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pftones3482 · 3 years ago

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Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

#percy jackson #pjo #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #pjo fanfic #my writing #sally jackson #paul blofis #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo

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koobiluvr · 5 years ago

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you as the eighth member of bts!

them constantly being worried about you

i mean. seriously ALL the time

“jungkook, where did you see y/n last?”

“y/n, i’m serious, drink this damn water.”

“y/n go to bed, its 3 am!”

always being down to listen to you when you’re feeling down

“hobi-ah, joonie..do you ever feel like you don’t belong?”

“of course we do baby, we’re here for you.”

always having a shoulder to cry on even if its over something as simple as period cramps :]

they love you way too much to let you suffer alone

but they do give you your space when you need it

“jus’ wanna be left alone. thank you, anyway.”

but then later you felt bad for brushing them off

you came back and apologized and then started crying :(

for the rest of the night they took care of you and didn’t rush you into saying anything

getting scolded for cursing

“jungkook- you were supposed to kill the fucking guy!”

“yah! don’t say that!!!”

“jin i’m going to beat your little ass if you don’t-“

“hey! first of all, my ass is not LITTLE. and second of all, i will beat your little ass if you keep using that language!”

every time you did something sexy they would blush profusely and wouldn’t be able to look at you

example : blood sweat and tears

the hip thrusts and you grinding on the floor-

send some holy water

whenever you got hurt it just. it felt different

the guys got hurt all the time but seeing you getting hurt hit different

one time you passed out on stage

they all cried so hard

you didn’t wake up for like 20 minutes and they were convinced you were dead

after that, you spent the night at the dorms in their arms

they rarely let you out of their sight after that

you were just their baby sister and they didn’t want you getting hurt :(

you were originally from japan so you struggled some in korean

like one time you were having trouble reading this comment in korean so you asked jimin to translate it to you

long story short—it was a hate comment

‘y/n’s singing is so trash, why tf is she even in the group???!?’

but he would never tell you that :(

so he lied

“it says that you’re a great singer and they don’t understand how you have so much talent.”

as soon as he saw the bright smile on your face he almost wanted to cry

“thank you jiminie :]”

u all have a minecraft world together and taehyung and jungkook would come in and set everything on fire

and you nearly cried becuz they killed your minecraft cat :(

they felt bad and bought you dinner lmao

watching anime with each other bc you’re all huge weebs

in all, they really loved you

and im gonna right more shit on them so! please look forward and send requests :)

leo <3

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hobiwonder · 6 years ago

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daddies’ little princess~

Pairing: grizzly bear Namjoon, polar bear Yoongi, panda Hoseok, puppy taehyung x reader

Genre: flufffffff. hybrid au. daddy!bts. little!reader. human reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: slight swearing. implication of sex. nothing else.

Summary: yoongi yelled at you and now you’re hiding in the closet.

a/n: i combined two ideas from you guys so thank you for that. sorry it took longer bc... it ended up being longer lmao. also writing daddy and littles is new to me and just whole fluff is new to me so i’ll appreciate feedback. :) enjoy my little bubs.

(imagine yoongi there lmao i couldn’t find a gif for all of them)

“y/n?” a light knock outside the closet door that you promptly ignore.

“taehyung?” the puppy hybrid looks over to your pouting face before snuggling in closer to you in the decent sized closet, resting his chin on your shoulder as you glare at the closet door and the line of light that you can see from the slit where the two doors meet to close.

“d-do you think we should l-let them in?”

“no!” your response is instant and biting as the puppy jumps in surprise at your tone before nuzzling even closer to you. But it seems that your angry response had been a tad bit too loud because you can hear another set of footsteps approaching near the closet while the grizzly bear – Namjoon – sighs at your bratty tone. Refusing to get out of the closet.

“y/n? honey? It’s joonie. Baby can you please open the closet door for us?”

Taehyung is pulling back his face that had been buried in your neck, arms holding you tightly around the waist as he cuddled your rigid body to try and calm you down after your spat with Yoongi – the grumpy polar bear hybrid about wanting to get some writing done as a lyricist but you had wanted to colour in the new book he’d gotten you, with taehyung. Instead, after your endless jumps and hops around him trying to coax him to just spend time with you and the puppy – he’d snapped and told you to stop being a brat and listen to him for once.

And being the more sensitive out of all of your boyfriends, your eyes had started to produce tears on their own accord and before you could humiliate yourself even further, you’d taken taehyung’s hand and ran out of his room to the master bedroom closet, locking yourself in with taehyung. The puppy had just held you and started cuddling you as soon as you’d plopped on the floor with a scowl on your face, an angry pout on your lips to keep the tears at bay because of Yoongi snapping at you.

That had been 20 minutes ago until Yoongi had finally found out where you’d been hiding – mostly because of how loudly you’d been telling taehyung that you hated Yoongi! You hated him you hated him you hated him! He loved work more than you! All the while the obedient and docile puppy had just rubbed soothing circles on your back with one hand while the other wiped away the one or two lone angry tears that fell from your eyes. Taehyung was a big cuddler and took the opportunity whenever he saw one. But most of all, he was the other pea to your pod. He was your favourite because he played with you, he loved cuddles as much – some would argue more, and that person would probably be himself – and was an all around soulmate. At least one of them. Because who knew you’d get three more. Two of which were standing outside the closet, pleading with you to get out.

“no! no one likes me so im not coming out!” you were nearly shouting and it only made the puppy hold you tighter, hoping to calm you down.

“that’s not true baby. Yoongi was tired. He’s sorry for upsetting you.” You scoff at Namjoon’s attempt to apologise on behalf of his friend. Of course he would.

“you’re a liar. He hates me!” the tremble in your voice towards the end was evident. Saying the words out loud – that he hated you – really made it real and it dawned on you how foreign the word hate sounded when it came to him. He was sometimes the most affectionate towards everyone and it was hard to say that he hated you.

“y/n? princess? I don’t hate you my love. I was just very tired and I snapped. I’m so very sorry,” the dull ‘thud’ of a head being pressed against the door tells you that he’s leaning against it now. And through the small slit of light, you can just about make out that Namjoon is standing with one hand on his hips while the other is out of your sight.

You were mad, obviously, but moreover; you’d gotten your period today. And of course, the pms was at its worst on the first day as even a slightly raised voice made you want to sob. Thus, you were also sad. The stupid little voices telling you that your daddies didn’t love you.

“y/n?” you’re snapped out of your thoughts when you look over to the side at taehyung’s inquisitive, slightly nervous face – he was sometimes scared by your outbursts since he was still a puppy. “he means it.” He’s nodding at you, as if to say that ‘look, I believe him too.’

It doesn’t make you less angry, but it does make you less sad. Knowing that it was probably your hormones making you think bad thoughts. And suddenly, you were feeling lethargic, falling back in to taehyung’s soft body as he holds you even closer, placing small kisses on your cheeks. “do you want me to open the door now?”

Bringing your hands up to your face as you make little fists, rubbing at your damp eyes to make the annoying tears go away! – you nod slowly. Your tummy was hurting and the anger was wearing off – slowly but surely. And with one kick, taehyung had opened one side of the closet door as Yoongi and Namjoon rush forwards.

“Oh goodness. My baby.�� Namjoon is cooing at you when you make a beeline for him instead of Yoongi when he tries to hold you first. But of course, you were still grumpy and went straight for the fluffy grizzly bear hybrid, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he picks you up – slightly swaying on the spot while rubbing your back. Your face is buried in his neck and you know he’s walking you to the living room. The puppy had instead latched on to Yoongi, arms around his waist as he walked with him, following Namjoon out to the main area.

“Bro this is insane. Half time and not one goal-” the panda hybrid’s voice is loud and he’s sitting on the massive couch facing the tv – until he looks behind him, “woah woah woah. What’s happening here.”

“Just a small fight. Nothing much,” Namjoon is nonchalantly shaking his head at Hoseok who’s now stood up from his seat to walk over to Namjoon who had placed you on the kitchen counter. But of course – you’re not in the mood to let this go just yet.

“it wasn’t a small fight!” your lips are trembling when you’ve finally pulled your face from namjoon’s neck which was now slightly damp from your silent tears, “Yoongi daddy hates me.”

All of the men in the room had listened to you in silence until the sob that had broken out from you towards the end while you’d pointed at Yoongi. Simultaneous voices of ‘oh baby’ ‘that’s not true darling’ had rung about around you as tae squeezed his way between you and Namjoon, hugging your stomach to comfort your tiny sobs. All the while, Yoongi stays behind, watching the other hybrids comfort your obviously sour mood.

“he doesn’t hate you y/n. I can guarantee that okay my love?” Hoseok has both his hands around your face that’s swollen with the amount of crying you’d been doing, wiping away each tear that falls before kissing your forehead. And guess what? It makes you cry harder.

