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quodekash · 1 year

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i went to bed instead of watching abaab and i woke up and im ✨sick✨

its not the plague but i have a sore throat and im really congested and i feel like a dump truck ran over me and poured all the bin juices in my brain, but its fine cos im here, im queer, and threezo are near

CONTENT WARNING: if youve seen this episode, youll be aware that there will be discussions of rape, sexual assault, and pedophilia. if any of these topics are triggering for you, please take the measures you require to stay safe, and please call emergency services if you require help, and talk to someone you trust. remember: you are not alone, and there will always be people who love and care for you, but you havent yet met some of them. stay safe everyone, i love you

i cannot for the life of me remember how the last episode ended so its lucky that they have little summaries at the starts of episodes cos otherwise id have no clue whats going on

OH YEAH THOOP WAS ARRESTED

hang on, dont they still need to go to work?

i cant remember what day it is and what they were doing before cher got that phone call but still

dang it ive already had a cup of tea today but i think i need another one

THREEZO HELLO (ft jack's luscious hair on the side there)

THREEZO ARE SO SWEET WHY ARE YOUR FACES LIKE THAT JACK AND TUB

okay, yeah, fair

HE IS HAPPY

HIS HAIR IS FLUFFY AND HE IS HAPPY

GREHJKDFGKJRB

aww

AWWWHHHH

awhh thoop is cryinggg

bro is in desperate need of a hug

IM GONNA CRYYYY

i love deep platonic bonds

especially when its found family

fnjgbhfbvhfb

**gasp** despicable!

HELLO THREEZOOOOO

hes so prettyyyy

and hes also so prettyyyyyy

GJKRTBNFDHKJRG I LOVE THEM

am i crying? yes.

im crying a lot

i love threezo so much

the grip these two have on my mental health and sanity--

have i rewatched this scene four times? yeah. do i now kinda just wanna curl into a ball and sob for a day or two? yeah. unfortunately i have to keep watching the episode

okay so its literally like six hours later now, ive tried having two naps, ive had three cups of tea today, as much medicine as i can have, and the sickness has done nothing but get worse which is just so fun but the only reason i wasnt watching abaab is bc i was trying to sleep and that's just not happening so im continuing the episode now

the commentary is gonna be very little tho btw bc im having trouble making coherent thoughts through all the conjestion clogging my brain

the way they smile at each other is so 🥺🥹

im TRYING--

sorry, last week i couldnt stop talking about the freaking pomegranate i was eating, today i cant stop talking about how sick i am, ill try and shut up about it and just watch the episode lol

SCREW THAT GUY

VAFFANCULO

I HATE HIM

I HATE HIM SO MUCH

idk much about the mother

BUT THE STEPFATHER CAN GO SHOVE A PIGNA UP HIS CULO

look, i hate cops and law enforcement

but i even more hate thoop's stepfather

and law enforcement, unfortunately, have a lot of power, but thats fortunate in this situation bc they can force him to shut up which is nice

oh, wouldya look at that. i was right.

im not happy about it. its freaking horrible. and its even worse that it happens every day in every single country and state and city and suburb and yet nothing is being done about it.

um. yeah. thats all i can think of to say.

SHE HAD TO PUT UP WITH IT FOR THREE YEARS???

holy hell thats freaking disgusting

i hate this so much. not that they included this in the show, im really glad they included it because it's freaking disgusting and not talked about enough, especially in mainstream media and stuff. i just freaking hate that rape exists and people have to put up with it every single freaking day of their freaking lives, and NOTHING is happening to fix this freaking disgusting issue

this episode is a lot heavier than i was expecting and idk if anything im saying makes any sense because im too sick for this and the things that happened are making me even more sick

HUZZAH, I WAS RIGHT

AND THIS TIME ITS A GOOD FEELING THAT IM RIGHT

HES NOT HOMOPHOBIC

HUZZAH, HUZZAH, PRAISE OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JACK'S ALMIGHTY FLUFFY BEAUTIFUL HAIR

sobbing, i cant do this, theyre too sweet

AH SHOOT, I JUST REALISED IVE BARELY DRANK ANY WATER TODAY

as per usual, your hair is on fleek today, my friend

he's angry at laem, but his hair is perfection

the perfect way to get someone to shut up: shove food in their mouth as fast as possible (im using this at some point) (also how the hell is his hair so pretty i love his hair too much. i think i always spend more time talking about jack's hair than i do talking about the actual episode)

gun's mother has such a sweet sounding voice but her words sting like poison, jeez

OH HELL YES ITS THIS PART

IVE SEEN SCREENSHOTS

side note: look at three and zo's knees pressed together gjfngjbhfgbh

HEYYY GUYS

ITS SO FUNNY

WHAT ARE THEY DOING WATCHING SIMM

wait so. bad buddy exists as a series inside the msp universe. simm exists as a series inside the abaab universe. what's next??

the frame changed suddenly, kluen was looking down slightly earlier and now he's looking right in nuea's eyes (yes i had to include jack's hair in the screenshot, so what?)

side note: i love all of jack's ear piercings (and his hair) so much

(ive now used all my 30 photos for this post so you just have to deal with that. on the bright side, the final photo was of jack's beautiful face and beautiful earrings and beautiful HAIR)

i love this friend group so much, theyre all just sitting in a circle in their gaming chairs supporting cher as much as possible in their own little ways and its so sweet and so happy and gfbhbrhgb

ignore your bfs phone calls only to show up at his house with food

AWWW, THE WAY HE JUST PULLS HIM INTO A WORRIED HUG AS SOON AS HIS HANDS ARE EMPTY- I LOVE THEMMMM

"promise me no matter what happens, we will fight it together" RGHBKRDFHGKRBDFHB

AWWWW TEHY KISSSSS

"(talking to himself) if your mum knows about this, she will hit you to death, cher" "know about what?" "she gave me only one heart and i gave it all to you" "youre as cheesy as i am" IM DYING WHAT THE HELL THEYRE SO SWEET

BRO CHILL

CALM DOWN

I DONT NEED TO SEE THIS

I MEAN LIKE GOOD FOR THEM

BUT WHY DO WE NEED SUCH A LONG SHOT OF GUN'S BARE ABS

theyre so soft with each other what the hell

"i just want to hear it from your mouth-" AND CHER CUTS HIM OFF WITH THE SOFTEST KISS EVER??? (well, not ever. no one can ever kiss as softly or lovingly as freaking akk, but that's neither here nor there) THAT ONE TINY MOMENT IS GONNA PLAY IN MY HEAD FOR AGES NOW OMG

keep the pants on please guys

oh thank goodness they finished the episode before it got to that, i appreciate that

anyway THAT WAS SO SWEET GBFHGBFHBHG

im desperately hoping that next episode will be mostly fluffy happiness bc i cant take much more of this seriousness, especially not if my sickness persists (which i really hope it doesnt, id love to be functioning this week)

um yeah. that was that. i hope you enjoyed that? sorry for all my ramblings about being sick, i just really hate being sick.

once again, i hope youre all safe and healthy, if you're not, i hope you can find a safe space and people you trust, please contact someone who can help you if you need it. i love you all, have a great week :]

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concerningwolves · 1 year

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Heya! I have an rp related question regarding a HoH character of mine, if you don’t mind me asking that is, it’s a superhero rp and I’ve been looking for ways they would be accommodated whilst on missions.

