#you bring me into a hospital and my skin starts to physically itch all over and i start to cry

[fingertipsmp3]

How to not feel like an asshole when you did something that put your own interests first & could be seen as a rejection

[lemonzestywrites]

sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

paring: buck x eddie

word count: 2,268

tw: panic attacks, implied claustrophobia 

[ao3 link]

_____

Buck has never been a fan of the dark. Especially as a child, the thought alone had brought along too many nightmares and memories of running to Maddie’s room to make her double-check for monsters under his bed. It doesn’t bother him as much anymore, but still, every now and again, on nights where his anxiety is all too present for his liking, the same twinge of uneasiness will find itself scratching away at his brain.

He hasn’t felt it in a while, but that itch has been sitting at the base of his subconscious since he’s clocked in for his shift, and now Buck can’t help but be on edge. He tries his best to ignore it and go on with his day, but the next 12 hours tick by with a foreboding weariness he can’t quite place.

The hospital only makes it worse. The plain white walls, the PA system going off every other minute, the frigid cold that sticks to his skin, he hates all of it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that wonders if it’s just the result of having been admitted so many times. It doesn’t feel like all too sure of reasoning, but he’d rather not linger on the thought too long. So instead, Buck settles for it and chalks it up to nerves, making a mental note to bring it up during his next session with Dr. Copeland. Until then, he should be fine.

Emphasis on should.

Because apparently, the universe gets a real kick out of watching Buck suffer since it wasn’t enough that the hospital’s power went out- no, the entire fucking city got hit with a widespread blackout. And if that wasn’t worrying enough, Eddie hasn’t been answering his radio, and Buck’s phone isn’t working either. He does his best to stay calm, really he does, but with every passing minute of radio silence, the sick coil of nerves knotted in his stomach only gets tighter and tighter.

After 10 minutes of no response, Bobby had given Buck the go-ahead to go look for Eddie, and that’s all he needed before he’s off, weaving through the halls of the hospital heading to where he’d seen him last. If it weren’t for whatever shred of self-control in him, Buck would probably be sprinting through the building by now.

Eddie’s been back to work for only about a couple weeks now. And he’s doing great (obviously, he wouldn’t have gotten cleared to go back if he wasn’t). Buck is happy for him- happy that his best friend is back. God knows the last couple of months had been rough without Eddie, he had spent the last couple of years carving out and filling a special place in the station especially reserved for him, and then all of a sudden, it had been vacant again.

Buck is excited that he’s working again, really he is. But now the energy between them feels…different, and he knows why- they both do. It’s not like Buck had expected them to come back completely fine either. But even months after the shooting, they still have yet to talk about any of it. A part of him feels like they should, but in the months he stayed over at Eddie’s, helping out however he could during his recovery, Buck could see the toll everything had taken on him, both physically and mentally. Eddie didn’t seem ready to unpack that with him yet, and Buck wasn’t going to push him.

It’s fine. He knows Eddie has been going back to therapy. They’ll talk whenever he’s ready.

Buck does his best to give Eddie his space, let him, you know, do his job, but the past weeks feel like he’s been doing nothing but living on the edge. Every time Eddie’s out of his sight for too long, he can hear a voice screaming at him, ‘Where is he? Is he okay? Find him. Protect him. Find him. You said you’d have his back. Your fault. Your fault. Your fa-’

Then Eddie will turn the corner, and Buck’s lungs will release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding on to. He hopes it’ll take the fear, too, that with every sigh won’t just be a release of pressure but help let go of the irrational worry he has. But it never does. It eats away at him, taunting him with the idea that Eddie might get hurt again, but this time Buck won’t be there to help him.

(God, they really should talk.)

He still doesn’t bring it up. Instead, Buck sets aside his apprehension and tries not to indulge in the panicked voice in his subconscious. He’s been getting better at it.

At least he was.

All it took was 15- no, 16 minutes now- of radio silence for Buck’s heart to start pounding against his chest in rapid succession. For the nervousness to shoot through his veins, thrumming all the way down to the tips of fingers as they twitch with a numbing unease. He treads through the halls keeping his head on a swivel, alert and attentive to trying to find his best friend in the sea of patients and doctors. Eddie’s probably somewhere in the hospital helping out the staff; he is a medic after all. Yet despite any amount of reasoning Buck tries to apply, the sickening feeling in his stomach doesn’t seem to dissipate. It’s been 16 minutes, and he hasn’t had any luck. He’s even circled the floor twice just to be sure, but still, nothing.

He’s considering doing another lap when he hears it- the distant noise of someone banging on metal coming from behind the elevator doors. The sound is so faint, paired with the loud frenzy of the rest of the hospital floor, that Buck almost doesn’t hear it.

He rushes to the doors, pressing his ear flushed against it. He can hear someone yelling, but the voice is too muffled to make out what they’re saying.

“Eddie?” He calls out, no doubt getting a couple odd looks from the passing medical staff, but he pays them no mind. He bangs on the doors a couple times before yelling again louder, “Eddie! It’s Buck- can you hear me?”

There’s a beat of silence before the pounding continues again, this time with much more force in response. Buck doesn’t waste any time before he digs his fingers between the doors, using everything he has to pry them apart. The muscles in his shoulders and arms strain, but the creaking of metal offers enough motive to keep him going. Even if it’s not Eddie, it still means someone’s trapped down there.

(A selfish part of him still hopes, though.)

Once the doors are opened wide enough for him, Buck drops to his stomach to peer down into the elevator currently caught between two floors. Even with the little light he does have, he sees a curled-up shadow crouched in the corner below him, “Eddie?”

The person shifts, “Buck?”

There’s nothing more Buck wants than to revel in the relief he feels when he finally hears Eddie’s voice, but it quickly scatters when he notices the trembling panic coated in his tone.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures with as much steadiness he can force out and just hopes that Eddie doesn’t hear the way his voice shakes out the words. “Are you okay?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I-I can’t breathe.”

Buck’s mind starts to spin, panicking on what to do now. The gap in between the doors isn’t that big, so it’s not like he can slip down there with Eddie or pull him out either. He has enough sensibility to grab at his radio to at least let Bobby aware of his status, “Cap, I found Eddie. He’s trapped in an elevator stuck between the 7th and 6th floors.”

A few seconds pass before he hears Bobby’s voice on the other end, “Okay, we’re working on getting the hospital’s backup generator working. Stay with him until we can get it back online, then we’ll head up to you.”

Eddie lets out a strangled noise at his words. The twinge of panic in Buck’s stomach only coils tighter when he realizes how Eddie’s breathing seems to pick up, now coming out in quick hallow shivers.

‘He’s having a panic attack.’ Buck realizes.

It takes less than a couple seconds after for Buck to murmur a hasty “copy that” into his radio before he readjusts his focus back to his friend.

He’s not unfamiliar with panic attacks, his or Eddie’s, most of which being the results of nightmares that seem to linger when dusk settles. During the last few months, Buck has lost count of the nights that either one of them has woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and in the midst of alarm and fear, craving a recognizable magnetism of being held. A silent want to be assured protection and comforted.

It’s sick now. How there’s nothing more Buck desires than to provide that same security now, but the small two-foot gap between the elevator doors draws out to what feels like miles of distance.

Even though he can’t crawl down there with him, Buck finds himself reaching into the elevator shaft as far as he can, “Eddie, can you grab onto my hand for me?” Listen- he knows what he’s doing isn’t entirely safe, sticking his arm into an elevator that hasn’t been secure yet. But the sound of Eddie’s breath coming out in nothing but shaky huffs is more than enough to make him forgo any logic.

From within the enclosure of the elevator, he feels Eddie grasp his hand with an iron grip, the distress trembling at his fingers.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here, alright?” Buck presses the conviction through his tone, his best attempt to override his own uncertainty. “Do you think you can try and take some deep breaths?”

Buck can faintly make out the silhouette of Eddie nodding, “Y-Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I can try.”

“We can do them together,” Buck offers. He takes a deep breath himself, and from below him, he hears Eddie take one too. Unconsciously, Buck starts to tighten his hold in tandem with their breathing, squeezing his hand on an inhale, loosening his grasp on the exhale. He hadn’t really realized he’s doing it until after a couple breaths, Eddie starts doing it too. And with each squeeze, his grasp slowly becomes more determined and less shaky. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually sync up for the tremor in Eddie’s hands to fade.

A couple more moments pass, and his breathing begins to steady more.

“How you doing down there, Eds?”

“Can you…”, he clears his throat, an attempt to hide how wrecked he sounds. “Can you talk to me?- About anything, it doesn’t matter.”

Buck rattles his brain for something, anything to talk about before he remembers the nature documentary he had watched several nights prior, “Did you know toucans are born blind?”

He hears Eddie laugh; it comes out breathless and nervous, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, “Really?”

“Yeah, ironically enough, they also aren’t great at flying either. They usually hop from one branch to another to get where they want to go.”

“Tell me more?” He asks, his voice quiet.

Buck smiles and keeps going, rambling about birds for a while. He doesn’t really know for how long, and at some point, he loses his awareness of what he’s saying, more focused on Eddie than anything else. Faintly, he wonders if his arm is getting tired by now.

“You know, Chris has been learning about biomes and ecosystems in school…he’d love to hear all this stuff.”

“You can tell him all about it after work.” He reassures.

Eddie’s hand twitches in his palm. “How much longer?” Buck can hear the dread creeping back into his tone.

“I…”

Not too long. He wants to promise, but the words get caught in his throat. There are a lot of things Buck can do- lying to Eddie isn’t one of them. “I-I don’t know.” He finally admits, the shame dripping down from him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Eddie laughs, yet this time there’s no shred of humor in his voice, “I’m not sure if I can last any longer down here, Buck.” God, he sounds on the verge of tears.

“What can I do?” Fuck, at this point, Buck would do anything. Hell, he’d pull the damn elevator up himself if he had to. Whatever it would take to get Eddie back on safe ground.

“Just-” A pained noise escapes him, “Please don’t leave.”

Buck swears his heart fucking shatters. “Hey.” Even though he can’t see exactly where Eddie is, he does his best to look him in the eye before he squeezes his hand, “I’m not leaving your side, okay?”

The first thing Buck’s fire instructor had said during his training at the academy was never make a promise you can’t keep. Buck knows how important promises are to people, especially in states of emergencies. In the middle of chaos, those two words are all anyone needs to cling to. So that’s why, when Eddie looks at him, with what little light there is provided catching the edges of his watery eyes laced in fear and worry, Buck doesn’t hesitate to grip his hand as tight as he can. To hold on and look at Eddie with all the conviction and certainty he has and tell him,

“I promise.”

[glitterge1pen]

What Station Is Playing?

tw; for general body injuries (nothing too explicit but that stuff can be icky and I hate blood and bandaids 2 dude)

Keigo Takami x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 1,623

You felt heavy and light at the same time. You tried to move, to open your mouth, but you were so tired and exhausted. For a brief moment your eyes fluttered open. Sounds filtered in for just a moment.

White, hospital white and blue. You were laying on your back, eyes on the ceiling. You cast your gaze down and see Hawks. He's frantic in his motions, trying to communicate with a nurse.

There are multiple doctors and nurses around you. Little clinks of metal, beeping of machines. But you focus on Hawks as best you can.

"I can't let you stay back here, this is for family and spouses only, you'll have to stay in the general waiting area out front"

Hawks hands fumbled around each other like they could help him properly grasp his words.

"But I'm, I'm-"

Then you're gone again.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

The next time you are able to maintain consciousness, it is only because of the pain. Your body was in so much physical pain. Some of the bruises were still forming on your skin, so prominent you felt every inch of sore muscle. A twitch causes your skin to rub against your heavily bandaged arms, the scabs and blood send tingles of pain all over. You sit in silence, blinking yourself awake trying to collect your thoughts.

“Took you long enough”

Hawk’s voice was rough. Like someone had ran his voice through a metal drain and then let it sit in the desert sun without water.

“Hm”

Is the only thing you can manage to respond with.

“You should have waited for back up”

Oh right. Your memories started to click together in your head. You were the only hero in the area who could respond in time. You went alone. You had been evacuating civilians from a window when there was an explosion. Then there was the fight.

You turned away from him. A hot angry feeling boiling in your chest, so striking that it surpassed the physical pain you were feeling. This was your job, you had signed up for this. You knew. You didn't want a lecture or his pity. Especially after just having woken up in the hospital.

“If you had just waited a few more minutes before running off,”

That searing bubble of rage in you threatened to pop. But you had no energy to do so, no energy to snap back at him, to tell him off because how many times had he done this exact thing? Been in that exact situation? A wide breath opened up your chest as you attempted to speak.

“Water”

The sound of your voice surprised you. It was so raspy, so small. Hawks also seemed shocked by it. He was immediate in your request though, quickly reaching to the counter where water was waiting for you. He had to help you drink. He was tense, rigid in his movements, making sure not to disturb you.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

Several days had passed and a multitude of visitors had passed through your hospital room. No one ever stayed very long because of how weakened you still were. The only serious injury you had was your broken wrist. But you had deep cuts on some parts of your body that had required stitches. The simplest acts opened up smaller cuts that littered your limbs.

Your non-dominant hand was in pretty bad shape too. It hurt to curl your fingers around your eating utensils. You were sure there would be tiny scars on your knuckles, because every action of your fingers opened the wounds. There were clusters of different sized scabs on your palms. Like a child who had played too rough outside in the summer.

Most of the time you spent sleeping. Occasionally waking up to the dim sound of the radio that the house keeping had one while cleaning the room and the rooms around you. Hawks came by often. You weren't sure how long he stayed but he always opened the curtains before he left.

Once, at night you had awoken to one of the cuts breaking open on your leg. You hissed in pain trying to soothe yourself, you must have turned over in your sleep, disturbing the injury. There out in the bright floursents of the hallway was red. Hawks red. Hawks wings red. The door to your room was agar just enough that you could spot his wings. He must have been sitting out in the hall. Before you fell asleep again you wondered if he was sleeping as well.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　

“You’re total shit at this”

Hawks said as he twirled new bandages around your arm.  

“Yeah, you wrapping my hand has nothing to do with my broken wrist”

You said dryly. It was early afternoon. A breeze flowing through the window, cooling off the stuffy hospital room.  This was the first day that you had stayed up this long without taking a nap. You were especially sore though and hoped that you would become sleepy again soon, you didn't want to feel so physically defeated for this long.

“I shouldn't have told you, I shouldn't have told you,”

Hawks repeated himself as he got a footing on his words.

“That you should have waited. You did the right thing. Anyone else would have done the same. I was scolding you, and I’m in no position to do that to you, especially right after you woke up. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Your cheeks were burning. It was like he had lifted the lid off a boiling pot of water and all the steam was rushing towards you. While he was usually honest, he was rarely so blatantly genuine in his words.

“Thanks”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　

It was late. You could tell from the way the air moved outside. The moon shone brightly illuminating the room in a soft milky blue hue. You sat up slowly. You weren't tired for the first time since being in the hospital. You felt awake. It was a gentle ‘awake’ though.

You tilted your head towards the hall hoping to see that flash of red. He was there.

“Hawks”

You whisper yelled, it made you feel much younger. Like you were hiding something from a prying teacher. He did not stir from his place out in the hall though. You tried again, a little louder this time.

“Hawks!”