“oh god, did I do something?” Hoseok is sounding worried as he pulls back, glaring slightly at the puppy who had – once again – wedged his way in between you and Hoseok and was now hugging you tightly and you returned the embrace. But ever the most caring leader, Namjoon comes to the rescue again from behind the kitchen counter where he’d put a pot on the stove.

“it’s fine. She’s just upset. Let her cry it out,” he nods at Hoseok who now looks less worried than before. In all this ruckus, everyone had but forgotten Yoongi’s slowly retrieving figure- before Namjoon stops him.

“hyung, don’t take it to heart okay? She’s just upset. She knows you love her,” Namjoon is placing a hand on yoongi’s, squeezing tight as he brings him closer – the worry and guilt written all over yoongi’s face.

“yeah but does she?” Namjoon pulls Yoongi in an all out hug now, not missing the scoff from the elder at the affection.

“of course she does you silly bear. Taehyung just told me she got her period today as well. And you know how she gets.” And it’s all finally making sense as yoongi’s mouth turns in to an ‘o’ as everything clicks. Of course he shouldn’t have snapped at you and he has apologised profusely for it. But he’d never gotten this type of reaction before from you. But knowing that you were just not feeling well had him feeling slighter better and worse at the same time. For upsetting you when you were probably having period cramps like you usually did and needed more pampering and caring than usual.

“ah… okay. Should I get the usual then?” Namjoon just smiles at Yoongi knowingly and pats him on the shoulder encouragingly.

“yeah. But don’t count on her to jump on you straight away. You know how stubborn our princess is.” Namjoon’s chuckle maybe teasing but it was definitely true. But still. He loved his little princess.

“that she is.” And then Yoongi is off to the master bedroom to get your favourite stuffie, your snow white binky and your favourite blankie to get ready to make it up to you.

Your tears have now turned in to mellow sniffles while the three men try and cheer you up. Taehyung had still been firmly attached to you until Hoseok had told the puppy to go and set up totoro on the big screen for you while Namjoon finished up with your favourite hot chocolate.

“does it hurt a lot in your tummy?” Hoseok is softly rubbing your stomach while you nod your head animatedly, the pout permanently stuck on your face.

“aw my sweet sweet girl. Let’s get you some Panadol okay?” when hosoek turns away to grab the medicine from the drawer next to the TV, you’re hiccupping again before whimpering – not wanting him to walk away while your arms had stuck out in grabby hands until he’d rushed back to where you sat on the counter top, cuddling you close to his chest. The panda’s fresh, earthy scent always put you at ease and you refused to let him go. So he had to pick you up again, much like how Namjoon had to earlier when he’d picked you off the closet floor, and takes you to the living room before setting you down on the couch.

Hoseok swears he’s turned his back only for a second to grab some of the painkillers and yet – there the puppy was, cuddling you to death. He rolls his eyes but can’t help the smile that appears on his face when taehyung is nuzzling your tummy making the cutest – and your first laugh since The Incident – laugh escape your pretty lips.

“Alrighty! A hot cup of yummy cocoa coming right up ma’am.” You’re smiling softly up at Namjoon as he sets it down in front of you and hands you a glass of water first so you can take the meds.

When Yoongi has returned with all the essentials for a y/n care package, he finds Namjoon placing a soft kiss on your lips before he hands you the hot chocolate mug before taking the puppy and having a seat on one side of the massive couch. Yoongi remembers the day all five of you had gone shopping to find the biggest and comfiest couch you could – just to do exactly what you were all about to do today which was watch your favourite movie. Though he’s sighing – remembering that you being this mad at him never being a part of the plan.

He must have been loud because your head had turned towards where he stood and instantly – your eyes were on the blankie that he was holding. But you were in no mood to ask him for it. Not yet at least. So once again, you’re holding on to Hoseok tight when sits down – pulling you on his lap to cuddle you close to his chest.

“Hyung, come on. The movie is starting.” Namjoon is encouragingly smiling at him and Yoongi can’t help his pride as he walks forward to the couch, taking a seat besides Hoseok. Wanting to see if you’d move away from his lap – and also because that was the only seat left.

But instead of you moving away, you’re completely ignoring him, cuddling in to Hoseok as the movie starts. Not even twenty minutes later in the movie, you’re cuddling further into Hoseok, placing kisses on his neck while he chuckles and playfully tells you to pay attention to the movie in a whisper. Yoongi can’t quite make it out but one thing is for sure. Your mood had changed and you were no longer sad. At least it didn’t look like it. Taehyung has firmly taking a place on Namjoon’s lap, cuddling the grizzly bear while laughing the cutest laughs at each funny part.

“what? You want your blankie? Then go and take it from daddy Yoongi.” Hoseok is slightly louder this time as he tilts his head to the side to tell you to go to Yoongi but you’re being stubborn – like always. Hiding your face in hoseok’s chest again before he pries it away once more after you’d mumbled something that Yoongi couldn’t quite make out.

“no baby. I’m not going to ask him for you. You need to make up with him okay?” you’re pouting and slightly glaring at Hoseok for making you do this, “y/n. don’t make daddy upset.” This time however though, he’s referring to himself. Sighing – exaggeratedly of course – you nod and agree to go to Yoongi. But not before Hoseok has placed a deep open mouth kiss on your lips – tugging a tiny moan out of your mouth before he turns you around to face Yoongi.

Hoping that you’d finally relent, Yoongi is opening his arms towards you, waiting patiently for you to stop glaring at him. And just a few seconds later, your face is softening and you’re almost lunging at Yoongi that he’s pushed back slightly on the couch.

“Oh my sweet darling. I’m so so sorry. Daddy is so sorry.” You’ve buried your face in his chest while he’s whispering the words to you – sweet kisses being placed in your hair. And while you’re both lost in your moment – the rest of the hybrids watch, finally feeling at ease that their princess is no longer upset.

“you were a meany to me daddy.” Yoongi is wrapping you in the blankie while you ramble and vent away at how much he upset you. And when a lone tear escapes your eyes again; his hear clenches.

“I didn’t mean it bug. You’re my love, my biggest priority and daddy will never upset you like that again okay?”

The hesitation is only there for a second before you’re tilting your head back a little to look at him in his beautiful face, “daddy promise?” your voice is so small, the pout still endearingly on your cherub face that Yoongi can’t help but hold the back of your head with one hand – bring yours closer to his until your foreheads rested together before replying.

“daddy promise.” And just like that, the smile that lights up his entire fucking world is back on your face and he feels the weight being lifted off his chest.

“d-daddy…. Can I..” you trail off while Yoongi pays utter attention to what you want to say.

“yes princess? What does baby want?” shyly, your gaze slips to his lips before you look at him in the eyes again.

“i-I wanna…wanna kiss.” He’s trying to hide a smile as he nods, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips, holding your face gently in his hands but it seems that you have other plans.

“m-more.” You’re dazedly murmuring as he’s tried to pull away before pulling him back in before kissing Yoongi deeply. And he figures, after the day you’d had and how he’d treated you – he could kiss you for a while. So he slips his hands further in your hair, pulling your face even closer as he slips his tongue in your mouth while you let out the sweetest little whimper. And that’s how you spend the next 3 minutes or so. Deeply kissing each other, tongues tangling, little moans escaping your pretty lips – until you start to get handsy and Namjoon reminds Yoongi that you’re on your period.

“princess, daddy can’t right now you know that.” His light scolding has you pulling back with a grumble but your mind is so pleasantly hazy that you don’t care much. Snuggling in to Yoongi while you stretch your legs over Hoseok who instantly starts massaging your feet.

“give her her binky and her stuffie hyung.” Namjoon gestures behind Yoongi where he’d set the stuff on the coffee table.

He slips the binky in your mouth as you instantly latch on, hugging your stuffy tight before settling in to watch the rest of the movie. And that’s how you spend the rest of the night. All of you snuggled on one couch, cuddling each other – especially you – until you’re peacefully asleep between the 3 men – taehyung was now occupying hoseok’s lap while Yoongi shifted you to Namjoon sometime towards the end of the movie when his legs started to fall asleep.

“love you daddy” your sleepy murmur doesn’t go unnoticed when you’re being carried to bed.

“we love you too our little bunny.”

#bts fluff #namjoon fluff #yoongi fluff #hoseok fluff #taehyung fluff #bts x reader #i can't be bothered to tag all #euirbnjuenvjks #drabble

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paladinsuho-moved · 7 years ago

Text

it ain’t me [min yoongi]

SUMMARY: you get tired of him crawling back to his gang, ages after he promised he would leave for your sake. but a not so small misunderstanding almost ruins everything.

somewhere along the lines, we stopped seeing eye to eye. you were staying out all night, and i’d had enough.

no, i don't wanna know where you've been or where you're going, but i know i won't be home and you'll be on your own.

who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning? who's gonna rock you when the sun won't let you sleep?

who's waking up, to drive you home, when you're drunk and all alone? who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning?

it ain’t me.

