? But as you all troop onto the jet in a straggly line of wrinkled clothes and puffy eyes, that’s about the brightest spot you can find in this whole fucking week.

As you get settled, though, Hotch clears his throat. “Your attention, please. We’re taking a long weekend, Strauss’s orders.”

“Oh thank god,” you mutter under your breath.

“Once we get back and grab our things, you are not to return to the office for a full seventy-two hours.” Hotch looks sternly (well, even more sternly) at Spencer, who’s on the couch next to you, curling up for a nap. “Understood? And you are not allowed to take case files home, Reid. I mean it this time.”

“Understood,” he says grouchily. You can’t help but laugh at the pout on his face.

“Seriously?” you ask.

He shrugs, lips quirking up like he does actually realize what a ridiculous human being he is. “I have many talents, but ‘taking it easy’ is not one of them.” He does the air quotes, even.

“All those PhDs and you never got a degree in relaxation?”

“That’s not—” He realizes you’re teasing and grins. “No. No I did not. I just… never really know what to do with myself, I guess?”

“Shocking.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“I am going to have a treat yo’ self day,” you declare proudly.

“A what?”

“You know, like in Parks and Rec?” He gives you a blank look. “No, you totally don’t know. Of course you don’t. But there’s this one episode where two of the characters have a ‘treat yo’ self’ day, and they go shopping and get, like, really self-indulgent things that they wouldn’t ordinarily buy themselves.”

He frowns. “You’re going shopping all weekend? You’ve never struck me as a particularly materialistic person.”

“Fuck, no. It’s more about indulging in experiences. Self-care. Things that make me feel relaxed. Just… whatever makes me happy.”

“Like what?” He still has this totally puzzled look on his face, with his nose wrinkled up. It’s so much more endearing than it has any right to be.

“I like painting. I’m not good at it, but I like it, so I’m gonna get some new paints and a big canvas and make a mess, because it makes me happy.”

“Huh.”

“What about you, then? What do you do to relax?”

“That’s… a good question, honestly.”

“Well, what’s your idea of a perfect day?”

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you that self-care is a foreign concept to him. You wait patiently as he overthinks it.

“Perfect seems unrealistic,” he concludes wryly.

“So, like, remember when you were a kid and you walked into a really awesome toy store?” you prompt. “Just feeling that sort of carefree, giddy kind of happy?”

“Not really.” He shrugs.

“What did make you feel like that, though?” you ask. “When you were younger? There had to be something.”

“I think I just — I didn’t do much normal kid stuff.” He lets out a huff of a laugh and runs his hands through his messy curls, suddenly self-conscious. “Didn’t get to play pretend, or… I don’t know. Didn’t have time.”

“Right,” you say softly. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

You nod, throat suddenly tight. “Yeah. Get some sleep, Spencer. Sweet dreams.”

He gives you a tired half-smile and tugs his blanket up to his chin, tucking his hands under his cheek, and the dark hollows under his eyes are hidden by his long lashes as he falls asleep almost immediately. You need to rest too, but it takes you a while; you sneak a glance at him every so often, feeling that twist under your breastbone that happens all too often when you’re around Spencer.

By the time the jet lands, though, you have a plan.

* * * * *

You second-guess your plan approximately a thousand times on your way over to Spencer’s the next morning. When you get to his door, you almost convince yourself to walk away before you manage to knock; is this totally presumptuous? Is Spencer going to think you’re ridiculous? Is the whole thing just plain stupid?

Then again, you were stupid enough to fall for Spencer in the first place, so. What’s another stupid decision on top of that whole mess?

When he opens the door, he’s wearing pajama pants, a t-shirt, and a phenomenally hideous bathrobe, and he’s all messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, and for a moment you’re panicking because oh shit I woke him up. It’s almost noon, to be fair, but he did have some serious sleep to catch up on. Then you notice the coffee mug in his hand, and after a moment of relief, that morphs into more of a oh shit he’s so fucking beautiful type of panic.

You’re used to that, though.

Then you realize he’s staring at you, smiling but puzzled, and you haven’t explained yourself. Oops.

“Um. Trick or treat yourself day?” you blurt out, hoisting your shopping bags and giggling at your own lame joke. “I… brought you something. Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you — I should’ve texted, I just—”

“You’re always a good surprise,” Spencer says shyly, and then seems to shake himself. “Come in. Sorry. Coffee?”

“Please.”

You set down your shopping bags and follow him to the kitchen, where he fixes you a mug of your own — exactly how you like it, because of course he remembers. Then he takes a couple deep gulps of his own sugar-sludge and tops it up, and by the time you go back out to the living room, he’s starting to look vaguely awake.

“What’s all this about?” he finally asks, head cocked to look curiously at the bags.

“Well,” you start slowly. Now that you have to say it out loud, it sounds even more stupid. “I was thinking a treat yourself day would be a lot more fun with company, and it seems like… maybe you’re overdue for some of that? For… self-indulgence, and just, like, enjoying yourself without worrying. And you deserve it. So. You wanna?”

His eyes are soft and bright, oddly vulnerable, and a smile spreads slowly across his face, twitchy at the edges like he’s not sure he’s allowed to smile yet.

“Really? I don’t know what to do, though.”

“Well, I have some ideas about that. But first, you gotta make a deal with me.” The way he’s beaming makes you feel a whole lot more confident as you tell him, very seriously, “This is the sacred covenant of treat yourself day. You have to solemnly swear to do whatever you want. Anything you can dream up. Indulge every whim. Take an oath to give in to every one of your silly, random, frivolous desires, without any form of self-denial or doubt. Can you do that, Spencer?”

“I can try,” he says, and his voice cracks. It’s like he can’t shape the words, with the way his smile has taken over his entire face.

“Okay, good enough. And… I have a few ideas.”

“Like what?”

You shrug. “Like… some things I thought maybe you didn’t get to do as a kid? Here, let me—”

You rummage until you find what you were looking for, and then you turn around, holding it out like an offering. Spencer’s mouth drops open.

“Is that a Captain Kirk costume?” he asks squeakily.

“It’s a Captain Kirk onesie,” you correct. “And it’s for you.”

“Holy—”

He shucks the bathrobe and sets down his coffee hastily, and he’s zipping the onesie up before you can say “Beam me up,” looking down at himself with this joy on his face, totally giddy in a way you’ve never seen him before, and holy hell, even if he hates the rest of your ideas, this will be one hundred fifty percent worth it for the memory of that smile on Spencer’s face.

“I have one too,” you admit, and pull your Chewbacca onesie out of your backpack. Once you’re both appropriately attired, you tell him, “Next order of business is cartoons.”

“I don’t actually have TV?” he says apologetically. “I mean, I have a TV, but it’s only for —”

You grin. “I came prepared, though!”

Spencer’s the only person you know who still has a VHS player, but you’ve been holding onto some things you rescued from your parents’ attic a while back; you find your VHS of Tom & Jerry cartoons and wave it at him triumphantly.

“I’ve never watched that before.” He examines the cover, bemused.

“It’s essential viewing.”

“Okay,” he says slowly.

While he performs whatever arcane ritual makes his ancient TV work (there’s like a rain dance and an animal sacrifice involved, you’re pretty sure) you settle on the couch, nesting in all the blankets and sipping your coffee contentedly. Spencer presses play and sits down next to you, but you can feel his uncertainty; he’s holding himself stiffly, and he keeps sneaking glances at you.

“Spit it out,” you tell him, a few minutes in. “If you hate it, you can just say so, Spence. I won’t take it personally.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not that! I just — is this really how you want to spend your Saturday?”

“What do you mean?” You have a Chewbacca onesie, a perfect cup of coffee, and great company; you’re not entirely sure how this could get any better.

“Doing nothing,” he mumbles. “This is… there are so many things you could be doing. Don’t you have a whole list of things you wanted to do? But instead… I don’t know. You’re here. With me.”

Sometimes you want to scream until he realizes how awesome he is, but the screaming is probably not the best way to convey that particular message.

Instead, you keep your voice very quiet as you tell him, “There is absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

It’s a little too true. Your cheeks burn as you turn back to the TV, trying not to dwell on the way you can see him watching you in your peripheral vision.

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. He settles himself more comfortably into the blanket nest, and before long, he’s giggling along with you.

You watch in peaceful silence for a little while, but at some point, Spencer’s stomach growls, and you pause the tape to make food — chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream, as per his verdict on “ultimate treat food.” As it turns out, he knows a lot about the science of cooking, but not a whole lot about the actual practice, so he sits cross-legged in a chair and directs you to various cabinets as you measure and mix and whisk. When you get the batter poured out on the griddle, he’s pattering on about the chemical differences between baking soda and baking powder.

He looks utterly dismayed when the first chocolate chip hits his forehead. Turns out his lack of hand-eye coordination applies to mouth-eye coordination too, and the floor is littered with semi-sweet projectiles before he actually catches one, but he’s laughing, so you really can’t bring yourself to care.

The pancakes are a total success. When you’re both stuffed and sugar-high, you grab the syrupy plates and bring them to the sink for a quick rinse.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer protests. You ignore him. His next words are much softer, scratchy and hoarse: “Thank you. I don’t — just — thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” you say briskly. Then you turn around, and you freeze, because he’s a whole lot closer than you thought he was; he’s right there, close enough that you could reach out and run your fingers through his hair, or trace the sharp line of his jaw.

He has a tiny streak of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth, right where his lips curl up as he smiles, and for a second you can barely breathe with how much you want to stand up on your tiptoes and see if he tastes as sweet as he looks.

For a second he looks like he wants you to. He’s frozen too, for a moment, and you can hear his breath catch, but then he scoops you up in a hug, squeezing tight. And yeah, it’s just friendly, but it’s a hug from Spencer, and that happens rarely enough that it feels like a treat of its own, so you go with it, forehead pressed to his shoulder, heart racing.

When he releases you, you tell yourself you’re not disappointed.

“Right,” you say, bossy to cover how flustered you feel. “Back to business.”

“I think I need more practice sitting still,” Spencer confesses, following you back out to the couch. “It feels weird just… not doing anything.”

You pause, deliberating. “Well, we could keep our hands busy?”

With a quick rummage, you produce paint and an extra large pad of paper, holding them up for Spencer’s inspection. He frowns.

“I don’t have any paintbrushes.”

“They’re finger paints,” you say, grinning, and he laughs.

“Of course they are.”

You set everything up on the coffee table while Spencer presses play, and the two of you sit down on the floor, side by side. Spencer looks down at his onesie, then at the paint, frowning.

“It’s all washable, Spencer.”

“Still,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to take it off, but —”

He unzips the onesie halfway, peeling the arms off and letting the fabric bunch up around his waist.

“There we go, putting that genius brain to work,” you tease, but you’re touched that he cares enough about your present to worry about stains.

It’s hard to ignore how close you’re sitting. You do your best, keeping your eyes on either the TV or your masterpiece of Abstract Expressionism, but Spencer’s knee is pressed to yours, a constant warm pressure, and your hands keep brushing as you both reach for containers of paint, and you can smell him, like vanilla and maybe old books. The whole thing has you feeling flushed.

Other than that, though, it’s comfortable. It’s always been easy to talk to Spencer, which makes sense considering how much he knows about every subject imaginable, but it surprises you sometimes how easy it is not to talk to him, too. Silence isn’t awkward, with him. Neither of you say anything for the next hour or so. You just giggle at the TV and paint, wordless and companionable, and it’s the happiest you’ve felt in… longer than you care to admit.

Life is rarely perfect, especially not in your line of work, but this? This is pretty close.

As the credits start to play, you stretch, and then you look at his paper. It takes you a second to recognize yourself, but the likeness is unmistakable. Spencer’s got the exact angle of your eyebrow when you’re looking at him skeptically — apparently you do that often enough that he’s memorized the expression. He somehow managed to capture your smile, the curve of your lips, all in tiny delicate pinky-strokes of purple and turquoise… trust Dr. Spencer Reid to bring that level of precision to finger-painting, and oh god you are not going to think about his fingers any more.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” you manage. You clear your throat. “Yeah, I really do.”

Then he makes it worse by rubbing the side of his neck, bashful and self-conscious, smearing blue-green paint from his collarbone to the sharp line of his jaw, and he’s so busy smiling at you that he doesn’t seem to notice. He swallows, and his Adam’s apple dips, shifting a streak of color, making it flicker. It’s such a silly thing, but it draws your attention to his skin — makes you want to touch. Worst of all, it reminds you that he’s already art, that the shape of him, the delicate precise way he’s put together, is more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in a museum.

It reminds you that you want some things you can never, ever have.

“You’ve got — um,” you say, gesturing helplessly. He blinks at you, slow like he’s coming out of a trance, and tucks his hair behind his ear, smearing more paint there before he remembers. You giggle, sharp and nervous, and it breaks the tension all at once. Spencer laughs too, rolling his eyes at himself. You get up clumsily to go grab a wet paper towel from the kitchen.

The moment is gone, but your heart is still racing.

“What’s next?” Spencer asks softly, once you’re both cleaned up.

He missed a tiny spot; there’s a blue smudge right at the corner of his jaw, and you want to touch it, feel it under your fingertips, see if the skin is as soft as it looks, right there where the bone stretches it thin.

“Blanket fort,” you blurt out, before you can do anything embarrassing.

His eyes light up.

It really shouldn’t surprise you that Spencer and his engineering PhD make quick work of a pile of sheets and clothespins. You’re pretty sure that he could revolutionize the entire field of blanket fort construction, if left to his own devices, but you keep poking him when he gets lost in his head or starts muttering calculations to himself. The point is having fun.

The end result is a lot more Frank Lloyd Wright than any of your childhood creations, but Spencer looks absolutely gleeful, so. It’s the spirit of the thing.

“One more thing,” you say. “Do you have any Christmas lights?”

Spencer frowns. “I don’t — oh! Wait!”

He runs to the closet, and he ends up halfway inside the closet, digging around on his hands and knees. You’re about to make a crack about Narnia when he comes out, holding up a box with a triumphant smile.

You read the label: “Halloween decorations 3 of 4.”

Because of course Spencer Reid has Halloween lights. He pulls out several long ropes of them; a couple are shaped like tiny skulls, one is strung with Jack-o-Lanterns, and two could pass as Christmas lights if they weren’t orange and purple. You help him detangle the knot of them and drape them over and through your fort, and when you turn out the normal lights and draw his heavy curtains, the whole thing glows in patches of orange and purple and white.

“After you,” you tell Spencer, and he crawls in without any more prompting.

There’s more than enough room to sit up, but Spencer is lying down on his back in the nest of blankets and pillows that you’d relocated from the couch. He’s staring up at the “ceiling” in silence, eyes glittering with some unreadable expression where they catch the twinkling shards of light. You make yourself comfortable next to him, looking up and wondering what he’s seeing.

“I always wondered what the appeal was,” he whispers. “Of blanket forts. And… childhood in general, I guess.”

“You grew up pretty fast, huh?” you say quietly.

“Yeah. And I never — I feel like most of the team doesn’t take me seriously sometimes. Like I’m still a kid to them. I always feel like I have to prove myself.”

Your instinct is to deny it automatically, but you know what he means. They laugh him off for his quirks, for the way he gets excited about things and for the things he gets excited about. That’s what’s so incredible about him, though: that dichotomy of knowledge and curiosity, the breathless excitement when he makes a discovery.

“I liked pretending I had my own little world,” you tell him. “Blanket forts. Felt like I could actually shut all the bad things out.”

“Still feels like that,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Nothing wrong with acting like a child, sometimes. We need that. Even if it’s just pretend.”

“I think I get it now.”

“Hmm?”

He’s silent for a long moment before he says, “In here, everything’s perfect.”

“Or we can pretend it is.”