I was initially thinking of them not wearing hearing aids for the missions (they wear them for daily life) since they’re going to be grappling from buildings along with fighting, it’s really just to prevent the hearing aids from being destroyed, instead they are accommodated through other gadgets to help prevent scenes like sneak attacks, although I’m not sure if this way holds questionable implications, which is why I’m putting it here.

I have a second idea for accommodating them, which is to have hearing aids implemented into their helmet, the helmet itself is meant to “high tech” esc, even if the hearing aids were to fall or get pulled out, the helmet would catch them, along with the additions of those various gadgets I mentioned, as they’re really big into robotics and mechanics, and can afford to make it, plus I have an idea as to how it’d work. My hesitation with the second one is because we have a scene planned out which would result in the helmet being taken off by someone else as it’s a captive situation which is where I get unsure.

I know scenes like this need to be treaded very carefully, you’ve answered an ask somewhat like this before but the example in the ask was different, though I know all of what you said there still applies here. I’m wondering, for this specific scenario, if I do go with the second one, would there be any additional advice for sensitively going about it?

Hearing/accessibility aids for superheroes

Oohh *rubs hands gleefully*. More deaf/disabled superheroes. Excellent :3

I am always excited about inventive hearing and accessibility aids in the SFF genre, so this ask makes my brain go BRRR. Thank you, anon!

TL;DR of my answer:

Hearing aids and alternatives in combat are fine (and encouraged!), especially when the deaf character has input in their design and implementation. The only real issues come in if the aids are foisted upon the character or if they entirely negate the disability / function like magical cures. It's also a good idea to consider realistic limitations and necessary upkeep.

Having an aid taken away is a thorny issue, which someone is probably going to be upset about either way. My opinion is that it's sometimes a fact that characters do horrible things to other characters as part of the story, which taking away a character's HA or other device(s) counts as. Still, it's important to be aware of the potential issues when writing these scenarios, and to always use nuance.

Full answer below the cut.

Hearing aids (and alternatives) in combat

What kind of HAs does your character use in everyday life? If they use any kind of open or behind-the-ear style where part of the HA will be out of the ear, then I understand why they would seek alternative aids in combat. There's a definite risk of damage/getting lost (at worst) or the hook or housing getting caught, resulting in the whole thing being displaced and reducing performance (at best). Other limitations with these styles include:

sweat and earwax buildup in the mould or ear tip

Water clogging the mould or ear tip

Condensation buildup in the tube that connects the ear tip/mould to the housing.

For that last point, I always had to use one of these bad boys to pump the condensation out after PE:

[Image description: a SoundLink air blower box, next to the air blower itself. The air blower is a lemon-shaped pump with a tiny little tip attached. /End ID]

(As an aside, no HA-using superhero would go far without the means to do impromptu maintenance on their aids. I always had a little hearing aid maintenance kit in my schoolbag (my HAs are open fit BTE models), which included one of those pumps, some wires and brushes for cleaning into the tube and ear mould, and a battery level tester.)

Inner ear HA styles, on the other hand, shouldn't pose those same issues, and are actually recommended for people who play sports, afaik. They fit close inside the ear without any external parts, and there are models available with sweat protection (and even some that are water resistant, I think). Note that not all styles of hearing aid are suitable for all types of deafness, so it's not necessarily as simple as switching styles for different situations, but it's still something to research.

If your character is into robotics and tech, and has the means, then it absolutely makes sense that they'd come up with aids for themself. The helmet being a backup that can catch the HAs is actually a super cool idea! And like I've said, I'm delighted by adaptive gadgets and inventive accessibility aids. It's always doubly cool when those aids are designed by – or with input from – the deaf/disabled characters themselves. I.e., when it's an informed, personal choice to use an aid, and not something that is gracious bestowed upon that character by someone who's there in an abled saviour capacity. So long as you avoid that particular pitfall, you're doing fine.

Finally, there's the blanket caveat of "Make sure the aids don't ~miraculously~ cure the disability so it's like your character Isn't Really Disabled", but it sounds like you're already well aware of that. So long as the aids assist with the disability instead of conveniently erasing it (i.e., allowing readers and writers to forget about it for palatability's sake, or to make telling the story easier), there isn't an issue in having characters use them.

Taking away the aid(s)

I apologise if this next bit is going to feel like a non-answer, but it's not an issue that I have an easy answer for. All I can do is tell you my personal opinion, as a moderately deaf person who choses to rarely use his HAs.

My answer boils down to: it's complicated, because the limitations and the risks are realistic, but it is tricky ground to walk because of prevalent ableist tropes about disabled people being liabilities. At a very basic level, it's kind of analogous to blindfolding a captive so they're disoriented by lack of a sense, which is a tried and true thing that villains do in stories when they take captives. So yes, exploiting any vulnerability or weak point* is shitty, but it's also just A Thing That Could Reasonably Happen.

*weak point meant in a completely neutral, context-dependent way, btw. I'm not saying that deafness or using hearing aids makes you weak; I'm saying that someone desperate/callous/evil (or some other flavour of Opposed to the Protagonist) would probably take any advantage they can get, depending on their morals.

If a villain does draw a line at taking away a character's accessibility aid, then it should be because it says something about the villain's character, motives and/or role in the narrative. Similarly, if they do take that aid away, it shouldn't just be because they're Evil™ and whumping on the deaf character is an easy way to show that.

There needs to be internal consistency of characterisation for all your characters, which includes both your deaf protagonist and your antagonist. And, no, it's not necessarily going to be comfortable for a deaf or disabled person to read, but if something awful is happening to the characters, then maybe that's the point. (And we as readers have the responsibility to realise that our discomfort isn't always the author's responsibility. Sometimes fiction is uncomfortable and we can just walk away from it!).

But also, yes, sensitivity is important. Be aware of harmful tropes and stereotypes, and steer clear of them, for example, having the deaf character become suddenly helpless/no longer being "useful" to the team. Having an aid taken away is scary and disorientating (and also a violation! Which it's entirely natural to be upset or angry about!), but deaf people have many coping mechanisms, gathered by necessity throughout our lives. Some, like lip-reading or reading body language, aren't always reliable, but they're still there as an option.

Finally, think outside of the deafness aspect and work with the whole character. Ask yourself what else could the captor could exploit or suppress? I.e., loyalty to their teammates that can be leveraged, a dark secret, important knowledge that they need and that the captor has, a fear of heights, useful powers or abilities, etc. It's easy to limit yourself to only the deaf aspects when you're over-focusing on accurate representation, which ends up defeating the object.