-- it ain’t me // kygo & selena gomez

SHIP: min yoongi (suga) x reader

GENRE: angst with a happy ending

WARNINGS: mentions of violence, language, medical procedures, mentions of alcohol, a slightly unhealthy relationship

word count: 6.8k

a/n: yo this has been sitting in my drafts since last july, and i’m home sick today so i thought why not FINALLY finish this??? i have the BIGGEST kink for blond yoongi, idk. i’m not so sure about the ending, i might go back and re-write this. also, please understand that i don’t condone toxic relationships similar to the dynamic that yoongi and the reader have in this story. if you’re in a relationship where you don’t feel safe, be it because of your partner’s behavior or the circumstances under which your relationship operates, PLEASE get help and try to leave (and jesus christ i KNOW this sounds really hypocritical because of the ending, pls don’t come for me). anyway, i hope you enjoy!! as for the trailer, try to imagine it kind of like the train car from the agust d mv. also pls help bc this gif is,,, killing me

masterlist

BANG.

The noise against the door woke you up, and despite your limbs still feeling numb with sleep, they almost instantly seized up in fear of the unknown.

Two more bangs against the door, and you reached towards the other side of the bed and, barely even registering it was empty, you grabbed the baseball bat that was hidden between the bed and the nightstand.

Shakily standing up, you let your feet pad quietly across the trailer, turning on the light in the small space. You stepped towards the door, one hand reaching out for the doorknob, the other, gripping the bat, knuckles white and hands clammy with fear.

BANG.

This time, the noise caused you to jump back in fear, and you shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. What if it was a thief? A murderer? Why would anyone come banging on your trailer door at this time of night?

You bit your lip, remembering there was no peephole to look through in the trailer. Here you were, holding a baseball bat while dressed in nothing but a white t-shirt and some underwear, so close to passing out in fear, but you had no way of knowing who or what was outside.

Trying to calm your shaking, you crept towards the counter, where the key sat. Grabbing the key quickly, before tiptoeing back to the door and shakily inserting it into the lock, another bang caused you to whimper softly in fear. You gripped the bat tighter, pursing your lips in another attempt to calm the hurricane of emotions stirring in your chest.

The door was swiftly unlocked, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you bit the bullet and opened it, ready to swing the bat.

“Baby!” a familiar voice slurred out loudly, and your stiff body instantly began to relax, not registering the off tone of your boyfriend’s voice. Your pounding heart immediately began to slow down. You closed your eyes in relief, lowering the bat, and giving a soft exasperated sigh accompanied with a relieved smile.

So that was why Holly wasn’t barking, your mind realized, thinking back to the small dog who always slept outside of the trailer when it wasn’t cold.

“Goddammit, Min Yoongi, you almost gave me a heart atta—”

You voice trails off into the unknown as your eyes opened again, and you finally saw his face. Even though there was barely any light, the damage was there, and it hurt to even look at it. You felt your eyes widen as you assessed the damage in the dark, dim light of the trailer doorway.

The worst thing was that he was smiling like that. Like he was off his rocker insane. Yoongi only smiled like that in two different situations: either, he was having the time of his life, or he was completely smashed, and sometimes, sometimes even both.

One eye was swollen shut by what you could only assume was a series of punches, and with the other, you could see a black eye beginning to appear. His nosebleed had dried but it was still visible. there was a cut along his left cheek and his bottom lip was split straight down the middle.

Less than a second later he was pulling himself into the trailer, and you backed away to give him the necessary space as he shut the door, stumbling into your small, shared home.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmured again, and now that he was closer, you could smell the stench of soju and cigarettes that seemed to radiate off of him.

You didn't need to know anything else. He'd been out with “the guys” again. Walking towards the counter and setting the bat down there, you sighed, remembering how he'd walked out the door about an hour before you went to bed, and had claimed he was “going for a walk.” You didn’t need to ask why, you already knew it was a lie.

The fact that you knew and didn’t say anything was like the feeling you get after being sucker punched -- a brief moment of surprise and disbelief, did that really just happen? Before it starts to sink in. You knew, and you didn’t stop him, and now, here you were, your boyfriend’s face split like a porcelain doll -- right down to the pale skin and pretty eyes.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Your voice was quiet yet harsh as you asked him once you’d walked back in front of him, not wanting to deal with whatever excuses he had now, even though you needed to know why. He'd taken off his jacket, and you watched as you threw it on the couch. You couldn’t help but notice that he was swaying under the influence of the alcohol in his system.

You'd been dating Yoongi for four years, and living with him for three. You'd had only vague knowledge about what he did for a living before moving in, but had realized just how bad it was once you finally did.

First of all, he lived in a cramped trailer that you assumed was fine for just himself and the dog, but became too small with the two of you sharing the space.

During the honeymoon phase of when you'd first moved in, you'd thought it was endearing, the idea of the small space being shared between the man you loved and yourself. You would move the small dinner table to the side and fold the chairs, and stay up late slow dancing to soft rock music or quiet hip hop beats, just basking in each other’s presence.

Other nights were spent in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and mapping out your favorite places with your mouths, until one of the two writhed underneath the other and you called his name, grateful that a trailer meant no neighbors who could complain about the noise.

And then that phase ended some six months after you moved in, and suddenly the lack of space was suffocating, and you'd never realized how claustrophobic the trailer made you feel because you had been distracting yourself with the man who owned it, and ignoring both the small living space and his flaws.

Second of all, how almost every saturday night, he would go out with his supposed friends, and you would stay awake on the couch, waiting for him or falling asleep there, and waking up next to him in bed, only to find him asleep with a black eye or a broken lip, bruised knuckles and a hangover always present.

It was when you gave up on waiting up for him, and he stopped carrying you to bed when you did fall asleep on the couch, that the worst days of your relationship began, almost two years ago. All you would ever do was fight. But when he came home to you one night looking through your laptop for a new place to live, it all came to a standstill, and he seemed to realize how bad things were. It was as if he hadn't registered the screaming that upset the dog, the slamming doors or the throwing things when one of you exploded, having had enough. Never at each other, though. Never at each other.

Recently, in an attempt to make things better for the both of you, he was trying to get away from all of it. But to him, you assumed, it was like a drug, and he was hooked. But the idea of a drug always implied the possibility of an overdose, and that was what scared you the most.

Before he could answer, he was stumbling, and you had to grip him with all the strength your tired body could muster at the ungodly hour of four AM.

“I didn't realize how late it was, jagi,” He slurred, leaning on you. As you took a deep breath, trying to let go of some of your anger and to ignore the the smell of alcohol on his breath, you began to move him towards the sorry excuse for a dining table you owned, and managed to get him to sit down.

“Take off the shirt, Yoongi,” You muttered as you opened and closed the cabinets in a hasty search for the first aid kit you kept for occasions like this, even though he'd never come back this bad before.

You heard his suggestive chuckle from behind you back at the dining, and remembered just how horny he could get when he was drunk, and no matter how much you refused to do anything while one of you was sober and the other one wasn't, he would always ask for more kisses than necessary.

“I need to see if you're hurt anywhere else, Yoongi,” You remarked sharply as you pulled out the case and walked back towards him, setting it on the table just in time to watch his suggestive gummy grin fade. He didn’t answer.

Good thing too, you thought to yourself, if he said anything I’d probably have punched him as hard as whoever did this to him.

As you pulled off his shirt, and his pale chest was exposed, you felt your chest flood with relief as you found no cuts bad enough to need more than a few stitches.

“What happened to you, anyway?” You asked tiredly, but with some concern laced in your tone. Total ass or not, he was still your boyfriend.

“He was asking for it, saying I wasn't shit, stuff like that. But if you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” he answered, and you grimaced, remembering the last time you’d seen your boyfriend in a fight with someone else.

It’d been a few months ago, when you’d decided to go dancing because you hadn't gone anywhere together in such a long time, and you decided that both of them needed to get out of the trailer. He'd gone to the bathroom, leaving you for no less than five minutes, and some guy decided it would be a great idea to ask if you wanted to find somewhere more private, and in what you deemed the most cliché experience with a man who couldn't take no for an answer, he decided to go off on you, calling you a slut and a bitch and every other degrading term underneath the big blue sky. But it was when he tried to hit you that things got bad.

Because that was when Yoongi came back, and to be welcomed by such a sight was… well, less than comforting to him.

In the end, you had to pull him off of the other man, begging him to stop. Everyone was watching the scene unfold, staring as you tried to pull your boyfriend off of what was left of the man, who was half dead from Yoongi’s punches, all because your boyfriend had decided to ‘defend your honor’, all while the heavy bass was still making the club vibrate.