He jerked up, reacting as if you had called for help instead of just the whisper you had given him. Rushing into the room he was at your bedside prepared to take orders from you.

“Do you hear that?”

He seemed stunned by how quiet you were speaking. But he followed along.

“What?”

“Listen?”

Realizing that you weren't in some sort of danger his shoulders relaxed and he let out a cautious sigh.

“What?”

He said more urgently now.

“The radio. What are they playing?”

“I don't know, I can barely hear it”

You had your hands on his shoulders. Using him to help you move closer to the edge of the bed.

“Help me”

He tried to stop you.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting up, help me”

He looked away in thought, but turned back to help you. Once your feet were on the cold tiles you couldn't bring yourself to let go of his shoulders. You were afraid you would falter in steadiness.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes”

You stood there unsure of what to do now that you were on the ground. How to move was temporarily forigen. You picked one of your feet up before setting it back down. Then did the same with your other. You pushed your heel back. Then turned your body. Hawks followed the motion moving with you.

You were deliberate at first. Your legs stiff, anticipating the dread of your wounds. But no pain like that came. It actually felt refreshing to be roaming the room like this. Hawks reached for your waist when you had stumbled over your ankle. His hands hovered here, touching, then not touching, as you swayed with a mellow tenderness.

You had your eyes closed not wanting to look at him, not sure what his expression would tell you, but also because it made it easier to concentrate on the distant music. You tried to keep up with the song that was playing, your steps getting a little more complex the more you moved.

“Are we dancing?”

“Yes”

You state in a whisper, opening your eyes to see a timid Hawks, or as timid as he could appear to you. It was more like he was scared of something, like he was going to hurt you by dancing like this.

“Twirl me once and then I’ll go back to the bed”

He was taken aback by this. You were gradual with the removal of your hands from his shoulders. To show him that you were stable on your own feet. His wings fanned out as he took your hand in his. It was a passive rise to the air. He was considerate, making sure that your arm would not get twisted. You hold tighter to his palm as you picked up your leg ever so slightly. Then there was the careful spin.

His shoes were loud on the tile when the hovering stopped. That click sound of his soles on the ground was awakening. You were suddenly aware of the weight of your body, the bandages on your skin, the itch of the stitches and scabs. Exhaustion came over you like a clean sheet down onto a mattress.

“Okay now help me back into the bed”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: Wrote a lot of original content stuff this week and boy oh boy was that draining. Writing stuff like this is a real break from my other more serious stuff that still allows me to feel like “hey I wrote today” , going to drink orange juice and play supermonkey ball. Also as usual, no, I did not edit this :) 

[janekfan]

aah i just sent this prompt but tumblr told me it didn't send so if it sent twice ignore this!! so prompt: how about early s2, where jon is pulling away a bit but the others are concerned about it more than angry, getting a horrific migraine. like "has to leave a team meeting early" horrific. and the others know he wants to be left alone and try to respect it, but eventually they can't just ignore it anymore. <3 if you don't like this i can try again!

Oof, migraines. Amiright??? This is based on a personal experience of mine I had in college :D

My whole floor thought I was dying and almost dragged me to the hospital.

Thank you @taylortut as always for giving me such great ideas! :D

Looking back, Jon felt incredibly foolish.

Insisting that he could persist through his day without taking medication for headaches when it resulted in the same outcome every time was the very definition of insanity.

But, in his flimsy defense, they never started out badly and he got so caught up in his work that by the time he realized what was happening, it was far, far too late to do anything but suffer it out until it ended. Which is how he found himself here, now, nearly completely blind in his right eye while Elias droned on about workplace safety and considering recent events it seemed laughably mundane because yes, back strain from lifting incorrectly certainly outweighed a sentient worm queen trying to devour your assistants.

Filled with a desperate desire to rub away the disorientating blind spot, Jon let his focus slip over his employees.

Tim: bored. Not doing anything to hide it and Jon supposed he was at fault for that too, because he was certainly not paying Elias any mind.

Sasha: attentive. Most likely thinking of something else entirely while she nodded along to the lecture notes at the appropriate places.

Martin: engrossed. Despite his suspicions, mostly due to the constant checking in with him about how he was feeling, and really, maybe that was on him because maybe that’s what coworkers did after bravely surviving an onslaught of supernatural entities together. Despite them, he found it. Pleasant? Pleasant. That he would commit the effort to pay such careful attention.

Jon: quickly realizing this meeting would not be finished by the time the majority of the pain struck him like an oncoming lorry. By his estimations, based on when he first noticed the aura as a funny spot in his peripheral he tried to see around, he had roughly three minutes left.

Elias continued to endlessly intone while the buzzing lights continued to beat down on him and Jon fought against closing his eyes against them both and their ceaseless stabbing. Two minutes. Probably less and the anxiety which accompanied knowing almost exactly when he was about to be incapacitated rose like a tide and threatened to drag him under. Jon began to shake minutely as the agony manifested like an icepick in the back of his head and spread its grasping, greedy fingers. It took the rest of his very limited restraint to stay silent and keep breathing; shallow and slow, controlled and careful because the nausea was beginning to set in and throwing up during a staff meeting was at the very least, unwise.

But oh he needed somewhere silent, somewhere he could hide in total darkness and not move until he was able to force himself to sleep, to sleep, to sleep because that was the only way he’d found to make it through to the other side.

“Jon?” He was standing, blinking unevenly, fighting with himself and his desire to shield his face with both hands. The sound of his name was too loud. So loud and the murmuring of the others in the room created a beautiful sensory nightmare and if they knew his head was about to split open would they really be speaking so loudly? Doubtful. Martin. Martin wouldn’t at least.

“I’m leaving.” Inadequate, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to elaborate even if in his right mind he wouldn’t. And this wasn’t even the worst of it.

Each step was a rung up the ladder of agony and he’d taken to trailing a hand against the wall, not trusting his quickly dwindling balance and equilibrium. Rudely, without his express permission, a sob snuck past his clenched teeth and he just had to make it down the stairs, into the archives. Into the dark. The cot was still in document storage and the room would be dim and quiet and he could sleep. Please, let him sleep. Trembling so badly he could barely work the door handle, desperation doing its level best to claw its way through his ribcage, Jon began to panic. Gently, gently, gently, he closed the door behind him, trying to breathe because not breathing would make it worse. The buttons at his throat were so tight, the vest, while comfortable this morning was strangling him and he fought his way out of it like a tiger before all but tearing open his collar.

Sh. Shh. You’re alright. Shaky. Ill. But alright and you will be alright. Jon collapsed to the cot, sighing at the momentary relief laying down provided but there was still so much light and it was like glass behind his eyes even though they were closed as tightly as he dared close them. The blanket that had been left behind was very contradictory, too much and not nearly enough, and when it brushed the bare skin of his arms it felt like sandpaper but he wanted more of it. More weight so he could relax without feeling as though he was going to drift away because who even knew which way was up anymore? If he hadn’t left the meeting, he could’ve asked.

Don’t cry. Do. Not. Jonathan Sims. It made it worse, so much worse so he kept his tears trapped behind a false calm. Each time he’d thought he would die from one of these or at the very least prefer it and each time he woke the next day groggy and sore and exhausted, useless for anything except more sleep. He dropped his glasses on the floor, hugged his middle with one arm and threw the other over his face.

Please, please, please.

Just go to sleep.

“I’ll thank the rest of you for continued attention.” Martin nodded absently, worried. Jon didn’t just walk out of meetings. And he’d been so pale, rubbing his temple and wincing. A bad headache? He got those sometimes.

Didn’t like to be bothered about them either.

He caught Tim staring at him over the table, done with his paperclip sculpture for now it seemed, and he nodded just slightly toward the door with a questioning look. Martin just shrugged discreetly, now too distracted to pay attention to whatever Elias deemed important enough to waste their time with after an attack on the archives. Needless to say, the rest of the hour passed excruciatingly slow and as soon as they were released, Martin headed straight for Jon’s office, momentarily confused when it was empty.

“Not there?” Martin shook his head and Tim frowned in concern. “The cot? Maybe he needed a lie down?”

“You’re probably right.”

“Still strange.” He nodded in agreement, already headed to check, knocking quietly on the worn wood.

“Jon?” Martin swore he heard something suspiciously like a whimper before his voice floated through the door.

“Yes, Martin?” It was strange, off, wavery? The tail end of a gasping breath.

“You just, you left in such a hurry.” He’d give anything to open the door and see for himself. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m. Yes, Martin, I’m, I’m alright.” Jon was many things, a good liar was not one of them, but he was the type to lick his wounds alone, preferring not to show any vulnerability and Martin would respect it. “Bit tired.”

“Okay, I’ll. Check on you in a bit then. Bring some tea.”

“Yes, alright.” Despite his worry, Martin smiled at the tiny familiar spark of frustration.

When Martin spoke his voice seemed to echo in the hollows of Jon’s bones, reverberating into his head and only exacerbating the throbbing pain, not even really aware of what he was saying, just trying to get him to go away so he could be as still as possible in silence. The more he moved, the more it felt like his stomach was trying to turn inside out and the fear of moving, of being sick, of causing himself more hurt, made tears sting at the corners of his eyes, made him itch where they slipped down his face.

If it would just stop for a moment. If he could just fall asleep. Calm down. Stand to have anything against his skin right now.

He wanted to be alone and not be alone. Wanted Martin or Tim or Sasha to, to, he didn’t know, just wanted. The strange disconnect from his physical body was maddening, confusing, and he wanted so badly for it to please stop.

When Martin looked up, Sasha was so close to his desk he startled. He hadn’t heard her but she looked worried.

“I don’t think Jon is feeling very well.”

“I don’t think so either.”

“He’s been in there all day.” Tim joined them. “Maybe we should check on him again?” Martin looked at the clock. It had been hours since he’d talked to him and he had yet to reappear.

“You’re probably right.” This time, it was definitely a hurting sound and Martin decided it was for Jon’s own good to let himself in. He’d only just recovered from Prentiss, what if the stress had made him ill? “Jon?” He was curled into himself on the cot, clothes in disarray, vest discarded and half the blanket piled atop his face. When the door closed, Jon clapped his hand over his ear, the other tangled into his button down so tight Martin was afraid he’d pop the buttons. “You’re shaking.”

“Mmartin…” the barest exhale, pleading. “S’loud…so...so loud…”

“Okay, okay, what’s wrong?” He knelt beside him, resting his hand over Jon’s. “How can I help?”

“Jus’...jus’ need t’sleep.” Shuddering, his breath caught, was released, uneven, fast, gasping. “Can’t.” He decided at that moment that sound should never come from Jon again, not if ever he could help it and the fingers that had been digging into his greying hair were now clutching Martin’s.

“Okay. I’m coming back.” Jon seemed to collapse inward like a star and it was hard to leave him but he’d seen migraines before and it had been hours since what he guessed was the onset. “Tim, do you have any paracetamol?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Jon’s not well, of course.”

“Figures.”

“This time I really think it wasn’t his fault. These things sometimes come on suddenly.” Tim grumbled, digging through his desk and heading with Martin to the breakroom for some water, waiting while he brewed a strong black tea.

“He gets a pass. One time, Martin. This one time.” While the tea cooled Martin retrieved a few cloths from the drawer and a bowl of water.

“He needs quiet. Everything is really overwhelming right now. A lot of input and nowhere for it to go.”

“You’re the boss, Marto.” With a jaunty salute, Tim followed, staying calm and quiet, kneeling down to Jon’s level before whispering a greeting. “Hey. Gonna get you fixed right up.”

“Nnng…okay.”

“Jon? We’re going to help you sit up.” With no refusal forthcoming, Tim and Martin shared a look of alarm before lifting him as though he were made of spun glass and he buried his face in Martin’s soft, well worn jumper. “Good, Jon.” Martin pressed his palm against his forehead and found it cold and a little clammy, his clothes clung slightly with sweat and it seemed like he had trouble coordinating his limbs.

“Hur’s…” trembling, his muscles spasmed randomly, and Tim had to help hold his hand steady enough for a dose of paracetamol while Martin followed quickly with the bitter tea, washing the taste away with a sip of water.

“Okay, love. Doing such a good job. Almost done.” More tears. He went to nod, instead ending up with his head hanging, neck too tired to hold it up any longer and Martin eased him back down onto the pillow. “Let me know if this is too much.” He wrung out a flannel and smoothed it over his eyes, pleased when Jon groaned in slight relief. Tim stroked his hair, soft and slow, and together they waited, watched his shivering gradually stop and his breath deepen into sleep.

Sasha met them outside the door and Martin stepped further down the hall, just in case they were loud enough to wake him.

“Well?”

“He’s asleep, bad migraine.” Martin winced in sympathy, “and hopefully he’ll sleep through until morning.”

“That’s a relief.” Collectively, they agreed. Jon had been under a lot of pressure lately and while he’d never been one to confide in them often even those moments were becoming rare

Jon felt heavy, tired and slow, and when Martin opened the door with a mug of tea in one hand and a plate of toast in the other, he reasoned that he hadn’t dreamt the entirety of the day previous. Which meant he did sit through most of Elias’ dry speech about safety.

Embarrassing. To have walked out like that.

“Martin.” The memory of gentle hands and a soft voice made him flush.

“Jon, how’re you feeling?”

“Better, uh, much better. Thank you.” Sitting up was only somewhat a chore, the dizziness faded into the background for the most part. The fogginess was expected and would last a few days but for now he accepted the tea graciously, eyed the toast suspiciously, and settled on another round of painkillers and a few mouthfuls until he thought he might be pushing it. “Thank you, Martin.” He’d been in a bad way and at his wit’s end before he and Tim essentially rescued him. Passing back the empty mug and setting the remaining toast aside, Jon decided he deserved a lie in especially considering he was in that fragile inbetween where turning his head too fast would trigger another one. “If you see Tim before me, would you pass on my gratitude?”

“��Course I will” Martin retrieved the dishes and turned back before closing the door. “Sleep well, Jon.”

[stories-for-sell]

Welcome Home, Little Chromosome

Chapter 4 of Fake Relationship Gone Right. Gene returns home and finds a familiar, but surprising face waiting for him. WARNING: SCENE OF AN ATTACK/ABUSE< PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Gene leaned against the car window, watching the buildings and other cars fly by as they drove. Looking at him from the driver’s seat, Maria reached out and placed a gentle hand on her son’s knee, squeezing it lightly to get his attention.

“How you holding up, little chromosome?” She questioned, watching him slowly pull himself out of his thoughts to answer.

“I’m fine..” He told her, giving his mother his best, fake, ‘I’m doing well’ smile.

Apparently, it was believable enough, for she didn’t ask again or prod at the subject, and the car’s occupants once again fell into a silence, both standing stock still on wobbly tightropes, trying to reach each other like they did when he was a young boy, around when Dante was just starting school. But then, they drifted apart, the only reminder of the close bond they once had was in the form of dance practices Gene rarely attends. He shut himself off after 6th grade, meeting Zenix and Sasha, slowly turning sour until he no longer resembled the young, bright child Maria had raised, on both the4 inside and out.

When Maria steered the car into the driveway, she glanced at him, grinning as if she knew something he didn’t. He ignored her strange looks, opening up the door and waiting for her to bring the hospital-issued wheelchair around for him to get in, unable to walk until he could start physical therapy to heal after the attack, which severely damaged his muscles and set him way back. With her help, he stepped out of the car and lowered into, where he was wheeled up a makeshift ramp near their steps and through the front door.