Thank you for your question, and best of luck with your writing! <3

#deaf characters #hearing aids #superpowers & disabilities #disabilities in SFF

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caseythebunnyboy · 1 year

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i can’t stop thinking about the chase through the woods post, oh my god. i would love to hunt you down, pin you to the ground in the middle of the woods, and fill you up with my biggest strap. it might hurt a little, but i know you can take it, can’t you, bunny? i’ve got one hand holding you by the back of the neck and the other on your hips, keeping them level with mine so i can pound into your tight bunny hole. you whimper when you hear me growl above you, realizing just how helpless you really are as you feel my claws tighten around you. and once i turn the strap on and you realize i’m pumping you full of fake cum, you can’t help but cum with me.

sincerely, the big, bad wolf

oh 😵‍💫😵‍💫 wow anon, only a few words in and youve already got me needy? very big achievement, i congratulate you hehe 💜 id be so scared while aimlessly running through the woods, trying my best to outrun the wolf chasing me, but then i feel his hand grab me, and pin me helpessly to the ground, thats when i know im screwed, and i should just accept my fate so it can be over with quicker. i thought maybe youd just bite a small chunk of my neck, suck some blood out and run away after getting your fill, oh how wrong i was 😵‍💫

(rest is under the cut bcuz i dont wanna clog dashboards and theres alot to say abt this scene, its very enticing 🐇)

i feel you pull my shorts, along with my panties down. im confused at first, but maybe you wanted to bite my legs instead? however, you shoving your large strap against my bare little holes, i realize what you wanted to do 😵‍💫 i start begging you to not do it, to have a little mercy on me, but that all falls on deaf ears. since you immediately thrusted it inside me when i started my pathetic groveling.

the only thing i could do while you fucked my bunny boy cunt was drool onto the ground, gripping on the grass below us when it hurt and when you were too rough with me. i dont know how long it took because i was so focused on the wolf fucking me, but eventually you started slowing down. i thought, great! we're finally almost done, i can nearly escape this. until i feel the strap turn on. you were gonna try and breed me.

i knew it was useless to argue, and my rabbit brain was so tired from trying to do it, that i just went limp in your arms while you repeatedly fucked in to my deepest parts, fully intent 6on filling a small bunny like me up with a wolfs litter 😵‍💫💜

#casey ★ answering #another daily reminder that werewolves are very much allowed to rail me as hard as they want thank you #wolf + bunny = intense gay intercourse (its me im the bunny u can be the wolf if u want)

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thereforepizza · 1 year

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You guys I had a very vivid and beautiful dream about Hunter from the bad batch and the Mandalorian. This is spoiler free, but I didn’t want to clog the dashboard with a really long post

The bad batch was having a really hard time hiding from the empire. It was like they were on the run every waking moment, and it was exhausting. One day, they landed on a forest-y, kind of mystical planet and decided something needed to change. There Hunter spoke to someone about their troubles and how tired they were. The man explained to him that they could leave Omega there as long as someone stayed to protect her and she would be forever safe from the Empire.

So Hunter agreed.

The others reluctantly left, but Hunter stayed. He heard more of the explanation than I did, so as the onlooker, I was confused. He sat in a peaceful clearing in the forest, Omega by his side. Even with his helmet on, I could see that he was crying. He hugged her tight as he settled in, but she didn’t understand just how deep his sadness went. She didn’t know. And neither did I.

Then time started to pass and a ticker of years went below the scene. Years and years flew by. Hunter did not move. That was when I realized the gravity of his action. Finally on year 58, the time stopped.

Dream logic doesn’t make sense because of who each character is so I’m kinda lost on why my brain switched things, but I’ll write according to what happened in my dream instead of my own interpretation.

Grogu was playing next to Din’s armor. I figured Din was simply resting while the kid played. Then a few more years passed and Din didn’t move. The armor was empty. Din was long gone.

This dream had two layers. I “woke up,” tears streaming down my face as I remembered the dream. My friend was there and she asked why I was upset. How could I explain to her what my dreams possibly meant? Nonetheless, I simply said: “I had a dream about Hunter sacrificing everything for Omega. It was just so powerful…”

And then I woke up for real.

Now I’m shook. As I wrote out the dream I finally understood what it meant. If y’all aren’t on the same wavelength, allow me to say what I gathered from it.

Hunter spoke to a mystical creature with undisclosed abilities about the protection of Omega and the being explained to him that there was a way that she could remain unharmed forever. That was if he died in her stead and watched over her in spirit, with his body left in the enchanted forest. So he agreed but he didn’t tell Omega, and he convinced the others to leave them behind. He went to the place he was instructed to go and held Omega as tight as he could as he passed, knowing that his sacrifice was for good.

I think I must have either partially woken up, therefore my brain was distracted and forgot which characters were who, or my brain was showing me this wasn’t the only space dad who did this. After nearly 60 years I saw Grogu with Din’s armor, and Din was in the same place Hunter had been. That means he did the same thing so that Grogu could live a safe life. Grogu didn’t leave him, though.

So my dream was about the sacrifice of a father to save his child. I almost am in tears for real this time thinking about the dream.

Anyways, yeah. I figured id share this because it was interesting. And honestly? I think I might write a story based on this dream

#tbb #the bad batch #Hunter tbb #dream #I had a dream #pizza dreams #star wars #the mandolarian

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cannedmilkpoetry · 1 year

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i feel really weird.

the weirdness is actually habitual. i dont think id recognize my sternum without the small itty bitty tremors i get when someone says the word 'moist' or when my mom whispers a prayer over me in the middle of the night or when i realize that roughly 4.4 pounds of trash is produced per person per day. like my empty applesauce cups on my dresser could tip the balance of green house gas emissions and my depression. like that prayer would kill the voices that have made me feel like a guest in my own brain. my own body.

i feel weird when i sit too still. self awareness always accompanies the silence. the blood. the breathing. the pounding. if i think too hard i'll hear the rushing of life that has left me nothing but rotting fruits to bear. it drives me to hyperventilate because i could practically feel how moist damp the spoiled food on my plate is which has been passed down to me like a generational curse.

god i hate how that word sounds. so grotesque. an unhinged collection of consonants and vowels. it makes me grind my teeth till there's nothing but dust from the bones of my ancestors who bled out for me just so that i can have panic attacks over what? vocabulary? pathetic. get a grip.

my depression was not served to me on a silver platter. i was force fed it by my mom. and my mom's mom. and probably her mom too.

my grandmother killed herself when my mom was 16. i know the story like the scars on my hips and the phantom ones before on my wrist. i carry the trauma like a purse, my mom shoves tissues into it every-time she retells the story so she can conveniently pull them out when she cries. i hold her guilt in it too. and i hold onto the waste because im scared of becoming part of the 4.4 statistic, so i reuse them when i relive my own story alone until it breaks apart and itty bitty pieces start clogging my pores.

she knows i do this, so she prays. she prays and prays but keeps tucking more tissue into my purse for the both of us to use.

#my poem #spoiled milk #my writing #original poetry #mommy truama dumps and mediocre daughter fights back with broken poetry and weed

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sidecast-deactivated · 3 years

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Yellow Mallard and Black Crow

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kettlequills · 3 years

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Tough It Out - Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood - Apollo and Koz (or Pitch)

sorry for the wait, this was oddly personal to write? ah, apollo my love. all the money in the world couldnt help you. tw: suicidal ideation, references to past child abuse, homophobia, and substance abuse. this is part one!

The skyscraper that housed Lunar Industries had a hundred and eight floors. Apollo stood on the hundredth-and-ninth – that being the roof, har-har, look how clever he was – looked down at the lights of the city blazing far below his boots, and contemplated taking the quick way down to the ground.

His phone jangled in his pocket. He flicked it open without looking at the caller ID and was still unsurprised to hear Selena on the other end. Who else would be calling Apollo, except his ex-wife? He didn’t have friends. He had even fewer no-friends after this morning. Redundant.

Fired from his own company. Suspected tax fraud. Excuses, really, to cover their asses. The words floated around him like clouds.