After that, the both of you had been thrown out of the club into the cold, the bartender who’d been in charge at the time telling you both to scram.

Neither of you said anything on the way home, the car quiet except for the soft rumble of the motor as you drove, seeing as you were the designated driver. He was sitting shotgun, looking at his then bruised hands, deadly quiet. His display of violence had frightened you enough for him to notice, and so he decided to give you the space you needed.

You could still remember the look of panic in his eyes when you’d gotten home, when he'd tried to put his hand on your cheek but you flinched away. You’d never seen him look so scared, scared that he'd lose you.

That was the thing with your beloved Min Yoongi — he didn't notice how bad he messed up until a small detail put everything into perspective for him.

“Jagiya,” he'd rasped out in the darkness of the bedroom later on, “You know I would never hurt you. Ever.”

You nodded, then realized he probably wouldn't see it. “Yeah,” You whispered, before rolling over so your back faced him, “I know… goodnight, Yoongi.”

He murmured your name, calling for you quietly.

“Yes, Yoongi?”

“I love you.”

“...I-I love you too, Yoongi.”

You forced herself to focus on the task at hand, and pulled out the disinfectant spray from the kit, along with a small pair of surgical scissors, cotton balls, bandages, a needle and thread.

In two quick strides, you were in front of the refrigerator, and you were pulling out the ice cubes you'd been saving for when the air conditioner stopped working as it always did during the hottest days of the summer.

Grabbing a small dish rag, you pulled two ice cubes out of the casing and wrapped the rag around them, before striding back over to Yoongi, pushing a few platinum blond strands out of his face before pressing it to his swollen eye.

“Hold that there, baby,” You said softly, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on the rag, hearing him hiss softly as the cold made contact with his bruised skin. You let go of his hand, and he held it up as you hoped he would.

Not stopping to look at his face, knowing he was watching you work, you decided to get to work. the disinfectant was sprayed on a cotton ball, and dabbed across the cuts on his face and chest.

Moving onto his knuckles, your hands seemed to fly across his skin as you fixed up his hands for what seemed like the millionth time since you first started dating, and as you finished wrapping the gauze around his right hand, you looked up at him.

“Is that too tight?” Your voice was still raspy, you realized, probably as you were still exhausted from your restless sleep. He shook his head in response, flexing his aching fingers to make sure.

“No,” That was all he answered, and you nodded. As you looked across the cut on his cheek, you asked yourself whether it needed stitches or not. You paused, trying to remember if you’d ever gotten to learn about stitches on the face, specifically, or if it was the same as any other stitch on the body.

This was the worst Yoongi had ever been, and if you didn't know how to treat him with your limited knowledge of first aid, then…

“Yoongi, I don't know about this cut, maybe we should get it checked out—”

“No.”

You hesitated in continuing as you heard the firmness in his voice. You knew that Yoongi hated hospitals, for both personal reasons and fear of rival gangs finding his personal information, and along with that, you. If there was something he didn't want, it was you getting dragged into his business affairs.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, before speaking gently. “Yoongi, baby, I don't know if stitches on the face have a different procedure than—”

“Just do it like you normally would,” He seemed to growl, sounding annoyed, as if it were your fault that he was in this dilemma. This only made your anger grow.

“Fine,” you snapped under your breath, and you watched as he looked taken aback by your small outburst, “Put down the ice. I can't do this with your arm covering the way.”

He set it down on the table, and it took all of your strength to not slam your fists on the table out of frustration.

He promised he wouldn't go out with them anymore, that he'd try to leave it for you. For you, he’d said, for us, because I love you.

Blinking back tears of rage, your hands pulled the scissors, along with the needle and thread toward you.

“Does it feel less swollen?” You mumbled half-heartedly, not meeting his eyes as you began to prepare the thread and the needle.

“I guess,” he answered, his voice still slurring slightly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Yoongi.” Your voice was cold and clipped, and you clenched your jaw in an attempt to calm yourself. “Just let me do what I have to do, okay?”

You brushed more hair out of his face, analyzing how many stitches he would need. You let your eyes rake across the pale skin that had been rudely interrupted by this ugly cut that you could only assume was from a knife. After a few seconds, you deemed the cut worthy of three stitches, threading the needle.

“Sit still,” You warned, and began to work.

As you let your hands do their meticulous job, moving as swiftly and calculated as they could this early, your mind wandered to the moment Yoongi seemed to realize he couldn't do this forever.

It had been almost four months ago, when the both of you had a pregnancy scare. You could remember the shame and fear blooming like a flower before immediately beginning to burn like a brazier out of control when you mumbled those three words to him.

Yoongi, I’m late.

During that next week, after several arguments that ended in you crying and him storming out, you decided to finally buy a pregnancy test and see the truth. At least if you were pregnant, you wouldn't have to live with the constant uneasiness of not knowing.

And to your relief, when you entered the bathroom to do it the test, you almost cried tears of relief when you found that you'd started that very day.

When Yoongi came home that night and you told him the news, after the initial relief that was celebrated between the two of you, after him picking you up and kissing you and holding you for what felt like an eternity, after the celebratory ordering of pizza, you both sat down and had a serious conversation until the sun came up the very next day.

As you cut the thread on the first stitch, you heard him grunt softly in discomfort as the tugging on his skin stop briefly as you began to prepare more thread.

You’d spoken about several things that night: Yoongi admitted that once he thought there would be a small child between the two of you, he'd realized how ready he was to live the rest of his life with you. That whenever he thought of having a baby grow up in this small trailer that the two of you were basically spilling out of, with a father involved in gang stuff, his skin would crawl and he'd begin to feel nauseous.

You agreed that if you did settle down, and eventually ended up having kids, it definitely wouldn't be under these circumstances. You wanted any possible children in the eventual picture to have better lives than both Yoongi and yourself were living in that moment.

And yes, you both knew you could never be the perfect nuclear family with the white picket fence, but it was better than being the washed up family where the father was involved with gangs and the mother who worked two jobs as a waitress.

No child of yours would ever go through that. Not now, not ever.

And so the both of you decided that you’d both try to move out of the trailer by the end of the year. The past months had been filled with searching for apartments within your budget and him trying to get himself a steady job, maybe even two. As of recently he’d been doing some mechanic work, and everything finally seemed like it would work out. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.

The second stitch was tied, and you grimaced as you rubbed at your eyes, which were beginning to strain from your concentration and the nagging desire to cry.

Here he sat now, so drunk he could barely stand on his own, as you patched him up like he was some quilt that you could simply stitch back together and you wouldn’t have to give a second thought to it once you finished.

This was your boyfriend, your Yoongi. He was a person, your person -- just as much as you were his, and despite his many flaws, you’d be willing to do anything for him, like an even more twisted version of the tale of Eros and Psyche, a greek myth you’d read long ago; Psyche, in hopes that she could be reunited with her one true love, had spent sleepless nights and gone through unspeakable dangers completing impossible tasks that could’ve killed her, all in the hopes that she’d get to be with her love again.

Deep down inside, you knew you were the same, no matter how angry you were with him right now, and maybe that was what scared you even a little more than the thought of Yoongi getting himself killed in some confrontation like in the movies, as if he were some kind of Al Capone, or Tony Montana.

The thought of losing him was terrifying. So much so, that whenever he was out you would lie in bed and ask yourself when it would happen. Because you knew that if he kept on doing this it was a matter of when, and not if.

You didn't want to be there when it did happen, eventually.

“Jagiya… Y/N.”

His voice snapped you back to reality, and you realized you'd finished the third and final stitch, but had been sitting there without cutting it as you sunk deeper into your thoughts.

“Are you… okay?” He asked once more, his voice quiet but his words slurred. And you nodded, face blank, because you didn't trust your voice enough to not sound like you were about to cry, out of anger, frustration, sadness.

Letting out a shaky breath, and cut the last stitch. You noticed him flinch slightly as his skin was released from the tug you had on it, and you turned his face to get a better look at your handiwork.

“It should be fine, assuming I did it right.” You sounded grim. “But, this could be a bit harder to keep from opening up… try not to move your face too much in the next week.”

“Does that mean no making out?” He asked quietly, tone still slurred and cocky, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Not the time, Yoongi.” Your tone was cold and you didn't look at him as you answered, focusing on putting away the tools you'd used.

“You're mad at me — don't be like that, baby girl…” He said softly, trying to put his hand on your cheek, and as you felt the bandages glide across your skin, you snapped.

In the height of your anger, you slapped his hand away, and the slightly hopeful look in his eyes seemed to fade.

“Don't touch me, Yoongi,” You snarled, not realizing how you'd raised your voice until you heard the silence that followed your outburst.