Waiting to greet them on the other side of the foyer was his little brother Dante and.. Aaron!? Teal blue eyes widened at the sight of the taller student standing in the middle of his living room, looking very out of place with his scruffy appearance surrounded by a very clean and organized home. Seeing Gene, Dante rushed forward to hug him, only to be stopped by their mother, holding her arm in front of Gene and Dante, separating them.

“Dante, Gene needs rest, I don’t want you tackling him in hugs anytime soon, do you understand me?” 

“Yes ma’am..” Dante mumbled, looking at the ground sheepishly. He squeaked when Gene ruffled up his hair and gave the younger a small smile.

“Don’t worry Hermanito, I’ll be good as new in no time!”

Behind his back, Maria motioned for Dante to leave him be, and then turned to Aaron. “Will you help get him up the stairs to his room, Aaron dear?”

Without any time to register what she said, Gene felt a pair of strong arms gently pick him up, his face heating as he lifted his head, staring at Aaron. Aaron was unaware of the look, as he carried him over to the stairs and began to ascend them. Down a familiar hallway, and through one door later, he was set onto his bed; the taller boy left the room, returning a few minutes later with the wheelchair, collapsed nice and neat to not take up much room, and set it beside the bed before sitting down on the edge and looking around.

“Nice room.”

“Why are you here?”

“Ouch. Is that anyway to say thank you for saving your ass?”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Gene, you almost died!”

“So? Maybe things would have been better off with me dead.”

Aaron stared at him in shock, trying to process all of this. He looked at Gene, who refused to meet his eyes and instead opted to stare down at his bedspread, which was a dark navy blue color.

“Gene.. What did Balto say to you?”

“Nothing..” His voice cracked, and blue eyes remained trained on the bed spread.

“Why do you think that things would be better if you were dead?”

“Because they just would, Aaron! I do nothing but fuck things up and cause trouble for everyone else! Besides.. It’s not like anyone else really cares about me. I doubt even mom or Dante would really care if I died.”

“Gene… Your mother was in tears when she heard you were in the hospital. Dante decked a doctor just because he couldn’t tell us anything about your condition. Even Aphmau was terrified that you wouldn’t make it. Her mom had to pry her out of a waiting room chair to make her go home, and Vylad’s mom had to take him and Travis home with the help of her husband. All of them have been non-stop asking if you’re ok, when you were being released, could they see you yet.”

“.. You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. Want some more proof? I have a huge fucking bruise on my chest from Zenix, and my cheek STILL stings from Sasha slapping me, just because I told them you were in the hospital. They thought I was the one who got you sent there.”

“Heh.. That’s Zenix and Sasha for you, they’d kill someone for me if I asked.”

“That doesn’t surprise me but see.. People really do care about you Gene. Dying wouldn’t solve anything.” Aaron told him, grinning as he watched a soft smile form on Gene’s face. But, that smile soon faded into a frown, as their eyes locked, ocean blue with coal black.

“What about Balto..”

“He’s been expelled from what I heard, and the police are keeping him in custody until they can get a statement from you, and then decide their next move. 

“.... And what will happen when I go back?”

“I’m not sure, but no one who knows what happened is allowed to tell anyone else about the incident. Gene, if you don’t mind me asking.. What pissed Balto off so much?”

“You.”

Gene’s voice was soft, barely audible as he whispered the single word, looking back down at the bed spread as Balto’s voice rang in his ears, hurting his head and making his eyes swell up with tears.

“What does he have that I don’t? Huh!? What’s so good about Lycan that you chose him over me?” Balto snarled into his ear, delivering a swift punch to Gene’s gut and making him cry out, doubling over in pain as he empties the contents of his stomach.

“B-balto, please.. Leave me alone.”

“Shut up!” fingers threaded through his hair as his head was yanked roughly back, and he found himself staring into furious red eyes. “Shut. Up. You speak when I tell you too, do you understand me, bastard?”

A whimpering noise, nothing like anything Gene’s ever made before, escaped him, as he was shoved against the wall. Sharp teeth sank into his neck, rough fingernails digging into his skin and dragging across it, blood welling up in their wake.

He goes to scream, but a hand wrapped around his throat, restricting his breathing. Balto shoved him backwards again, and his head met brick, a sickening crack echoing through the abandoned parking lot. Hands tore at his clothes, his skin, anything they could reach. Gene was soon covered in so much blood and writhing in so much pain he didn’t even know where one injury ended and another began.

Blood dripped down the tan skin of his face, making it hard to see between that and his hair that fell like a mess over his face. Neither heard the bell. Balto was so focused on taking out his anger, he didn’t notice that Gene had become unresponsive, that the hispanic boy’s eyes were glazed over, or that his breathing was shallow. He didn’t even see the other man round the corner and stand there in shock.

What he did notice though, was the girl’s screams piercing the air. The feeling of hands grabbing his arms, pulling him off of the broken body.

Gene didn’t realize he was crying until calloused hands wiped away his tears and pulled him in, protecting Gene behind the wall of strong arms. His head was resting on Aaron’s chest, who simply held him in silence, waiting for the moment to pass. Seeing Gene look at him, he offered a sympathetic smile.

“You with me now?” He asked, moving some hair out of Gene’s face. 

“Y-yeah..”

“Alright, I have to go home soon, you should get some rest.”

“I got plenty of rest at the hospital, I don’t need any more.” Gene replied, pulling back and wiping away some more tears.

“I know.. But it’s like a mandatory thing to say to someone in your position, you know?” The raven-haired man told him, standing up and looking at Gene. “Alright, I should get going. I’ll stop by tomorrow with Aphmau and her two friends, mainly so they’ll stop bugging me, alright?”

“HA! Alright. That’s fine.. Mom says it’ll be at least a month before I’m healed enough to go back to school.”

Aaron stood there a bit awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He eventually just gave Gene a wave before leaving the room.

Now alone, Gene struggled to get out from on top of his blanket, pulling it over himself and laying down. He picked up his phone, turning it on. And instantly regretting it as it blew up with notifications from his friends, and just random kids in school whose numbers he forgot that he’d had.

He opened the group chat with Zenix and Sasha, reading a few things before exiting, just as a message came into that conversation.

WhiteHairedW(b)itch: Eugene, you better fucking reply to us.

Porcupine: You forgot we all have Iphones, and we can see when you read our messages. So answer us.

WhiteHairedW(b)itch: Or we’ll spam your phone until you do.

   AngryHispanic is typing…

…

Porcupine: EUGENE ALEJERA, IF YOU DON’T REPLY, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.

AngryHispanic: Already nearly died, that threat holds no power over me now. And I’m tired, can’t we talk later?

WhiteHairedW(b)itch: Gene, it’s been a week since we’ve so much as saw you read our texts. What happened?

AngryHispanic: Balto, obviously. Seriously, We’ll talk later. I’ll even video call to make you happy.

   Porcupine, WhiteHairedW(b)itch is typing…

Porcupine: Fine. Talk to you in a bit, Mom’s calling me anyways.

WhiteHairedW(b)itch: Ttyl, I Love you, you idiots.

Porcupine: Love ya too, sis.

AngryHispanic: I love you guys too, seriously.

He set his phone down, a small smile gracing his lips, which parted to let a quiet yawn slip past. Gene settled down into his bed, never realizing how comfortable his mattress was until staying on uncomfortable hospital beds for a week. Sleep wasn’t too hard to come by for once, and he drifted off quicker than he has in years, dreams full of his friends, his mom and brother, and even some nice ones of Aaron, all of which left that small smile resting upon his sleeping face, as he took the first few steps into recovery.

[angellesword]

Seventy One

Description: What were you supposed to do when seven men ended up falling in love with you?

Choose, of course.

Seventy One: from seven to one.

Pairings: ot7 x Female Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, inexplicit smut

Word Count: 11k (One shot)

Warnings: alcohol, kissing, mild physical violence, blood, there are stalkers in this fic, discussion of dropping out of school, and losing interest in life. 

*** I know this doesn’t have a lot of warnings, but please be mindful of what you’re reading. (especially minors) I’ve been on tumblr and wattpad since 13 and I honestly regretted it. I should have waited for the right time before diving into the word of fiction.

Of one thing, you were sure: You were going to quit medical school no matter how many times they tried to stop you.   “I just don’t understand why people are stopping me, you know? This is my life.” You breathed in heavily. “My life!” You repeated the last two words to emphasize your point.   Not everyone had a dream. This was what Min Yoongi always told you. Admittedly, this friend of yours admired you for knowing what you wanted to do in life. Sometimes he envied you. For him, you were the epitome of beauty and perseverance. Once you set your mind into something, you were sure to do it no matter how hard it may seem.

  “They’re just concerned for you, Princess...” Seokjin pinched your cheeks, an attempt to lighten up your mood, but also because he found you cute.   You sighed, trying to flash a smile at your best friend. You appreciated his little ways to make you happy.   You had known Kim Seokjin ever since you were a child. Your mom was actually best friends with Seokjin’s mom. As a result, they also wanted their kids to become friends. It happened. Seokjin was a few months older than you, but this didn’t stop you from hanging out with him. The world was convinced you were destined to be together because the two of you were inseparable. You loved hanging out with him. He was a sweetheart, always polite and he didn’t have to try hard to make everyone around him smile. He was naturally funny.