Like the actual clouds. Red tinted smog, nice and foul on the lungs, blazed through with gassy city lights blaring on down there in the dusk. Even the cars that chugged and coughed along between the flaring traffic lights, the gum-spitting and leather-pursed pedestrians that wove their way round them to be swallowed into huffing buses and sleek trains. Apollo's people, one and stinky pollutants all. He could make a nice big mess of himself down there among them, wet splat on the ashy pavement, just more trash to sucker up the clogged drains and heaving sewers. It'd be like coming home, maybe.

“Apollo,” said Selena, like exchanging words with him was like swallowing a pill and she had to spit through each one as quickly as possible to avoid the taste lingering on her tongue, “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” said Apollo, wondering how long, mathematically speaking, it would take to walk off the edge of the building he didn’t own any more instead of taking the elevator.

He'd never really paid attention in class. There was Koz, golden and glorious, to stare at back then. The way his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck was infinitely more transfixing than applied mathematics. Before today, Apollo could always pay someone for that.

“Can you take Mim this weekend, then?” she asked. “I’ve got this – thing on Saturday-“

“Can’t he stay at home on his own?” said Apollo. “He’s old enough now.”

“He’s a baby, Apollo,” Selena snapped. Ah, two weeks divorced and he could still make her sound as pissed off as if they’d said their marriage vows yesterday. There had to be some Hallmark card for that. “Deal with your son.”

“Fine,” said Apollo, since he really didn’t have anything to do that weekend other than, possibly, googling how much drugs he could take before he obliterated his brain and whether watching one’s father do that as a baby was the sort of foundational experience that required very costly therapy later in life. “How are you, anyway?”

Selena hung up on him.

Apollo sighed and walked away from the roof’s edge. God knew Selena was a nightmare if he was ever late to pickup.

Elevator it was.

---

“… my wife’s leaving me, I’ve lost my company, and I’m pretty sure my baby hates me,” Apollo told his therapist a day later, idly spinning the cord of the telephone around his finger.

He liked the creaking of its coil, and when he’d outfitted this office in his sleek downtown flat he’d had all the money to afford to go retro. This, like everything else, needed to go soon or else Apollo would run out of money to be able to convincingly fake that his life wasn’t completely shredded to shit to his ex-wife. Buyer lined up already.

Devil worked fast but Apollo worked faster.

“That sounds difficult,” the therapist said, because he was paid to sympathise with Apollo.

“Not really,” said Apollo, because he wasn’t.

“Have you been reaching out to your extended support networks?” said the therapist, who cost more than he was possibly worth.

Apollo wanted to laugh. “Sure,” he said.

“Mr Lunanoff,” the therapist began, but Apollo had already tuned him out. Extended support network. What a joke.

There’d only be one man who could ever qualify for that role, and they’d not spoken in years. Apollo was decently certain that Koz didn’t even remember they were friends on Facebook – probably had him muted – because every so often Koz’d post shitty memes about eating the rich that Apollo would reply to with winks and flirts that he never reacted to back. He hadn’t pushed it too much, though. Koz’s posts were the best parts of his week.

Get up, annoy his wife, stare puzzlingly at his gurgling son, read the newspaper, check the feed of his best friend that liked to pretend he didn’t exist. Perfect morning routine that’d spawned a multi-million dollar company and a therapy bill to match.

Still, his life was going to shit. Why not add this to the pile? Koz’s voicemail was vaguely hot, anyway. He always sounded kind of mad that someone would dare to ring him. It was familiar. People'd been sounding disappointed that Apollo remembered their numbers since he'd got his first phone at five. Soothing, in that way.

Unceremoniously, Apollo hung up on the therapist and typed a name into his phone that sprung to the top of his paltry contacts list, starred and favourited. He swiped. The dial tone made him more nervous than last week’s fistful of stimulants. It jangled into his ears, made him doubt himself. This was a stupid idea. He was going to push Koz away – further away, how much fucking further can he get?

Well, Apollo could get blocked. Still, there was always the hundred and ninth floor and the short way down.

“Pitch speaking,” the man’s voice was gruff and deep on the other end, sent shivers down Apollo’s spine. God. He was so hot. “Who’s this?”

“Kozmotis darling,” said Apollo, trying for upbeat and ending up gaudy and gay, “It’s me.”

“Who?”

“Apollo Lunanoff of course! Don’t tell me you didn’t save my number again.”

There was a beat of silence, then Koz cleared his throat and said, “Ah, new phone. Must have forgot.”

Bless his heart for lying. Koz's lies were thorny things, but they, blind belief and wilful misuse of drugs, were the way they'd stayed friends for so long after all, years after they'd left Apollo's father's estate and Koz's family's little house on the grounds far, far behind. Koz had, anyway. Some part of Apollo was still back there, according to his therapist. Apparently, violent repression was considered not therapeutic gold standard. Apollo reckoned it was fine. It was drugs, wasn't it, not men. That was what his father and he had agreed.

“Don’t worry,” said Apollo, “You can make it up to me. Do you know anything about taking care of babies?”

#age of rust #inkwrites #apollo lunanoff #kozmotis pitchiner #rotgoc #rotg #i have all year to do rotg bingo tho

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something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

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Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse of kidnapping. Again, details of murder/crime scenes, curse words.

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! So, again, I find myself having to cut this in half. I originally planned on the team getting to you at this point in the story but I got a little carried away. I’ve been thinking about this series so much that it’s ridiculous. Low-key wish I’d been able to direct a CM episode like this. The things I could do with a camera... solely focused on Matthew for a 45 minute episode. Heh. Anyways, remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and basically do the job of producing serotonin for me like my brain is supposed to do naturally. Thank you so much for sticking around and I’ll be sure to get the next part out to you ASAP!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]

It was hours later before Spencer felt the incessant buzzing of his phone against his thigh.

Immediately annoyed and already tired of the day, he didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before sending it straight to voicemail. Blindly, he rummaged around in the bottom of his satchel for his keys. Spots danced across the back of his left eyelid as he tried to rub the exhaustion away.

Everything about today had been awful. From finding out the girl of his dreams, who he had only known for three weeks, mind you, could be a serial killer to the fact that, without you, nothing made any sense in this case. Even if you weren’t the unsub, you were an integral piece to finding out who was.

After you had left the office earlier this afternoon, Spencer had made it his mission to investigate every other person connected to you. He’d even gone so far as to track down your father to the other side of the globe, having somehow made his way to Europe in order to stay out of you and your mother’s lives.

Try as he might, every possible lead led to a brick wall spray painted to say, ‘She’s the killer.’ Having spent most of the day trying to convince himself that you were the unsub, he was tired of fighting his instincts for fear of compromising himself. Something wasn’t right in this investigation and he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When his phone started to buzz again as he pushed the key into the key hole, he couldn’t help the sudden surge of anger that seemed to take over his body. Hastily yanking one hand from the door, he reaches into his pocket and presses the answering button.

“Hello, this is Dr. Reid.” His tone is harsh and mechanically echoes back into his ear. Whoever is on the other side of the line is quiet for one second, then two. For five seconds no one responds and Spencer has the time to balance the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so that he could go about removing his bag and shuffling into his car.

“You really thought it was her, didn’t you, Dr. Reid?” Although the natural pitch of the voice suggests a woman, or maybe even a young boy, there is an underlying tone that suggests that it’s a man. Spencer is frozen in place, his bag sitting in the passenger seat of his car, one hand on the inside of the door and the other on the steering wheel.