You turn your head to find Spencer looking at you, and he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. You barely want to blink for fear of breaking whatever spell you’re under.

There’s something raw and earnest and almost scared shining all over his face, like you’re catching a glimpse of the child he used to be, before the world taught him to put on a brave face and keep his most intense feelings to himself. It makes you feel shaky in ways you were really not prepared for.

There’s a heavy moment of silence. You’re painfully aware of how loud your breathing sounds.

It’s a hell of a thing, to have his focus like this. You fell in love with him watching him work; you know how intensely he can devote himself to a task, to a puzzle, to a map… and every so often, when the two of you talk, he focuses all that brilliance on you, and he listens so completely that you feel his attention like a spotlight.

That’s when he usually looks away, dropping his gaze like it’s something to be embarrassed about, because too many people have told him to stop staring.

He’s not looking away now. He turns onto his side to completely face you, curling up in that sweetly childish way with his hands between his cheek and the pillow, and you mirror him.

“Feels like we’re alone.”

He’s right; there are no distractions, no excuses to be made, no interruptions. It’s just the two of you, and it’s terrifying.

“Feels safe,” you whisper, because that’s true too. Your heart is racing, and it’s like you can hear your pulse in your ears, but it’s the quietest sort of panic you’ve ever felt. “I think that was exactly what I wanted, after the last couple weeks. To get away. To feel safe.”

There’s an orange light throwing most of his face into shadow, but you can see the corner of his mouth a little too clearly. You’re maybe a foot apart. It would be so easy —

“We don’t get that often.” His voice is barely more than a breath.

“Safety?”

“That too, but —” His breath hitches, and he clears his throat. “What we want. I don’t usually get what I want, but this was — this was very close to perfect.”

“Yeah, well, when is life ever perfect?” You manage a smile. “What would make it perfect? If you could have anything.”

“It’s not something I can have, though.”

“So pretend. It’s just us, and there are no rules today. What would it be?”

He bites his lip. “I don’t think —”

“For once in your life, Spencer, stop overthinking it,” you half-laugh, and then he’s propping himself up on one elbow, shifting forward, leaning closer, close close close until he’s all you can see, and —

He kisses you.

It’s the most gentle, feather-light brush of a kiss you’ve ever felt, barely more than a graze of his parted lips over yours. It’s there, and then it’s gone again before you can even begin to process the sensation.

As your eyes flutter open you can already see the fear setting in, dark intense gaze fixed on you as he inhales sharply.

You’re still trying to remember how to breathe; you’re too stunned to react beyond blinking at him.

“I’m sorry. Can we just —” He shakes his head, hand over his mouth like he’s trying to hold onto the kiss. “Do you think we could pretend — can we pretend I didn’t do that? I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to pretend,” you say shakily.

He stares.

This doesn’t seem real. It’s such a strange moment that you might as well be trapped in a Dali canvas. There’s fingerpaint on his face, and he’s wearing a Captain Kirk command uniform onesie, and there’s a tiny Jack-o-Lantern glowing over his head. If you’d imagined the “perfect” moment, this would not be it.

But you reach out, running your fingertips over the dark smudge of paint on his jaw, and the skin is hot and smooth. He shivers at the touch. It’s real.

“Spencer?” Your throat is tight, but you manage a choked, “I want you to kiss me again.”

He does, with a careful hand cupped to your cheek and a smile curling his lips when they meet yours. You run your fingers through his hair, and you both laugh when they catch on dried paint.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

It really is.

#renswritingchallenge #cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #cm fic #criminal minds #spencer reid

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5lazarus · 3 years ago

Text

Salt, Flesh, Heat

Bull notices that Solas is a deeply sensual person, reveling in clean clothes, good-smelling herbs, and hot water. He's also deeply masochistic. When the two find themselves enjoying the baths one early morning in Skyhold, Bull decides to press. Solas decides to play along. A @black-emporium-exchange gift for gamerfic. Read the other works in the AO3 Collection here! Read the story on Archive of Our Own here.

Steam on skin, worn wood pressing slick into his back as each vertebrae clicks: the Iron Bull sighs as he unwinds in the Skyhold baths. Few beyond the servants and the hungriest soldiers and Josephine herself were up at this hour. Bull has the steam room to himself. Carefully he unwinds his bulk onto the bench, laying his towel over his eyes. The clearcut eucalyptus smell lingers on his skin, sweated into his muscles. He groans aloud as a muscle in his bad knee pops.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he grunts.

Then the door opens and the dawn rushes in. Bull lifts the towel from his remaining eye. Solas stands there, a bit nonplussed. Shit, Bull thinks, and slowly makes room.

Solas lets the door close firmly shut. He holds a bundle of white birch twigs and dried eucalyptus.

Bull grins. “Want me to hit you with that?”

Solas climbs onto his bench and drapes himself on the upper story. “That may not be necessary.” Right, Bull thinks, you self-flagellate enough for both of us. He inhales deeply. “Would you mind putting more water on the stone? Some of the steam escaped.”

Bull says, “Uh, sure.” Slowly, because the ache in his body is delicious and he savors it, he reaches for the ladle and throws another pail of water onto the heating stones, and then another, and another. He hears Solas settle onto his bench, right leg stretched out. Bull turns to look. The man’s pale, graying red hair trailing down his chest. Dorian managed to catch a glimpse of his cock when they bathed after a particularly fetid journey into a Dalish swamp, and reported that it was the largest he’d ever seen on an elf and one of the bigger he’d seen on a man. Bull has to admit he is curious.

Amusement in his voice, Solas says, “Are you quite done?” Still tense, he turns away from Bull. He’s wiry, built broader in the shoulder and legs than most mages he’s met, but still has a weak core. Blackwall told him he’s fought in “some elven skirmish,” and he looks like a man about to retire from the field. He has a slashed scar on his right shoulder and claw marks on his right leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bull points.

Solas does not turn around. Bull’s eyes travel down his back and rest on his well-shaped ass and thighs. Solas is a bit too thin for him, practically speaking, but he does like to look. He’s built like a dancer gone to middle age, rather than some Emerald Knight stalking the Dales for humans to kill, or—so he has heard from Ben-Hassrath stationed in the outskirts of the Tirashan—Dhal’Vallaslin chasing down strange elves with crimson vallaslin, who sacrifice the living to their long-forgotten gods. He seems more the type to plan and give orders, than carry out the dirty work himself, though of course Bull has seen him do it. He saw what he did with those Kirkwall mages.

Bull asks, voice casual, “You know, you’re kinda built like a dancer.”

At that, Solas shifts. He opens a single blue eye, looking down at him like a large cat eying a much smaller, squeakier dog. “I was many things, as a youth.”

“A dancer?” Bull says, taken aback, and slightly turned on.

“Not that,” Solas laughs. “And you, Iron Bull? Were you ever a—performer in your youth?” Solas slowly raises to his knees and leans over, taking the ladle from him. In one easy swoop, he throws more water onto the steaming rocks, and leans against the wall, inhaling deeply.

Bull says, a tad defensively, “That’s not how we do things in the Qun. I was earmarked for the Ben-Hassrath pretty early on.”

Solas says, “But there are many ways of being a spy, regardless of how your government attempts to standardize. Though I suppose you are too—big for the more subtle aspects of infiltration work.” He stretches. During his time with the Inquisition, he has put on enough weight and muscle that his ribs no longer show.

Bull says, “I did my job okay. Most of it is people-work. Watching, being watched. Don’t need a lot of variety in that.” He snorts. “The less, the better.” He eyes the bushel of branches Solas brought with him to the bania. The eucalyptus mingles wonderfully with the heady scent of sweat. He says, “Are you sure you don’t want me to hit you with that? That’s why you brought that here, right? I thought that was just a Dalish thing.”

He’s hit a nerve. Solas says sharply, “The Dalish do not monopolize all aspects of what has become of my people’s culture. And one simply…rubs the body with it, harder force is not necessary.”

“Ah,” Bull teases, “but if you really want to get the eucalyptus into the skin.”

“And I assumed this early, I would be alone,” Solas says flatly. “How is your knee, Iron Bull?”

Bull grunts, “Shitty. Running from all those demons tore it up again. But this helps. How’s yours?”

Solas pauses. Bull edges to the intersection of the benches, trying to find enough space to spread his leg out without having to sit on the floor. He maneuvers his bulk carefully, and gently lifts his bad leg onto the bench, folding his good leg underneath. It’s a vulnerable position, but he can see the door.

Finally, Solas admits, “My sleep has been disrupted with the amount of strain I’ve put my body through. I am hoping this will help before I must return to my desk and Vivienne’s lectures, as we calculate yet again the futility of using templars to isolate the rifts.”

Bull chuckles. “She’s still on that?”

“She has relented that a team of templars cannot hold the perimeter by themselves. We differ on how many mages are needed to perform the ritual to stabilize the Veil, and how vulnerable it leaves them.”

Bull says, “Give yourself a little bit of a good thing before you charge into the bad. That’s what I like about you, Solas.”

“Oh?” Carefully Solas climbs down onto the lower bench, favoring his unscarred leg.

“You know, you’re such a sensualist. You clearly like the baths, you don’t mind talking, you like the birch broom and feeling your blood roil and all that. I’ve seen you flirt with the Inquisitor before, and you were positively purring at the Winter Palace. But!”

“But,” Solas repeats, looking up at him. “But?” He is enjoying this, Bull is amused to realize. He enjoys it when people talk about him. As a younger man he must have preened. With that red hair, he would’ve had to.

Bull says, “But you never go all the way. You never fully surrender yourself to it. You get tipsy but not drunk. And you never let yourself alone with the Inquisitor, or anyone, really.”

“I am here with you,” Solas points out.

Bull shrugs. “And even though you like to talk, you like to argue, to debate, you never hang around the Mage’s Tower, or go back to the tavern with Dorian and the others. You keep patching up your shitty homespun even though with the Inquisition salary, you can buy yourself proper robes. You’re a masochist, man. I’ve never met someone so—sensual—who likes to torment himself so much.”

Solas is silent. Sweat pours from both their bodies, dampening the smooth hot wood. He fingers the bundle of oak twigs and eucalyptus, rubbing a single leaf with his thumb. Lowly, voice pooling like steam, he says, “Surely I do not need to tell you of the pleasure of desire, long-denied, finally sated. Or of living simply, with the occasional indulgence in luxury. After all, what is an elvhen apostate to do with silk? I take pleasure in making and mending my own garments, Iron Bull. As for other indulgences of the body…”

He trails off and Bull swallows heavily. He flicks his tongue around his lips. The air tastes of clean water and sweat: his own and the sharper, earthier scent of the elf’s. Every species has their particularities.

Bull says, “In the Qun, we believe in moderation, sure. And if you’re into edging, more power to you. But you know that’s not what I mean. If someone ends up that tightly-wound, that isolated, the Tamassrans intervened—“

“And if you do not give a proper showing of yourself, they break your mind and set you sweeping floors,” Solas says flatly. “I have seen how such authoritarian systems deal with dissenters. I take my pleasure in my own ways, in my own time. Not at my commander’s orders.”

Bull says, “It’s not like that. Sometimes you just need a good fuck, or a massage, or to be sat down in a discussion group with the priests and get into an argument all night long. The Tamassrans just prescribe the medicine. It’s good, it works. Keeps you from going too far.”

“Which is precisely why there is no Tal-Vashoth problem in Par Vollen,” Solas says. “Once, while in the Fade—“

Bull groans, “Right, let’s put some demons into this.”

Solas says, “Do you ever tire of repeating what your elders have told you, or would you like to learn something? Once, in the Fade, I saw a young Qunari working in a simple kitchen, baking bread as she was ordered every morning.”

“Cute,” Bull says. “So I’m not the only Qunari you’ve asked about their horns.”

Solas ignores the dig. He continues, “In every loaf she broke the rules. She’d take a pinch of sugar and would fold it to the center, like a secret.” He leans back with a fond smile. “And this act of small rebellion brought a shining smile across her face.” He spreads his hands, as if he has laid a winning flush in their game.

Bull thinks, you had to have been a slave. Are you the baker? Rather than provoke him further, Bull takes a different tact. “Hey, Solas. Why do you shave your head?”

Solas blinks. He raises a hand to his scalp, which is beginning to get bristly again. He says, “Fastidiousness, or lack of fastidiousness. Take your pick.”

Bull says, “No, really. If you can ask me how I put on a shirt I can ask you about your hair. Why do you keep it shaved? You’re not naturally bald, are you?”

Solas eyes him. “I am certain you have heard Dorian complain, at length, of the difficulties of keeping his hair perfectly coiffured and shaved while traveling. I have been nomadic most my life. It became easier, this way. Particularly since it is such a prominent color.” He shifts slightly.

Bull says, “Hey, I like red heads.”

“I know you do.”

“Don’t you ever think about growing it out?”

Solas laughs. “No. Never.” He pops his knee up and stretches his other leg, sighing as the muscles in his back audibly crack. Taking the bath broom, he begins rubbing the leaves into his skin. The air fills with its medicinal scent, and under that: earth.

Bull says, “I can rub that into your back.”

Solas says, “I prefer to take my pleasures simply.”

Bull says, “But I can look.”

Solas rolls his shoulders back and begins rubbing the bundle into his arms, swiping sweat away. “I never said you could not.”

Bull, frustrated, brings his bad leg down with a thump. He says, “You gonna take a dip in the cooling pool? Or is that too much of an indulgence for you?”

“My people first discovered this way of bathing,” Solas says distractedly. “I will take any opportunity to enjoy it now that I can, however primitive our facilities in Skyhold.”

“You’ve got baths, out in the woods?”

“You’ve never built a steam hut, and then flung yourself into a snow drift? Really, the Qun did not let you enjoy your youth.”

“But your people did,” Bull says, seizing on this note of autobiography.

Solas places the bundle on the bench. He stands up in silence and tosses another ladle of water onto the furnace. The room fills with steam, and Bull feels sweat pool in the back of his head.

Solas takes his towel and wraps it loosely around his waist. Looking over his shoulder, he says, “I took pleasure when it came my way.” With that rejoiner, he grins, and opens the door. Bright light and cool air pools in; the steam thins. The day has begun. Solas leaves.

Alone in the steam room, wonderfully hard, the Iron Bull says, “Fuck.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic #dai fanfic #dai #dragon age #solas #iron bull #solabull #solas/iron bull #iron bull/solas #slash #banya #romance #flirting

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pigeonp0st · 4 years ago

Text

Kara Danvers x Reader #8

Words: 2,333

Summary: reader trades half her life for Kara’s

Warnings: Death, Depression

Notes:

I just wanted to nerd about philosophy and ponder about psychological egoism and it turned into this...sorry about spelling mistakes.

———

Psychological egoism; the theory that no one can truly be selfless. The theory that, even when we’re helping others, deep down we’re acting in our own self-interest.

When you came across the theory a couple of months ago you thought it was ridiculous. It was something you couldn’t believe, not when your girlfriend seemed like the paragon of selflessness.

Kara.

Kara who risks her life everyday for the people of National City, Kara who risks her life for the world. Kara who has lost, and Kara who keeps on fighting anyways. Kara who cares, who cares so much.

Kara gives, and she gives, and she gives, and she’s dying because of it now, so she isn’t a bad person. She isn’t a bad person, but now you’re starting to think that selfishness doesn’t necessarily need to mean bad. When selfishness brings you to help others, it isn’t a bad thing. It can’t be.

You don’t want to be a bad person. You have to believe that the decision you made an hour ago was the right one, because when the disfigured voice spoke to you with it’s compelling offer of; half of your life for Kara’s survival/revival...you couldn’t say no.

———

When Kara wakes up from her coma a day later, not even the mystery voice saying: “it’s done” in it’s weird enchanting voice keeps you from your relief and joy.