And the best part about being his best friend? Well, Seokjin loved to cook. He always prepared your favorite garlic chicken. Jin didn’t mind eating this flavor of meat with you even though his skin itched after consuming it. “They’re not concerned about me. They’re concerned about themselves.” You gritted your teeth together. Bitterness was taking over you once more. You stood by this. You felt like the reason why your family and relatives were stopping you from dropping out of medical school was because they didn’t want to associate themselves with a dropout—with a person who was irresponsible and didn’t have any dream. You were going to taint your family’s name.   When you told Seokjin about your plan, he had a similar reaction with your family. He also stared at you blankly. Your heart sank. Your relatives’ reaction hurt, but the disapproval of your best friend, the person who you thought would support you through thick and thin, hurt the most. Fortunately, you were wrong. Seokjin wasn’t judging you. He was just shocked because he knew how much you wanted to be a doctor.   You thought so too, but it only took you two semesters to realize that medical school wasn’t for you. You were spontaneous, just like Jeongguk, the maknae of your group of friends.   Studying all day wasn’t for you. You didn���t want to sacrifice your time researching and losing sleep. You wanted something fun...something liberating.   Jeongguk was exactly like that. You could never forget the day he knocked on your door at ten pm; his eyes were sparkling as asked if you wanted to go high diving with him.   You agreed. It was the best day of your life. Your fingers were intertwined. You screamed all of your frustrations as you jumped. The cold, pristine water swallowed you whole.   You figured that the water might be cold, but your heart was warm and so was Jeongguk’s smile.   Your friendship with Jeongguk was the opposite of your relationship with Seokjin. The latter had a careful approach in life. This was probably the reason why he was at the top of his chosen career. Seokjin graduated in the most prestigious university in Seoul with a degree in Film Studies.   His hoobaes admired him for being the best sunbae. Seokjin was thoughtful. He took his time giving helpful tips to young artists. Your best friend had the right to give advice as he was already the most successful actor of WWH Labels, one of the best entertainment agencies in South Korea. Seokjin had won and was still winning major awards from different shows all over the world. His fan base was getting bigger and bigger. Despite this, he remained humble. Compared to him, you were nothing—at least this was how you feel.   “You’re really gonna drop out?” He asked you for the nth time.   “Yes.” You said confidently. “You know me. Once I set my mind into something—“   “It is final and there is no turning back.” He completed your infamous line and then he sighed. “I’m just making sure. You know, I’ve noticed that you’ve been taking Yoongi’s opinion seriously.”   “Your point?” You asked him directly while raising a brow. Why was Yoongi suddenly involved?   “W-Well...I...” He swallowed, it was as if there was lump in his throat, making it difficult for him to continue what he was about to say.   “What, Seokjin?” You know it was downright rude to just drop honorifics; however you were pissed off. He hadn’t said anything but you already knew what was in his mind. He was your best friend after all. You knew him inside out.   “I just,” he started and failed again. Seokjin realized there was no point of sugarcoating things. He needed to be honest. “Yoongi dropped out of college so I thought that maybe he’s influencing you in some way—“   “Oh shut up!”   You couldn’t help your anger anymore. You were wrong for trusting him. You shouldn’t have relied on his encouraging words when you told him you were going to drop out.   You remembered his soft eyes and heartwarming smile as he said “I’m not going to stop you, Princess. You should do what you want. I will support you with all of my heart as long as you're happy and not hurting someone else...” Apparently, it was a lie.   It was stupid of you to find it endearing. It was stupid of you to think that both Seokjin and Yoongi shared the same sentiment. The former wasn’t like the latter. Yoongi was the only genuine supporter you had.   Yoongi told you to “fuck it all,” when you told him about your plan to drop out of school. He said that you were free to do what you wanted. His advice was similar to Seokjin’s. The only difference was that Yoongi didn’t care about what other people thought. He said that it didn’t matter if you were to give up your faith and your trust to them. The only important thing was for you to achieve your goal. In the end, you would only realize the worth of someone if that person chose to stay by your side even if you were at your lowest.   Dropping out of medical school meant you would lose your loved ones. Your friends might even think that you were a bad influence. Yoongi claimed that you didn’t deserve to be with people who thought this way.   Regardless of their genuineness, both Seokjin and Yoongi made their points clear. To be honest, you couldn’t disregard Seokjin’s point when he claimed that Yoongi’s word got the best in you. What Yoongi said was what you wanted to hear, so naturally you would defend and follow him. It wasn’t right. This made you realize that the advice that you needed was from someone who depended on reality rather than just being brutally honest or being too careful with words.   You needed someone who didn’t simply rely on emotions. You needed someone who resorted to logic.   You needed Kim Namjoon.   “I think I should go. Thanks for the food. See you later.” You barely touched the kimchi fried rice and spicy beef bulgogi Seokjin had cooked just for you, yet you were already leaving.   “Do you need a ride?” He asked softly.   You eyed your best friend from head to toe, causing him to flinch as he immediately hid his left hand behind his back. You weren’t aware, but Seokjin hurt himself while preparing your food.   “No. I’m just gonna go to Namjoon’s.”   Namjoon’s place was right across Seokjin’s apartment. Actually, the reason why you were friends with Namjoon was a funny story.   Namjoon was originally from Ilsan, the city of flowers that was only a few hours away from Seoul. He said he was just an ordinary boy who liked music, so even if the possibility of failing was high, Joon still chose to risk it all and went to Seoul. He struggled a lot. His place was small, making it hard for him to buy music equipment. Despite his home being small and easy to maintain, Namjoon, the ever clumsy boy, still turned it into a chaotic place. You remembered that time vividly. It was nine years ago. You, Seokjin, and Yoongi were enjoying your usual movie marathon night at Seokjin’s apartment when you heard a loud “HELP!” Next door.   You weren’t the type of person who ignored those in need, so you asked your two best friends to go with you to check in with the new neighbor. When you heard the word help, you were expecting to see a person in distress. But upon seeing the face of the man who just opened the door, you instantly knew you were the one who needed help. Damn. Someone should bring you to the hospital because your heart hurt.   The boy in front of you was so gorgeous that it physically hurt you. His blond hair complemented his tanned bare chest. God. You felt like you were going to have a heart attack if he didn’t put a shirt on.   “My microwave is on fire!”   Regrettably you lost interest when he spoke. Just...who in the right mind would catch their microwave on fire?   Clearly, only a dumb person.   Apparently, Kim Namjoon was dumb.   You, Seokjin, and Namjoon were losing your minds as you looked at the flame. Yoongi, on the other hand, just pressed the ‘stop’ button and after a few seconds, the chaos also stopped.   “Oh man. What did you put in there?” You winced while trying to get a good look inside your neighbor’s microwave.   “Uh? Bulgogi wrap?” Namjoon scowled, unsure.   “Bulgogi wrap wrapped in aluminum foil.” Yoongi corrected.   When your neighbor nodded, you and your friends face-palmed.    Who in the right mind would put an aluminum foil inside the microwave?   Only a dumb person.   Again, Namjoon was dumb.   “Fuck. I’m really hungry, but I’m scared to use the microwave again.” Namjoon face-palmed too. He didn’t know how to cook.   “Do you like ramyeon?” Seokjin asked.   “Who doesn’t like ramyeon?” This was Namjoon’s answer. “A dumb person.” You chuckled, interjecting their conversation.   When Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, you realized that maybe, he wasn’t dumb at all. Namjoon joined your movie marathon that night. It didn’t stop there, though. Namjoon was cool person so he didn’t have a hard time fitting in with your friends. Namjoon was also smart and charming. It wasn’t at all hard to like him. You actually harbored feelings towards him. You couldn’t help it. You found him sexy whenever he was producing songs with Yoongi.   Min Yoongi was the kind of person who liked to do his thing alone, so imagine how surprised you and Seokjin were when Yoongi asked for Namjoon’s help, making you realize that Namjoon actually creates more than he destroys. Yes, he was careless and he broke a lot of things, but he sure knew how to create beautiful and meaningful verses that touch the heart of his listeners.   His style complemented Yoongi’s way of making music. This was why you didn’t get surprised anymore when Namjoon and Yoongi told you and Seokjin that they were planning to make a small music entertainment that would focus on music healing, talent, and skills of their artists. Few years later, Paradise, the name of their firm, became the biggest entertainment in South Korea, dethroning WWH Labels. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Seokjin, the empire of WWH would probably fall. Seokjin was the company’s backbone.   “Namjoon, open your damn door.” You banged on the door of studio. You knew Namjoon had enough money to purchase a bigger place, but he didn’t want leave this building. His only compromise was to buy the unit as well as the three units next to his apartment. He then renovated it to a much bigger studio. He called it Rkive, his personal working area. Seokjin also didn’t want to leave his apartment because he had been living there ever since he was a trainee, but he would probably move to a new place in the future—just not now.   “You realize I can steal your valuables and you still wouldn’t notice?” You welcomed Namjoon with an exasperated sigh as he opened the door. As usual, he showed himself to you wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hugged his hips perfectly. His Balenciaga boxers caught your eyes. You couldn’t help the blush staining your cheeks. You had seen him in this state many times already, but you still couldn’t help but to swallow hard every time. Namjoon was damn attractive, but this didn’t mean that he was perfect. In fact, his one flaw annoyed the hell out of you. You really hated the fact that he was always so immersed in making music that he didn’t seem to give a shit about the people around him. You were standing in front of his door for straight ten minutes already, if you didn’t aggressively bang on his door, you would most likely still be waiting here in vain.   “The only thing you can steal is my heart, baby girl.” You shook your head when Namjoon winked at you.   Ah damn. How could you still be irritated at him when it was clear that he knew how to make your heart skip a beat? Namjoon was probably the only person who could say sappy things that wouldn’t make you cringe.   “Don’t make me regret going here, Joon.” But you couldn’t tell him that.   “I’m kidding!” He pulled you inside his studio. Namjoon was busy producing a song before you came.  Bangtan Sonyeondan, the only boy band under the care of Paradise Company, was going to release a new album soon. Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk were the members of the mentioned boy group. They were pretty much involved in producing their music, but Namjoon was the one who wrote sixty to eighty percent of the lyrics of their songs. Yoongi, on the contrary, focused on producing the melody.   “You need help with anything, baby girl?” Namjoon sat on his swivel chair. He would stop working if you said you needed him. That’s how important you were. “I’m useless, Joonie.” You let out a breath, sitting on Namjoon’s lap. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist and then he rested his head on your back.   “I don’t love you.”   “What!?” You struggled to get away from him. Did he just straight up tell you that he didn’t care about you?   “What?” Namjoon was feigning innocence as he embraced you tighter. “I thought we are supposed to lie? You said you’re useless and that’s obviously a lie.”   “Joon...” You touched his hand that’s resting just below your stomach. You were at loss of words.   “I know I tease you a lot and I don’t usually say the words you need and want to hear, but...” Namjoon sighed as well. “Please believe me when I say you’re fucking perfect. You’re perfect just the way you are and if reminding you all the time is the only way for you to remember that, then I will continue to say it even if I lose my voice.”   You were crying. You went here to seek comfort and that’s exactly what you got.   But would he still say the same thing after you told him what you were planning to do?   “I am dropping out of school, Joonie.” Your voice cracked upon confessing. Tears kept streaming down your pretty face and all Namjoon could do was to tighten his hug on you. He hated seeing you cry.   “You came here for my opinion, right?”   You nodded, too ashamed to say yes. You wondered what he thought about you.   With Namjoon, you felt exposed. You were not scared to tell him what you felt for the reason that you were certain he would always understand. This was the only thing you were afraid of. Namjoon could just look at you and you would already be willing to tell him every secret you had.   “Well I’d like to apologize because I don’t have anything to say.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It is your life, baby girl. I can’t just tell you what to do and what not to do because at the end of the day, all you need is you.” Namjoon elucidated this thought more by letting you listen to the current song he was producing. Its title is Uhgood. Namjoon gently placed the headphone in your ears. The music started playing. All I need is me. I know I know All is need is me. You know you know The fact that the lyrics kept on repeating as if he was convincing himself made you cry. Sometimes it was really hard to make yourself believe into something. Falling short is such a painful feeling. If you haven’t experienced it, you can’t know it. This was true. It was easy for your family and friends to tell you that it was stupid to just quit medical school. It was because they didn’t know how difficult it was to continuously fail. My ideals and reality are very different, but I will still cross the bridge. I want to reach you. The real you, the real me. You were deluded by the idea that being a doctor was the best thing that could happen in your life. You still pushed through your dreams even though it hurt you many times. It stopped now. What you wanted to become in the future was the real you. You wanted to do what would make you happy—not what your loved ones thought was good for you. Namjoon thought the same because after letting you listen to the song, he said this: “You will pave your own way and your family and friends are just here to watch you grow. We are just merely the pieces of your boat, it is still up to you whether you’ll row it or not. Do you understand what I’m saying?”   You hummed. Namjoon seemed contented with your answer so he continued.   “My parents didn’t want me to pursue my dream as a rapper. They said I am too naive and guess what? They’re right after all.” He chuckled lowly, with deep dimples and all that. “But look where I am now. Yes, I didn’t become a rapper, but I became someone greater. Someone better. Someone I can be proud of. I train aspiring artists and I am able to produce songs for people. If I listened to my parents, I wouldn’t be the Namjoon you know and the RM they know...” RM was his name in the music industry.   “All I’m saying is follow your heart. You might have heard the same thing from Yoongi and Seokjin or I maybe I’m just blabbering dumb words, but do you get the point? At end of all of this, it is up to you whether you’re gonna listen to my advice or listen to yourself. Either way, it is still your choice.”   “What will I even do without a Kim Namjoon in my life? God you’re rich and smart. Your future girlfriend will be so lucky.” You laughed, wiping your tears away.   “You can be that girl, you know...”   And just like that, Namjoon was back with the teasing.   “You know no one is going to take you seriously if you flirt with every girl you see, right?” You pouted your lips. Namjoon smirked.   “Why? Are you the every girl I see?”   “What?”   “What what?   Silence.   “I love a dumb person.”   “Oh! Who’s the lucky girl?” Your eyes twinkled. It was Namjoon’s turn to roll his eyes.   “I am talking to a dumb person.”   “Well I’m sorry I’m slow! You haven’t said anything about the girl you like and—oh.”   I love a dumb person...