Slowly, he reaches up to relieve his shoulder from the duty of holding his phone, his long fingers curling around the device. His eyes squinted, the way they usually did when he was thinking. With his other hand, nervously, he reaches up to push away a curl that has escaped from behind his ear.

“Who is this?” He regrets the question the moment it falls from his lips. Someone who has gone the painstaking lengths that this man has gone through to keep himself out of the investigation would not simply reveal his identity when no one even had a suspicion of him.

“Wrong question, Doctor. Try again.” Swallowing past the lump that has started to form in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, Spencer stretches back across the driver seat of his car to grab his bag. The leather strap digs into the palm of his hand and he drags it toward him, feeling like he was stuck on rewind as he goes about undoing everything he’d just done.

“What do you want?” The click of the door lock is the only sound for three seconds before the man responds again, a sadistic excitement escalating the pitch of his voice.

“Out of life? From a specific restaurant? Be specific in your questioning, Doctor.” He laughs a little breathlessly. In the moments where he doesn’t talk, Spencer strains to hear anything that could help him, but he can’t even hear the guy breathe let alone identify background noise.

“What is your purpose in calling me?” Getting back into the building is a hassle while on the phone, but he manages it nonetheless. There would be no sleeping tonight after a call like this. The elevator button glows a pale yellow as Spencer stabs it with one of his long fingers. For now they are steady, his hands that is, but the full effect of what is happening and what it means hasn’t actually hit him full force yet.

“To inform you of two things; the first being that you are wrong. I killed all those people and I killed them because of you.” The breath in his throat hitches. All of his worst dreams and nightmares have come crawling out of the woodworking and across his skin like thousands of tiny spiders.

“The second being that I’ll be hanging out with our mutual friend for a while, so you may not see her for a little bit.” There is a creaking of a door before he hears you. Your voice is already hoarse from screaming and the sound of restraints clacking against a concrete flooring puts the picture of you in a dungeon deep into his head.

“Spencer?! Spencer his name i-” The sound of a hand making contact with skin makes Spencer’ blood boil with rage.

Curling into the corner of the elevator, hunching his shoulders into himself and covering an ear with the palm of his opposite hand, Spencer speaks slowly and deliberately into the speaker.

“Do not touch her.” The man on the line chuckles, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of your jawline. You snatch your head away, your slapped cheek already turning pink, and push back against the wall.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Happy hunting.” The doors of the elevator open as soon as the line goes dead. Everything in Spencer kicks into overdrive, his mind flying so fast that he could barely manage to keep up with it himself.

Hotch, ready to leave for the day, stands in the opening. The tired look in eyes only grows when he sees the young profiler standing in his way, his face drained of blood and his phone still desperately clutched to his ear.

“What’s happened?”

Not so far away, the door to the empty, concrete basement shuts you in by yourself. Around your ankle is a handcuff attached to a car chain that is anchored to the floor. If you crawl to it, dragging your injured leg behind you, you can see the shoddy soldering done to create this makeshift dungeon.

In the corner is a mattress with a thin cotton blanket probably from dollar general or somewhere equally as cheap. A lamp sits beside it, the wooden bottom nailed into the floor to keep you from using it as a weapon. The only other thing is a wooden chair that is planced just below a high rectangle window. A couple of desperate shakes against the leg confirms that it is also nailed to the floor.

With nothing of use, save maybe the blanket, you go about taking a collection of your injuries.

The top of your head is leaking a steady stream of blood that drips down the side of your face and sticks your hair to your cheek. The sight of so much blood coming from your head is alarming at first, but just as quickly as you started to panic, you remember that head wounds can bleed quite a lot. No matter how small.

On the opposite side as your head injury is a deep cut on your cheekbone. It has stopped bleeding, dry blood clogged around the torn skin and flaking along your cheek when you run your finger over it.

Your thigh is a different issue all together, the knife wound throbbing with pain no matter how you shift or apply pressure. You’ve coated your hands in gloves made of your own blood trying to staunch the bleeding, hissing and whimpering the whole time.

All three injuries had happened in a matter of minutes, starting with the knife to your thigh.

You drove for an hour and a half toward nowhere in particular, only pulling off the road when the gun jammed into your neck and Harvey snapped at you from the back.

“Turn right on the dirt road.” The tiny car bumped and bounced around the dirt and gravel, driving straight for another fifteen minutes. You were surrounded by nothing but trees and hills and although you’d been familiar with the area where you’d pulled off the road, you weren’t sure where you were.

When the gun jammed back into your neck and Harvey screamed for you to stop, you slammed so hard on the brakes that he rocked forward and hit his head on the back of the passenger seat. The crunch of his breaking nose was sickening to your ears, but the bite of the seat belt digging into your collarbone and neck was enough to keep you from vomiting.

“You bitch!” He cried, the hand not holding a gun to your neck flew up to catch the blood that fell from his nose. Despite his attempts, a drop or two still managed to fall to the floor and soak into the fabric. His DNA would be on this car, you could only hope that he was in some sort of system. Even now, after everything you’d been through today, you still trusted the team of FBI Agents to find you before it was too late.

The safety on the gun made a clicking noise, your entire body freezing in place as you looked at everything around you. You were in a big dirt field, trees surrounding a patch of land that may have once been the grounds for a home. Now, only your car, a red SUV, and red soil were the only things there to see.

Harvey moved around in the back seat, you could see him in your rear view mirror as he pulled tissues from his pocket and shoved them into his broken nose. When he was finished he pulled out a pocket knife. His eyes were two beady slits of black as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“We’re going to get out of this car, and get into that car right over there. I’ll get in the driver’s seat, and you get in the trunk. Understood?” Sweat slicked your hair to your temples as you shook your head, your grip on the steering wheel so tight that your fingertips had started to tingle.

“You aren’t a good shot, Harvey. The moment we get out of this car, I’ll run.” The knife in his hand popped to attention at your words, gleaming in the sunlight. Somehow, it was only four o’clock in the afternoon and you had already been through hell.

“You won’t be able to.” He said, his hand shooting forward and sinking into your leg. Through the shock of it all, you’d barely felt it even after he pulled the bloody knife back and flipped it shut. You gaped at the wound, watching as the blood seeped out, soaked into your pants, and smeared onto the leather covering of your seat.

The back door opened, the car still alive and thrumming underneath you as he hurried over to your side of the car. You didn’t think, you just acted, throwing the car out of park and letting the adrenaline pumping through your veins mask the pain it caused you to slam on the gas.

Maybe you would have made it, drove out of here and been able to make it to a hospital before you bled out in your own car, but it had been raining nearly nonstop for three weeks and your car was not made to go fast in mud. Your tires spun long enough for Harvey to throw your door open and slam the butt of his gun into your head, causing your face to slam into the steering wheel and render you unconscious.

By the time you came back to yourself, Harvey had been carrying you down the steps and into a basement or cellar of some kind. You had no idea where you were or how long you had been out, only that your entire body was sore and cold.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to apologize about earlier, you just made me a little angry. But we’re better now. I even took those bloody clothes off you. I’ve got your room made up for you and if you’re good, I might let you talk to a friend of ours.” His tone is cheerful, his dark eyes complimenting the dark bags underneath them.