If your decision was ‘selfishy good’ in nature, if it was just selfless, or even if it was just plain selfish...well, you can’t really bring yourself to care right now because Kara is smiling and hugging you and...and fuck everything else.

This is worth it. Even if you hit the halfway point of your life tomorrow and die...this is worth it. It’s Kara. Kara who sacrifices a lot, but Kara whose worth sacrifices too. So yeah. ‘It’s done’... and it’s okay.

———

It’s not okay.

It’s not okay because when you get into a near death experience a year after Kara looks at you like she just experienced another world dying.

She holds you when you wake up in the hospital bed like you’re made of glass. She holds you like you’re the most precious thing on earth.

It’s not okay because it’s unfair, because it hurts how much you’re going to hurt her, because even while the decision you made a year ago isn’t something you’d change, you hate it anyways.

It’s not okay because Kara proposes to you. She proposes to you right there, with you in the hospital bed. She proposes to you and makes a beautiful speech talking about forever, talking about happinesses. She paints a beautiful picture of the future with her words, because she’s Kara Danvers the Pulitzer Prize winner, and you want.

You want. Desperately.

You can’t have.

Kara says, with her beautiful tear streaked cheek, with her embarrassed eye shifting, “I can’t imagine my life without you,” and suddenly ‘want’ turns into hatred. Not hatred…

It turns into rage. Rage, and helplessness, so much helplessness, and pain. All consuming pain. Pain that floods your eyes with tears until your choking on sobs, until your body is shaking. Pain.

Pain that Kara doesn’t understand—can’t understand because you’ve never been able to tell her about the sacrifice you made a year ago.

She gets her own type of pain though, when you force out a trembling, and raspy; “No—no Kara. No.”

“What?” Kara asks, with a look that’s somehow disbelieving, and unsurprised. Like a part of her always expects to not be enough.

You shut your eyes against the look on her face—against the deathly silent—and you wish for different. You wish to be in another timeline where things don’t hurt as much, you wish for a timeline where the offer of forever with the women you love isn’t just waking up everyday for as long as you have left wondering if it’s the day your forever is cut short too soon.

It doesn’t work.

The pain, the helplessness, the rage, it leads to you doing something selfish, but this time there’s no question about whether or not it’s the ‘good selfish’. It’s just selfish. It’s selfish but you’re tired, so you tell Kara about that day a year ago where she shouldn’t have woken up from her coma.

You weren’t going to tell her because you know Kara, you know that she’ll try to change your fate if it’s the last thing she does, and you know that when it eventually fails it’ll crush her completely, because being brave enough to hope then having it squashed...it’s awful.

——-

When you’re done with your retelling you say, “I don’t want to be alone anymore,” with a look on your face that Kara never wanted to see, a look that can only be described as...heavy. Unbearably heavy.

Kara’s own face is full of darkness. There’s a hauntedness about her as she sits silently in her seat, staring at you, and it’s scary because Kara isn’t here anymore. Not mentally.

——-

It takes nearly half an hour for Kara to come back, and when she does she doesn’t react the way you expect her to. You expect sobs and pleas, and hope, and anger.

What you get instead is her arm pulling you into a hug, and her face pressed against your neck, and silent tears wetting the collar of your hospital gown.

What you get is fear. Her fear that sits over you like a blanket.

And an hour later, what you get is a whispered, “Why does it feel like nothing in life will ever go right?”

“I’m sorry, Kara,” you say, though you aren’t. “Saving you was practically saving the world...you’re a hero.” You know Kara doesn’t think she’s worth it as is. Appealing to her hero is the only way you can think to make her understand.

“I know you’re tired of hurting—”

“Please,” Kara cuts in. You feel her jaw clench. “I never asked you to defend yourself. What’s done is done, I just want to lay here.”

Lay here and pretend her world hasn’t been shattered. Lay here and not think about the future, or the past.

“I just…” you pause, pulling away to examine Kara’s face. “I feel like i’ve just really hurt you in a big way.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Kara says, and it sounds like a plea. “I don’t want to— Fuck.”

And now she’s sobbing, and you’re pulling her back into the hug while she shakes her head over and over again, while she squeezes her eyes shut.

These were the sobs you were expecting. These sobs that only someone who has lost as much as Kara can manage. They’re loud and full of heartbreak, she’s shouting broken questions that aren’t for you all the while, and this was what you were expecting but it’s...it’s unfair.

——-

Her emotions change quickly during her processing period but none of it is anger...it’s all just sort of defeat manifested in different ways.

Kara feels defeated. She feels helpless...and this isn’t what you wanted.

——-

It’s two weeks after the incident in the hospital that Kara decides it’s time to actually talk about ‘it’ with you. You know she’s been going to Alex and her friends for advice, you’re glad she’s finally going to you.

“I feel like I'm mourning you while you’re still alive, and I hate it,” Kara admits, eyes downcast. “I hate that I feel like I can’t talk to you, because I know you didn’t want to tell me for a year because you didn’t want to make me sad and-”

“And that’s exactly what you are,” you finish for her, laughing in a way that’s not at all humorous.

Kara closes her eyes, and whispers, brokenly, “I'm so sad,” in her agreement. “I’m sad, I'm lost, I'm angry, I'm desperate...I don’t know how to feel yet I feel so much—I just—Rao Y/N, I just want you to be okay,” Kara says, and you know. You know. Have known since last year, watching Alex brokenly try to tell you that Kara might not make it this time. You know how it hurts.

It hurts hearing that the person you love is going to die. It hurts in an all encompassing way that makes the future seem so terrifying.

But there’s nothing that can save you now.

“Lena is- she’s trying to find a way.”

That doesn’t really surprise you. You used to believe that there was nothing Lena couldn’t do if she really wanted it...but this...well it has to be impossible. How are you supposed to change the fate granted to you by a higher being…?

“Alex is trying too,” Kara says, “she and Brainy are contacting everyone they can think of to help you.”

The thought of your friends fighting so hard for you makes your eyes water and your chest hurt. The Superfriend always land on top when they work together, they always win...

“How?” You ask, your voice trembling on the word. “Kara, how?”

Kara glances up from where she was glaring holes into the edge of the couch to look at you. She hesitates for a moment before saying; “they believe that if they can somehow grant you immortality they can save you…”

No.

“Kara,” you whisper, feeling a large amount of guilt, “I don’t want to live forever.”

And Kara knows. She knows but— “but then you won’t even have a full life,Y/N.”

She sounds so terrified again, when she says that, that you can’t even say anything in response but shake your head.

“If you’re supposed to die,” Kara pauses, studying your face, “am i supposed to- do you just want me to just let you?”

She sounds repulsed by the idea...but…

“Yes, Kara. Yes. You’re supposed to let me.”

The, ‘I don’t believe you can change this and I don’t want this to hurt you more than it should’, goes unsaid by you.

———

Kara doesn’t listen. She tries, and she tries, and she tries, for months, and only months because you die 5 months after your initial accident.

The doctors have no clue why...you just pass peacefully in your sleep one day and leave Kara to wake up next to you trying to shake you awake and pleading for you to just “wake up, please, please.”

Kara is devastated.

More devastated than any of her friends expects, more devastated than Alex expects. They’re trying to help her but they lost you too and everything is just harder because of it.

Kara tries for revival. She asks John Constantine and everyone she can think of but everything doesn’t work and eventually Alex has to force her to stop.

After is what Kelly calls Kara’s second phase of grief. Her first stage, denial, went longer than Kelly expected so she expects the second phase to last a long time too.

It doesn’t. Kara’s anger seeps out of her quickly.

Stage three doesn’t last long either. The “what if’s” and “if only’s” just feel pointless to Kara.

She settles into stage four though. She settles into it and stays. Depression fills all the empty spaces in her apartment where you used to be, and it tries to fill the place in her heart that used to be for you. Depression stays.

Kara avoids going home because it isn’t home anymore. It’s the place you died. It’s the place where your things are scattered around everywhere like they belong, but they don’t belong anymore, because you aren’t there. You aren’t there, so the stupid mug on the nightstand shouldn’t be there anymore but it is.

You aren’t there so your clothes shouldn’t still be in her closet, and your toothbrush should be in the trash, and everything should just be gone. Everything should just be gone because you aren’t- you aren’t there.

You aren’t there and Kara hurts, because you’re supposed to be home. You’re supposed to be home with her. You're supposed to be her home.

You can’t be anymore.

Kara grows to hate the word “forever” because it’s just a whole bunch of lies, she grows to hate the word “sorry” because it’s all anyone ever says to her anymore, she grows to hate people saying “you’ll be okay” because she won’t be.

She grows to hate the word “hope.”

Hope people say, as if hope isn’t just denial trying to look pretty. Hope as if doing so isn’t just deluding yourself so things feel worth it.

Lena tells her one day that there needs to be hope, because there needs to be light. Without it you’re just lost in the darkness.

Lena tells her that but she looks uncertain, like she believes the ‘light’ is just a myth or a trick of the eye meant to just keep you moving.

So Kara hates hope, and she hates lies, but she loves love.

She loves the love, and support, and all of the things her friends give each other to make everything better for a while.

Kara hates hope but she still believes in trying anyways, so she begins to try after a while. She tries to get more sleep, she tries to spend more time with her friends, she tries to talk about feelings, and she tries to make fighting feel worth it.

She tries but she still misses. She misses desperately, but she eventually hits the final stage of acceptance.

Acceptance doesn’t feel like the final stage because Kara still hurts, and she still wants things she can never have, but she never even imagined she’d get here a year ago when you were lifeless in her bed—so this is fine.

This is fine. Kara finally places the mug on your nightstand in the sink and sobs while she washes it, but this is fine.

This is fine.

Kara wanted more than fine. She wanted you.

357 notes · View notes

cocobeanncteez · 4 years ago

Text

ATEEZ San: Fight For Us (one-shot)

Pairing: idol!san x fem!reader

Genre: angst, light fluff, idol au.

Warnings: profanities, mentions of anxiety, breaking down, lots of crying, alcohol.

San never realized how awkward the atmosphere was whenever you and the members were in the same place. You knew they didn't like you from the first day San introduced you to them, but you didn't know why. Still, you tried your best to interact with them as they were very important to your boyfriend. San was really happy when he saw you making an effort to talk to the guys, but he didn't know that it was really hard for you to talk to them. They usually gave you short replies which just end the conversation. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were okay with you after awhile, but they still didn't make much efforts to talk to you.

One day, you went to the dorms when San had a sore throat. While you were making soup for him, you could hear some of the members talking about you from the living room. They were trying to talk quietly, but it was loud enough for you to hear.

"Why is she in our kitchen?" Wooyoung asked.

"She's probably making something," Yunho answered.

"Well, why is she using our kitchen then?" Yeosang scoffed. "I seriously don't like her." You felt your heart break at that. You knew they didn't like you, but it felt terrible to hear them say that.

"I should've hooked San up with my idol friend," Wooyoung said. "She's literally his type."

"I hope San breaks up with her," Mingi mumbled and Jongho agreed. "Our manager found out recently and he's not happy about it at all. San hasn't even been focusing very well these days."

"Manager hyung has plans of asking San to break up with her. I guess we all should be happy now," Jongho said. You felt your heart drop. At this point, you were sure the guys hated you. You really wanted to fix the situation, but you didn't want to cause any more problems; you knew San would never be able to break up with you, so you'd have to do instead.

You stirred the soup you made for San, controlling your tears from falling. You poured the soup into a bowl before taking it to his room.

"Thank you, love," San said softly, sitting up on his bed. You quietly fed him the soup, lost in your thoughts. "Babe, are you okay? Your eyes are watering." San asked, concern shown on his face.

You blinked and the tears fell. "Y-yeah, I just . . . I hate to see you in pain," you said; that was true, but it wasn't why you were crying.

San chuckled a little. "It's only a sore throat, love." Your heart hurt to hear him call you that; you won't be hearing it anymore after sometime. Tears began to stream down your cheeks at the thought of it.

San took the empty bowl from your hands and placed it on his bedside table. He cupped your cheeks, wiping your tears away. "Baby, I'm alright," he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips. You kissed him back with more urgency, knowing that you'll never get to do it again. San gasped a little, surprised at the new feeling that somehow made him feel anxious. To him, it felt like you were going to say goodbye. Little did he know, he was actually right.

When you went home, you bawled your eyes out. You were very much in love with San, and you knew he loved you just as much. You texted him, saying that you would come over the next day. He felt relieved: his anxiety from the urgent kiss you both shared immediately going away.

The next evening after your university classes ended, you went to Ateez's dorm. Hongjoong opened the door for you, and you found all the boys in the living room, laughing while playing some board game. You saw Mingi and Jongho roll their eyes at you, unhappy to see you here.

"San," you called out nonchalantly, catching everyone's attention; they had never heard you say his name like that. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah, of course, love," he said with his dimpled smile, taking your hand in his as he lead you to his room. He appeared to be calm, but he was filled with anxiety on the inside; your emotionless expression was scaring him. He kissed your forehead to see how you'd react. When you didn't respond in any way, he got even more scared.

"Babe, what's wrong?" he asked while you sat on his bed.

You took a deep breath.

"San, let's break up."

There was only silence. San felt daggers stabbing his heart over and over again as he repeated your words in his head.

"D-did I . . . " he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down a little. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," you said, looking down at your feet. "I just think things aren't working out between us anymore," you lied.

"That's bullshit!" his voice raised a little as tears began to roll down his cheeks. "Don't lie to me, Y/N! Just don't . . . We were always fine!" he yelled as he broke down. "These eleven months . . . we managed everything so well despite our busy schedules!" You kept quiet; if you opened your mouth, you knew you'd break down as well.

"D-do you not love me anymore?" he whispered. "Am I not e-enough?" You knew San's biggest fear was not being good enough, and you wanted nothing more than to take back everything you said.

"I'm sorry, San," you murmured, feeling your heart hurt from saying his name.

"Don't do this to me," he cried, kneeling down in front of you, taking your hands in his. "Please, don't. I love you, Y/N. Don't do this . . . " You didn't say a word. You only closed your eyes, trying not to cry. You hated yourself for breaking his heart.

It was silent for a while; San was lost in thought, and you wished you knew what he was thinking about. You waited for him to say something for god knows how long.

You got up from his bed, looking at him one last time. "Take care of yourself," you said with a small smile that didn't reach your eyes. You left his room, tears immediately rolling down your face as you prepared to leave. However, San stopped you right beside the living room by grabbing your arm and turning you around to face him. Seeing your tears hurt him, but relieved him at the same time; it was enough proof that you still loved him.

All the guys were watching, and they were quite shocked to see San crying and looking so heartbroken.

"It's them, isn't it?" San asked, gesturing to the members with his head.

"No, it's not th—"

"I know they don't like you, Y/N," he said, surprising you; you thought he never knew that. He turned to look at the guys. "Are you all happy now? This was what you wanted right? For me and Y/N to break up?"

"San, please stop," you begged, not wanting any fights to happen between them. "It's not even related to them."

"What do you mean, San?" Hongjoong asked. "We never wanted that."

"Maybe you and Seonghwa hyung didn't," San stated. "But the rest of you certainly do."

"Yeah, he's right," Yeosang said. "We don't trust her or like her."

"And she's a gold-digger," Mingi added.

"She's just using you for your money and other things, San," Wooyoung said and Jongho nodded in agreement. San laughed so hard, you all were actually quite scared.

"A gold-digger?" he laughed. "You know that large company across Mnet's building? That belongs to Y/N's father. She's a chaebol heiress." The guys were quite stunned, not expecting that. "If you made an effort to talk to her instead of wrongly judging her, you'd know. She doesn't need my fucking money."