I am talking to a dumb person...   “Joon...” You trailed off when you realized what he said. Shit. What were you supposed to say?   “I am in love with you, baby girl.”   For years, you believed that you liked Kim Namjoon in a romantic way, but as he confessed his love for you, the only emotion you felt was guilt.   Guilt because without giving it much thought, you already knew you couldn’t reciprocate his feelings—at least not in the way he wanted you to.   “Don’t worry, baby girl.” He laughed, but you could feel the hurt in his voice. You’re thankful you couldn’t see his face as you were still sitting on his lap. His face was facing your back. You didn’t want to hurt him.   “I’m just saying this because I don’t want to regret anything. Falling in love isn’t experienced by everyone. It makes me happy that I am able to feel something as beautiful as this one. Loving you is such a beautiful feeling. I love that I love you, baby girl.”   “Damn, do you want some bulgogi wrap?”   Namjoon burst into laughter upon hearing your statement. Is his confession that bad that all you could think about was food?   “Are you telling me I poured my heart to you just so you can talk about wanting to eat bulgogi?”   “It’s for you, idiot!” You finally faced him, hitting his chest with your hand. “I figured you deserve some bulgogi wrap after that heartwarming confession. God, you’re so good at this!” Namjoon simply laughed it off. He also agreed to eat bulgogi wrap at a Korean stall downtown, but this was already hours ago. Right now, you were out with Park Jimin, drinking soju. Namjoon confession made you feel guilty. The only solution you could think of was to drink the guilt away with Jimin. It was a wrong move though. Who would have thought that Jimin was also going to confess his true feelings for you?   Ah. Park Jimin. The it boy of Bangtan Sonyeondan. He was a phenomenal dancer; his voice was sweet as honey too.   “Listen, babe...” Jimin giggled, his eyes turned smaller when he was smiling. He was cute, unfortunately you loved him the same way you loved Namjoon. What you felt for Jimin never changed ever since you met him. Well, you met him when you needed him the most. Quite literally, really.   You remembered that night. You went out to drink with your other friends. It was one of your typical night outs, nothing weird. Nothing creepy—this was until you felt like someone was following you.   All of your friends were home now. You always made sure that all of your friends were in the comfort of their homes before you could go to your own abode. But tonight, you wished things were different.   “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Pick up the phone, Yoongi!” He was the only one you knew you could call. Seokjin was busy with his taping. Namjoon, on the other hand, was out of country to meet up with other artists who wanted to collaborate with Bangtan. Sadly you couldn’t reach Yoongi. This made your heartbeat doubled. The stranger continued to follow you. Wherever you went, he followed.   Tears streamed down your cheeks as you ran towards a narrow alley. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you realized that the creepy person already stopped following you.   That’s what you thought.   Your muffled scream was frightening. Someone just covered your mouth as he pulled you towards another alley. This one was narrower and darker.   You planned to get away from this person, although it wasn’t needed anymore. The man let go of you intentionally.   “Don’t scream. Don’t breathe too loud. They’ll leave in...” The mysterious man discreetly pointed at the person following you so you could see how frustrated they were now that they lost sight of you. “Three...two....one...”   The man you’re with as of this moment was right. The stalker really left after three seconds. “Do you know them?” You switched your gaze at him; fear was still evident in your voice. “No.” He laughed and shook his head. “But I think they’re sasaeng fans. They’re really irritating. I don’t even know why they’re called ‘fans’ in the first place.” He was annoyed but he was smiling at you.   Your creased your forehead, ignoring what he just said. It’s because you felt like you had seen him before.   “Do I know you?” You crinkled your eyes. This man really looked familiar. Where did you see him again?   “Oh. Sorry, my bad.” The guy giggled. He was so used to the idol life that he expected everyone to know him by now. “I’m Jimin. Park Jimin, the lead vocalist of Bangtan Sonyeondan, a proud artist of Paradise Entertainment!”   The introduction was too much, but cute nonetheless. He took your breath away when he saluted at you.   You giggled too.   “Ah! That’s why you seem familiar. Thanks for saving me, Jimin. I don’t know what I’ll do if you didn’t rescue me.”   “It’s nothing. Shall I walk you to your house?”   “Walk me to your boss’ house instead.”   “The clumsy one or the quiet one?”   You pretended to think.   “To the quiet one. He needs some scolding for ignoring my calls.”   Jimin simply laughed. He didn’t understand why both of his boss adored you a lot. What’s so special about you? His question had been answered as the two of you sauntered around the street of Seoul. It was easy to make him like you.   You were not like the other people he met. Jimin figured that it was probably because you were used to seeing famous people that meeting an idol like him didn’t affect you anymore. Well, whatever the reason was, Jimin realized that he liked the fact that he could laugh and do anything he wanted without you praising everything he did.   Of course he appreciated every compliment he got from his fans, although sometimes it felt like it was empty. It’s true when they said that words that were often said lost its meaning. Whenever people said that he was a prodigy in dancing or that his voice was angelic, he couldn’t decide if it was the truth or if they were just used to saying it. Apart from this, compliments caused him to feel pressured. Jimin believed that he needed to do his best all the time or else, all the love he got would fade away in an instant.   He felt more like a robot instead of a human. If it wasn’t for his family, friends, and members, he would probably quit by now.   The time he had an actually conversation with you was also the night he realized that he had another reason to strive harder. But no—it was not to impress you; it was more like you were his inspiration.   You were a med student. You were not as rich as your friends so your resources were not enough. Despite this, you still managed to make it through the day without breaking. Jimin, on the other hand, was privileged. Sometimes he felt embarrassed when he felt lazy to do his job. He had all the resources he needed. His fans loved him and he was also talented. The only thing he needed to do was to move and yet, here he was, being a complete sloth.   Jimin had been friends with you for years now. He was thrilled when you suddenly called and asked him to drink with you in the middle of the night. This was new. The two of you rarely went out together because you understood that Jimin was famous. Fans would go feral upon seeing the two of you together. You considered Jimin as one your close friends. The people under Paradise Entertainment were really close with one other. You actually had a small group of friends there. Your Saturday movie night started with Jin and Yoongi. Namjoon then joined. After a few years, the members of Bangtan Sonyeondan joined the night.   You guessed that what made the bond of the eight of you stronger was when the boy band filmed Bon Voyage. It was one of Bangtan’s reality shows wherein they travelled in a foreign country with limited budget and few resources. The fans didn’t know that you, as well as Namjoon, Seokjin, and Yoongi were there too. It was because the staffs only film the members of Bangtan.   You remembered that time clearly too. It was in the Philippines, a tropical country in Pacific. This place was a gem. They were blessed with rich natural resources and hospitable people.   The only problem here was the weather. It was so hot.   “I told you it’s a bad idea to go here during Summer! God! The weather is killing me!” You hissed at Yoongi. This was his idea. You suggested going to New Zealand, but he disagreed. He said you’d only look for pretty boys there. You just shook your head because what kind of logic was that? But then again, he wasn’t wrong.   “I saw an ice cream store over there...” Hoseok said. Your eyes followed the direction where he was pointing.   “Yeah? Should we get some?” You already stood up even though Hoseok hadn’t agreed yet.   “Okay!” But you always got what you wanted anyway.   “I’ll go with you two. We need more drinks.” Yoongi offered, he was about to stand up, howbeit Taehyung stopped him.   “Yoongi-depyonim, let Hoseokie-hyung go with our pretty noona this time. Why do you always want to tag along? Do you like our pretty noona~” Taehyung teased.   All eyes were either on you or on Yoongi. It was embarrassing. You should never let Taehyung get drunk. He’s annoying when he was intoxicated.   “Shut the fuck up, Taehyung. I’m just concerned for her. Hoseok is drunk—“   “Are you saying you don’t trust me, depyonim?” Hoseok’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like what his boss was implying. “You know I like noona more than anyone in here. I’m not gonna do anything to hurt her.”   The tension was getting thicker and this was all because of drunk Taehyung. God. You swore you were going to kill him when he’s sober enough to know that you were the one stabbing him.   “Just let her go, Yoongi-ah. She can handle herself and Hoseok is a good guy.” You heard Seokjin said.   Yoongi didn’t have a choice but to let you go. You didn’t know if it had something to do with Seokjin being the eldest or if Yoongi just realized that he overreacted.   Though you couldn’t say that Yoongi was wrong.   Your plan was to buy ice cream and alcoholic drinks, but here you were, making out with Hoseok under the coconut tree and the moonlight.   “You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart. So pretty just for me.”   “Kiss me, Hobi.”   He chuckled as he obliged to your request.   You moaned. Hoseok was hot and serious at the same time. He was the only member of Bangtan that you were not that close with. His idol persona was different from his real personality. It was understandable though. Jung Hoseok was the leader of the band. He needed to set a good example to his bandmates that was why he rarely focused on activities that did not involve work.   This was until you asked him to go out on a date with you.   “Who wants to go to Lotte World with me? I have extra ticket!” You barged in Bangtan’s studio one afternoon. Your voice was loud since you wanted to get the attention of your friends. However, it was only Hoseok who looked at you.   “Oh,” your smile faded. “Hi, Hoseok. Where are the boys?” Hoseok stopped dancing as he flashed a tight smile.   “They’re at the recording studio. Why?” He creased his forehead when he realized you were avoiding his gaze. Why couldn’t you look at him the same way you looked at the other members?   You swore it wasn’t because you hated his face. Admittedly, Hoseok was so attractive you felt like you didn’t deserve to look his way. Besides, how could you look at him now when he was topless? If this was Namjoon, you would shamelessly drool, but this was Hoseok. Jung Hoseok of Bangtan Sonyeondan.   “I just...” You attempted to look at him and you couldn’t help yourself any longer. “Do you go out with me?”   “Sorry?”   You faked a smile. Why were you so nervous?   “I mean,” you shrugged off, an attempt to calm yourself. “I have an extra ticket to Lotte World. Would you mind going out with me?” When he didn’t say anything, you panicked again. “Just friends! We’re only going out as friends!”   Your heart skipped a beat when he ruffled your hair. He was laughing because you seemed shy. There was nothing to be shy about. He would like to go out with you. He was done practicing their choreography and recording his part in their upcoming album. Hoseok was the only rapper in their group.   The three members were part of the vocal line. They were still busy recording that was why you ended up going with Hoseok in the mentioned amusement park. Hoseok didn’t regret agreeing to go with you because albeit frightened, you still made him feel like he was brave.   You coaxed him to try scary rides at that amusement park. With you, Hoseok forgot all the worries circling in his head. With you, he could be the carefree and rough version of himself.   Rough. As in rough in bed. You didn’t exactly know how it happened. After your date with him at Lotte World, the two of you spent more time with each other; however, it was always a secret. It was as though he was your new best friend. Seokjin was always busy with work that was why you chose to hang out with Hoseok instead. Only at midnight though. You two would often meet at Bangtan’s dance studio. This was the safest place since it was common knowledge to all Bangtan employees to never barge in here because Hoseok couldn’t be disturbed while choreographing new steps.   Little did they know, the only thing Hoseok was doing was making you cum.   This was the reason why you were making out with him under the moonlight tonight. This wasn’t just because you two were semi-drunk. You really wanted to be with Hoseok ever since the start of Bon Voyage.   “I love you, sweetheart...” Hoseok confessed as he inserted his fingers in your wet cunt. “Me too, Hobi. As much as I love Tae, JK, and Jimin too.” You cooed. You realized that you needed to tell them you loved them more. They would be dropping their new album soon and you were aware that this was causing them to feel stressed.   “Hobi?” You were frustrated when he abruptly stopped pleasuring you. Was something wrong?   “Sweetheart?” You called again. You even lifted his chin so you could look at him in the eyes.   “Something bothering you?” You palmed his cock. “Will this help? Want me to blow you, baby?” Hoseok lightly pushed you away. This was in contrary to the roughness of his voice.   “Do you really think all I want is sex?”   “W-What?” You blinked when you saw hurt crossed his face.   “Hobi...I don’t understand. We chose this deal right? You said you wanted me. I want you too, sweetheart.” You tried to kiss him on the lips, but it landed on his cheek when he tilted his head to the side.   “Let’s stop this deal. I don’t want to be your fuck buddy anymore.”   You froze, too stunned to even speak. He didn’t want you anymore? Did he find someone better?   If that was the case, then you couldn’t do anything. It’s just so not you to push people to do something they didn’t want. So even if your heart felt heavy, you still nodded.   “Whatever you want is fine by me, Hobi.”   “That easy, huh?” He cackled. “I just told you I love you, damn! Is this really just physical for you? Don’t you feel anything at all—”   Hoseok was cut off when Yoongi suddenly punched him. You tried to stop Yoongi, but you realized you couldn’t stop him without asking for the help of your other friends.   It was Jeongguk who was able to pull Yoongi away from Hoseok. You scowled upon seeing the idol’s broken nose and bleeding lips.   “Damn. You don’t need our stylist-noona now, Hoseokie-hyung.” Intoxicated Taehyung was unstoppable. He still managed to joke about the current situation.   Their album concept was about raising awareness about violence. Hoseok’s role was the protagonist who was always bullied by his classmates. Taehyung was saying that their stylist didn’t need to paint fake bruises on his hyung’s face anymore.   “Taehyung, you better shut the fuck up.” Namjoon threatened, but the intoxicated boy just raised his brow and smirked at his boss. It was Seokjin who stood up to stop this chaos.   “Guys...” The eldest called all of your attention, though he was only looking at you. For some reason, guilt managed to creep into your heart. Why was Seokjin looking at you using those lonely eyes?   “We aren’t going to solve anything if you are all angry. Can we please just stay calm?” Seokjin blinked as he wetted his pinkish lips. “Yoongi-ah, why did you do this to Hoseok?”   Yoongi who was currently plopped down on white sand glared at Hoseok. After this, he switched his gaze at Seokjin.   “Why don’t you ask him instead, Jin-hyung? Have him tell everyone the nasty shit he was doing to her!” Yoongi angrily pointed at you.   This time, all of your friends stared at you, patiently waiting for your answer.   “I...” You looked away. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to find out this way. In fact, they weren’t supposed to find out at all. “Yoongi saw—“   “I kissed her.” Hoseok cut you off.   The five other boys gasped while Yoongi tried to attack Hoseok again. Fortunately, Jeongguk was able to stop him.   Seokjin asked you if it was true so you didn’t have a choice but to tell them the truth. You couldn’t afford to make it seem like this was Hoseok’s fault. Taehyung laughed after hearing you admit the truth. He started dancing and singing too.   “Hoseokie and noona, sitting on a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”   You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. You thought you could handle this calmly, but Taehyung was really getting in your nerves. This was ridiculous. “Can all of you just please shut the fuck up? Hoseok kissed me because I want him to do so! I wanted it to happen, alright? He didn’t force me!”   You were fuming as you glared at Yoongi.   “He didn’t force me, Min. So just....” You sighed again. “Please apologize to Hoseok. He didn’t do anything wrong.”   Deafening silence welcomed your group. The only sound you could hear was the harsh wave. It was Jeongguk who broke the silence.   “You want him to kiss you?” He asked innocently, his big doe eyes were sparkling. “Why? Do you like Hobi-hyung, Noona?”   You bit your lower lip. Did you need to answer his question? If yes, why? If no, why? But most importantly, did you like Hoseok?   You looked at your fuck buddy. It seemed like he was in great pain—he was biting his lip while trying to stop the blood from staining his white shirt. He was also looking at you, eyes full of hope. You wished you didn’t have to hurt him.   But you did anyway.   “I like him as a friend, Jeon.” You answered the maknae’s question, but your eyes were focused on Hoseok.   You noticed the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. It was obvious that he’s trying hard to stop it.   As much as Hoseok wanted you to love him, he was certain that forcing you to do so would only hurt you. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you. This being the case, he simply nodded, accepting defeat.   “I understand.” Hoseok smiled at you. “Thank you for being honest, sweetheart.”   “Sweetheart my ass.” Why did Yoongi need to always ruin the moment?   Seokjin rolled his eyes. Yoongi was so petty.   “Let’s clear this up, guys” The eldest spoke again. He asked you all to form a circle. Seokjin was inside that circle since he was the one who gathered all of you to swear something.   “Raise your hand if you want to remain friends with the people in this circle.”   All of you, except Yoongi, complied with Seokjin’s request. You had to pinch the side of Yoongi’s stomach just to urge him to raise his hand.   He did.   “Good. Do you swear to do the best that you can to protect and not harm one another?”   “I swear.” All of you said—except Yoongi. You pinched the side of his stomach again.   “Fine! I swear!” Yoongi swore through gritted teeth.   “Do you swear to never fall in love with the only girl in this group?”   “What!?” Your eyes widened. Your face felt hot. This was so unnecessary. “Seokjin! Stop overreacting! No one is going to fall in love with me here.”   “You sure about that, Noona?” Jeongguk asked, he was obviously pertaining to Hoseok.   “All they have to do is swear, Princess. If they aren’t going to fall in love with you, it will be easy to swear!” Seokjin grinned innocently that you could only roll your eyes.   Seokjin made them swear a few more statements before giving each one of you a bottle of beer.   “To our newly formed friendship!” He raised his bottle.   “To our newly formed friendship!” The seven of you repeated and that was it.   For years, Jimin managed to keep those promises, but you could never trust a man under the influence of alcohol. “I’m only saying this now because I am drunk and I can just pretend like I don’t remember anything tomorrow.” Jimin pouted his lips as he stared at you lovingly. You listened to him.   “I like you a lot, babe. I’m sorry. I know I can’t because I promised our friends that I will never fall in love with you, but...” Jimin hiccupped. “I just have to say it once. RM-depyonim called and told our friends that he also broke the promise and I thought...fuck it all. If the CEO can confess to you just like that, then why can’t I, right?”   “Jimin, you’re drunk...” You sighed. Were you supposed to say anything? Wasn’t it cruel to reject two of your friends in one night?   “I’m not!” Jimin chuckled. “Intoxicated people can’t do this—”   “Intoxicated people fall asleep while they’re talking, bitch.” You shook your head when Jimin lost consciousness. Damn. He was wasted.   “Hello, Manager Sejin? Yeah, it’s me...” You wiggled your brows as if the person you’re talking to on the other line could see you. “Uh, Jimin is drunk and we need you here. I’ll text you the location. Bye!”   By the time you finished talking, you immediately cut the line. You’re scared of their manager. The members always got in trouble whenever they were with you. If you weren’t friends with Namjoon and Yoongi, Manager Sejin would most likely forbid the members from going out with you.   “Sorry, Manager!” You made a face when Jimin’s manager almost tripped while trying to carry the singer on his back.   Guilt washed over you when Sejin just sighed. Were you being selfish? Was your attitude too much? Should you just really leave the boys alone?   That night, you went home alone. Exhaustion made you fall asleep easily. It was already past nine in the morning when you woke up. Your phone was full of messages from Jimin, causing you to worry. Did something happen to him?   As you unlocked your phone, you received a new message from him.   [9:58am] Park Jimin: I remember what happened last night, babe. Sorry about that. I promise to never say things like that again, though I never lie when I’m drunk. Don’t feel pressured about liking me back. I can always find another person to love as I am already contented just by being your friend. Have a good day! :D   You were glad that this day wasn’t going to be as awkward as you thought it would be. It was a good thing Jimin understood your situation as he didn’t force you to reciprocate his feelings for you.   Your plan for today was to just watch your and Seokjin’s favorite T.V show. You smiled to yourself thinking how angry he would get when you told him that you watched the new episodes without him; however, your smile faded when you realized that you weren’t in good terms with him.   You got mad at him last night for being concerned about you. But...could he blame you? He was judging Yoongi and Yoongi was your friend—his friend. How could he say those things?   The three of you had known one another for years. Yes. Min Yoongi dropped out of college, but it did not mean that he failed as a person. Yoongi reached his goal. He wanted to climb the social ladder. He did it by pursuing his passion for music and you couldn’t be more proud.   “Why are you crying when you’re watching a fucking sitcom?” You screamed so loud upon hearing that voice.   “Fuck! Yoongi! You scared the hell out of me!” You threw one BT21 pillow at him. He was going to be the death of you. Literally.