You lowered your head in slight embarrassment, shaking your head to avoid meeting his gaze. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, twice,” You told him, still not looking up, “The first time when you woke me up and the second time when I saw your face.”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, trying to undo how stiff it felt, before giving a tired sigh.

“One of these days, you're gonna come home, looking ten times worse than you do right now, and I… Yoongi, I-I’m not gonna be able to fix you up like I normally can. W-what's gonna happen if you break a rib, huh? Get stabbed?” You closed your eyes as you imagined the idea, before your trembling voice dropped to a whisper so quiet he had to strain his ears to listen.

“What's going to happen the day you get shot, Yoongi? What am I gonna do then?”

You stood, exhaling shakily as you come to press your palms against the small kitchen counter, facing away from him, your face burning in shame at your anger and how you sounded more like a worried housewife than you wanted to.

Because you didn't want him to feel like you were worried, even though you were. You wanted your words to sting more than a slap across the cheek could ever sting. You wanted them to cut deeper than the slash across his cheek. you wanted to bleed out your anger and have him choke on it, even if just for a little bit. You wanted him to know you were pissed, and that you had every right to be.

You wanted to exude rage, but here you stood, looking sadder than any Margaret Keane painting ever painted.

“I’m sorry,” You muttered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m angry and you're drunk. I can't… I can't do this to you right now.”

“Talk to me, baby,” He answered a few moments later, as he managed to stand, leaning on the dining table to get a better look at you, “Tell me what you feel, e-even if you think I won't like it.”

“I’ll yell at you when you're sober, Yoongi,” you insisted, scoffing at how cynical you sounded. Pursing your lips, you grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards and filling it with water from the pitcher inside of the refrigerator.

“Drink up,” You said as you placed it in front of him, “It'll help get the alcohol out of your system.”

He nodded, not saying anything else, before grabbing the glass and drinking it all in one go as you put back the pitcher.

“You want any more?” You asked, looking towards the door to the outside, considering your options, and you heard him utter a quick ‘no.’

“Well, let's go to bed, then… Do you think you can walk by yourself?”

He shrugged. “You're the one who doesn't want me to touch you,” He replied quietly, monotonously, tone sounding kind of cold; before letting his pair of wobbly legs and trying not to stumble towards the bedroom. You felt your chest pang with the slightest amount of regret at his response.

You watched him use the wall to hold himself up, before collapsing on the bed, kicking off his sneakers and not bothering to change.

You rubbed at your temples, closing your eyes and scrunching your eyebrows together in frustration. After a few moments, not wanting to waste anymore time, you hastily put away the first aid kit and set the empty glass in the sink.

You trudged towards the bedroom, turning off the main light, the lamp next to your side of the bed remaining the only source of light.

You sat down, not looking at him. Once again, you swallowed the lump in your throat, before letting one tear fall down your cheek, quickly wiping it away before he could see.

As you turned to face him, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Yoongi, I love—”

But he was already fast asleep, lying on his stomach, platinum blond hair framing his bruised face. his pale skin seemed tanner in the soft warm glow of the lamp’s light.

If his face weren't so swollen and bruised, he would've looked like an angel.

You shook your head in anger, turning off the light, ready to go back to sleep as the trailer was engulfed in darkness. Lying down, facing away from him, you found that sleep wouldn't come so easy—the absence of light left you isolated, accompanied by nothing but your thoughts.

What’s going to happen the day you get shot?

The question echoed in your head over and over again, and you began to blink back tears at the thought.

Whatever the answer to your question was, you knew that you didn’t want to know, because you didn’t want to be there when it happened. Because if you were there, you could lose him, and if you were there, with him, you didn’t want to find out just how willing you were to protect him.

You’d given Yoongi an ultimatum: you or his supposed friends.

You lied there for hours, asking yourself whether what happened tonight was Yoongi giving you the answer you were hoping he wouldn’t give.

Because honestly? You didn’t want him to die. You didn’t want to die, either. After everything you'd been through with him, weren't you allowed to be selfish?

The threat of rival gangs wanting retaliation was a rare, but not unheard of, thing in your relationship, but it had never gone further than a few broken windows while the both of you were out, and the one time Yoongi had woken you up and shoved you under the bed and pulled out a gun while he waited in front of the door, but no one was there. The both of you were too shaken up to sleep afterwards.

But that was the worst it had ever been. It had never gone anywhere further or been any worse; as far as the both of you knew, no one dangerous knew you existed in his life. Physically, you were safe. But your relationship was on a thin sheet of ice that went by the name “Yoongi's work”.

You felt as though you were being suffocated by what was going on, as if the smell of alcohol radiating off of him was a plastic bag that was wrapped around your head, Yoongi holding you down and forcing you to take it.

Were you really capable of holding your metaphorical breath that long?

Did you even want to?

If you stayed and Yoongi got hurt you would never forgive yourself. But if you left… you would never know what happened to him.

Somehow, the thought of not knowing whether he was dead or alive seemed comforting. Because if he was dead, you’d simply assume he was still breathing because, well, you didn't know, and had no way of finding out.

You stayed like that until the sun rose, sleepless, caught in a riptide of overthinking and anxiety.

Finally, when the alarm clock blinked 9:00 in the morning, and Yoongi was still sleeping off his drunken stupor, you felt a feeling settle in your chest, and you knew what you had to do.

By ten, you'd already packed a suitcase and changed, ready to leave. But as you stared at the door, a small inkling of doubt bloomed in your chest, and hesitantly, with trembling hands, you set the suitcase down.

In a few quick, quiet strides you were back in the too small bedroom, and your jaw clenched automatically as the desire to cry returned, stronger than ever.

Sitting on the bed, for what felt like the last time, you looked at the still sleeping figure curled up on the mattress.

Suddenly every kiss, every embrace, every laugh, every argument, every morning waking up next to each other, every sleepless night that was spent either yelling at each other or making love to each other began to come back.

Do you really want to give this up? A little voice murmured in the back of your mind as your eyes drifted to the small patch of sunlight streaming through the small window, shining down onto Yoongi’s bare, pale back, are you sure you'll ever find something this good again?

You looked down at him, still sleeping in the exact same position he'd fallen asleep in. The same position you'd seen him in a million times, except this time you were almost sure it was the last time.

I can certainly find something less toxic.

As if on autopilot, as you'd done a million times before, your hand came up to stroke his platinum blond locks. You smiled sadly to yourself, before leaning forward to leave a soft kiss on his forehead, careful not to move too much in an attempt not to wake him up. You didn't want to have that kind of confrontation.

“I love you,” you whispered, “But I can't live like this.”

Standing quickly, you walked to the door again, pulling it open as you picked up the suitcase, and stepped out as your heart seemed to sink into your stomach.

You closed the door as quietly as you could, because if you were too loud, one of two things would happen: either Yoongi would wake up, and you'd find yourself in the situation that you didn't want to be in, or he wouldn't, and the idea of that loud clang of metal seemed too solemn, too final for your aching heart, and you wouldn’t be able to handle it, and stay anyway.

The trailer had always been parked in an open field that was in front of a relatively calm road — a path had been made where you and Yoongi drove and parked his car. The idea of hitchhiking came to mind, as you didn't want to technically steal his car, but before you could decide anything else, a voice from behind made you stop dead in your tracks.

“y/n!”

You didn't turn around, your blood running cold in your veins, your heart beginning to beat as fast as you wanted to run away.

Instead, you waited until he was standing in front of you, still bruised; barefoot and shirtless, looking more heartbroken than anything. You gathered he must've woken up after everything after all, come outside, seen you and the suitcase and put two and two together.

Yoongi was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn't stupid. He didn't need to ask where you were going or what you were doing.

He grabbed your shoulders gently, and you closed your eyes, not wanting to look at his battered face. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you wished you could dig into your chest with your bare hands and yank out the frustration lying inside.

“Don't do this, jagi…” His voice was quiet, softer than the desperate shout he'd let out moments earlier.

“Look at me, baby girl, please,” He murmured, wiping away tears you hadn't realized had fallen.

“No,” you whimpered, “No, Yoongi, don't do this to me, n-not now…”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you heard him let out a shaky breath, as he gripped your free hand in his and gently tried to pull you back. “C-come on, baby, l-let's go inside—”

“No.”

The contrast between your tone now and the tone you'd used moments before halted him in his tracks, and you felt his grip tighten slightly on hand. He looked down and realized that your hand wasn’t gripping his back.

“I don't…” You opened your eyes, but still a lingering stubbornness inside your chest couldn't get you to meet his eyes.

You sighed in frustration, setting down the suitcase to wipe away more tears that had fallen. “I don't… I can't live like this anymore! Yoongi, I-I can't do it, I don't wanna worry about whether you're gonna come back or not when you go out for a walk, or whatever it was you were doing last night, for fuck’s sake.”