"What else can she use me for?" San continued. "Sex? We did after five months of dating. I don't think she would've waited if that's what she really wanted. Fame? She and her family are already well-known. So please, tell me why you all think she's fucking using me?!" San yelled. You were just frozen in place. You've never seen San this angry before and honestly, it scared you. None of the boys, not even Hongjoong, dared to say anything. You felt really bad that you're the reason why he raised his voice at them.

San turned to you. "Tell me the real reason why. I'm right, aren't I?"

"I can't," you looked away. "I'm sorry, San." Before he could say anything, you quickly unlocked the door and left.

San just stood there, feeling his already broken heart shatter even more. He chuckled bitterly while tears rolled down his face.

"There, you guys got what you wanted for so long," he said while looking at the members. Several seconds later, he broke down again, his back sliding against the wall. Seonghwa immediately went to his side, pulling the younger boy into his arms; it hurt him to see San like that.

"I love h-her, hyung," San sobbed loudly. "Why did she sacrifice her happiness like this?"

"I know, San," Seonghwa said, letting San cry on him. Hongjoong sat beside them, rubbing San's back comfortingly. San cried harder, struggling to breathe. Hongjoong got him a glass of water, but he wasn't able to drink it. After nearly an hour of crying, he fell asleep against Seonghwa.

"Yunho," Seonghwa called out. "Can you carry him to his bed?" Yunho nodded, picking San up; he wanted to cry at how broken his roommate was.

"Y/N . . . don't leave . . . " San murmured in his sleep, making Yunho's heart ache. He quickly tucked San in before heading to the living room where the rest of the boys were.

"We should apologize," Seonghwa said. "What the fuck is even wrong with us? Since when have we been like this? Judging a person so hard when we don't even know her properly? Look at what we've done now."

"Hyung, you and Hongjoong hyung didn't even do anything," Jongho mumbled.

"No, we did," Hongjoong said. "We didn't trust Y/N initially either. But I was fine with her after seeing San so genuinely happy." That last sentence hit the boys so hard. Seeing San happy . . . They didn't know when they would see him happy again.

"I'm calling Y/N right now," Hongjoong said. "I'm putting it on speaker, so everyone keep quiet. If we're really the reason why they broke up, then we're going to fix it." Everyone agreed and Hongjoong called you. You didn't pick up the first two times, but you finally picked up on the third.

"Hello?"

"Y/N, it's Hongjoong. Can we please talk right now, just for a minute or two?" You hesitated for a few seconds before agreeing. "Please tell me why you broke up with San."

"Hongjoong, I'm sorry, but I can't tell—"

"It'll stay between us, Y/N," he lied. "It'll be easier for us to help San move on."

You took a deep breath. "I heard some of the guys talking about me when I came over. I knew you all didn't like me, but I didn't expect you guys to hate me. They also said something about your manager planning to tell San to break up with me 'cause he isn't focusing."

"Ah, so that's why," Hongjoong said, extremely disappointed in himself and the members.

"No, it's not really about that," you mumbled, your eyes watering. "I just . . . I would never make San choose between me and you guys. I didn't want to cause any problems for you all. San loves you all so much, and you're very important to him. It's important for you guys to have a healthy relationship with each other for your career, so I didn't want to ruin it in any way. I didn't want you guys to have any problems with San just because of me." Yunho started crying, feeling extremely disappointed in himself for misjudging you and making San go through so much. Seonghwa and Wooyoung were in tears too. "If your manager asked San to end things with me, I know he'd never do it. So I did it instead."

"Y/N, I apologize on behalf of everyone," Hongjoong said. "We made a huge mistake, and I'm really ashamed. But I want you to know that none of us hate you. I hope you can forgive us."

"Don't worry, I forgave everyone. I understand why they thought I'm using him, so it's fine," you said softly. "I have to go now. I wish you guys the very best, and take care of San, please."

"Y/N, listen," Hongjoong said quickly, but you already hung up. "Fuck."

"We fucked up," Yeosang said, staring at the ceiling. "We fucked up big time."

"You should tell San about it, hyung," Jongho said to Hongjoong.

"I already heard everything," San mumbled, leaning against the wall, startling some of the guys with his sudden presence.

"San, we're so sorry," Yunho said sadly, his tears now dried up on his cheeks.

"Yeah, we shouldn't have judged her," Mingi murmured.

"Your apologies aren't going to change anything," San said nonchalantly. "I just lost the love of my life because of you guys. The sad part is, you all were the only people I trusted other than her." The boys felt terrible, but they knew it was their fault. "You all are so selfish. We're supposed to be a team, right? But none of you even thought about my feelings." San changed his clothes, grabbed his phone and wallet, put on his shoes and left, not wanting to be with anyone right now.

"I don't feel comfortable with him leaving at this time when he's in that state," Seonghwa said.

"I guess he's going to some bar," Yeosang murmured.

And he was right.

"Three more shots, please," San said to the bartender.

"Sir, you're already quite drunk," the bartender said.

"I need it, please." The bartender only gave him two shots, genuinely worried for the younger boy.

Tears rolled down San's face as he took a shot and fidgeted with the other. "Rough day?" the other younger bartender asked; he seemed to be only a year or two older than San.

"My girlfriend broke up with me," San said. "My members didn't like her."

"Ah, you're an idol?"

"Yeah," San nodded, not caring about whether or not this bartender would expose him.

"She must've done it so that your relationship with your members won't get spoiled."

"That's exactly why," San chuckled brokenly, more tears rolling down from his eyes. "I love her so much. And I know she loves me as well."

"Then what are you doing here? Go get her!" the older bartender said. "It's not easy to find genuine love these days. Don't throw it all away just because of that."

"She wouldn't get back with me," San murmured, sobering up a little.

"Well, you said she loves you. If she really does, she wouldn't give up," the younger bartender said. "I know people say if really love someone, you'll let them go. I think the opposite. You don't give up on the person you love."

San pondered about the words he just heard. "You know what? You're absolutely right," San said, getting off the barstool. "I'm gonna go get her."

You were doing pretty bad after the break up. Although it hasn't even been twenty-four hours, you've been a mess.

"If you aren't gonna eat, will you at least drink this?" your best friend said, placing a bowl of soup in front of you.

"I don't feel—"

"Y/N, if you don't fill your stomach up with something, you're gonna feel worse." You sighed, taking the spoon to drink the soup. Your bestfriend waited till you drank everything before leaving for work.

Three minutes later, your doorbell rang. You rolled your eyes, quite sure your best friend forgot something as usual.

"What did you forget now?" you asked while opening the door. "I bet it's your—"

San stood at the door, wearing his usual grey sweatpants and a black hoodie. His mouth and nose were covered with a black mask, and his wet hair was nearly covering his eyes.

"Y/N, can we talk, please?" he asked a little shakily. He was visibly shivering and you wanted to yell at him for not dressing warmly when it was freezing outside.

You immediately let him in, running to your room to get a blanket. He sat on the couch, eyes never leaving you while you wrapped him up in a cotton fleece blanket. You quickly made him some warm tea; you breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped shivering.

"Y/N," he started, sipping on his tea. "I overheard your conversation with Hongjoong hyung." You opened your mouth to say something, but he placed a finger against your lips. "Let me finish, baby."

"I was on my way to your apartment last night, but I was drunk and passed out in the cab. The cab driver tried to wake me up for almost an hour until Seonghwa hyung called me and the driver brought me home," he said, finishing his tea and placing the empty teacup on the table. "The guys and I had a long talk today morning. They apologized for being immature and judging you, but anyway, they will call you later to apologize as well." San cupped your cheek. "Y/N, I know you broke up 'cause you didn't want any problems to occur between the boys and I, but baby, please consider my feelings as well. Your happiness is my happiness. So if you sacrifice that, how will I be happy?" He stroked your cheek with his thumb. "Y/N, I love you so much. You mean the whole damn universe to me. I fucking love you to the point where I literally cannot live without you. Please don't put me—put us through that again. I can't and won't ever stop fighting for us." You choked on a sob, bursting into tears. He pulled you into his arms, crying as well. You apologized for whatever happened while he placed soft kisses on your head.

"I love you, Sannie," you whispered, wiping his tears away.

"I love you too." He took your hand, intertwining it with his, placing a kiss on yours. "Promise me that you won't ever stop fighting for us."

"I promise."

649 notes · View notes

biggaybunny · 3 years ago

Note

Hoshiguma, Che'en, Tomimi, Gavial, Kal'tsit, W, Carnelian, Absinthe, Asbestos, Exusiai, Siege, the Nearls, Eunectes, Saria, Mudrock

Alright here we goes *breaks fingers*

She's big and strong, gentle and well-spoken, loyal and introspective. She's an incredible character and an incredible woman and a woman in leather makes me weak.

She's edgy, but I love a woman who can kill me a thousand different ways. Points taken off for her having way too much of a hard-on for self-sacrifice and lone wolfing it, but she's still very pretty and rocks the office casual look (yknow, not counting the hotpants).

TAILSLUT HOT

She flew under my radar for the longest time but honestly she's gorgeous, she's unreasonably strong, she's got a hot tail and sharp teeth, and she looks fate in the eye and then punches it in the teeth. What more could you ask for in a woman?

You know what I love? A woman who absolutely hates me. I also love an ethically dubious milf. Points taken off for not understanding how amnesia works, and more points taken off for acting like she's got a moral high ground while she machinates and lies to us. Points added back on for probably being some kind of timeless abomination masquerading as a catmilf.

She's wicked, she's a genius, she understands how amnesia works, and she's basically a demon lady. I like her attitude and her smile. Points taken off for shopping at hot topic despite being like, thirty-three. How did she even find anything in her size?

GOD I love the sexy scientist look. The giant horns. That absurd thigh of straps. In terms of per physical looks she's a 10/10. I know nothing about her personality, but her gaze is smoldering. Given most characters are getting points off for their personalities, maybe that's the reason she gets top rating =:V.

Absinthe: Absinthe is my daughter what is she doing on this list all of you staring at her chest are going to get sent to your own personal Brazil Chernobog.

She practically deserves her own tier, I almost went back and moved everyone else down a tier once I reached her. She's so fucking sexy. She's a bastard. Like, people think "bastard" is a gendered term, but she isn't a bitch. She's a bastard, and I mean that affectionately. She's antisocial. She's fit. She's lanky. She modified a door into a shield instead of modifying a shield into a shield. She has oripathy and was too chad to be affected by this. She doesn't know how to talk to people. She's the most lesbian lizard on the planet. She's a stud and I want her to walk over me with her size 13 combat boots.

Moderately-unhinged tomboy angel is cute, I bet she gives good hugs. She's too high energy for me but I recognize a cutie when I see one.

She comes off kinda young for me. I dunno. I just also don't really go for the whole "princess in exile" thing. Like she's just giving off "look how regal I still am even now" vibes. Like, okay blueblood, we get it, you had a posture coach. The fact that specific individuals are capable of being good people and good leaders does not justify monarchy as a system of government.

I like that she's got a passion for mechanics and she is, genuinely, very pretty and a very good girlfriend for Platinum, but her naivety and need to follow in her sis's footsteps don't really endear her to me.

She's clever and ambitious and takes care of her family, and I really appreciate her owning her sexuality like she does (read: slutting it up good) but at the end of the day, she's still a horse.

Margaret Nearl's dick is bigger than yours. Think of the biggest dick you've ever seen. Margaret Nearl's dick is bigger than that. One time the sun decided to shine so Nearl went "hey sun how big is your dick again?" and the sun cut that shit OUT. The only reason Reunion still exists is because Margaret Nearl has to spend at least sixteen hours a day fucking her two wives, and a knight like her knows the importance of getting eight hours of sleep. Points taken off for still being a horse, but added back on for being Margaret "Fucks Your Wife" Nearl.

GOD that tail. That tail drives me to poetry. AND she's an engineer. Her passion for knowledge and for her work is so sexy. And she prefers to be mostly-naked for no good reason. Short, brown hair on nerdy girls is my weakness too, and she counts as a nerd even if she CAN kick my ass by thinking about it >///>

Insanely powerful women are hot. Insanely powerful women who choose to be protectors even if they have to keep their destructive potential under control to do so are even hotter. Plus there's just something about the sternness in her gaze that makes me want to say "yes ma'am". Her horns are hot too.

Have you noticed a trend with me yet? Have you figured it out yet? WOMAN BIG. WOMAN PROTEC. Most importantly, WOMAN HAVE HORN. She's also gentle and creative and (in every good fan interpretation anyway) built like a brick factory.

#arknights #lotsa text #ask meme #kaia if you weren't a beloved friend #this was SO MANY

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ithinkilikeit-reactions · 4 years ago

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GOT7 “They realise they’re in love with you”

GOT7 Masterlist Group Masterlist

Jaebum:

“It got turned down again.” Jaebum said, entering your place with no hi’s or hello’s. “That man is impossible to please.” He added, dropping his bag on the table and looking at you with his hands on his hips. You smiled at him sympathetically, it was ridiculous at this point the standards his boss was using against him. You could feel his frustration.

“Come here.” You said with your arms extended and waiting for him to dive into you. Jaebum smiled before wrapping his arms around you and joing you on the couch. “It sucks that he turned it down again, but I just know you’re going to work even harder and make something absolutely amazing.” You pet his hair, comforting him in the best way you could. “You’re right.” He looked at you with smile as you continued to pat his head. Jabeum just watched you as you encouraged him, stroking his hair and face while mumbling sweet words.

He loved that no matter how down, or angry he was, one look at your face and he knew everything would be okay.

Mark:

Meeting his family was a task, it took to being in a certain level of a relationship to get that far with him. Well, you were there and it seemed he was more nervous than you were. But the nerves went away seeing how calm you were, talking to his mom and making his dad laugh.

It was a rare thing to see his whole family on one page about a person, but they were. They were on one page about you. “Y/N’s really great.” His mom smiled, patting his back as he helped with dishes. You were enjoying coffee and a conversation with his dad and Mark could hear your laughter. “I know, I knew bringing Y/N here was the right decision.” He said and put the last plate away. With a sigh and a smile, he looked at him mom and she pat his back.

Hearing your laughter, seeing the way you and his family got along made him realise just how special you are.

Jinyoung:

“You have two really good options. I don’t know how I can help you pick.” You said, moving your hands over his shoulders and down his chest. Jinyoung sighed at the feeling, grabbing your hands and pulling you against his back tighter. “This drama is like something I’ve done before and love and this one is a whole new type of character.” He explained and gestured towards the 2 scripts in front of him.

A few hours later you were sat in front of him, reading lines off of the script dramatically. “But.... I love you.” You read dramatically and he had to choke back a laugh. “Jinyoung! Don’t laugh! You asked for my help.” You laughed and he smiled. “Yeah I did, and I think I made my choice with the drama’s. I’m chosing the other one, if I have to act this scene with anyone else than you I won’t be able to stop laughing.” He chuckled, pulling the script out of your hands. “Well, nice to see I was helpfull.” You smiled, leaning forward to kiss him.

Jinyoung loved that you could make him laugh in any situation, even with tough decisions.

Jackson:

You watched as seemingly random things were thrown into the blender with a disapproving stare. “I thought you don’t have schedule until later today?” You asked, knowing Jackson fixed this smoothie as a quick meal. “Yeah, that’s right. Why?” He asked, looking at you with big eyes. “That means, you have time for a real breakfast.” You said and moved to remove the food items from the blender. “But this is quick and easy.” He explained and you shook your head, cutting him off.

“It might be quick and easy, but it’s important that you take the time that you can spare to properly take care of yourself. Sometimes that means eating breakfast and not drinking it. Now sit down, I’ll make breakfast.” You poked his chest and turned to pull out some pans. Jackson stood frozen, in surprise and not really knowing what to do because he knew you were right.

He loved how you made sure he took care of himself, physically and mentally. That means a lot to him.