 “When did you arrive?”   “You know, you always tell Namjoon how you can rob his place and he wouldn’t even know it.” He snorted. “You’re just as horrible as he is.”   Yoongi caught the BT21 pillow in his hands and then he grimaced upon seeing that this pillow was Hoseok’s line character called Mang. Yoongi fucking hated Mang.   “I’m damn broke, Yoongels. They can only steal my books in med. I wouldn’t mind, tbh.”   Yoongi sat on the couch beside you. You bit his arm when he threw Mang on the floor.   “How dare you hurt my baby!” You nursed Mang in your arms. You spent a lot just to buy this pillow. Fuck capitalism, really.   “I’ll give you Taehyung and Jeongguk’s character for free. Just ditch Mang.”   “No! Why do you hate Mang so much?” You questioned your friend who was now engrossed in watching TV.   “I hate Mang as much as I hate Chimmy.”   “I thought you liked Chimmy!” You slapped his arms. Chimmy was Jimin’s character.   “That was before Jimin told us he confessed his love for you. Joon too.”   You kept your mouth shut. This was something you couldn’t just brag about. You respected both Namjoon and Jimin’s feelings.   “You’re not hard to love, you know?” He said seriously after calling your name softly. He was the only one who called you by your real name. All of your friends had a special nickname for you.   “Don’t tell me you’re about to confess your undying love for me too?” You burst into laughter because your own joke made you cringe. There was no way Yoongi liked you. Nope. That was impossible.   “What if I am?”   “Shut up.” You slapped his arms again. Yoongi was a terrible joker.   “Why? I loved you first.”   “Yoongi....” You warned. Your heart was going crazy. No. This couldn’t be happening again. You couldn’t handle to reject three of your friends in less than twenty four hours.   “I have loved you since the day you saved me.”   And just like that, memories of the past flashed in your mind.   Ten years ago, Min Yoongi came into your life. If Jimin saved you from danger, you could proudly say that you were once a hero just like Jimin.   Going to Han River had become a habit of yours whenever you felt sad. The night you met Yoongi, you were sad. Your parents were fighting again. You thought you had the worst problem in the world, but when you saw a man in Han River’s bridge, ready to jump and end his life, you realized that there were people who had it worse.   “No!” You were able to hug him before he could jump. His body was cold and he was shaking badly. You hugged him tighter as your tears fell. You were scared—too afraid to lose this stranger.   You expected him to struggle just so he could get away from you; however, he did the opposite of what you thought he’d do. He actually hugged you back.   “All I wanted is someone to hold me like this.” His voice was low and sad. It made you cry even more.   “I’ll do it. I’ll hug you all the time if you want. Just ...don’t leave.”   Yoongi was that boy. He was determined to end his life that night, but you saved him. You acted as if you were scared to lose him. You cared for him.   You were afraid to leave Yoongi alone again, and so you brought him at Seokjin’s apartment—this was the start of your friendship. You didn’t regret bringing Yoongi there. You learned to love him. To care for him. But then again, you could only love him as a friend.   Your heart wasn’t always sure who it loved, but it sure knew who it couldn’t love.   “You’re probably gonna reject me too. I respect what you feel.” Yoongi chuckled because who knew? Maybe you had heard this exact line from Jimin and Namjoon.   “No matter how romantic our proposal is, it is still up to you who to choose. I can’t say I can’t give up on you, especially if it is your wish.”   “You are my favorite among those people who confessed to me.” You said honestly, but Yoongi just glared at you.   You raised your hands as if you were surrendering.   “Fine! Second favorite. Namjoon’s still the best and you know I have a crush on that guy.”   “I will kick his ass later.”   “Wish I can do the same. Man, his ass is the bomb.”   “Where’s the lie though?”   You ended up laughing until your stomach hurt. Yoongi kept joking around and you were sure that he wasn’t doing this just to get rid of the awkwardness. Yoongi really loved the sound of your voice and your laugh.   But he wasn’t sure when he could see you smile again.   You really dropped out of medical school. It had been months now since you made that decision. You didn’t have to say it for them to know that you were sad. You were having a very difficult time and it was apparent. The boys knew you for always pretending like you were strong and that you could handle everything. This was one of the reasons why they admired you. Namjoon was the only person who knew what you truly feel and it was not because he could read you. It was because you let him read you.   But these days, Namjoon was busy with work. You couldn’t call Jimin now since his girlfriend didn’t really like you. Yes. He had a girlfriend now. He was not lying when he said he could always find a girl to love. Jimin loved easily. That’s just who he was.   Yoongi, on the other hand, was busy mending his broken heart. Sure. He respected your decision, but it did not mean he was okay. Yoongi loved you. It’s been a decade now. He couldn’t just decide to stop loving you.   There was no such thing as unloving someone. There was only forgetting. Your heart loved, but it tried so hard to forget the feeling of being in love—a defense to stop itself from the pain of rejection.   And so now you were stuck with Taehyung and Jeongguk, the two pests of your life.   “Hi, love.” Jeongguk winked at you.   “Go away, Jeon.” You wanted to throw the slice of pizza in his face. You couldn’t do it though. Not when there were other customers who could see you.   You swore he was testing your patience. You were trying to ignore Jeongguk’s sly innuendos, but his moves were getting out of control. This kid used to be so shy around you; sadly he was shamelessly flirting with you now.   “Don’t you need to record a new song or something?” You pressed the bell to let your co-worker know that one of the customer’s orders was ready.   “Thanks, Yeonjun.” You grinned at your co-worker who also smiled at you as he served the slice of pizza to the customer.   Your dad stopped giving you allowance the moment you told him you were quitting school. You had other job but it wasn’t enough since you had bills and rent to pay. You knew you couldn’t just sit in the corner and wait for a miracle. Although your miracle came in seven forms: your friends. They offered to give you money just so you didn’t have to work in this pizza parlor.   It was tempting, really. But you were not a gold digger. You loved your friends because they were fun to be with—not because all of them were wealthy. Besides, your job wasn’t as hard as what Taehyung made it seem to be. You were a cashier. Sure, there were irritating customers, but no one could annoy you the same way as Jeongguk and Taehyung could.   “Why don’t you say that to Taehyung too, Noona? He needs to record with me!” Jeongguk pouted, though you could still see his teeth. He lookee like a bunny.   “It is because our pretty noona adores me, Guk.” Taehyung who was sitting on a stool bar beside Jeongguk blurted out.   You sighed. Why did the owner decide to construct a bar counter with stool bars where customers could sit and enjoy their food? Didn’t your boss know that customers were annoying and that the cashier might get bald from dealing with people like Jeongguk and Taehyung?   “Excuse me? Didn’t she tell you you’re just like a baby brother for her?” Jeongguk teased his rival.   “No.”   The pizza parlor just opened, but you were already tired. You needed to remind yourself that this was your fault. You were the one who told them where you worked.   Both Jeongguk and Taehyung confessed their feelings for you many months ago. You thought they were kidding since your three other friends also told you they were in love with you. Unfortunately, they weren’t joking.   Jeongguk was serious—persistent and serious. He confessed first, defeating Taehyung. Jeongguk was endearing. He expressed his emotions by singing in this pizza parlor in front of the other customers.   Of course he was wearing a mask, a bucket hat, and a hoodie. He also changed the sound of his voice since he was afraid to be recognized by his fans.   You didn’t have the heart to reject Jeongguk that night. The boy was just so adorable, though you realized it was better to break his heart now rather than to give him false hope.   After all, you felt like it was the competitive side of him who liked you and not the real Jeongguk. The maknae always wanted to win. Perhaps he wanted to win your heart just to prove it to his hyungs that he could do everything.   When you told him this, Jeongguk was beyond repair.   “Do you really think I am that petty?” he was crying in pout. Your heart broke from seeing him this sad. He was not happy because of you.   “I’m sorry, Kookie.” You engulfed him into a motherly kind of hug. You just couldn’t imagine Jeongguk as your boyfriend. You were five years older than him. Besides, you had watched him grow up. Sometimes you felt like he was your son so when he told you he liked you, the word incest entered your mind.   You didn’t want Jeongguk to think that you see him as kid. He was so much more than a baby bunny for you. Jeongguk was a fine young man who was capable of sweeping people off their feet. He could be sexy if he wanted to. It’s just not gonna work with you.   Moreover, you didn’t understand why he suddenly took interest in you. Thankfully, Jeongguk explained it well.   “I just followed this little buddy of mine.” He pointed on his chest to refer to his heart. “Plus you’re always so good to me. You’re pretty and smart too!”   You wondered if it was because you always complimented him. Jeongguk seemed very happy when people praised him. “You’ll be able to find someone prettier, smarter and someone who can love you, Kookie.”   “But I’m not looking for anyone! You are the one I like!”   Jeongguk wasn’t as matured as his hyungs. Out of all the men who confessed to you, he was the only one who did not know when to give up. He was always at the pizza parlor. He never failed to give you roses each day. He even brought you chocolates, but he ended up eating them all while waiting for you to finish your shift.   Dealing with Jeongguk was stressful enough. It wasn’t like you wanted to deal with Taehyung too. He was as persistent as Jeongguk. Why did they end up falling in love with you?   At least Taehyung changed his ways from time to time. He liked to observe first by watching the move of his rival. Jeongguk brought you flowers and chocolates. You didn’t seem to like it so he took in mind not to buy those things.   He also figured out that singing a song and a casual confession did not impress you. Therefore, he needed to be different.   The only way he could think of was to get the approval of your dad first. He wanted to meet your mom since mothers easily trusted men. Unfortunately, your mom left you and your dad years ago. Taehyung had no other choice but to face your father.   Your dad instantly alarmed you. He was asking why Taehyung was suddenly confessing his love for you.   You rushed home to confirm this news. Taehyung was really there. His boxy smile was visible. Sadly it didn’t enchant you the way it made his fans crazy.   “Tae, you should go home.”   You knew you were being cruel. However, you couldn’t handle this anymore. This seemed like a big joke for you. Did they really think they could just declare their love for you whenever and wherever they wanted to?   You knew you should be thankful. Good and pretty boys loved you. Who were you to complain? But you see, this was exactly the problem. They were good and pretty boys. If their feelings for you were real, then they didn’t deserve to be rejected at all.   But what could you do? You just couldn’t teach yourself to love them the way they wanted to be loved. Taehyung went home defeated that night. He didn’t ask why you did not like him. He didn’t need your confirmation of the painful truth. Besides, it was not like he’d give up that easily.   You didn’t ask Taehyung why he liked you too. You realized you didn’t need their validation at all. If he told you what he liked about you, would you change yourself just so he could start disliking you?   “Noona, you okay?” Jeongguk asked, pulling you back to reality.   “Yeah, Kookie. I’m just not feeling well.” You forced a smile. It was the truth. You also didn’t want to deal with them today.   “D-Do you want me and Jeongguk to leave?” Tae offered politely.   Both of them instantly stood up when you nodded eagerly.   “See you later, love!” Jeongguk winked   “Yeah, pretty noona. See you soon!” Added by Taehyung.   You simply waved at them.   The see you later and see you soon of Jeongguk and Taehyung lasted for several months. For many weeks, they did not show up at the pizza parlor. It wasn’t like they did not want to see you. They were just busy with concerts and various shows both locally and internationally.   Your heart swelled in joy whenever you watched them on television. They really grew up well. They grew organically. Yoongi and Namjoon knew what they were doing. They cared for their artists a lot.   “You should audition to Paradise Entertainment, Yeonjun. You can be just like them.” You wiggled your brows at your co-worker.   It’s past eleven pm and you were about to close the pizza parlor. You and Yeonjun were the only ones left in the store. You both agreed to close the restaurant after watching Bangtan’s performance at MMA. The show was almost done anyway.   “I’ll try my luck soon, Noona. Thank you for supporting me.”   Yeonjun’s smile reminded you of Seokjin’s pretty lips. You missed the guy. If Bangtan was busy, Seokjin was busier. You hadn’t seen him since the day you left his house after he said something bad about Yoongi, but you two still text each other. Seokjin was in New York this day. He was supposed to be the MC in MMA’s award show, but due to conflicting schedules, he turned down the opportunity.   You missed Seokjin. You really did, though you understood that both of you were not kids anymore. You couldn’t just call and ask him to go see you.   “I’ll get going, Noona. Happy birthday again!” Yeonjun waved at you and left.   Your clock said it was already 11:58pm. Two minutes left before your birthday ended.   “Did he forget?” You kicked the pebble on your way. All of your friends greeted you a joyful birthday, except for one.   Was it because he was abroad? Did it have something to do with the different time zone? “He’s still stupid for forgetting my special day!” You let out your frustration by shouting.   You were standing in front of a wide street, patiently waiting for the green signal that would indicate if you could already cross the street. You were the only person here so you could freely express your emotion without getting shy. You could shout as loud as you wanted to.   “I hate you so much, Kim Seokjin!” You screamed again. One minute left. There was no way he’s gonna call or miraculously show up.   Except that you believed in miracle.   Except that Seokjin really showed up thirty seconds before your birthday officially ended.   “Happy birthday!” One second he was on the other end of the street, the other second, he was already standing before you.   His ears and neck were bright red and he was still trying to catch his breath. You didn’t know it, but he just got off the plane and he ran as fast as he could just to greet you a happy birthday.   “You didn’t forget.” Your tears fell as the first snow fell.   “How can I forget when I know you will be waiting for me?”   “Where’s my gift then?” You had the temerity to raise your brow at him.   Seokjin grinned at you. Without saying anything, he showed you the mistletoe he was holding.   “You know what this means, right?”   You blushed. Jin was always so polite and respectful. This was the first time he showed this kind of side of him.   You couldn’t say you hated it when in reality; it made your stomach turn.   “Is it okay if I kiss you?” And just like that, the Seokjin you knew was back. You missed his shy smile and sweet voice. You missed him. You miss him a lot.   And so you touched his broad shoulders as you tiptoed, you pressed your lips on his mouth, not minding how fast your heart beat.   “I was afraid and embarrassed, you know...” Jin told you as he nuzzled your nose.   You didn’t speak.   “I didn’t mean to sound cocky when I said the matter about Yoongi being a drop out. I don’t—I can never judge him like that. I’m sorry if you felt that way...”   You only tightened your grip on his shoulders.   “I’d also like to apologize for making the boys swear to never fall in love with you. I didn’t play fair and I was being selfish.”   “What do you mean?”   He sighed.   “I know one of the boys already told you that you are not hard to love, Princess. I also figured that they are all going to end up loving you. It scared me. They’re not difficult to like and I am sorry you are hearing this from me, but I just don’t think I’ll be able to handle it when you end up dating one of them.” Jin closed his eyes, his lips are shaking. “I’m sorry...” You bit your lower lip upon hearing his confession.   “I just need you to answer one question.” You said.   “What is it?” He opened his eyes.   “Do you love me?” Seokjin laughed because of this.   “Will I ditch four award shows and a meeting with Tom Cruise if I don’t love you?”   “Can you just answer with a simple yes or no?” You were getting impatient.   “You are like the first snow fall of the year, Princess.”   “I said yes or no, Seokjin.” You glared.   He ignored you.   “You are like the first snow fall.” He repeated. “No matter how long, I will still wait for time you are ready to fall. You are cold, but I will make sure you will melt because of my scorching love for you. So yes, I love you, Princess. I am in love with you—“   You didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence as you were already kissing him.   Seven boys. There were seven boys. It hurt you to reject the six of them, but if you did not do that, you won’t be able to kiss this one boy.   The one who could make your heart beat.   You chose Kim Seokjin. Your prince.

REPOSTED ON NOVEMBER 30, 2020.

[crimsonbluemoon]

60 for Minicat, please, the fucking phrasing of that prompt killed me on the spot

Starting off strong by going over my word limit!! >.> Fuck. Hope y’all enjoy

Pairing: MinicatNumber: 60Prompt: “I’m so madly and deeply in love with you, please meet me so we can discuss this.”

Tyler knew he was never going to win any boyfriend awards. When it came to romance, Luke and Brian had the prizes practically cemented on their foreheads. It was a bit over the top how often the group would be hanging out, and one of them would whip out a present or chocolate to give Ryan and Brock respectively. Their lack of self-awareness had no boundaries. Delirious tried to keep up, in his own goofy declarations of affection for Evan, but half the time they ended up with him on fire or in the hospital (one time both, and wasn’t that a fun fourth of July?). But Evan seemed to love his attempts more than his actual results, which somehow tossed even that idiot ahead of Tyler in the department of love.

Mini, to his credit, had never complained. He did chase after Tyler for six years without any real hint of reciprocation when they were teens, after all (Craig claimed the signs were always there, but Tyler thought he was just an idiot). Even the first year of their relationship had been tough, as Tyler hadn’t fully accepted their shift from friends to boyfriends easily. Craig was patient when he could be, which was probably the only reason they were still together four years later. Being twenty four helped him accept Mini’s physical affections and stupid nicknames, but his struggle to show his own love for his boyfriend was still the same. Craig never mentioned it, and Tyler would let hell freeze over before he brought it up, but he wasn’t blind enough to miss the bittersweet spark that caught Mini’s eye whenever one of their friends was showered with love in front of them.

Tyler knew he had to do something about it. 

“Chill out, dude.” Tyler growled at Brian’s words, throwing the stress ball against the wall. 