One of his hands reached for your cheeks, and the stubbornness inside made your eyes screw shut once more.

“Jagiya…” He sighed, “...Y/n, please look at me. Listen to me, baby, I’m begging you. Give me five minutes, and…” You heard him groan softly as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

“C-come inside, talk with me for five minutes… I’ll explain everything, and if you still want to leave, I won't stop you.”

The idea was tempting. You wanted so desperately to believe that this could be fixed in some kind of confrontation, but that moment had come months ago; on the night you had realized you weren’t pregnant, and he was still involved in his shady business and you still felt suffocated by the confines of the trailer.

You should've just said no, pushed him off. Walked away and not looked back, ignoring his pleas for you to come back. But, as the last of your resolve softened and melted away, you met his eyes. The swelling had gone down enough for you to see both of them now, and caught how they were misty, as if he were also about to cry. The mid-morning sun shone against them, causing the dark flecks of gold in them to shine.

But did you say no? You didn't. You couldn’t. Not to, him, not to your precious Min Yoongi. It was impossible.

“...Fine,” You responded finally, softly, and you watched as Yoongi’s posture seemed to relaxed, and he flashed a small, hopeful smile, which would've looked so much nicer if his lip wasn't busted in half.

He led you back into the trailer, his grip on your hand tight, as if he were scared that you would break away from him at any given moment. He was right, in a way. Your senses were on alert, red lights beeping as you remembered every single warning you’d gotten against toxic relationships in your life.

Once you’d both entered the trailer, he shut the door and leaned against it, as if trying to stop you from leaving again. Your gut tightened with anxiety at the action, as the possibilities of his body language had you eyeing him nervously. What if you decided to leave and he didn’t want to let you?

“I’m leaving the gang.” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, his eyes gazing at yours. You sighed, shaking your head as you set your suitcase down. “Where have I heard that before?”

He shook his head. “Y/n, I’m serious this time. Let me explain--”

“Sure you are, Yoongi.”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sick of living like this, Yoongi! I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life in this shitty trailer. I feel like i’m suffocating in here.”

“What, you think I’m not?”

“You certainly don’t act like you care enough to do anything about it! You’re the one who went back to them, last night, Yoongi. Not me.”

He paused, blinking. His face scrunched into one of confusion, and you wanted to tell him not to do that out of fear that the stitch on his face would open up. “Wait. Did I tell you why I went out last night?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his deep voice, thinking back to the disastrous night before. “Uh… no. You didn’t.”

He stared at you for a second, before his eyebrows shot up in realization, gaze solemn. “You think I… Oh, jagi, no.”

“What are you talking about, Yoongi?”

He shot forward, gripping your shoulders, pulling you closer, until you were pressed into his chest.

“I told them I wanted to leave last night.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding released itself, and you pushed him away slightly, enough to look him in the eyes, but not enough to have him release his grip on you.

“If you’re lying, I’ll cut your dick off, Min Yoongi.”

He smiled softly, his gaze still sad as a hand reaches for your face to brush a stray hair out of the way, before shaking his head. “It’s the truth, I swear. No need to cut anyone’s dick off.”

“Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just… I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if it would work, I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case it didn’t.” He shook his head, lost in thought.

“You should’ve told me,” You murmured, the close proximity enough for him to hear your quiet voice, “All of this could’ve been avoided, Yoongi.”

You wondered to yourself why he didn’t tell you once he came home, before telling yourself he was too drunk to even stand and speak properly, much less explain what he’d done. Combining that with Yoongi’s temper and your outburst, it was easy to figure out that he’d gotten upset at your reaction.

Your hand reached for his face, your thumb brushing over the skin of his cut. “Who did this to you, then?” Your voice was curious, slightly angry at the thought of one of the members of the gang getting violent at whatever he told them.

He sighed, licking his chapped lips nervously. “Namjoon. He was pissed.” The hand on your back let go as he used it to gesture to the cut on his face, “Told me that if I wanted to leave so bad, I could have this as a parting gift.”

You grimaced at the idea, your imagination going into overdrive to build up a mental image of what he’d just said. “Pissed is an understatement,” You replied, imagining how it must’ve hurt. He scoffed.

“You’re telling me.”

“So you’re done? You’re gone?” The uncertainty in your voice is enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s done,” He said, “I’m gone. For you, for us.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, half in relief, half in comfort as he leans to rest his forehead against yours as your mind registered the same four words he’d spoken when he first promised you this.

And as you stand there, in his arms, the reality began to sink in: this was happening.

You might just make it out alive, after all.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #min yoongi #suga #bts scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #bts writing #yoongi angst #bts angst

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martinlawless · 3 years ago

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British Cycling National Masters Road Race Championship 2021

Category D, 45-49 year olds, E1234 Garstang, Lancashire 7 August 2021

The British Cycling National Masters Road Race, like the circuit race equivalent, is an annual championship that has races in five-year categories. I’m in the 45-49 band, or ‘Category D’ class, for this one.

It’s on the Oakenclough road race circuit near Garstang, that goes into the Forest of Bowland, an official Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, in Lancashire. I don’t know it at all and drive the loop twice the evening before. I find out it’s brutal and look again at the maths I did to understand how hard it would be. I had the numbers wrong by some way. It’s a 10-mile lap with about 1,000ft of climbing each time, pan flat initially, that then turns north and climbs. And climbs. And climbs. For 5 miles in total. Then it turns one more time and climbs silly to the top. I will guess at near 20%. It then rockets downwards for 4 miles, more steeply than the ascent, twisting sharply here and there.

That’s not all. The road surface, in parts, is awful. Worn down and ragged through neglect and harsh winters. It’s beautiful all around, but the tarmac is ugly. You’re sheltered quite well on the ascent. On the descent you look west and can clearly make out Blackpool Tower, the Irish Sea and Morecombe Bay in the distance on a clear day – lovely – but you also face the fierce prevailing wind fresh from the sea. It’s a difficult course. And, for me I know it won’t offer the ‘traditional’ benefits of a road race. As I reflect the night before, the ups and downs I reckon will split the pack and it will be attrition for all individually.

Race day. The weather, as forecast, is abominable. It’s quite warm… around 15 degrees, but it’s very wet. Steady rain, low cloud and very often intense, heavy storms coming and going, bringing dark skies and low visibility. The sort of astonishing weather you take videos on your phone with and post online. Remarkably, as we take the briefing and get behind the car to the start, the rain stops and there’s even a hint of sun. We’d go on to do much of the first lap in the dry. But then it all came back with a vengeance.

I was pleased with how I’d dressed. Race suit. Thin, string wicking vest. Good rain resistant arm warmers. Aero-socks, utterly glued to the legs with spray glue. Neoprene full-finger gloves. Ashwell cap with a good visor. This worked well on the day. I knew it would not get that cold even though I was thinly attired. And I wouldn’t get heavy through soaked clothes. The fingers would be fine in the neoprene ‘wet suit’ gloves. I packed four gels and a chewy bar. I took one bottle, as my dad was in the feed zone at the top of the lap to pass new bottles. Every gram would count on this climbing-fest.

We’re off. We are mixed in with the 40-44 year olds race. There’s a good few DNSs – but there’s plenty about as we head off. The flag goes down from the car and we’re off. A mixed bag of riders from all over the country. There’s gravity towards local clubs but they really are from all over the place. Initially, it’s all good. I’m just surfing the wheels and settling in. Then it turns upwards. I can’t tell whether it’s nervousness or exertion, but I am finding it hard to get a rhythm on the ascent. I’m OK, but just can’t seem to get on top of my breathing. It’s surging and whirling a bit as everyone is releasing adrenaline and finding their way into the race. Maybe towards the latter of the ascent, I feel the pace is too hot and dig in and start to burn a match. Ordinarily in this situation, I might hide in the bunch here. The issue is that we’re not really going fast enough for the drafting effect of the bunch to make a massive difference. There isn’t really anywhere to hide. I figure we are already losing riders as we turn for the big bit. All credit to anyone who turns up to race, has a go, dies a death almost instantly and then comes back for more another day.

The big hill is cruel. I am well in the red and sliding back. By the time we crest it, I’m with four others and the bunch is several bike lengths away. But there’s no panic – from any of us. We know what to do. Without going deep, we hustle into a quintet and begin a chaingang. Our race is not over, it’s just a different way to do well.

Lap 2 is largely consolidation and finding rhythm. Cleveland Wheelers chap is a fantastic descender, and it turns out he used to race downhill. He just needs a bit of help on the climbs. Horwich CC fella is happy to do long turns and give us all a break. Chester CC rider is keeping spirits high with his jokes, and the shop team fella is quite quiet, I think hanging in there a bit, but helping on the front like the rest of us.