Youngjae:

Nice weather, not to hot, not to cold, but just right and absolutely perfect for taking a long walk with Coco. You ended up sitting in the park, the small dog in your lap with Youngjae’s arm around you. It was absolutely perfect, it was one of those small cherishable moments made even better with Youngjae’s laugh.

“I see an ice cream vendor... I’m gonna get us some.” You said, standing up and handing him Coco. With that you disappeared, only to reappear shortly after with 2 cones completely filled. “Eyyy, what flavor did you get?” Youngjae called as you approached. “The strawberry looked really nice and I-” You paused, watching the ice cream fall out of the cone. He started laughing as you handed him his ice cream and walked back to the vendor for a new one with a head hung in shame.

He loved having calm days with you and he loved that you could smile so easily, your happy energy was just unmatched to him.

Bambam:

He wasn’t anticipating you being over at his place when he got home, he also wasn’t expecting the smell of a super familiar meal either. “Baby, what are you doing here?” He asked, seeing you in his kitchen. “Just felt like surprising you.” You said and stirred the pot filled with soup.

“It smells like Tom Yam Kung in here.” Bambam remarked, moving to stand by as you stirred. “Wow, you’re right on the money.” You commented and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “You’ve been missing home lately so I called your mom and she walked me through making it. I hope it tastes right.” You remarked, lifting the spoon for him to try. He looked at you with wide eyes before going to taste it and he hummed. “I wasn’t expecting coming home to this, but I’m so glad.”

It meant the absolute world to him that you took the time to do sweet things like this, to make him feel better.

Yugyeom:

Maybe it was the way you were goofily dancing, maybe it was the way his hoodie swallowed you up or maybe it was the way you were still up with him in the practice room at 3 a.m. He laughed as you watched yourself in the mirror, agressively swinging the sleeves of his hoodie around.

Yugyeom walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you to stop you movements and he put his chin on top of your head. “Aren’t you tired yet?” He laughed and you joined in. “I am so tired, you have no idea. But you’re still practicing so I’m keeping myself preoccupied so I don’t fall asleep.” You explained, being still for the first time in a few minutes and allowing a yawn to slip through. “I’m here to support your practice! I can’t do that while I’m asleep.” You added, looking at him through the mirror.

Yugyeom loved that you were so supportive of his passion, that you were willing to sacrifice your sleep schedule for his even if he wished you didn’t. It meant a lot to him.

A/N: My GOT7 mood was triggered by their comeback news and I haven’t been here in a long time. I love it here.

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themilky-way · 4 years ago

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Connections {s.r}

gif credit: nobravery on tumblr!

pairing: spencer reid x female! reader

summary: you work at the BAU and are best friends with everybody, except spencer. you think he just doesn’t like you until one day, he proves you wrong.

warnings: just some minor hints of sadness, reader going through something, nothing major or specific.

author’s note: ah yes I did miss writing and spencer reid has my heart entirely. stay safe guys! ALSO I’M BARELY ON SEASON 3 SO YA’LL BETTER NOT SPOIL ANYTHING ISTG LMAO

-------

working in the BAU, your job was never boring. five months in had changed your outlook on almost anything and everything in your life, and had your mind now racing at what seemed like a million miles per minute. it was an exhilarating experience, regardless of how crude the crime scene could be, and it was about time you came to terms with that.

the BAU team was just as thrilled to have you with them as you were to join. nobody expected-or wanted- a new member, and were ready to reject your application when they finally met you for the interview. however, after you demonstrated to everyone that you could profile a serial killer based on only the amount of blood at the scene and position of the victim, everyone basically wanted to give you the “welcome tour” of the headquarters.

after you finally got an opportunity to get used to the layout of the job and your training ended, the team always looked forward to your “good morning” notes on their desk. being an early bird, you got there before everyone so you could get ahead on your reports, and always left small notes of encouragement on the person’s desk. it was a small and sweet gesture, and very much needed for the severity of the job.

“seriously, this girl must be doing some type of hypnosis or something to everybody here. why is it that every time I see her, I just wanna hug her, huh?”

“not hypnosis, morgan. just plain ol’ appreciation,” jj said. they were huddled around his desk as they all read a note that said: “always keep your head up, champ. we appreciate the work you do around here :)”

by then, he was the last of the bunch to read his card. however, he didn't have a gold star attached to it, which meant he wasn’t the “agent of the day” as you liked to phrase it. derek flipped the sticky note over and attempted to find it, but stopped when he realized he wasn’t it.

“wait, guys, so if I didn’t get a star, who did?” morgan asked, clearly puzzled. garcia shook her head and pouted, jj simply put a thumbs down, and prentiss muttered a “nope.” everyone knew hotch didn’t get it, because they figured he would call you in privately to thank you. everyone turned to look at you work in the conference room through the window. you were scribbling something on the whiteboard and had papers scattered everywhere on the table, unaware of the team’s puzzled expressions. at that moment, spencer walked through the double glass doors of the bureau and headed over to his desk as he normally would. as he did so, he found the team huddled together and looking at something, and when he followed their gaze he knew what this was about.

in truth, spencer never really cared for having a friendship with you. he looked at you as a coworker and just that, and developing a platonic relationship with you just wasn't anywhere in his mind. he did enjoy the words of encouragement and motivation every morning, though, and no matter how many phases of denial he went through, he looked for it as soon as he reached his desk.

“hey, guys, wanna hear something I discovered about dolphins last night?” spencer teased as he made his way over to morgan’s desk. nobody turned their heads from your direction, and it wasn't until reid mentioned your note that everyone stopped profiling you and turned their attention to him.

“you guys wanna hear-yeah that’s what I thought-wanna hear my note (y/n) left me?” he held up the sticky note and everyone nodded eagerly. he turned the note so he was able to read it, and began. “ ‘the world is smart, but you’re smarter. have a great day, reid!’ how cool is this!” he smiled and at that point so did everyone, when they realized that the note still had more to it.

“oh my god, reid! you got the gold star! congratulations sunshine,” garcia pointed out as she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. spencer’s mind started bouncing back and forth between thoughts when he looked at the tiny gold sticker below your comment. did this mean anything? should he mention it?

the answer to that was yes, he should, but was he going to? probably not. pats on the back were given as the team got up from morgan’s desk and headed to their own when hotch came out of his office and told everyone to meet in the conference room in five to look over a new case. reid, as he walked back to his pile of reports, looked at you working on your own. he never really thought of you as a friend, and didn't want to for that matter. but the longer he looked at you he started to realize that maybe befriending you wouldn't be so horrible. as everyone entered the room and gave you a hug or cheery greeting, spencer opted to sit at the other end of you. but one thing was for sure: his smile was the brightest one in the room.

the next few weeks went by quickly, and included a variety of new “agents’ of the day.” after reid, there was morgan, who practically wanted to kiss you after that. emily followed, who was beginning to turn into one of your closest friends. jj and garcia came next, and soon the four of you founded a girl’s night out every weekend.

however, them being the best profilers in the entire bureau, they noticed that the notes progressively stopped. the team realized something was off with you, and they noticed that your demeanor was different. you began to come later than you usually did, at one point even later than derek. your hairstyle changed to a messier bun, your desk was worse than reid’s, and no more cute notes were seen for almost two weeks.

“something’s wrong, you guys. she’s been here for months and she’s never once frowned or even forgot to put the cap back on her pen,” emily said, packing her files in her briefcase. jj nodded her head, “yeah I know, and I want to ask but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I mean, what if we’re reading too much into it?”

“reading into it? jj, we profile murderers who we’ve never even met, I’m pretty sure (y/n)’s going through something,” morgan stated, standing up from his chair and pushing it in adequately.

“we know one thing: when she’s ready to vent, we’ll be here. in the meantime, we should go home and get some rest. we fly out to oregon tomorrow,” hotch said. everyone agreed, and they stood up and gathered their belongings and headed for the exit door. they waved and said their goodbye’s to you, who was seated at the other end of the room.

you were the only one left at the bureau, and you were more tired than usual due to your lack of sleep recently. you closed your eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and began to massage your temples with your pointer fingers. it’s been tough for you, taking care of your grandparents ever since they came to live with you. arguments with your mother always lead to the same thing: leaving. you loved them, and you adored having family with you, especially in a job like the one you had. but you had to sacrifice your sleep and wellbeing in order for them to be safe.

you were so concentrated in your thoughts that you didn’t hear footsteps coming down the stairs, moving towards your direction, and finally coming to a complete stop next to your desk. it wasn't until a soft voice broke you from your thoughts, or more so from your nap at that point.

“(y/n)?”

you lifted your head rapidly, and looked up to find the source of the voice, and when you did, you managed to slur, “reid, what the hell, I, uh, thought I was the only one left.

“no, I was just catching up on my reports and was about to go home. by the looks of it, you should too.”

“alright, catch you in the morning, spence. I still gotta finish this case file,” you were looking at him now, and as you spoke you gave a tiny nod to your opened manila folder. “wait you’re staying later? do you know how dangerous it is for girls of your type to be out at these hours of the night? I read a study once that determined women who wandered at night suffered the most danger between the hours of 1 a.m. to 4 a.m.. I mean you don't want to put yourself-”

“I'm not gonna be long, dr. reid, I think I’ll be fine,” you cut him off mid fact. you returned to your paperwork and picked up your pen to write some notes on the margin, and when you looked back up a couple minutes later, you found reid staring at you, confusion clearly manifesting over his features.

‘I suggest offering you a seat, sir. that way you can look at me in distress as long as you like,” you let yourself chuckle a little bit, and even though it made spencer want to laugh too, he restrained himself and asked you what had troubled him for weeks now.

“(y/n), what’s going on? you’re not the same since garcia got the last morning note from you. seriously, I-I’m here to help you.”

dropping your pen, you swiveled your chair so you were in his direction and looked up at him to answer him. “in all honesty, and by no means full offense, I don’t think you care what’s going on with me.”

in his mind, reid was going nuts, and his silence? not helping very much. all he could do was look down at you with a shocked expression and his mouth opened and closed before he finally rebutted your statement.

“(y/n), I’m sorry I made it seem that way. I really am and the truth is I didn’t really care for your notes at first until I stopped receiving them.” he crouched down now to level with your height on the chair, a hand laying on his knee and the other on the ground for balance.

“I didn’t really care for a friend, until I realized I wanted your friendship. I never even thanked you for giving me the privilege of being ‘agent of the day.’”

you realized he meant it, and it wasn’t some cheesy reponse you were so used to getting. he felt it, and you began to realize you could also trust him even a little.

“thanks, reid. sorry for lashing out too, it’s just things haven’t been so easy back home. do you mind?”

“of course not. I’m all ears, (y/n).” you nodded and thanked him, standing up from your chair and kneeling down to ultimately sit down criss cross on the ground. he did the same as you, and his attention was fully yours.

you told him everything that had happened; the fights with your mom, your grandparents moving in, your lack of sleep and how you felt. you vented to him about almost everything in your life and he listened like his life depended on it. at the end, you were crying a little no matter how hard you tried not to. amidst everything, he had pulled you into an awkward sort of hug, considering your position and the fact he doesn't give much physical affection to people. nonetheless, he gave you the comfort you needed and you valued it.

he pulled away suddenly, and lifted himself off the ground a little to get his phone from his pocket. he asked you to get yours, and you did so by reaching over to the top of your desk. the both of you exchanged phones and he wrote his rather rapidly, you still trying to think about your own area code by the time he was finished.

you exchanged phones again, and when you grabbed yours from his hand, he held on to it as well. before he let go, he looked down at the ground and then landed on your hand on the phone.

“you can call me whenever you want. even if you don’t have a reason too.”

his eyes flicked up to your semi-red eyes, and he smiled softly. you did as well, and he felt small butterflies forming in his tummy when you did. spencer reid didn’t care for affection, nor for personal connections with anyone. but perhaps you were beginning to turn into the only exception.

and he didn't really mind it at all.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #derek morgan #shemar moore #jennifer jareau #aj cook #penelope garcia #kirsten vangsness #emily prentiss #paget brewster #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson

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cargopantsman · 3 years ago

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Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper... I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

#personal bs #vince rising #dan falling #don't try this at home kids

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yourbleedingh3art · 3 years ago

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Been asking this dude if I could take him to this art museum that’s on campus for a week and change now because I saw some shit I really wanted to share w him and i feel like time Together spent in an art museum is meaningful and enriching of body mind soul spirit and heart and I’m leaving college moving back home tomorrow and so i said i think today is our last day to do it and he said ok but in the morning it became I don’t know and I love you but I have all these other things to do .. ok why didn’t you do them already? Why did you hang out w me instead of working on ur stuff when the only thing I really wanted to do with you before we parted ways was go to this art museum. I mentioned it a million times.

To me Love is doing what makes the person you love happy - that, at least, being your strong desire .. that’s how it works for me! I waited 3 hours at his house yesterday while he fell asleep just because I knew our time together was short and if I left I couldn’t see him when he woke up. But iit wwsnt fun to wait for that long but it’s the type of thing I would do witho it question because . If you’re tired, I love u, sleep. If you’re hungry, I love you, eat, I’ll make u food! I used to make this mans bed after a sleepover. I bought him 2 tabs of acid and I smoke him up for free literally whenever. Im the one walking to his house 90% of the time so he doesn’t have to walk to me. And i did all those things without thinking because to me it’s just what you do if you’re in love. But he cant find an hour in his day to do something that’s important to me - that he would probably like!!Cuz he likes photography and thers such a cool photgraphy exhibit.

My school year was spent 1.Being my boyfriend’s girlfriend 2.Being alone and truly miserable after the relationship ended because I Cheated 3.Trying to date the person I cheated on my ex w Because i subsequently fell in love w him 4.Never dating him. And u might ask why i stayed or why it lasted so long with a boy who never would date me and it’s because he said he loved me.And that was enough for me. I still don’t think labels are that important..Unless they are individually. And it became important to me that we label our relationship after it became clear we acted like we were dsting and he still was opposed to doing that. In a way im glad summer will force an ending to all this. I expended so much love on this person and I’m not saying I didn’t get anything back, because I did, but I still wanted more. Perpetual state of wanting more from him=Perpetual disappointment. And that means in the final moments i spend with him I find myself Angry and disillusioned and I can’t even enjoy our time together the same way. My love is a laborious emotional effort and is felt by me in every atom and I find it near impossible to believe he loves me the same way, because he always hesitates to sacrifice for me, when I would do the same instantly for him.

I just kissed him goodbye and left. I wonder when is the next time I will see him. One of these times it will be the last. I did not give him the love letter I wrote for him. Part of me wants to withhold it and say I spilled water all over it or packed it up in my luggage. I could go to the art museum with him tomorrow, is the truth. I didn’t know that till this morning when my mom said she would be picking me up at 5 tomorrow. I did not tell him this because maybe I don’t want to go with him anymore. Maybe i am tired of loving him so much and knowing I love him so much i would damn near do anything for him, maybe I am tired of heat being returned by warm. It helped. Me.