Harvey had been in several of your classes when you went to Georgetown, a friendly face amongst all the older kids who used to sneer at you when you tried to do anything. You wouldn’t actually say you were friends, just two people who were kind to each other. Later, once you parted ways after graduation, he became the personal assistant of your agent. He told you he was just trying to make ends meet while he was going back to school for his masters. It was such a surprise to see you again!

Then last month he quit after the death of his mother, thanking your agent for the experience and moving back to whatever town it was he used to lived in that you never bothered to ask about. Agents have multiple clients, yours was no exception, so you thought nothing of the change in personal assistants based solely on the fact that you barely noticed. Her life didn’t revolve around you and yours didn’t revolve around her.

But now, locked in a basement wearing nothing but your underwear and a tank top, blood soaking through a bandage around your thigh, with the really cute man you’d based a character on believing that you were a serial killer, you wish you’d noticed him more.

...

Garcia was the one to suggest looking at the security footage of the parking lot. She’d been clacking away on her tablet and trying to not seem disappointed about being dragged back to the BAU so quickly, when someone asked where you would have gone from here.

“What if he took her from here?” Everyone had looked at her with varying degrees of peculiar looks. Someone being kidnapped from the parking lot of a building full of FBI Agents? It would be comical if kidnappings weren’t a serious issue. Ironic. That’s the word Penelope was looking for. It was ironic.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at the security footage but her lawyer walked her to her car, it was broad daylight. What are the-” Prentiss’ mouth snaps shut and her lips purse just a little when Penelope brings up the video on the big screen.

Just thirty minutes before you walk outside, a small and stocky figure jimmies open your back door and slides in. He must slide to the passenger side of the backseat because he disappears from view. While he isn’t dressed in an extremely unusual manner, the hat and the black hoodie he is wearing help to hide his identity from the camera hanging over him.

Fast forward thirty minutes and all eyes trained to you as you drop your keys and bend to pick them up. Guilt hits every single member on the team, Spencer probably more than the rest, when they watch your head drop into your hands once you’re in the confines of your car.

An arm extends across the backseat, coming into view of the camera as the unsub presses a gun into your neck. In a matter of fourty-five seconds, you start the car and pull out of the parking spot.

“So we can rule out Jeremy.” Spencer says plainly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he thinks. Across the table Hotch nods his head in agreement. Jeremy was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Spencer, and he while he had an athletic build it was more lean muscle than the wide and stocky build the unsub had.

Penelope is quick to gather her things and head for her office, already planning on trying to follow your path through traffic cameras. It would be a grueling process, but it was the least she could do after digging through your life to, unintentionally, frame you for eight murders you didn’t commit.

“We interviewed everyone she has a connection to, in state or not. She’s an extremely low-risk victim, her circles don’t run that big.” Morgan has his own tablet pulled into his lap and he tilts his chair this way and that. A coin weaves in and out of his fingers and his forehead wrinkles as he goes over the list in his mind.

“Then we’ve already talked to our unsub, we just have to figure out which one it was.”

The first names to go are those out of state; your mother, your father, your best friend, and a handful of people you were connected to through the publishing firm. While the remaining names are few in numbers, it still puts Spencer on edge. They didn’t have the kind of time to be wasting energy of persons of interest, they needed one name identifying their unsub.

Nevertheless, the names are split amongst the group of profilers who work tirelessly through the night. The sun soon rises and glares through the window of the BAU conference room, putting Spencer Reid right into it’s spotlight.

There are bags under his eyes, eyes that take longer to open every time he blinks. He’s read the same paragraph eight different times, his cheek perched against the heel of his palm and his elbow propped on the tabletop. When he pushes back from the table, taking the file with him as he tries to walk away the exhaustion, it isn’t for the first time that night.

All he can think about is that final look you gave him as you walked out the door. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, like you’d been trying to convince yourself that he was somehow oblivious in your being accused of the murders and seeing him there had been a punch of truth in the gut. He’d gone forward when you stumbled, reflexively reaching out to steady you on your feet before his mind could process the action.

Spencer has been doing that since he met you, trying to protect you like he was a giant ball of bubble wrap around you. He’d done it that day in the bookstore, throwing all precautions to the wind when he held the back of your head to keep you from hitting that bookshelf. He’s done it several times at a coffee shop you both enjoy visiting on his days off, physically maneuvering your body when he realizes that your current trajectory will cause you to ram your hip into a table corner.

One time, he’d been walking with you across the street when a man on a bicycle had come flying out of nowhere. You’d been just a step in front of him, your head tilted over your shoulder and your hands flying around with animation as you told him a story. Truly, he wasn’t sure how he knew to reach out and grab your shoulders, you have a way of telling stories that makes the entire world fall away. Yet, as if he was Spider-Man or something, every cell in his body suddenly cried out and he didn’t hesitate in pulling you back.

The force Spencer used to pull your body into his chest had sent you both tumbling to the sidewalk behind you.

“Are you okay?” You’d said, turning so that you were hovering over him with the sun framing you like a halo around your head. Surely you could feel the rapid escalation of his heartbeat with the way you tenderly place one of your small hands over his chest.

In the end he had to pull you to the side of the busy street to put a band-aid on your elbow where it had hit the concrete. It had been in the bottom of your bag and it had Scooby-Doo on it.

Despite his eidetic memory, some moments always manage to fade a little more than others. Some moments stick out more, like when you had reached out to smooth a stray curl away from his face. Your fingers were featherlight against his temple, your head tilted just a little to the side, and a soft smile stretched your lips.

“You’re my guardian angel.”

Some guardian angel he was, accusing you of murder on eight accounts and then letting you be kidnapped by someone who had no qualms about slapping you. God only knows what else he was comfortable with.

“I’ve got a lead!” Garcia burst into the room, her chest heaving as she sent videos and pictures to the screen for everyone to see. Spencer couldn’t see her face as she bent over her tablet, punching in information and instructions, but he nearly peppered it with kisses when she started to explain what they were all seeing.

“I managed to track (Y/N) to a little town about and hour and a half away when she, probably on purpose, ran a red light just in front of a gas station.” The video of your car creeping through a four-way traffic light until it turned red and captured you on camera was time stamped for yesterday afternoon around four o’clock.

“If you look closely, she turns onto a dirt road just a few seconds later,” Sure enough, every eye in the room watches as your car disappears behind a cluster of trees across from the BP on the left side of the video. “Satellite pictures show that little dirt road leads to one house that burned down a year ago.”

Mouths open, cogs turns, but Penelope Garcia once again proves her intelligence when she merely waves one hand in their direction and uses the other hand to pull up several documents and articles.

“Don’t sweat it. There’s no connection at all. Belonged to a Martin and Elisa Lewis back in the fifties before it was abandoned in the seventies. It was a local haunt where teenagers went to smoke, get drunk, have parties, and do the crazy and reckless things teenagers love to do. One of these reckless things led to a fire and burned the place down. But what’s important is what leaves this place fourty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after (Y/N)’s car enters.”

The video jumps forward in time, resuming as a red SUV pulls off the road and comes back for the stoplight. They can’t manage to get a license plate, the car being recently purchased by the unsub and the paper temporary being stuck to the inside of a tinted window, and they don’t manage to get a good image of the unsub driving. It feels, for a quarter of a second, as if there is no lead at all, until Spencer jumps to his feet.

“We need to see if her car is still there.”