The rain gets really bad. No, like really bad. I can feel it spilling out of the top of my shoes. My cap is doing well to give me a clear line through my glasses. But it’s limited. It’s so thick and intense, it’s hurting on the downhill and I wonder if it’s hail. But it’s just walloping big rain. Potholes and loose gravel everywhere. This is very technical in parts. Too often the chosen line is the better of many holey evils. I take a turn badly and an oncoming Range Rover slides by too close for comfort. It’s rough. We put a lot of faith in bikes, hurtling around these lanes and over tight bridges.

We carry on though. My gloves are brilliant to fight off cold although dexterity plummets with them on. I attempt three bottle catches but only make one. I can’t feel much too well. That’s fine. I’m not too thirsty in this weather. I’m drinking from the road spray, as it were.

The turning point in my mind is late on. Earlier in the race, I’d expected we’d hoover up dropped riders into our gang. Those who would be spat out from the front. But we’d seen none. OK, through time checks, we knew we were losing around 3 minutes a lap on the bunch, but all the same, a solo rider would soon be caught. But, nothing. Then, in the latter part of the race, we pass one rider. He’s absolutely blasted. We urge him to get on our train, but he’s busted and twiddling to the end of the lap or something. This starts to make me think that the bunch is chewing up riders and they’re not dropping back, they’re quitting. I start to wonder how many dropouts it would take for us to place. National races have points down to 15th place. We could be in with a shout?

I’m galvanized. Of the five in our group, just me and Cleveland are in the 45-49 category. I think all we need to do is stick it out, not get lapped and get over the line.

My feet begin to hurt. I realise I’ve lost all sensation and have tightened and tightened the BOA dials until it’s restricting bloodflow. I loosen the shoes and feel instant relief, eat a bar to avoid cramp from too many gels and sugar, and navigate the climb once more.

As we take on the daft steep bit again, to start the last lap, out of the blue, the chequered flag is dropped. With just around 20 metres, the five of us realise our finish is suddenly in front of us and we break out a sprint. I’m caught out and I’m third of our five over the line. More precisely, Cleveland in my race category is in front of me. The commissaires decide to pull us out and shorten the race, given the conditions, with one lap to go – in part as mercy for racers and organisers stuck on the wet hill. I politely ask if we will still place despite this and not be classed as a DNF – and the judges reassure me this is the case. Suddenly, our race is done. I am relieved. It’s stopped raining. I’m in among the throng at the line and I now get to see the front of the race finish.

It’s amazing how in pieces the front of the race is. The soloist winner has a massive gap over the next few riders, who have minutes over the next solo rider, etc. I’m counting the riders, and their category, to get an idea of who is in race C and D. Eventually a very depleted bunch comes through. I count around 27 finishers in total for both races, with most being in the other ‘yoof’ race. I’m getting excited. Top 15 surely?

Back at HQ, I have a brief chat with Chris, the winner, and watch him get his National jersey. Amazing. Then I go to the results page. There I am 12th place out of just 12 finishers in our D race. Less than one-third the total. That’s 4 BC points.

On a bit of a high, me and my dad do a mini driving tour of the Trough of Bowland and I get a coffee at the Inn at Whitewell, widely regarded as one of the best pubs in the UK. This was a race where it paid off to stay in your comfort zone, keep a match or two, and keep your head down while others suffered greater. This way, you can, over time, survive when the pace and conditions are brutal – to climb the ranks over those who blow up.

It’s not the race I wanted through. I was quite a way off in power for the front. I resolve if I do it next year, I will focus on losing 4-5kgs. I’ll also be in the 50-54 band. That should all balance the ratio out a bit. It would be a nice summer aim.

I also can tell you now, if I do it next year, it will be raining reet hard in Lancashire on that Summer’s day.

Strava link: https://www.strava.com/activities/5755327593

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chxrryaki · 8 years ago

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Heck I never wanted to post this until I completed it but fuck it I'm blaming @lamentationsans bc they wanted me to write this- Neo's Story Chapter 1Orphaned: August 23, 1994, Neopolitan Corbel Sans was born. The young boy looked healthy, very healty for a new born. The only thing that wasn't right.. was his markings.. After the doctor found out that this new born was a Marked one, they transferred him to a special room, this room is where babies who are Marked ones are transfered to an orphanage. They never get to see their parents.. Parents don't get to see their child.. Poor Neopolitan.. Why did he become a Marked one?.. Let's go to his Mother's story.. Constantia. Constantia was a successful woman. She always succeeded in life. But one night.. When she forgot to lock the doors.. A strange man came to her room. She woke up, and immediately tried to scream.. The man forced her to take a pill.. making her unconscious.. The next thing you know.. She was pregnant with Neopolitan.. Now that we got that covered, lets go back to Neopolitan's story. Neopolitan was a happy child. He usually had no friends to hang out with all the time. Mostly because Neo was a Marked one and the rest weren't. But that didn't stop him from being happy. At age 6, Neopolitan was finally adopted. He was adopted by the royal scientist, Dr. C. Neopolitan had a big brother too. Papyrus, but he goes as Sherbet. Man, it felt like nothing could go wrong right? Well, we're wrong about that, something WAS wrong. When the king found out about Neopolitan and his Markings. He immediately send out his troops for his search. Dr. C immediately hid him and Sherbet to a place where the king would never find. The Ruins. Chapter 2 New Home: The King and Queen had seperated for a while after Prince Bean was killed by humans. The Queen for sure would protect both Neopolitan and Sherbet. Safety at last, except.. Something was still wrong. The King had captured Dr. C. As punishment. He was thrown to the Heat Core. Never to be seen ever again. By that time, the King hired a new scientist, Pina Colada, otherwise known as Cola. In the Ruins, Neopolitan and Sherbet had a blast with Queen Vani. And when time flew, Neopolitan and Sherbet grew tired of boredom. Neopolitan wanted to explore more then just the Ruins. He wanted... To explore outside the ruins. Most of the times, when Sherbet nor Vani were looking, he'd usually go downstairs and tried to open the door, but Sherbet was always there to stop him, darn. But that didn't mean he would that easily. Anyways, years went by. Neopolitan was now 9. The king gave up on his search. Dr C. was never found again. And Vani... Well.. She died. Without her presence, the Ruins felt... Lonely. No one would take cared of Neopolitan or Sherbet. But one froggit family did. For 6 years, Neopolitan and Sherbet lived with them until they were old enough to survive on their own. At last, Neopolitan was finally able to see what was on the other side. To his surprise, everything was just, snow. Or was it ice-cream? Hard to tell because of the Au. But anyways, Neopolitan loved it. He loved everything he saw around him. And so, both brothers found a small town. The town of Vanidin. And like that, they just settled in and built their own house. No one suspected about them two, or about Neopolitan's markings... Or did they? Chapter 3 Markings: Everyone in Vanidin lived happily. Sherbet got a job to pay rent. Neopolitan tried selling some Hot Choco or Choco Puffs to help Sherbet with money. But that didn't go well. At least Sherbet her found a decent job to pay rent. Anyways, thats not what this chapter is about right? As said earlier, Neopolitan has Markings. These Markings are what Non-Marked monsters call "contagious". Yep, as legend says. Anyone who has been in contact with a Marked monster, may result in infection, bad luck, or even D E A T H. That's why, Neopolitan really didn't go outside. He wanted to, but he didn't want to hurt others. He hated himself for this. He never asked to be a Marked one. He just wanted to be a regular skeleton like Sherbet and live a life in the outdoors. But alas, he cannot choose his fate. Luckily, his markings only appear when he's upset. But the markings also react when Echo Flower pollen is near. So Neopolitan usually avoids Chocofall. A lot do believe about the Markings story so people with Markings are sent to a special place where Marked people are ONLY allowed. Neopolitan knows what it is like to live there. It's cramped there. The kids usually avoided him. Saying he was "strange". But yeah, Neopolitan really gets bored staying inside for hours. Luckily Sherbet was always there to entertain him. Chapter 4 Fallen Human It was just a regular day as always. Sherbet was at work with Cherry. Neopolitan was home, with literally nothing to do. But this time, Neopolitan had enough, so he took his coat and hat. And left the house to explore. It's been a while since he last went out. By now, Neopolitan was by the Ruins. This brought in some old memories of the froggit family, and someone else.. It looked pretting boring for Neopolitan until he heard something. He turned back. And to his surprise, it was a human. He's never seen a human before, but he did hear stories about them, he even heard that the last 6 humans pasted through here. But he never saw them anywhere. Before the human could even see or hear Neopolitan, he hid into a bush-

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themakingofkai · 7 years ago

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L&D

I wanted to record my take on the arrival of TBD Kaleem Rokadia somewhere and I figured I hadn’t told you guys yet anyways so feel free to ignore these journal like entries - my feelings won’t be hurt. Also I only get small chunks of time to myself so this will likely sound inconsistent and be written in installments.