To fall in love with someone who would not bend so easily to my whims, To fall in love with someone that inflamed my pride, thus giving me countless chances to conquer it and choose love. So many times I was given the chance to get annoyed, go silent, yell, leave, abandon conflict, and instead I tried always to choose to love through it. I tried always Patience and Understanding and it was not easy but became easier and I saw that Love was worth it. Always it is better to have loved and lost than to have never felt it at all. He was never my partner, my soulmate, my other half, never the love of my life, but he was my favorite person to hang out with on campus, favorite person to show new songs and pictures to, and I did love him wnd care about him in a deeply intimate, unforgettable way. I am lost right now. Physically, I mean I got off the elevator at a weird place now I’m wandering around outside his dorm quite lost and unfamiliar. And i don’t like to sleep in quite this late. I am an early riser by nature. And I am most productive when I rise early . I am GEtting extremely frustrated to be aimlessly walking . Now I am in a entirely different dorm I have never been in before. I feel sweaty and my underwear are twisted up in my pants so it’s uncomfortable when I walk. My sunglasses are on my head but every three steps they fall into my face. The sweat is giving me a developing smell. I am lost. And for some reason I am inclined to blame other people for this. I feel weaker with every step. I do not know what I want to do today. All I wanted to do was take him to the art museum. I guess I will go alone if I still do please. I was thinking of bringing a note book and logging which art I like best and why. Starting to study/track influences and all. I also should start to pack up even more of my room. Tonight will be my last night sleeping in it. I wonder if I will be sleeping alone. Tonight is also my last night to sleep with Him. Does he realize? Does he think of these things? And do they imbue him with urgency, or fear, do they make him feel like sand is slipping through his hands? Or inspire cool relief? Or simply, do these things that consume me remain unknown to him? It hurts to consider. I am walking in a godforsaken loop. Every time I take a turn that I thought I hadn’t tried before. It leads me back to the same hellish places . This walk is very metaphorical. He said he won’t visit me at least for a month into summer. He needs “gas money.” He may as well have said goodbye then and there. I wonder if I am going to be able to escape missing him. I will try to feel my devastation with grace. And finally I have walked back to a familiar place. Not yet home but I know how to get there.

#blog post #diary post

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nomnomsik · 4 years ago

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Omelas

Summary: Everyone knows about Omelas, the beautiful utopic city with perfect skies and the smiles of thousands. But even if some knew the ‘how’ of the creation of Omelas, not everyone knew ‘where’. Would you believe me if I told you that boy lived his whole life in the basement of your house?

Pairing: Jungkook x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Trigger warnings: isolation, yandere themes, kidnapping, physical violence, and blood.

»»————-　★　————-««

The first time you disobeyed, it was at 3 am. It was early enough to not warrant any suspicion in the house you lived in, and the perfect time when everything stood still, motionless, even as you crept around the dark hallway, making your way downstairs to the cellar.

Although some of the people in the metropolis city of Omelas knew of the supposed rumor of its prosperity, it was still mainly mysterious. Was it some kind of ritual? Well, that description wasn’t entirely wrong, you thought.

But you knew all your life. It wasn’t some grand revelation. It began with odd behaviors carried out by your father, your only parent. You understood at a young age that your father or brother would go downstairs to the cellar with food and water. That there had to be something there.

But with your bright smile, you greeted your neighbors. Nobody would imagine that the boy was beneath your feet, that he was living under your roof, trapped in the darkest and deepest part of the house.

And it was within that dark cellar in the utopian city of Omelas, where the unfortunate boy lived for the many. If you believed in a superior being, then maybe that boy was what you would call a god.

He made these beautiful skies, perfect weather, and the smiles on everyone’s faces. It was thanks to him.

The city, known for its infectious happiness, carried this secret. Those who discovered the truth about the boy took value in the happiness within the city of Omelas, living each day with gratitude.

If that boy lived underneath your home, did that make you a bad person for letting him rot captive, or did that make you as powerful as this god?

However, it was a puzzling scenario for you to envision when you were younger. So spoiled rotten that the only thing you could ask your father was why the boy didn't just get up and leave.

Your father chuckled, stroking your head and sighing.

“Because something bad would happen to all of us, ___.”

It was enough to scare you at the time and make sure that you never asked again. But looking back, the memory made you embarrassed. After years of growing up and learning more about the world around you, about what it means to be mature and making sacrifices, maybe you could understand a bit more now.

“Father, why did you decide to keep the boy in our house?”

Your father didn’t answer this time. In fact, this was probably the first time he hesitated to answer you at all.

You seemed to own everything you could imagine in the world, but for some reason, withholding this information made all of those possessions worthless. What was the point of having everything when something so small seemed impossible to possess? He smiled instead, ushering you back upstairs to take care of your brother.

But why? What was so important that he needed to hide?

A sigh escaped from your lips as you managed your way through the dark, aimlessly touching around to figure out your surroundings. At least he was the honest type who hesitated when it came to lying.

But the question about the existence of that boy would end today. You finally gathered the courage needed to find out for yourself. Survive, even if it means breaking the rules. Because in the end, if the boy had even just a few of the answers you wanted about this city of Omelas, that was enough.

»»————-　★　————-««

The boy could barely remember the glimmering light from the sun outside within his dark prison. With his hair rugged and its length reaching to his ankles, he curled up in a ball within the darkness.

His skin was littered with dirt that had practically become part of him, crawling with insect companions. His arms and legs were thin and there was always something in his eyes. But even still, the boy lived on, repeating each mundane day in his own hell.

He sat still in the silence of the isolated room he had spent most of his life in, staring at the door in front of him. The cadence of droplets falling from the leaky room ceiling and toward the ground floor was the only sound that could entertain him for hours as the darkness of his home submerged his form, hiding only his face. The entire room was pitch black with not one window stuck into the walls for clean air or bright light.

No matter how many times the boy stood up, wobbling over to the door and testing the doorknob, it was always locked. All he had on was a white cloth that had now taken a murky gray. Yet, he wrapped his small frame around with it, hugging it for warmth. As his eyes fluttered shut, he could make out the sounds of voices in the distance.

“Make sure to feed him while I’m out today.”

“Ughhh, I don’t wanna… Fine, fine, ugh, I’ll do it.”

Jungkook listened intently to their conversation that intruded his silence through the grubby walls. He could understand them and he shuddered, slouching his shoulders even more. His head sat inbetween his knees as his crumby hands covered his ears, eyes squinting shut to fend off their crawling voices.

The door then suddenly opened as an older boy stepped in, hastily filling up a bowl of water and dropping a tray near the door. Jungkook didn’t dare to look at him. He kept his head down, his blurry eyes focused on his crooked feet until the door slammed shut, with the sound of the lock following right after.

Before he was thrown in here, he could barely remember the face of his mother. All he had was one fundamental concept the people who threw him in here taught him: language.

Even if it was basic language, he learned rejection first-handedly from the people who refused to accept him in the first place. He knew the sting of words and the snide remarks in his face. He knew the sensation of tears rolling down his chin as he initially screamed for days, begging to be let out.

But he had stopped that years ago. He had accepted that nobody would come to save him.

Back then, whenever someone had come to give him the grool they called “food”, he would run up to them, pulling at their clothes. Tears would run down his face as he continuously apologized and pleaded to be let out.

“Please, I will be good. Please let me out, I will be good!”

But, he was always pushed roughly to the ground by a taller man, given a look of disgust, and a door slammed in his face. Afterward, the sound of the lock went off, and then came the stomping up the stairs.

Jungkook wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as the tray now lay empty, the bowl of water still full. He noticed it was much darker in his room than before and he crawled back to his corner, preparing to lay down on the rough and moldy wooden floors to get some sleep.

But before he could get comfortable, he heard the sound of someone coming back down the stairs. All of his limbs seemed to freeze as he ducked his head into his chest.

What now?

Normally, nobody visited him more than once a week, not that he fully understood the concept of time. For him, every second felt like an eternity of suffering and misery. But the footsteps got louder and louder. Perhaps, it was one of those people that just stared at him from the door. From time to time, he would see strange people visit him, standing by the door and looking at him with an unusual expression.

It was a mixture of anger, pity, and frustration. Even though Jungkook didn’t understand what those exact feelings were, those people were the ones that usually walked away from Omelas. Knowing the existence of the boy and seeing him with their very own eyes was something that filled them much more than guilt.

And maybe they realized that peace and happiness built upon the sacrifice of one person was nothing but fragile.

Jungkook showed his back to the door as he laid in the darkest corner of his room. The door clicked open and a pair of footsteps entered. The silence after made his heart race. He wanted to turn around, but his body wouldn’t budge.

He had enough rough experiences of turning around and getting his hopes up.

“Hello there.”

He expected the rough voice of one of the two people that constantly watched over him, but instead, it was soft and echoed in his dark abyss. For once, his ears didn’t sting at the sound of another person's voice. All he was used to was the sensation of his eardrums ringing and the disgusting sound of hearing his own cries.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

He finally turned around, his long hair falling over his entire face. Jungkook adjusted himself in the dark until a match was ignited and a candle illuminated his room. He cautiously took in the appearance of his peculiar guest, moving some of his hair out of the way.

It was a girl, dressed modestly in white, yet she took a seat on the dirty ground like it was nothing, just waiting for him.

“What’s your name?” She asked again, setting the candlestick onto the floor.

“J-J…” Jungkook started, mouth dry as he cringed, clawing at his ears at his own voice. “Eh-haa…” He whined, feeling the festering sores on his body begin to sting.

“I’m ____ .” You extended your hand to him as you watched the boy tilt his head to the side.

“Jungk…ook.” He mumbled, extending his index finger at poking at your hand. “What’s this?”

“It’s a handshake.” You beckoned him closer, grabbing hold of his hand and shaking it. But Jungkook froze, suddenly slapping your hand and backing away.

“I’m… dirty.” He grumbled, retreating back into the shadows.

“I wouldn’t have come here if I was worried about that kind of thing.” You smiled, trying to get a look at the boy’s face.

“Why are you… here? Are you going to... yell too?” He asked nervously.

“Well, I live here with my family. We’re not really a typical family. I don’t know my mother— But that doesn’t really matter. I came to see you, personally. Oh, but don’t tell anyone that I was here, okay?” You instructed to the confused boy who stared at you overwhelmed.

For his first interaction in so many years, he couldn’t function. You seemed to notice his expression, pushing your questions to the back of your mind. You’ll just have to see him at another time.

“Will you let me visit you again?”

“You want… to see me, again?” He mumbled, again self-conscious of the dust and dirt that covered him.

“Mhm! Please tell me you’ll say yes.” You pleaded, clasping his hands together in yours.

It was as if his eyes glimmered in the smally lit room as your warm hands embraced his cold ones. His heart was thumping loudly and he felt breathless. This feeling was different.

It wasn’t like when that scary man first threw him in here or when he refused to be pried off his mother’s arms. It wasn’t the type of feeling where his blood was rushing to every part of his body, desperate for an escape. His body felt warm for once and he didn’t want to let go.

“Then, yes… Yes, please visit… me, again… please.”

»»————-　★　————-««

The terms of Omelas’s utopic society are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child. But here you came—

“Jungkook!”

The next day, regardless of those rules.

“Hi…” He whispered in the dark, cheeks flushed as he reached out for your hand, melting against your gentle touch. “How are you?”

“Hmm,” You hummed, tapping your chin. “I’ve been good for the most part. Though, the weather’s been strange lately.”

“I can’t see anything outside from here.” Jungkook shyly confessed the obvious. “But if you say it’s been strange lately, then the weather’s strange!”

“Yup! So, actually, I wanted to ask you something, Jungkook.”

“Okay.” He nodded obediently.

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“I’m here with you. In the dark.” He answered innocently, still holding onto your hand.

“That’s… Yes, well, that’s technically not wrong I guess, but not what I meant.” You chuckled. “Do you know the city you live in?”

“Oh,” Jungkook started, looking down as he began to think. “Omel—” He stopped, tilting his head to the side. “Omel...ette…? It was something similar… Omeless? Hmm...”

You felt somewhat guilty at the laugh you failed to hold in, but Jungkook heard it, looking worriedly, as if you were choking on something.

“A-are you alright? W-Was I wrong…? Ahh…” He panicked, shaking your shoulder. “I’m sorry…” He began to apologize, bowing his head multiple times until his forehead collided against your shoulder. “Ow! O-oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt? Wait, are you choking?! ___?!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You sighed happily, taking a deep breath. “But you were close. It’s Omelas. We’re in Omelas, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s lips pulled into a partial smile as his eyes seemed to reflect the light from the candle. Then, his expression broke into an uncontainable smile as he began to sniffle, with tears welling in his eyes that he let calmly slide down his face.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, cradling Jungkook’s crying face with your hands.

“I-I’m so, so, happy…” He choked out. “I feel so happy right now. Thank you… You’re the first person to ever praise me… to ever care for me… Thank you, ___.”

Your expression morphed into a frown as you let the boy embrace you, unaware that your grip had tightened.

“Of course, Jungkook.” You smiled after several minutes of silence. When you let go, you stood up, walking back over to the door.

“See you tomorrow,” Jungkook whispered, waving in the dark.

You gave him a smile, softly closing the door. Then, you jammed the key in, locking it shut, your expression still in a deep frown. Jungkook hummed, listening to your footsteps as you climbed up the stairs and until they faded off.

I’m sorry, Jungkook.

»»————-　★　————-««

"Are you satisfied?"

You dropped the key into your brother's hand, giving a small nod.

"I guess you can say that."

It was the morning, with the smell of coffee floating in the air. You snuck into your brother's room right after breakfast, handing him back the key as per the agreement. He wouldn't say a thing to father as long as you gave it back. It would be foolish to try to argue your way to keep it so you simply watched him tuck it back into his wardrobe drawer.

"I trust you, sis."

You were on your way walking out of the room until you turned around, confused.

A pair of serious eyes looked back at you, almost glaring.

"I said, I trust you."

"Right..." You gulped, softly closing the door.

When you stepped outside, you saw the happy mothers and fathers cheerfully cooing at their children, encouraging them. There wasn't any hostility between siblings, parents, or peers in Omelas. It was always warm whenever you watched them.

But it was so cold in your own home.

Maybe it was because the boy lived with you. It was as if he was trying to pull at least someone down with him.

Your family.

And you probably deserved it too. Nobody wants to believe they're doing something terrible, let alone a terrible person.

In one scenario, you're the hero, the savior, the protector of peace and happiness. But in another, you're the villain, you're the antagonist in the story, tormenting a young boy.

But what about the boy himself? Where did he want to fit?

You scoffed at yourself. Of course he would want someplace other than there. Any other location was one million times better, right? Nobody would ever want to stay there. But, wasn't that only because you knew of a much better place?

When nightfall came, you slept. You didn't bother to ask just once more for the key again. You closed your eyes, prayed for a good dream that wouldn't come, and slept. A part of you wondered what Jungkook was doing, what he was thinking.

Was he upset? Would he still be hopefully waiting for you?

It filled you with guilt, but you shifted in your soft bed, throwing the blankets overtop your head.

Forget it. Forget him.

Each day when you woke up and stepped outside to see the smiling faces on the people of Omelas, it reaffirmed your choices, your decisions.

This is the right thing to do. These are the people you are protecting.

But it was always when night came that those thoughts came rushing in.

"How dare you say that you're protecting these people when you're using someone for your own good. How dare you say you can protect these people when you can't protect the one person who matters."

It was then that your feet found the cold floor, pulling a stuffed bag from out your closet and tiptoeing into your brother's room, secretly grabbing the key from the drawer.

»»————-　★　————-««

At the sound of the door creaking open, Jungkook swiftly turned around. His eyes sparkled in the darkness as he saw your familiar figure slip in through the door.

“___!” He whispered. “Where have you been? I missed you…” Jungkook mumbled, shyly looking over at your motionless figure.

“I see.” You replied, silence quickly filling up the room. Jungkook looked worriedly at you, fidgeting with his grimy hands.

Jungkook sat silently for a second, biting at his lip as his voice quivered.

“Aren’t you going to make an excuse… ____?”

“Huh?” You asked, looking back at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to make up a reason why you didn’t visit me? Can’t you just lie to me, instead? This feeling… It hurts.”

You stood motionless as you stared at his figure, almost analyzing the boy. He was naive, but not stupid. And if it was based on how you felt, you’d say he was quite clever. He knew his position strangely well for someone who seemed to be unaware of everything on the surface. Jungkook understood how to read someone. It seemed pointless to lie to him.