The hour and a half drive takes fifty minutes with their lights on, mud kicking up beneath their tires as they pull into the empty lot. Your car sits abandoned in the middle, your back tires sunk into a pile of mud. The mass collection of blood on your driver’s seat makes Spencer nauseas. Rossi gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

It does nothing for Spencer’s nerves. He is truly the worst guardian angel ever.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert

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badwithten · 4 years

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quatervois | (n.) a crossroads; a critical decision or turning point in one’s life

lucas x reader part 3

gang au

this story will contain violence, drug use, swearing, angst and possibly suggestive scenes

taglist @fruityutas @fylithia - let me know if you want to be added

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The water drips, pooling up underneath your body, lighting your skin on fire despite the cold temperature of it. The intense bathroom light, so bright you feel it could burn holes through your eyelids. The taste of acid is strong in your mouth, you want to rip out your tongue and never taste again, yet the bitterness is still there. You leave your tongue hanging out of your mouth, which dries it out but relieves you from other problems.

Everything is too much at the moment, it's like your senses have been set to a hundred. You're surprised you made back to your bnb in this condition. Your bones felt like they were splitting inside your skin, skull-cracking open from the headache and glass scratching your hands when you fell in the back alley. And now your here. Lying in your bathtub, waiting for your head to stop spinning enough for you to fix yourself up. Your skin was burning so you assumed a cold bath would help, you hastily climbed into the tub and flicked on the tap only to discover that cold water only made things worse. The water was off yet the tap won't stop dripping, the sound of the water dropping against the tub was too intense. Everything was. You just needed to stop, but from how long you had been lying there you assumed things were only getting worse. It wasn't until you noticed the lights getting dimmer that you had hope.

You're not really sure what happened next, all you knew was that you felt anything and everything and then you just stopped feeling anything. It went blank up until now. A sick feeling shooting into your stomach and making you dash up and out of the bath towards the toilet where your contents from the night before come up. You're assuming whatever Lucas gave you is out of your system now as you no longer feel like death. You stay hunched over the toilet for a few moments. Your mind finally isn't clogged by pain, you can think. Last night was possibly the worst night of your entire life. On top of that, you're in a foreign country. You mind races of all the possibilities of what can happen from here out, but a clear plan doesn't come to mind. And you have a feeling it won't come for a long while by the pain it starts to bring when you start thinking too hard.

It's not long until you give up. Finally pulling yourself off of the ground with shaky legs. Before you do anything more you need to clean yourself and have something proper to eat. Although you feel incredibly weak right now the idea of consuming food while covered in your own sweat and vomit puts you off to much. You decide on the shower before anything else. You're not in there for long, scrubbing down your body and washing the grime out of your hair. You make sure the bathroom is in the same position before you crashed everything last night, cleaning away any blood and odd piles of liquid on the floor. Finally, you're able to head to get something to eat, you can't put it off anymore and decide to just get something in only a towel. This soon proves to be a bad idea as a knock comes to the door right as you were deciding what to eat. You're sure they can see your silhouette through the window leaving you know to choice but to go greet your unexpected guest.

Just as quickly as you open the door you close it. Out of everyone in Seoul, it has to be Lucas.

“Hey Y/N, I’d really appreciate it if you let me in” His voice is a lot gentler than the night before and you almost open the door until he starts rambling again. “If you're worried about the towel, well I wouldn't, you were a bit of a mess last night and your boob fell out at some point when you-”

You don't want to even hear the rest of the story, opening the door to shut him up. Which he quickly does and lets himself in, making himself comfortable on the couch as if it was his home. Not that you minded, it made the situation a bit less uncomfortable. But it's undeniable that standing in the middle of the lounge with only a towel while the guy who kidnapped you was just sitting down was a bit odd. You excused yourself from the room to get dressed, coming back and offering him a drink. As much as you wanted to pig out on some ramen, you felt rude eating in front of your guest. A cup of tea will have to do for now.

You both finally seated comfortably in the lounge, Lucas can start with whatever he came here to tell you.

“Thanks for letting me in after last night” He seems a bit ashamed of his actions and you just smile and take a sip of your drink, unsure what to reply with. “Thanks for the coffee as well”

“There isn't drugs in yours, don't worry'' He almost spits out his drink at your comment and suddenly the room becomes lighter. A small smile etches onto your face at his reaction but you cover it up by taking another sip. “Um, what are you here for anyway?”

“Oh right,” He places down his mug onto the coffee table and reaches into his back pocket and pulls something out.

“My wallet!” You completely forgot about the fact you had lost it the night prior, but how did he find it? Was it him that took it in the first place so he had an excuse to buy you drinks?

“Yeah I felt really bad last night and went for a walk, then I found this” He tosses it over to you “was gonna just take the money and ditch it but when I opened it and saw your ID, I thought I better not”

“Uh thanks for not robbing me?” A laugh leaves both of your lips and you're a bit relieved he managed to find it.

“I mean I wouldn't be able to just do something kind could I. I got someone to look into you and you're right. You have nothing to do with Taeyong and NCT. I came here to apologize for last night” The air feels thick once again and you opt to stare down into your mug, although it's nice that he's being kind right now, you can't exactly just get over what happened last night.

“So this is me saying sorry. There's extra cash in there for flights back home. Assuming you don't want to stay here any longer” You can feel the light in his eyes leave once you don't reply, he seems genuinely sorry and upset about his actions, yet you still don't have the courage to reply. He clears his throat and starts up again. “If you chose to stay, you're help would be appreciated”

“Help?” His eyes go wide again once he hears you're interested in possibly helping him out.

“Well in that little background check I saw your schooling, you're incredibly smart you know?” He smiles at you and it almost convinces you to stick around. “Besides from a pretty face, I don't have a lot going on up here”

He gestures towards his head and you can't help but feel bad. But you know it's wrong, you shouldn't be feeling this comfortable with someone like him. You shouldn't get caught up with someone like him. Yet your heart is telling you, no, screaming at you to go with him. But you're smarter with that, trusting your brain instead.

“I’m sorry Lucas” The light from his eyes goes once again and your heart sinks. “I don't feel safe here, I don't feel safe around you. I need to get out of here. I think you should go as well”

You stand as an indication of letting him go, he takes the hint and abandons his now cold coffee, heading towards the door and opening it. Although not quite leaving just yet. There's more on his mind, he's just deciding whether to spill or not.

“Thank you for showing me kindness, even after what I did” He doesn't give you a chance to reply as he quickly leaves. Slamming the door behind him.

That one simple sentence seemed difficult for him to say yet you can't understand why. You were only being decent (and because you were scared shitless of what he might do).

There's only one thing left for you to do. Get out of Korea while you still can.

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nsheetee · 5 years

Text

Flooded

Pairing: Haechan x Reader Genre: Roommate AU || Fluff Length: 1.7k Warnings: light swearing Summary: In which a jealous Donghyuck purposefully “floods” your shared apartment’s kitchen to get you to come home from your date, and accidentally confesses his feelings to you.

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

Donghyuck is not pleased. He is not pleased when he watches you fuss over your hair for your date, and he is not pleased when you keep asking him if the jacket you picked out looks good with your outfit, and he is definitely not pleased when you nervously put on your shoes and add the finishing touches to your look for tonight.