Tuesday - I’m at lunch with another expectant mom and I get up to put on my jacket and I feel a gush. Did my water just break?! Shoot - I’m strep B positive so if my water broke, I have to go to the hospital even if I’m not in labor. Bummer, I was hoping to labor at home as long as possible since we did get the apt so close. Call my OB and they say to come into the doctors office to assess what’s happening - luckily their office is two blocks away as well. OB says it was my mucous plug which can include water like ish and that this is a sign of labor to come but no timeline. During my vitals my blood pressure is high but my adrenaline is also pumping bc this may be go time. I’m 1cm dilated and they send me home. I’m quite pleased that there is still a chance to labor at home.

Tuesday evening - I start to feel period like cramps. Likely literally at the period level of pain which it’s been 9 months so it’s hard to decipher how bad the cramps are. We walk to an open house at our pediatrician office which I had signed up for 1.5 months ago. The crampsget a little worse during the Q&A session and I imagine myself going into labor amongst a bunch of other pregnant couples and one of the pediatricians - I’m feeling like I’m in good hands.

Tuesday overnight - Ummmm...those aren’t cramps, those are contractions - funny, I didn’t expect contractions to feel the same as cramps but it is early labor so that makes sense. We start to keep track and the timings are all over the place. I can definitely tell when a contraction peaks but I can’t really tell when it ends bc it just kinda fades away. But the timings aren’t really keeping a pattern. The rule of thumb was 4-1-1 which is contractions every 4 min, each lasting 1 minute and that going on for 1 hour. This ish was like 30 sec or 14 or 45 and sometimes 2 minutes apart but sometimes 15 minutes apart. We decide to watch the newer Law & Order SVU episodes I had been waiting on to pass the time. Nothing like a child abduction to get you in the birthing mood. Around 3am we give up on keeping track and the contractions haven’t gotten so bad that I can’t sleep. I go to sleep thinking that tomorrow is going to be the day - AAKKKKK! - should I look at my vagina one last time tonight before it goes through all the crazy?!? Naw, too sleepy.

Wednesday - we have a scheduled OB appt in the afternoon so I start cleaning everywhere and make sure our bags have any last minute items. Wow - today is going to be the day isn’t it? It’s kinda weird the like know. I hadn’t known when it would be for so long and now the end felt so near and I was ready to be pregnant for another week easily. 39 weeks exactly today. Contractions are still inconsistent but in effect.

They take my vitals again at the OB and my blood pressure is high again - calm down Uzma. You getting too excited about this. I have a couple of contractions while in the waiting room and I can tell the other women are paying attention to us- anjum writing down times, my cringing and my lame attempts at breathing. The OB sees us and they do another physical exam and I’m only about 1.5cm dilated. Really? Dangit - those contractions felt more like proper early labor instead of cramps now so I thought things had progressed. I’m told I’m having prodromal labor.

Wait what - is that like false labor that could go on for days and I could not be in labor until like next week. But they want to take my blood pressure again because the heightened BP is concerning. It’s high again so our midwife advises that we go to the hospital to do some BP monitoring to ensure it isn’t something like preeclampsia. She gives us the heads up that is a chance they will admit us so take our bags and get something to eat before going as well.

Wednesday early evening - I go to Mr Falafel but can barely eat my food. The crampy false labor pains are kicking in a bit more. Two police officers in line before us are intrigued that we felt the need to stop at Mr Falafel on my way to the hospital. Probably bc I can’t stand and take a seat while anjum orders takeout. I can’t wait for the food - anjum walks me home and then goes back to pick it up. I cuddle up to endure my last few contractions at home in the comfort of my bed. Anjum gets home and tries to feed me but also tries to gather a load of dishes to get done. We head to the hospital and it isn’t too busy on the L&D floor. Triage is quick and I’m hooked up to get BP monitored immediately. Now the other things they hook up to me shows us the baby’s heart rate and for the first time, we can see when a confection is happening/coming. Woah - that’s weird. So anjum can give me a heads up when one is on it’s way and when it’s gotten over the hump of it’s peak. Ravi Patel is the doctor (resident) that sees me and he examines me. I’m only 2cm dilated. Hmm. The nurse has to draw blood but she recommends I get an IV put in in case I’m admitted. I didn’t realize I had an opinion until later but her IV installation skills were dope! And she made sure the location was somewhere it wouldn’t bother me for future possible baby holding.

Wednesday night - so the contractions keep getting stronger but I’m not dilating so they say they want to insert something called Cervidil and it could go in for up to 12 hours to help me dilate. I’m mildly worried bc they recco I don’t get an epidural before this and I was already in some pain. Also the first 2 hours of insertion I can’t get up so I’d have to use a bedpan. Did I mention this was my first time staying at a hospital in my life? And now I was adding my first bedpan experience to it as well. Good times - ugh. Overnight were the fun contractions - the ones where I cursed at the world and sometimes anjum would try to help me breathe and relax or he would just be apologizing that I had to experience this. When I was able to get up and walk, I would have contractions standing up and just lean on anjum like Weekend at Bernie’s style, all limp and lifeless. Anjums size came in handy because I would literally have him lift my body out of bed to the toilet - I was tempted to punch him at times but I held back.

Thursday morning - they took out the cervidil but I hadn’t dilated too much so potocin was going to be needed. I had clear instructions from two girlfriends to get an epidural before starting potocin bc the contractions get even more intense then. So I made the request and took on a few more intense contractions while waiting for the anesthesiologist. EPIDURAL FOR THE WIN! Such a game changer.

Thursday noon - I’m not dilating fast enough and the baby’s heart rate shoots up and plummets to unhealthy places with each contraction, my heart rate was also shooting up. They think it could be the potocin so they stop administering it hoping I’ll naturally contract and dilate.

Thursday afternoon - I can hear the midwife and doctor sitting next to me, watching the monitors and discussing options. My midwife was way against epidural and interventions during any of my doc appts so hearing her be on board for alt options feels serious. I’m half asleep but hoping I’ve dilated enough to get this party started. They check me, I’m at 7cm, and that’s not enough. At this rate it would be another hour per cm and then the stress of actually delivering could be dangerous for the baby. They talk with anjum and I about a csection and in that moment I feel emotionless. I know the birth plan goes out the window and there is a 50% chance of csection with preeclampsia but that wasn’t supposed to be us. I finally open my mouth to ask that I want to make sure anjum can be with me and the emotions roll in. I’ve never had surgery; I wasn’t ready for that; why us; what could I have done to prevent this? I had primrose oil at home and that was supposed to help with effacement - I should have used that. Anjum was calm and comforted me as I nervously agreed that continuing may be risky.

C-section the process was a lot faster than I expected and anjum was by my side. I felt movements and pressure but no pain. They wouldn’t let anjum watch bc of the risk he may pass out so he was behind a curtain with me. The anesthesiologist who was a total desi aunty was the first to call that the baby was a boy just as they were about to show us so we could find out. Thanks for that, aunty. We were told earlier that our baby would go to the NICU after birth but the pediatrician attending the csection examined him and determined he didn’t need to. What an amazing relief. I was so groggy and at times couldn’t keep my eyes open after he was born but this I could comprehend - my baby won’t be going to the NICU. Anjum got to spend time at the warmer as they examined, he ceremonially cut the cord, and watched him get cleaned up. They brought him over to me for skin to skin time after he was examined and cleaned up. I had the choice to have anjum stay with me or go with the baby and I sent him with the baby. Then I was left alone while they cleaned me up but I was still behind a curtain. I was left with my thoughts and occasionally falling asleep bc of how sleepy I felt. I remember having all sorts of vivid thoughts in that time but I can’t remember them now. I reunited with anjum and baby in the PACU recovery room. I was so out of it that I had anjum stay by the baby’s side anytime they took him to get checked up or anything. Anjum ran back over to me from the warmer where baby was being checked out by another pediatrician to ask if it was okay to give the baby a bottle. His blood sugar was a low and she recommended it. ACK! I wanted to breastfeed and the first thing he would eat was gonna be a bottle. I was in no condition to disagree with a pediatrician so I said okay. In hindsight I could have tried to have the baby latch on to me. I didn’t realize I already had colostrum until another hour or two later when one of the nurses encouraged and showed me how to have the baby latch on. So another one of those not according to plan situations but after the first bottle, his been breastfed since so perhaps that wasn’t the worst decision.

And here we are a week later and we still don’t have a name for our little untitled baby boy. We are hoping to fall asleep and wake up to some inspiration on our short list. Wish us luck!

And you now know we decided on Kai Kaleem Rokadia. Born 2:32pm on Thursday, Dec 14th. 7lbs and 19.75 in length.

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