“No, I just… I felt guilty about leaving you all alone again. So that’s why I came, today. To tell you I can’t see you anymore.” You sighed, looking away from his slouched shoulders and hanging head.

“Hey, ___. Can I ask you a question? Do you choose the people up above on the surface, or do you choose me?”

You were broken away from your thoughts as you turned to stare at him. It was dead silent and your lips had gotten dry as you pondered exactly what you wanted to say to the boy. This was your fault. “I can’t choose you, Jungkook.”

“H-huh? W-what do you mean you can’t…”

“I can’t choose you, Jungkook.” You repeated in a dead, monotone voice.

“W-what are you saying?” Jungkook grew quiet for a second. “....Why are you saying... things like that?”

“Because...” You started, sliding over to him and cupping his cheeks. “You created this city, Jungkook. You’re the very source of everything that happens. I can’t bring you up. I can’t do that when I know thousands are going to suffer. Because of you, we understand the splendor of our lives. We know that we are not free just like you, but yet, we understand the full extent of compassion.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened as his lips parted.

“W-what are you…”

You gave Jungkook a sympathetic smile as he quivered in his corner, staring at his hands, so filthy, so dirty.

“So...Is… Omelas more important than me? Are the people up there more important than me?” He asked once again, almost in disbelief.

“...Yes, they’re much more important, Jungkook.” You sighed. “How many times do I need to repeat—”

“What…” He choked out in a cry, making you jump. “No… I… I… don’t… like that… at all…”

He grew quiet again, his nails scratching marks down his arm.

“That’s honestly… un...acceptable…” He whispered. “We were so happy, just the two of us down here!” He yelled, hands gripping and clawing at his hair. “I didn’t need anything! I just needed YOU!”

“Jungkook, stop-”

He tumbled over you, holding you down on the infested floor as a chill split down your spine. Even though his arms were so thin, he was pressing hard against your wrists and his sharp and uncut nails were piercing your skin, drawing blood. An irrational thought flashed in your mind: Was he going to kill you? What if he actually killed you?

“WHY? Why are you trying to leave me? Why do you want me to be all alone again? What is it about the people up there that’s more important than me?! I don’t…I don’t understand!”

"Who's up there that you care about more than me?” He spat coldly, his eyes going blank. “I let you continue to visit me all this time because I had faith in you! Because I trusted you!” He sobbed, once again feeling the sensation of his tears slide down his face.

“How could you trust someone you barely even know?” You whispered under your breath. “How stupid.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?!” Jungkook yelled as you began to resist and push back.

“What do you want me to say then? That I’ll stay with you here forever, Jungkook?!” You yelled, giving him a hard shove. “Do you seriously think you’ll be able to live up on the surface if you even had the chance?”

“O-of course!” Jungkook shouted, his hands trembling as they clutched against the cloth that covered him, right over his heart. “Of course I could! If you’re with me, of course I could!”

“Knowing that someone else would have to take your place?” You argued. “What if I took your place, huh? You would be driven insane by your inability to do anything! You’d have to bitterly accept reality, how cruel and unfair it is. And most of all, you’d blame yourself for causing another to suffer. Because you know that it should’ve been you. Because you know that two people have to carry heavy burdens instead of one now!”

“But even so, I want to go outside! I want to see the sun! I want to see the stars! Is it so selfish of me to think that way? I’ve given everyone in this city all they could ever want, right?! You said so, right?! So why can’t I just wish for something even once?!” He sobbed, curling up on the floor.

“Am I wrong…? I didn’t have entertainment, friends, happiness, or loved ones while I numbly sat here every day of my life. You’re telling me it’s wrong to be let out onto the surface after doing so much for the people here? Do I have to stay here all alone by myself and have no one ever commend me for all the hard work I’ve done? Will nobody praise me even though I never wanted to do this? Why do I have to be all alone?”

Jungkook felt tears roll down his cheeks as he laid motionless on the dirty floor.

“I can’t praise you for such a thing though, Jungkook.” You looked away from him, knowing he would only glare at you. “It’s wrong and it would insult you. I can’t praise the obligations you were set on by others. I can’t praise something when you never had a say in it. I can’t praise it, I can’t...”

“So you’ve come here to mock me?” Jungkook whispered with growing venom.

“No, I-I…” You stumbled through your words. “I started to wonder if I was assuming what you wished for. I thought it was obvious you would want to go outside, but I realized that you had never said those words yourself. It’s foolish to think now, but what if you were scared of how to carry a proper conversation? Of how you looked? What if you somehow got more scared of how people would react to you on the surface instead of being here? What if nobody would ever help you again?”

Jungkook sat silent, his body relaxing only a tad bit.

“It’s wrong for me to do in perspective of everyone who lives here in Omelas. But… why do we deserve to live in happiness? What did we ever do? We’re not noble nor self-sacrificing. And I personally don’t owe anyone in Omelas anything. So... I brought a bag full of things. I want you to go outside, Jungkook. I want you to leave and explore. I want you… to live…”

“I won’t tell you what Omelas will turn into. Honestly, I don’t know what will happen and I don’t want to flood you with negative thoughts for my well being. All I ask is you make your decision tonight. The bag’s here, the door’s unlocked.”

“So… you were testing me?” Jungkook asked incredulously.

“I was a bit too mean, wasn’t I?” You turned away. “Well, you said you could live on the surface and I believe you. Go see the sky. Go see the stars. And tell me all about them all one day.”

“But, what if—” Jungkook started, until he found your index finger against his lips, silencing him.

“Don’t ask me to come with you. I won’t.”

“But—Omelas will…”

“I know. I know, Jungkook.” You sighed. “I know I’m stubborn, but I can’t leave this city behind. Omelas was everything I’ve ever known. I’m not brave, I honestly don’t even think I'm a good person. I’m scared of what’s going to happen, but that’s all the more reason to smile through it. After all, that’s what we’ve been good at here in Omelas.”

"I don't understand. I want you to come with me. I want to be with you. Why must I have to make more sacrifices?

"I'm sorry, Jungkook." That’s all you could say until he accepted it.

He held onto you, his dirty hands holding on your arms, his hair brushing up against your shoulders. You looked fondly down at him, patting him on the head.

"Now quickly. You have to leave before the sun comes up."

Helping him up to his feet, you pulled the door open, your fingers intertwined with his. When you led him up the stairs and down the hallway, you brought him to the entrance door and into the outside world.

The sky was slowly getting brighter, its orange hues slowly growing. Jungkook stopped for a second, taking everything in. His past memories were so blurry, but they were slowly piecing back his home together, Omelas, together.

He breathed in the air greedily as if he could taste it too. You looked over your shoulder to see him paused, smiling. When Jungkook looked back at you, he stared at your outstretched hand, taking it.

"I'll tell you all about the stars, sun, and sky," Jungkook promised. "So wait for me."

»»————-　★　————-««

"What have you done?" A seething voice came from the hallway as you reentered your house, closing the entrance door.

"Good morning, father."

"Do you understand the weight of your actions? Do you?!" He shook your shoulders violently until you slapped him off. "Do you know how hard I worked to make Omelas the city it is today?"

“How hard you worked...? Did I hear you correctly? What exactly did you work hard for? Everyone here was content with sticking their hands out ready to receive and receive. You didn’t work hard for anything. You didn’t try to accomplish anything yourself. All you did was rely on the one boy who gave you everything.”

“Just you watch Omelas crumble then. It’s all over…” He groaned, holding onto his head like his life was over.

"Then maybe you should've asked to become a god."

»»————-　★　————-««

A/N: I was inspired by many things for this work. First and foremost was The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, which references a lot like how the boy lived in the cellar of the largest house, what his whining sounded like, and the strangers that came to visit him. I definitely kept the descriptions much tamer, but nevertheless hoped to convey the rules of Omelas. I was also inspired by parts of Dororo and Tower of God, the former with the inability to stand his own voice and the latter with Jungkook’s explosive anger and possessiveness. Hope you enjoyed!

#yandere bts #jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #bts omelas #omelas fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

Text

chambers - xiv

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3164

description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

He couldn’t see it before.

But he could now.

It was in the details. How you moved around the kitchen in the mornings, how you sat on the couch, the way you moved your fingers across his back as you passed him in the hall. It made sense. Whether nature versus nurture was more beneficial there was one true thing. You gained that from Steve and Peggy. The pure will and determination. The perseverance. The way he would lay you out on the mat and you’d get back up, the way you pushed to match his speed around the lake, and the way you argued with him.

Incessantly.

“I just think we could be helping a little more.” You shrug at him, dismissively. He could feel his jaw clench.

“We are doing what we are supposed to be doing right now.” Training, laying low.

“Hiding.” You bite. “Letting Zemo’s fear tactic work.” Bucky rolled his eyes,

“Sam is taking care of that,” He threw back what remained of his coffee, the temperature still slightly too hot. It scalds his throat on the way down, an instant regret. “What we need to worry about is your training.”

The mat, a relic from Pepper and Tony training in a similar way to this right now, up here at the cabin with their small little family. A way to stay sharp. It was laid out next to the cabin on some flat ground. The thick black mat gave a little to your feet but was still firm enough to take the air from your lungs when your back would hit it.

And you found your back against it, a lot.

Bucky was relentless, but you already knew this. Icing muscles that would be healed by morning while watching the evening news. Eating enough food for your growing metabolism became a full day of constant snacking, a jug of water sat by your bed for when you woke at two am ravenously thirsty.

“It’s like that at first,” He explains to you, “It’ll get better.” You had a hard time believing him when you then spilled said jug all over the floor of your room, you’d sopped it up with the towel you’d discarded from your earlier shower and took the soaking thing down to the laundry room, along with the rest of your laundry. A domestic task you hadn’t thought too much about until right now.

The steps back up from the basement creaked and had dust footprints from where you must assume Bucky had done laundry earlier in the day, a couple of his shirts were hanging above the dryer still. He knew you were coming, but he still didn’t move or look up.

Bucky sat in the kitchen, illuminated from the light on top of the stove, a steaming mug in front of him. A strange thing about Bucky is that he was really into loose leaf teas. There was a small cabinet in the compound filled with glass containers marked with chalk paint, along with measuring spoons and right below it a temperature controlled electric kettle.

“Different teas brew at different temperatures.” He defended, not that you’d asked. But he said that they help calm him down at night, when it’s time to finally rest his mind. And he liked variety.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked him, his slumped form looking tired, exhausted.

“Had a video call with Sam.” His voice grumbled, raspy. “Only time he could get on.” Your gaze moved to the clock above the stove. It was almost five in the morning. You mourned the minutes you wouldn’t get to sleep because there was no point. Bucky stared at his mug for a moment more before looking back up at you and saying, “I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky never went back to bed. He was a strict, 5 am riser, didn’t go to sleep until 10. Every day. Every day that you knew him as long as he could help it. He had routine. He nods, taking a sip of tea and looking at you with half lidded eyes.

“I’m fine.”

It was a quiet moment. Peaceful for the first time since he couldn’t remember. This was worth it. It was worth it. All the sacrifices he’d made. Everything he had to do to get here. All of the pain it initially caused him, culminating to this moment.

Peggy was still recovering, asleep just feet away. The first night of good rest in a long time. All due to the small bundle laying on Steve’s chest. The bare skin to skin contact he remembered was really good for babies. Calming. There was a rattle in your lungs still and he wondered if this was what it was like with his own Mother.

Did she lay awake just like this, constantly making sure he was still breathing? The worry that doesn’t go away. He thought about his baby every minute of every day. Is she still breathing? Is she hungry? Does she need to be changed?

He’d lay her out on a blanket in the living room. Her wide eyes watching him while he cleaned, cooing and babbling, wiggling on her belly or back. She was still so small, eating a couple ounces every few hours, needy, and cried more often than not.

But this is why he came back. And it all made sense to him.

He didn’t know he could love another person so much, and it terrifies him.

The lake was calm. In any other circumstance you would think this would be a nice vacation. A cabin in the middle of nowhere, on a beautiful lake somewhere lost in the woods of upstate New York. You could almost imagine it with a blanket of snow, thick on the ground. Sitting on the porch covered in a blanket with a hot cup of coffee, maybe some tea or hot chocolate.

You loved these runs now. Running with Bucky was better, but without was okay. Relaxing even. Your thoughts go blissfully blank as you listen to the birds chirping, sun coming up over the horizon and bathing the sky in soft blue light.

You’ve seen him in the corners of your eyes, but never face to face. Steve. Your father. His ghost having haunted you for months now seems to be keeping himself away. Maybe his intervention only came with the cost of crisis and high stress, none of which you’d been feeling since you got back to the cabin with Bucky after seeing your parents.

Something seemed to shift between the two of you that soothed that yandere type want you had for him.

Yes, you still loved him immensely, but now he wasn’t pushing you away.

Not really.

He was affectionate. Years of being touch-starved and lonely meant he would spend a lot of time in the same room, something always touching. A shoulder, a hand. Your cheeks have stopped heating up from the contact when he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger while reading.

But there was something there. Something that made him pull back. A forgetfulness he’d lose himself in for a minute, before he’d pull away, leave the room, or bashfully apologize and try to explain the behavior away.

It’s hard. You know that. It was hard for you too. Both of you hadn’t talked about it since. Just like Steve the conversation seemed to be absent.

He apologized for how distant he’d been before. And now it was safe to say you’d call him a friend, but this nagging in your chest, that pull of wanting those touches and wanting to say, “I’m completely fine with you touching me.” But you don’t because you don’t know if that’s Steve talking or you.

Which now that you’ve discovered your parentage seemed a little gross. Your biological father, Captain America, loved this man. But you were starting to think, maybe you do too.

You thought in passing about Strange’s words. What they implied. If Steve didn’t go back he would lose everything. It gave you a sinking feeling in your gut. What does that mean? What difference would you make towards the future of this world? A world you wouldn’t exist in if Tony Stark and Scott Lang hadn’t invented a time machine.

It seemed insane that you wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Thanos.

You wouldn’t exist if Doctor Strange didn’t tell Steve to go back.

Or if an older Steve didn’t tell Doctor Strange to tell the younger Steve to go back.

It was complicated.

But what seemed more complicated was Eric’s understanding of you not texting him back.

“Don’t send anything out to him.” Bucky warned. Bucky was very clear about contact with people from the outside. The phone you’d been given was Stark technology, it was a closed and secure circuit for the most part, but Bucky didn’t trust Eric and he didn’t want to risk your location being given away just for you to tell him that you can’t talk right now.

He didn’t seem to want to give up. You blocked his number this morning.

“We’re going to work on your knife skills.” A brief flash of memory. The dexterity of his fingers flipping and tossing that knife from hand to hand throughout the fight. The ability of it was practiced and fluid. It was intimidating. “In the event you get close combat, we are going to pair your hand to hand skills and instead of you being on the defense it will give you leverage to take on the offense and take down your opponent.”

Zemo was a fighter, but we’ve seen that he’s gotten men to do his dirty work for him. Never showing up, but having others show up to fight for his cause.

“I just don’t know how I feel about stabbing someone.” You stand across from him on the mat, a dummy knife in his hand. His eyebrow raised,

“You’ve crushed someone’s windpipe before.”

“It was an accident.” You defended. “I wasn’t in control.” He stands still for a minute before sighing,

“I don’t want you to have to stab anyone either,” honestly, “But in the event that it’s you or them… I’d rather you be prepared to take them down any way possible.”

This little dummy knife fit in your hand like a real knife, but had a blunt end unable to actually harm someone other than a couple bruises. Yeah, you could probably crush someone’s windpipe with this, but you quickly dismiss the thought and look back up at Bucky. He had an identical dummy knife. You watched his fingers flip the dummy knife back and forth over his hand. Over and under his fingers, smooth and easy.