You had a particularly bad break up a while ago: it was almost cliche how you walked in on your ex in the middle of cheating on you, the screaming match that awkwardly took place in the hallway outside of his apartment, and the tears you cried for a whole week afterwards. You were finally able to pull yourself out of this funk; you’re a bad bitch and no one can reduce you to anything else, at least that’s what Hyuck kept saying. He was the one who was telling you to get back out into the dating scene. Of course he meant to “get back out into the dating scene” and start dating him, not other people, but he thinks you’ve been just a bit slow in realizing that.

In reality, you had given up hope in Hyuck returning your feelings for you a long time ago, deciding that it’s better to not date your roommate and attempt to find someone else to give your attention to. Despite your efforts, a small part of your heart is with Hyuck. It doesn’t seem like he’ll ever give it back.

Hyuck tries to keep all the emotion out of his voice and nonchalantly tell you that you look “fine” when all he wants to do is barricade the door and cling to your leg and beg you not to go on this date. He doesn’t know who this person is, but it isn’t him and that’s the problem. You barely notice Hyuck’s weird behavior, your doubts and fears slowly rising to the surface of your thoughts as the time to leave creeps near. Nevertheless, you walk out of the house with as much confidence you can muster, but not before telling Hyuck to only call you if there’s an absolute emergency.

On this warm night out, your date takes you to get ice cream and you spontaneously decide to go to an arcade on the other side of town. You have to admit, you’re having fun. It’s so easy to forget about whatever worries were on your mind as you focus on enjoying yourself, even if it’s just for a few hours. Until you check your phone.

31 missed calls from Hyuck. Your heart surges into your stomach and the ice cream feels like it’s about to come back up. Panic sets in and you can barely think straight from the amount of anxiety that clouds your head. Your phone starts vibrating again, the caller ID is a picture you took a while ago of Hyuck caught mid-sneeze and you could not stop teasing him about it to this day. Despite the funny picture, your brain starts to go through all the worst possible case scenarios. You tensely excuse yourself from your date and answer the phone.

“What’s wrong?” You immediately ask, panic making your voice rise up at the end.

“Hello to you, too, Y/N.”

“I only told you to only call me if there was an emergency. What happened?”

“Well, the kitchen is flooded, but other than that I’m kinda hungry. Do you think you could pick up some food on your way home?” He asks casually, as if he didn’t just tell you that part of your house was under water.

You hurriedly excuse yourself from your date, barely explaining the situation, and quickly making your way home. You cross the whole town, jittering in your spot as you take the bus and barely standing still as you take the elevator up to your floor. You don’t even kick off your shoes as you burst through the front door, running into the kitchen. Hyuck sits on the counter, sink a few feet away from him filled all the way to the top, puddles forming around it on the counter and a small puddle on the floor.

“Hyuck,” You whisper, half relieved and half confused, “What is this?”

“Uh, the sink clogged.” He carries an easy smile on his face, like he has no care in the world.

“I think we have different definitions of the word ‘flood.’” Your voice slowly turns deeper and anger replaces your earlier concern. Hyuck catches this change and the smile on his face disappears.

“I was… so worried about you, Hyuck.” You sigh, “Never scare me like that again.” This was the last thing you say before you silently start to clean up the mess. Hyuck continues to sit on the counter in silence as he watches you clean, like a child waiting for his mother to pick up their mess after scolding them.

Your anger was on a whole other level tonight and you know you would blow up if Hyuck tries to talk to you again. Sure, you were relieved that your kitchen was not completely under water and that Hyuck was not dying, but you didn’t know whether you were mad about leaving your date or about Hyuck being this incompetent. Unfortunately, he didn’t completely understand the amount of anger building up in you.

“Thanks for coming back.” Hyuck tries to say, but his words snap the last piece of strength in you. You throw the wet towels full-force at his face and he catches them as they fall to his hands.

“You can’t unclog a sink, Donghyuck? You can’t clean up water? You can’t call other people to come help? It just had to be me?” You yell, finally letting all your anger off your chest and not regretting it one bit. He looks down at the floor at the use of his full name; it sounds unfamiliar coming out of your mouth but he’s not ashamed or embarrassed of his actions. He’s glad you’re here, at home with him, instead of out with your date.

“Yeah, you had to come home.” He mumbles.

“Why?” You practically groan. “I was out on a date! With someone who sounded like they liked me. You were the one who suggested I do this. Do you not… want me to put myself out there anymore?” You ask the last question weakly, now feeling exhausted from all that happened in the past few hours.

“No! I don’t!” Hyuck’s voice rises, dropping the towels on the floor and stepping over them dramatically. You’re shocked that your roommate, and very good friend, would be telling you not to go out on dates, especially after telling you that you should be doing those things- that you deserve those things. Something in your chest pulls at your heart. You know he has no idea of your feelings towards him, but does he have to make you keep falling for him so effortlessly?

“What?” The entire doesn’t word even leave your mouth before Hyuck goes off.

“You don’t even realize what’s in front of you. It’s me! I’m right here, you don’t need to go out to find anyone because I’ve been by your side, literally, this whole time.” Hyuck’s chest is heaving as you stare at him, wide-eyed as you realize he’s beginning his confession to you. “Did I really have to flood our kitchen for you to realize this?” Hyuck asks when he notices your reaction.

“Oh, my god. You… purposefully flooded our house to get me to come home?” Hyuck groans at your question and tilts his head back so far that his shoulders follow. He stands back up and rests his hands on your shoulder.

“Yes!”

“Oh… You didn’t need to do that. I think if we just talked… like normal people… I could have figured that out.” Hyuck rolls his eyes at your passive aggressive tone. Despite your outward appearance, you’re dying on the inside at his previous comment. Hyuck.. has feelings for you? Heat rushes to your face as the thought settles in your mind.

“Obviously not. Think about it: Who let you cry on their shoulder when your ex broke up with you? Who made your favorite soup when you couldn’t even get out of bed that entire week of the break up? Who let you sleep in their bed when you didn’t want to be alone? It was me.” You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but the conviction that he yells out with is undoubtable.

“That’s what I meant when I told you to start dating again. I wanted it to be with me.” He breathes out. “So let’s just… sit down and order some food and watch a movie like we always do. Let’s be together, like, together-together.” Hyuck finishes and looks at you with almost a pleading face. You don’t want to push your feelings away, not anymore. You haven’t even realized how much you want all of what he’s saying and you think you might faint at the thought of Hyuck wanting those same things. The second your hand reaches up to gently touch the side of his face, he’s leaning into your touch and bringing his hand up to hold yours closer.

“Please,” He whispers, eyes closed and waiting for your answer, “Let’s be an ‘us’ now.” You could practically jump him now, but you relish in this soft, pleading Hyuck that stands in front of you for just a moment longer, knowing you probably won’t see him like this again for a while.

“Yeah, let’s be an us.” A moment passes where you and Hyuck relax into the new circumstances you just entered, settling into the new chapter of your relationship.

“Finally, you came to your senses.” Hyuck sighs after a pause. You roll your eyes at how he breaks the mood and the hand on his cheek pushes his face away. He recoils and intertwines his fingers with your, pulling you into a hug. It’s the type of hug that makes you nuzzle your head into his shoulder and he burrows his fingers through the hair at the back of your head, keeping you tight to his chest with the other arm. You stay like that for a while, finally reveling in the feeling of things perfectly falling into place.

And the feeling of your wet socks from the puddle you haven’t cleaned up on the floor. Gross.

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