“Can’t.” His voice was clipped, back tight and muscles tensed for a battle he couldn’t fight. 

“Jesus, you’re worse than Del.” Luke waited until the ball rolled to his feet to kick it back toward Tyler, relaxed like he owned Brian’s apartment. “If you did exactly what we told you to, then it’s gonna be fine. Mini gets back from work at what time?”

“5:30pm,” Tyler answered. His eyes glanced to the clock, seeing that the time he’d announced passed twenty minutes ago. 

“And you had the flowers and… giraffe delivered at 5:45pm, right?” Brian asked, showing his lack of understanding over the choice of stuffed animal in his hesitant tone. 

“Yes, which was five fucking minutes ago.” 

“You signed your note, right? So he doesn’t think it’s just some creepy stalker.” Luke’s lack of trust in his romantic abilities should have made him mad, but he wouldn’t have been able to do any of the planning for the current ‘operation’ if not for the two assholes staring at him with arched eyebrows. 

“Yes I signed the fucking note! Put my heart and soul and all that other stupid fuffly shit in it just like you said. Gonna get an award from hallmark for ‘cheesiest note ever’.” Tyler didn’t tell them how many hours he spent writing and re-writing the three page long letter he’d tied around the giraffe’s neck before driving it to the delivery service. He hadn’t known how to start it, which memories to bring up or parts of their relationship he needed to highlight. How could he take a love a decade in the making and toss it onto a few pages of paper? He’d looked through photos and videos taken throughout the years, mostly by Craig himself, to guide him through the written confession of love. It was a road map of their journey, the good and the bad, because every crack in the road had only made them love each other a littler more than most. Tyler refused to tell them that the letter didn’t need a signature, because it was his literal heart inked into words for Mini to see.

He also refused to tell them about the ring taped to the bottom of the last page, and the four worded question he ended the letter with. 

“Then he’s going to love it. Just give him a second to process whatever you wrote before you assume he’s buying a ticket to Antarctica or something.” Tyler was ready to lob the ball at Brian’s head after the remark, but his phone’s loud ringtone stole the fire out of his veins. For a moment, he stared at the device, unsure if he’d be able to handle a rejection. What if Craig had wanted a bigger proposal? What if this felt…unromantic for him? It wasn’t in person and it probably felt distant, and Tyler was seriously re-thinking the entire thing. This was stupid, cheap, not sweet at all-

But then his mind reminded him of who was on the other line, the one person who’d never abandoned him, and he sucked in a breath before accepting the call.

“What?” He grumbled out, hating how Luke and Brian leaned in closer to try and listen to the call. 

“Did you mean it?” The tone that Craig used was so honest, so open, that Tyler didn’t even need a second to realize the pure elation that lingered in the tears on the other side of the phone. “God, nevermind, I don’t want to ask that. I know you’re overthinking it right now and you’ll try to take it back.” 

“I wasn’t,” he argued, despite thinking exactly that two minutes before. 

“You were probably like ‘oh this is dumb, fuck feelings, I shouldn’t have asked with the cutest stuffed giraffe and Mini’s favorite flowers that only I’d know’ blah blah blah-”

“I don’t even sound like that!” 

“You get that stuffy nose thing whenever you get emotionally constipated.” 

“Better than your snoring.” 

“Says the guy who can’t remember to flush the toilet at night.”

“Fuck you, I swear to God-”

“Yes.” The steadfast answer stole Tyler’s breath, Mini pressing forward after a sob of joy. “I’m saying yes, you romantic goofball, of course I’ll marry you.” 

“Fuck.” But even as he said it, his voice proved how relieved he was, his stomach flipping with unspoken excitement. It took everything in his body not to grin, his muscles vibrating. 

“Everything was perfect, and the note, it was-wow. I’m so madly and deeply in love with you. Please meet me so we can discuss this. And by this, I mean our wedding because I’m going to fuck you and then marry the fuck out of you.” Mini’s breathless declaration made Tyler’s ears turn pink on his side of the phone, refusing to look up at Brian’s grin or Luke’s snicker. 

“S-shut up, I’m coming home.” He hung up before he could hear Craig’s answer, glaring at his two friends watching him.

“When’s the wedding, Romeo?” Luke asked, grin too wide for Tyler to stomach. So he avoided it, pushing up onto his feet and moving across the room. 

“I’ve gotta go.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome!” Brian called out after Tyler, who’d stormed out of the apartment in a flustered rush. Even through the slammed door, he could hear Luke’s wolf whistle, followed by two bursts of laughter that made him curse asking them for help. He hated them, hated the embarrassment and the favors he knew he’d owe them and the itch under his skin over feelings-

But he loved Mini, and that made it all worth it in the end.

[morphituu]

Milagro

Chapter 19: Leonardo Makar Jakoby

Ch: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18

Note:  before you read this chapter, i'd like to share with you the song that helped shape and bring this piece of writing together, and if you have the patience i hope you'll take a listen and further understand the emotions i intended with this 💛

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

The front door swung open faster than she intended, but Callie couldn’t stand to be under the glaring sun and heavy humidity a moment longer. Her locks were frizzed and sticking to her neck and shoulders, and sweat was lining her honey skin in droplets when she stepped into the cool house.

“Oh god, close the blinds,” she lamented, waddling through the kitchen to stick her flushed face in front of the freezer. “Next time I’ll just do laps around the house,”

“Yeah I can get on board with that,” Nick called from under the vent in the living room, his shirt left hanging on the back of the couch.

Her forehead bounced against her arm rested on the fridge, staring down at her stomach. “Please come out,” she groaned. “I can’t get any bigger,”

“We could try sex again,” Nick simpered, leering over his shoulder.

“I’m sweating,”

“We’re sweating,” Nick snorted.

When she at last stepped from the fridge, she brought with her a bowl of homemade deep red salsa that had sat long enough for the shimmering oil to be seen pooling at the top. She hastily and with little care unwound the nearly empty bag of tortilla chips on the counter, plunging a chip into the dip.  

“That’s gonna make you sweat more,” he bravely commented, joining her across the bar and dipping his own chip that piled pitifully compared to her towering bites.

She swayed and pulled air in harshly between her teeth as she chewed, an eye pinched shut and hands flailing.

“You’re gonna give yourself lethal heartburn,”

“If it gets him out I’ll deal with it,” she coughed, going in for another bite.

“You still have three days baby,” Nick reminded, wincing at his own bite of the searing salsa.

“I’m not taking any chances. I can do this,” she too reminded, her gaze harder than her words.

“No one is doubting that,”

“But everyone is expecting otherwise,” she murmured, snapping the lid back onto the jalapeño tupperware. She wouldn’t look up again, but he didn’t need to see her face to recognize the discouragement drooping her shoulders.

Nick chewed his last chip and dusted his hands of any crumbs before jogging around the wall and into the kitchen, immediately holding wrapping her in a tight embrace from behind. “I know you can do it,”

“I know you know,” she sighed, finally leaning back into his chest with her head on his shoulder.

He listened to her chew on the crunchy jalapeños and chips, his lips against her shoulder and rocking side to side. “He’s really going today,”

“Since this morning,” she added, moaning when he dragged his hands across her stomach, alleviating the insane itching that plagued her night and day. Her frame melted in his arms, tossing aside the last bite she couldn’t bare one more of with her mouth already feeling like fire.

When her fingers laced behind his neck, a low growl vibrated through his chest, his caresses wandering higher.

“I have time before I go in,” he groused.

“That walk wiped me out,” she sighed, curling her spine ever so slightly despite being ready for a nap. The implication alone got her blood boiling in a way she didn’t mind despite her wiser half protesting at anymore physical exertion.

“I’ll do the work,” he rumbled, angling her jaw to stop her low whine. “You just worry about enjoying it,”

“It’s gonna be work, you gotta help me get him out,” she murmured in defeat, her breath catching when he massaged a tender breast through the dress.

He chuckled into her hair, a burly arm supporting her up when two thick fingers slipped under her dress and panties. “I know what I’m doing.”

It was too good.

The haze she floated in, the fan blowing across her naked, spent body, the cold sheets she was lost in; the kisses she opened her eyes too when she felt Nick’s impression on the bed beside her.

It was all too good.

 “Time to go already?” she asked softly, her hands feeling his unbuttoned uniform shirt before her heavy eyes opened.

“Mhm,” he toned into the top of her breast. “It’s a half shift today,”

“You’ll be home for dinner?”

He nodded, exclaiming sorely once standing.

“Frijoladas?” she asked, rolling on her side with a pillow ready to stuff under her stomach.

“Oo, hell yeah,” he grinned, stepping into his slides. “You stay pregnant until I’m home,” he pointed, his tone grave.

“I think he’s too comfortable in there,”

“Good. Keep him in there until tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow?” her brows furrowed.

“It’s my day off,” he grinned cheekily.

“Don’t get shot,” she said into the pillow she embraced, breathing in Nick’s cologne.

“I’m too quick.” He teased, bouncing around a couple times to rile some giggles. With a final kiss shot her way, Nick was shuffling down the hall towards the door and grabbing his bag, then keys, and groaning against the assaulting summer heat once outside. It only made him want to slink back into the dark, cool room with Callie, but regardless of whether there was a c-section in three days or she managed to get Leo out beforehand, he had five days worth of time to spend with the two whenever he decided to make his debut.

Just the thought had Nick shaking his hands loose of the tremble they’d steadily maintained.

Everything was set and ready for his arrival, but counting down the minutes made the wait excruciating, and if Nick was being honest, he wanted him out weeks ago. The daily barrage of texts from friends and family asking is he here yet!? were not so much a pain, but hourly reminders that he had no control over his sons awaited birth, and that another day had gone by without him in his arms.

 Even if I’ve been fucking her three times a day, he thought bitterly.

He’d been promised from all directions that sex would do the trick, but all either had gained from it was funny walking and a sore dick, not to mention the few times where neither had actually came and they’d just flopped over one another in annoyance.

He pulled onto the road, the chilled air blasting across his face and chest that was already accumulating sweat.

Maybe he should bring home chili’s to eat with the dinner.

 Seeing as that's our last hope.

In the afternoon blaze that looked over LA, people were irritable and hollering at one another in traffic. Many drivers didn’t have the luxury of working AC in their old beaten cars, and sitting under the sun flared tempers of all races, especially humans and Orcs. He even found himself spitting harsh choices of words at particularly dumb drivers that only further congested on-ramps, and by the time he made it to the station, he could barely muster patient responses when the baratement of where’s the baby? came.

 Do you think I’d be here!? He wanted to shout, but he still needed a job to come back to.

“Still!?” Sergey asked in honest shock, feeling Nick’s exhaustion bone deep when he shook his head slowly. “You know I’ve heard-”

“Whatever you’ve heard we’ve already tried,” he groaned, the pair making their way to the lockers.

“Even-”

“Don’t say spicy foods,” Nick snapped.

Sergey’s nose scrunched. “For someone who’s expecting the miracle of life you’re awfully cranky,”

“I’m not cranky,” Nick shoved his partner into an empty locker, his shoulder making loud contact with the metal door, but he laughed it off. “I’m impatient,”

“Why not just take off the extra days before it happens?” Sergey intoned.

“Over-time pay, that’s why.” Nick smirked, pulling his lock off the locker door.

↠

She flung out another onesie so the feet popped out, holding it up to decide whether this one was to hang or fold, and decided it would be stuffed into his already packed dresser.

For weeks now Leo’s closet had been bursting at the bolts with clothes and blankets and everything else that came with a baby; so much that Callie wouldn’t actually need to buy any clothes until he was at least one, but that didn’t stop her, or Nick from plucking cute sets from racks and all the assortments of socks possible, not to mention beanies.

She traced the pads of her fingers along the baby blue designs lining a hooded onesie, grinning to herself.

Nick had picked this one, going on about how easily his little melon would get cold.

Callie placed it in the pile to be hung up, and if need be, she’d take a few out to make sure it found its place amongst the others. Her brows furrowed the longer she stared, starting to question if it should tag along in the hospital bag. The rooms did get awfully chilly.

“I’ll come back to you,” she decided quietly, leaning down to grab the next article of Leo’s clothing from the basket between her feet.

Though her eyes remained trained on the TV muttering lowly in the living room, she’d completely retreated back into her thoughts when that first cramp of the day hit, but when it continued long enough for her to really evaluate its depth, she realized this one was… different.

The Braxton Hicks that had tormented her for months were sharp, often radiating down into her pelvis like minor shots of electricity. They’d subside quickly before the next one came, but this cramp was intimidating. It wrapped around her entire stomach, stretching to her lower back, and this first one wasn’t even painful. It was low, and lasting, as if giving a stern warning about what was to come, but wouldn’t pain come with something like this?

She exhaled slowly when it finally ended at thirty-six seconds, ames still outstretched and holding a little sweater while deciding upon her next move.

Callie looked down slowly as if she expected something to lunge up at her from below, but all was the same.

Leo swirled a few times, but he’d been calm since the previous day, even when Nick cooed lovingly to him to purposely evoke some kicks and shoves.

She glanced at her phone, noting the time.

“Alright then,” she cleared her throat, flinging the sweater out flat before piling it on the tabletop. She still glanced around while continuing to fold and sort, listening and waiting for something else to come, but it wasn’t until about twenty minutes later that she felt it again, and this time she had enough sense to press a hand to her belly and actually feel the contract-

 No, she shook her head, continuing on with her laundry through this one. It was uncomfortable, but manageable, and definitely not that , she decided. It just didn’t start like that… did it?

When this one ended at twenty-two seconds, she scoffed.

“Almost had me there,” she mumbled, carefully piling the clothing on the table surface.

The third one was… annoying. It almost made her grip the table in support, but she bullied the discomfort aside and told it to fuck off. It radiated deep from within her gut like a period cramp, which didn’t help convince herself it wasn’t what she thought.

When the fourth one came, her attention to the ‘cramps’ had increased, and with her palms pressing into the tops of her knees, she straightened her back and ground her teeth, but sitting through them only generated more intensity.

But by the time the fifth one came, her leg was bouncing high and though she tried, she couldn’t help but cringe. The severity had grown more than she could’ve expected so rapidly, but forcing herself to move through them kept her from panicking. Folding laundry was the last thing she wanted to be doing now, but she also knew if she’d simply sat there with her undivided attention on this, she’d call Nick and likely take a ride to the hospital for false labor.

So she leaned back in her chair after throwing a pair of little pants back into the basket, holding her wrist against her forehead as she waited for this one to stop. Her skin was warming up, her heart hammering between her ribs.

Tightening her thighs only brought more misery when she tried to cross her ankles, and her palms fell over her eyes when it finally subsided. Callie exhaled hard, pushing her loose hair back and the basket away with her foot. No way she could concentrate on that. Her head lolled to the side when looking at her phone, debating heatedly within herself to call Nick. Her fingers tapped against the back of her hand atop her head as she stared at it, reaching after a few moments to swipe the screen up.

“No!” she snapped, tossing the phone down. “This isn’t it,”

Callie rose then, straining and following her stomach into standing before waddling to the kitchen. Her actions were unprecise when reaching into the fridge for a water, cranking the cap off angrily. She drank it purposefully, as if giving her body water would mean she was right and this was just a weird form of dehydration, or something.

“Mhm, mhm,” she went on as she gulped, a hand on her hip and rocking side to side.