“It’s an extension of your arm.” He explains. “You should think of it that way, make sure you keep a steady grip, not too tight but not loose either.”

The sun was hot on your back, mid spring in full swing the temperatures were rising to mid-60s and 70s every day. You could feel the sweat running down your back as you flipped the dummy knife from one hand, trying to catch it with the other, Bucky’s elbow meeting your stomach, the dummy knife falling and your back hitting the mat, wheezing.

“You’re overthinking.” His hand gripped your forearm, your hand gripping his as he pulled you up from the mat. “You can do this. Try again.”

A reset in stance, you tried to remember the first time Steve saw him again. When he was still the Winter Soldier. The way he fought. It’s the same way he fights now, the style ingrained in him from 70 years of practice. The Winter Soldier did well on the offense, he came in hot, overpowering. That’s what Bucky still does and he didn’t like being on the defense which had been shown to you when he taught you hand to hand.

Bucky was good at gaining the offense and backing people into a corner. That’s what he’s teaching you to do. Gain the offense, take down your opponent, don’t let them keep you on the defense.

You need to run at him first. And you do, your arm goes up ready to bring the ‘knife’ into his shoulder, his arm coming up to block, you drop the ‘knife’ from your right hand down to your left, waiting, bringing the ‘knife’ to his gut. His hand grabs your wrist, you twist your body to make his grip awkward and yours sure. A pause. Unsure what to do. That’s your mistake. His elbow meets your arm, the nerves of your arm spasming and releasing the dummy knife, his foot meets the back of your knee and causes you to drop, your knee giving out and putting you in a lunge on the mat.

“How do you recover?” He pauses. You have one free hand, his body is above yours, standing firm and gripping your captured wrist tightly. You debate for a second, taking your free hand to mimic a cheap shot without actually hitting him where it really hurts, his hips back away from your oncoming fist regardless, at the same time dropping your weight down and dragging him to the floor. You quickly grab the discarded dummy knife, flipping him onto his stomach and twisting your fingers into his hair, sitting on the middle of his back you grip the strands tightly and yank his head back, sticking the ‘knife’ to his throat.

A pause to catch your breath before releasing his hair and rolling off of his back, staring up at the sky beginning to gather clouds.

“Good job.” A sigh as he rolled onto his back beside you. “You’re getting better.”

“What did Sam say this morning?” You asked, both of you now rolling the mat to save it from the oncoming rain. Bucky lifted the mat over his shoulder, bringing it up onto the porch and depositing it on the side of the house.

“He wanted to check in, they’re finishing up cleaning Times Square and they’ve had meetings with Pepper about donation money.” There’s guilt in your gut, acidic and raw. And as if reading your mind he continued, “We didn’t know he was going to do this Y/N. You didn’t know he was going to do this.” That’s what probably hurt the most. Not having the control to stop something so horrifying.

You almost watched the news to punish yourself at this point. The death toll. People crying about missing family members. Bucky had caught you more than once, scolding you, shutting off the tv before pulling you into his side and giving you a minute to cry. It was heartbreaking. But you couldn’t help it.

The guilt festered in your stomach. It ate at you relentlessly. You wanted to get out there. You wanted to stop him, but was that nature or nurture? With the revelation of your parentage you wondered if it was the biology or the heart giving you an intense craving for justice.

“I have to make this right.” You told him. The sun setting below the horizon, Bucky took a step towards you on the porch, placing his hands just above your elbows. “I can’t let him get away with this.”

“And we won’t.” He soothes, “But I’m not going to put you in danger.” You scoff, removing yourself from his grip.

“The people in Times Square weren’t given a choice.” You could see his jaw clench, the muscles twitching. “What else did Sam say?” Bucky tugged his bottom lip between his teeth before sucking in making a ‘tsk�� sound.

“They’re closing in on Tanzania, where Zemo has some allies. They’re trying to get confirmation on the gun running they’re doing there…” Bucky’s eyes looked over your shoulder, sighing, before returning to yours. “We think he’s also trafficking humans.” Funding an international crime ring was hard work. You could taste the bile bubbling in your stomach.

“So what do we do?”

“Sam is taking care of it.”

“So nothing?” Bucky rolled his eyes, hands on his hips, a heavy sigh, “Bucky, I’m just saying, we’ve been out here for almost two weeks. I’ve improved. I literally took you down just forty minutes ago.”

“Because you needed a win.” He admits.

“So you let me take you down?” The anger was palpable. You knew he could feel it. You felt confident after holding that dummy knife to his throat. You felt like you could actually do something, actually maybe defend yourself, and apparently you were wrong.

“Yes.”

You turned abruptly, taking a step away from him before making a split second decision. You turned back quickly, throwing a fist at his face. One he easily dodged, bringing your other hand to meet his dodge, having him lean into the fist coming to his gut. A step backward. His arm reaches out, going to grab your arm but you drop down, foot hooking around the back of his knee, yanking forward he falls off balance. A quick flip and he regains composure, coming forward to grab your wrists quickly. He crosses them, spinning you around to hold your back against his chest, wrapping your arms around your body. You push off the ground, hard, butting your head against his nose and knocking the both of you to the ground as his grip didn’t relent.

“Y/N, stop!” He grips you tighter, the muscles in your shoulders straining in his grip. It was a blindingly clear sign. You weren’t ready. And it was endlessly frustrating. Hot tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You stopped struggling. His grip loosened. “It’s okay,” He says, “You’re okay.” He was bent over your back, legs framing yours, arms still wrapped around you. The tears didn’t fall this time. Your heavy breathing synced with his and you leaned back against him, resting the back of your head against his shoulder, looking back out onto the lake, the sky now dark.

“Listen to me,” he says, “We are going to stop him.” His thumb softly tracing your skin. “We are all doing what we can right now, and I need you to understand that doing what you can doesn’t mean you’re not doing anything.”

“You said that to Steve.” His hold loosened. You turned to look him in the eyes, his lips parted, close. “I’m not Steve.”

“I know you’re not-”

“No,” You shake your head, “I don’t think you do.” You push yourself up from the ground, heading towards the front door, and into the house.

...

“This is Atlas, checking in.” The recording started, “Moves are being made. It should be time to progress with the plan, but I've hit a small snag. I’m sure I can get it worked out shortly in one way or another.” A pause. “Cell 229 has been compromised.”

Zemo clicked off the recording, before replaying.

“This is Atlas, checking in…”

tagged // @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @an-lover @lbuck121 @rainbowkisses31 @artisticrogers1972 @flightlessbirdiee @sanniegirl1214 @sarcastic-and-cool @sincerelymlg @justanotherpaigeinthechapter @albinotigerpython @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky @gifsbysimplysonia @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sam wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america

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sickcyclist · 3 years ago

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This is the story of my day. It actually starts yesterday, when a heaven-sent rain swept in and cleared the smoke and cooled the air and tamped down the dust on the trails. I went on a bike ride because days like that are a gift. I have exercise-induced hypoxemia, which basically means that my oxygen drops when I exercise for reasons that we still don’t understand. Exercising with oxygen helps, but I still drop into the mid-80s. I knew I was too sick to ride and that doing so would make me much more sick, but I needed it for my mind so I was willing to sacrifice my body.

So that’s the first lesson of being sick. Everyone tells you that you have to be active and it will make things better and all you have to do is just push yourself hard enough. We’ve internalized this message to the point that many people believe sick people could get better if they just PUSHED. But that’s not always true. Sometimes pushing makes you worse. Sometimes it makes you much, much worse. And that can be true even if being active and pushing hard is something you love so much that it feels like it’s core to who you are.

I knew I would have to sleep for 12+ hours to make up for the ride, and I knew that I would have bad oxygen saturation stats because of it. And since I don’t have a real job, it should be easy to just take a lazy day (or week, or month) and get better, right? But actually I do have a real job and that job is to keep myself alive. It’s the job of a lot of us who are chronically ill, and it’s not a profession I would recommend. It’s not fun and it’s not rewarding and no one admires you for it and you’re not asked to speak to 5th graders on career day and you rarely get to move on to a newer, more interesting project.

Here’s what this particular day at work looked like for me. I woke up to a voicemail saying that my pulmonology appointment for Friday had been cancelled. I’ve been waiting to see a pulmonologist since March and was supposed to have an appointment weeks ago, but that was cancelled because the doctor quit two days beforehand. The other doctor in town couldn’t see me until the end of October, so I looked for a doctor in a bigger town hundreds of miles away. She comes highly recommended and in a way I’m happy because I strongly prefer female doctors, but for whatever reason she had to “clear her morning.” My new appointment is five weeks from now. I got off the phone and sobbed, which is not a good thing to do when your lungs don’t work. I probably could have toughed it up and avoided crying if I hadn’t worn myself down so much biking yesterday, but such is life.

I emailed my primary care provider asking for a note saying I could travel with my portable oxygen concentrator. I was supposed to get this letter from my pulmonologist, but now I won’t have a pulmonologist before I travel. The letter has to say that I use oxygen for sleep and activity, but it also has to specify that I won’t use oxygen on the plane. Which is a little funny because airplanes have extremely powerful oxygen-producing systems for emergencies, but they don’t like people who need oxygen because they don’t like the risk that comes with having sick people on board (think emergency landings). So people who need oxygen all the time need their own oxygen concentrator and battery power for the equivalent of 1.5x the time they will be in the air. I’m going on an 8-hour flight and it would cost about $400 to get strong enough batteries for that length. So I need them to let me carry my machine, which has lithium ion batteries that are otherwise prohibited. But in order to carry my machine I need to prove that I won’t be needing it.

I have a great primary care provider. I knew she would write the note. Easy peasy.

My next voicemail was from the specialty pharmacy that my insurance provider uses for certain drugs. I am allergic to a hormone all women produce as part of the menstrual cycle. This allergy is so severe that it has been responsible for 5 miscarriages, and it also means that I’m more miserable than usual for half the month. The good news is that all you have to do to stop it is take out your ovaries, but when you do that you go into full menopause. Which is not desirable because it increases your risk of cancer and osteoporosis and just overall mortality. Like not even from one thing. Just people who go into menopause early die early from all causes and we don’t know why.

That gives you some perspective on what the benefits have to look like in order for the cost-benefit analysis to still auger in favor of ovary removal. But since it is such a serious choice, you have to be sure. And the way you make sure is to stop your ovaries from working with a drug. The drug has hideous short and long term side effects, so if you feel better while taking it, that’s a pretty strong sign that an oophorectomy is the choice for you.

Approval for me to receive this particular drug was in limbo because the provider accidentally entered the wrong diagnosis. I have, as you can imagine, a lot of diagnoses. Entering the wrong diagnosis in this case was particularly funny because I’ve spent the last 6 months fighting with Blue Cross to get an expensive medicine that helps with my allergies. This medicine (Xolair) is approved for chronic urticaria (hives). It is not approved for progesterone hypersensitivity. I have both, which means I itch a lot for two weeks of the month and itch so much that I want to peel my skin off for two weeks of the month. Blue Cross argued that I wanted the drug for progesterone hypersensitivity. No medical provider said that, but it was the diagnosis they could use to deny the drug. Xolair costs $4000 a month. At that price it’s worth it to them to grind people down and hope they give up. It took four appeals and my lawyer (husband) to get the drug approved because I do indeed have chronic urticaria. It’s worked wonders for me, especially being allergic to the sun. You have no idea how easy it is to descend into madness when you are itchy all the time.

I went over all this with my new OB. I explained that, while the allergy shot solved the itching, it didn’t fix any of my systemic problems, which is why I was still interested in removing my ovaries. And because the conversation focused on how this ovary-suppressing drug (Lupron) specifically wasn’t for urticaria, it’s perhaps not surprising that she accidentally listed urticaria as the reason for the prescription. It’s like when you’re afraid you’ll mispronounce someone’s name. You tell yourself, “Say Kee-a, not Ky-a,” so many times that you’re basically guaranteed to call the person Ky-a.

So my ovary medicine was denied, of course, but I contacted my doctor’s office last week explaining the problem and they were very quick to apologize and resubmit. I returned the call from the specialty pharmacy but apparently they had just wanted to let me know that they were sorry for the delay. It was very polite of them but maybe didn’t require a phone call.

Then I got an email from Blue Cross Blue Shield. I logged in to read that coverage had again been denied (no reason stated) and that if I wanted to appeal the decision I would have to appeal through their specialty pharmacy. They gave me the name and number. Of a different specialty pharmacy than the one I had been dealing with for the past month. The one that I had already wrangled account numbers and diagnosis codes and special customer service phone lines out of. I typed up a polite response inquiring why I need to change pharmacies. And then I cried, but only just a little this time.

Then I called Walgreen’s because my medication for muscle spasms had been delayed and I received a note saying the pharmacist needed to speak to me. I am hypermobile so my connective tissue is just a little too bendy. My joints slip in and out all the time and my muscles have to overwork to hold my body together. Frequently they overwork so much that they lock up. This happens much more frequently in the progesterone-dominant phase of my cycle. Physical therapy is the best treatment, but sometimes I need muscles relaxants before I can even start physical therapy.

The man I spoke to at Walgreen’s told me I didn’t have a prescription for that drug. Then he told me I had a prescription but it had expired in March of 2020. I knew that wasn’t true because I hadn’t used it for years but had to start again when I got COVID. So I had no prescription in March of 2020 but I definitely did in March of 2021. No big deal. Just a simple computer error. Totally understandable in a pandemic, and I knew my doctor would refill it anyway. But he apparently felt that it was a big deal and wouldn’t submit the refill to my provider. I have no idea why. Maybe he thought I was engaged in drug-seeking behavior. Or maybe he was having a bad day. But he wouldn’t submit the refill. I hung up the phone and screamed. Loudly. Which really is not a good thing to do when your lungs don’t work.

Murry came up and rubbed the spasm out of my shoulder and listened to me vent and offered to be my medical power of attorney so he could deal with these people for me. But he’s the one with the real job that earns real money and when I’m sick he also cooks and cleans and does the shopping and walks the dogs. I may not be any good at the shitty job I had, but there’s no way I’m going to make him do it.

I switched tactics and chatted with someone through the Walgreen’s app. He was lovely and had no problem submitting my prescription for a refill. Easy peasy.

My final task for the day was calling to find out about the status of my CPAP prescription. I don’t have sleep apnea but while I’m asleep my breathing does slow down significantly enough that my oxygen drops (hypopnea). I need a special CPAP that adjust the pressure to my breathing, but it will get me off of oxygen at night. I’m very excited for it.

My insurance does not require prior authorization for CPAP prescriptions. However, St. Pete’s has its own prior authorization department that I guess makes sure you are not lying about not needing prior authorization? This department is, apparently, understaffed. I called my oxygen “rep” to find out how it was going. She very kindly bypassed the prior authorization department and called Blue Cross directly. Blue Cross informed her, as had I, that a prior authorization was not necessary. She could officially get me a CPAP.

Except that there is a national CPAP shortage. So she will try her best to get me one as soon as they get more. Hopefully this month. Even the rare, wonderful people who try to help you are sometimes as helpless as you.

I didn’t cry this time. Crying doesn’t fix anything and I can’t risk losing more oxygen. So I turned to writing therapy instead.

This was a bad day at work, but there are rarely good ones. It sucks to be sick, but I’m smart, articulate, overly educated, wealthy, and white. It could suck so, so much more. Someday I’ll turn all of this knowledge that I never wanted into something that helps people other than myself. Until then maybe someone will read this and know they are not alone. If being sick is your job, I see you. I would give you a hug—or a bonus!—if I could.

#lupus #chronic illness #hypermobility #connective tissue disease #exercise hypoxemia #progesterone hypersensitivity #health care efficiency #health insurance navigation #immunocompromised #biking with oxygen #care coorination

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