But here came another one.

“Chinga su madre-” she sputtered, slapping the bottle down on the counter and bending forward. “Oh fuck me,” she forced out, leaning onto her knees as she continued to rock side to side through the harsh tightening. With every one that passed, the vigor that matched a charlie horses rapid incapacitation grew, and it brought back vivid recollections of the time she laid withering away in Nick’s arms as the onslaught of premature labor defeated her.

“No,” she straightened, exclaiming when her body gave her back a bigger no. Bowed over and down against her knees she went, puffing out a few quick breaths before slowly rising this time.

Her steps were cautious, one hand on her stomach while the other traced counter tops or walls, hovering to the back of a chair so she could gather the clothes that needed to be put away. By the time she made it to Leo’s room with arms full of fragrant, clean outfits, it had died down, but now came the soreness after them. Each step was coupled with sharp stabs that landed at her lower stomach and groin, bringing forth hard breaths from between her teeth.

She pushed the door open with her elbow, padding carefully across the plastic laid out over the carpet in preparation to paint the room, but now she feared it was too late for last minute projects such as this.

The clothes to be hung were draped over the crib until after she finished stuffing the folded clothes into the drawers, shoving aside the abundance of socks to make room for even more while counting her breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Get in there!” she whined lowly, shoving the drawer closed so she could move on.

Her urgency to finish wasn’t farfetched; just as she’d reached for the last of the outfits to hang, she instead found herself leaning against the crib, her forehead landing on her forearm and doubt melting away under the fervor of this one.

Deep breaths did nothing, nor did squatting which had been sworn up and down on that it worked, but only resulted in her stuck down there, hanging onto the bars of the crib and mashing her teeth together through the physical torment that stifled her breaths. The duration didn’t even matter anymore, because these were far from normal Braxton Hicks.

Callie laughed to herself as the contraction died down enough to pull herself back up, her grip remaining steadfast on the crib until she knew she could walk without swaying. Her eyes cut down to her stomach, her bottom lip starting to tremble.

“I told your dad I’d wait until tomorrow,” she breathed, her voice breaking.

All week she’d done all she could to start this, to meet her son and at last hold him, but now she was alone in his room and terror was her only companion. How did she end up questioning her own capability when she’d done nothing but tell everyone how able and ready she was for this? How did doubt always find its way in?

 I need Nick. She needed her rock.

It was time to finally, finally meet their son, no matter how prepared she thought she was or how terribly she shook now as the realization that nothing could truly prepare her for this cast over her like a shadow.

Callie nodded, her eyes sliding shut and taking a slow breath in, then letting it out even slower. “Okay,” she exhaled, stepping warily from the crib and reaching for the dresser beside the door.

Her hand landed on the door frame the moment she felt it run down her leg.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed when the warm fluid kept coming, pooling in the plastic around her bare feet. It’s sickly sweet odor was unpleasant, as was the shocking amount. Her hand shook when touching between her thighs, observing the shimmering liquid on her fingertips.

“Oh-” she gasped, laughing again. “Okay, okay,” Callie inhaled, sights set on the table in the dining room when she took another step.

But the world pulled out from under her, and the back of her head cracking against the floor was heard before everything was felt. The shock to her spine, the next contraction, her skull starting pound so loudly she could see it. Her hands lifted weakly, but they completely missed, folding heavy against the carpet beside her head.

But the contraction… it was so dull now as her world started to close, and her bent knees slid out in her own puddle of amniotic fluid she was stretched in.

“Ni…” she breathed weakly. Her arms were unable to lift again, the throbbing in her skull too mighty to fight.

A hard roll of shivers shot up his spine, shimmying his shoulders and shaking his head.

“Is the AC too strong?” Sergey asked, reaching to turn the dial.

“Nah, I just got a shiver,” Nick mumbled, rolling his shoulders again. He’d knocked loose that one, but what was this agitation that wouldn’t lift? It had come to a simmer in his belly, leaving him restless and uncomfortable no matter how he shifted in the seat.

He glanced around, jumping between passing faces and buildings, even scenting the air inside the car inconspicuously to see if some threatening scent had wafted in through the vents, but nothing explained the discomfort he felt.

It was irritating and only sank farther into his gut, heavy like stones.

“Ugh,” he groaned, moving around again.

“Tummy troubles?” Sergey played, hiding his smirk.

“Shut up,” Nick laughed off, but his grin vanished upon pulling out his phone. His thumbs flew over the screen, shooting a quick message to Callie.

 Gotta cover all your bases.

Consciousness came back to her like a kick to the jaw.

It rang behind her eyes, thundering against her temples. The sweat that had broken out across her body mimicked that of a fever dream, but her thoughts were crystal clear as she came back. The weight of her limbs was substantial, barely mustering the energy to hold her pounding head and bend her knees-

The shout that cracked in her throat was stifled late, far into the fast moving contraction gripping her frame, leaving her gasping and curling onto her side.

 That’s right, she was in labor. Active labor.

Callie pushed her upper half up, her hand sliding in the amniotic fluid pooled beneath her. She was rigid in pain, a shaking breath just moments away from becoming a shout. There was no counting, no more rocking side to side through it. There was only the suffocating wrath wrapping around her midsection like a suffocating corset, curling her neck back as she bared her teeth to the ceiling in agony.

At last it started to ebb away, leaving her spent and heaving into her palm before smoothing back her sweaty hair.

She wanted to lay back down, even being soaked in sweat and fluids with a throbbing skull. A migraine would be an easier foe to fight; at least then she wouldn’t be so dizzy she couldn’t even stand to keep her eyes open. But she couldn’t fall back into the quiet darkness. She had to bear the static in her vision and the hot tears that sprung before them.

This couldn’t end here.

“Go get your phone,” she gnarled, looking up at the door frame.

Her limbs shook something awful after finally pulling herself onto her feet, the amniotic fluid continuing to trickle down her inner thighs. Every step was a gamble, but with wet handprints left on the walls and a small trail behind her in the carpet, she made it to the table by the time another contraction was coming.

Her hands slid harshly across the table surface, knocking over clothes and mail, but her frantic searching didn’t yield her phone amongst the clutter.

“No no no-” she cried, gasping when it again constricted her midsection like an angry fist. She landed in the chair, her head flinging over the backrest and bawling into her hands as it’s fury kicked back into high gear.

The seconds felt slower than before as they ticked by endlessly, her legs kicking helplessly until she curled forward and crawled onto her knees and elbows that burned against the carpet.

 Breathe in- out, breathe- breathe in-

 It was impossible. Anything was. The only thing she wanted was to scream, but the floor smothered those. Loud grunts ripped from her throat, the dress clinging to her body like a wet sheet. Trying to form words in hopes she could calm herself down was futile when she couldn’t make it through a full breath without shouting, and as long as she was stuck there on the floor, she couldn’t find her phone.

It surely hadn’t even been a full minute since the last time he checked his phone, but he still looked again anyways, chuffing when there was no response from Callie.

Nick shifted to lean on his other foot, arms crossed and back burning under the glaring sun while stood in full uniform at the center of a lawn listening with only half his concentration to Sergey as he took the reins on this call. It was probably best that way too. If Nick had to deal with this stout man screaming about his lawn, he’d likely shove him into one of the many trash cans lining his yard.

So instead he cracked his neck, trying to ignore the sweat collecting across his scalp and gave in to checking his phone once again, but still, nothing.

Nick exhaled with another adjustment of the kevlar vest, hoping to alleviate the tightening of his chest.

Making it back to the table to again look for her phone hadn’t only been difficult, but a test of her willpower to remain standing when the contractions kept coming and strengthening enough to at first keep her on the floor for some time. She’d long since pushed her soaked panties down her legs, but was fearful if she reached down, she’d be faced with the top of Leo’s head and still no way to call for help. The thought of wobbling her way out of the house was quickly tossed; all their neighbors were busy singles or couples that were rarely home, and she sure as hell couldn’t just walk outside and scream.

So now she was upright again, even going as far as to unfold some of the clothing that it maybe could’ve been hiding between, but her thorough search did not produce the phone.

A few times she could’ve sworn she’d heard it vibrate somewhere, and when it went unfound she started to question her sanity. She did just crack her head against the floor and still struggled to keep her eyes open; it could be right under her nose and just couldn’t see it.

Callie’s hand flew over her eyes when she felt the fresh burning of tears, a weak sob building in the back of her throat. Between contractions she’d try to remind herself to relax, not to overexert herself more than she was already doing, but once the pain was no longer occupying every fiber of attention, she was left with this crippling fear.

Leo’s perfectly planned birth had suddenly been yanked out from under her in a matter of seconds, and now she was here, stranded and alone in the middle of her own labor that was completely out of her control. All the terrible outcomes she’d been warned of were suddenly so plausible; she could be losing another baby right now and she just didn’t know it yet.

Was labor supposed to hurt like this? It was so close to what it had felt like the first time during Tikka’s battle- so was she dying? Was Leo!?

There was no one to ask as she sobbed, leaned against the table with weak knees and wailing into bunched up laundry as another contraction fired up.

They were starting to last longer, which gave them more power without even really intensifying. Every one dragged on for eternity; it terrified her thinking of this going on for hours when she’d look to the clock above the bar and face that it’d only been a mere hour since first coming to.

Would Leo even have that much time?  

She steadied herself against the edge of the table, pulling her messy wet hair from her neck and face to fashion into a neater bun.

I’ve had many patients who’ve tried delivering vaginally and the baby’s become stuck in the pelvis because of their size.

Her stomach that had decreased in size since her water broke had been still; Leo had been quiet through all of this, not even a small foot to jab into her ribs like he normally did when she moved around too much, and she knew why. He was slowly moving down with every tight squeeze, coming closer to the end of his journey, but Callie didn’t know how she could ensure that being here.

She looked up, scanning the living and dining room.

Would this be enough to bring him into the world?

These walls had seen her grieve the loss of babies before; missed opportunities of a family and little laughs. Would they witness life this time?

Callie’s face hardened, nodding to herself with quickening breaths.

“I can do this,” she panted, tears brimming her eyes. “I can do this,”

Without Nick?

She wiped her eyes crudely, stopping hard when another contraction buckled her knees. The basket flipped it’s contents out before her alongside a curse, but through her own spitting profanities, she heard a soft thump , then the hum of her phone vibrating beside her hand, hidden under a small shirt. Her laughter was hysteric as she clawed for it, pressing it against her sweaty forehead and sobbing. When she could look at the multitudes of messages Nick had sent, she brought her face to the sky, thanking whoever had been passing by for showing mercy.

Cal answer me please

He sent the text with a hard press to his screen, the phone shoving back into his pocket as he made his way back to Sergey and the stout man who’d still kept hollering, but was now going to be dealt with a handful of tickets he’d accumulated after a quick sweep of his premises revealed he was the man who someone had called about.

Although at this point it wouldn’t help, Nick still took a cautionary breath while making his way across the lawn. He was a few insults away from slugging the middle aged man and calling it self defense, but Nick couldn’t trust himself not to concuss him if given the chance.

The strong vibration of his phone against his thigh completely turned him around, raising a hand to Sergey as he answered Callie’s call he’d waited desperately for.

“I texted you like a hundred-”

“Nick come home Leo’s coming!” she gasped harshly into the call.

It was what he’d feared had been happening the entire time his texts and calls had gone unanswered. There’d been days she did this; usually it was because of a nap or showering, sometimes forgetting her phone in the kitchen, but today, it wasn’t the heat that made his skin sweat, and it wasn’t his uniform that felt too tight around him. The discomfort had been under his skin, building deep down in his gut as the time dragged by. He’d known it all along, but couldn’t accept it until now.

He shouted something at Sergey, but to know if he understood him would go unconfirmed. Nick couldn’t even hear himself above the instant pounding in his ears, his sprint back to the cruiser and jumping behind the wheel all a blur, his voice shaking when he told Callie he was already driving.

The sirens stayed blaring the race across town, slamming his palm against the horn when the inane didn’t know better to get out of his way, because he’d push cars aside with his own if they interfered with this. What they’d been waiting years for, what he’d had nightmares and daydreams about, what he was so ready to protect.

It left him in disbelief while he drove wildly through the streets- surely to face harsh criticism once he’d returned to work- that in this moment, he felt no fear over meeting his son. It was only bubbling excitement to soon have all his questions answered, to finally touch the feet that kicked mightily when he heard his father's voice.

Nick’s hand covered the wide smile that spanned across his face, an equally insane stream of laughter erupting as the understanding fully dawned on him, and with that, the fear returned, too.

He was about to be a father for real, now.

By the time he was screeching around the last turn to the home stretch to their house, he’d composed himself and silenced the laughter he knew she didn’t need to be dealing with right now. By that phone call alone he could tell she was probably in hysterics, but why had she taken so long to reply then?

The sirens had also been killed before coming to a shrieking halt in the driveway, not even bothering to close his door before sprinting across the lawn.

He swung the door open so hard it bounced against the wall. “CAL!?”

“Over here,” came her weak call, and he again didn’t bother with the door before following her voice to the dining room where she was slumped in a chair and fanning her cheeks with an envelope.

“Are you okay? Are you alright?” he implored, squatting down to hold her face that was flushed and sweaty.

“My water broke all over his room and I slipped and hit my head,” she pouted, hot tears falling down her cheeks.

“Wha-” he choked, quickly standing to move her hair apart and check where she said it had smacked against the floor. Thankfully there was only a small abrasion that barely bled, but after going on to tell him how she lost consciousness and was sensitive to light, he knew there was even more reason to hurry.

“Leo’s bags,” she pointed, moving to hoist herself up.

“Hell no,” Nick scolded, easily scooping her up bridal style. “You’ll sit in the cruiser and I’ll get his stuff,” he was already walking her towards the door, taking the moment to kiss the top of her head when it rested tiredly against his chest. The exhaustion she must’ve been feeling was probably crippling based solely on her limp movements and weak voice.

Another contraction was starting when she was placed in the seat, but Nick moved faster than before when she waved him back into the house hurriedly, gripping the roof handle and arching against her seat. It was only a matter of seconds before he returned and was throwing all their bags into the trunk and himself back behind the wheel and they were off with the sirens blasting again.

Surely another harsh lashing was to come from that misuse, but this was worth it.

He didn’t know what to say or ask when she squeezed his hand like a vice, her legs straightening like a board and smacking her thigh repeatedly as she did her best to ride the contractions out silently. A few loud cries made their way from her throat still, then a soft apology that Nick would insist wasn’t needed.

He’d hold her face and kiss her cheeks when they stopped in traffic and Callie urged him to turn the sirens off when they did nothing to move the congested lanes no one could budge from, but it pained him to see her in such agony when they split her down the middle.

“W-what can I do?” he asked, fighting to keep his focus on her and the traffic inching forward.

“Nothing,” she gasped, her head lolling to look at him. “But it’s okay baby, just concentrate on the road,” she breathed, both of her hands securing around his. The sincerity in her big, tired eyes was there, but so was anxiety. Could he even tell if she was going to swing into one in this state?

“Talk to me,” she grunted while positioning herself in the seat. “Did we agree on what color he’d be?” she smiled.

He laughed nervously, a hand on the wheel and another on her stomach while her body was calm. It was so hard now, and if he wasn’t mistaken, even a little smaller. “I think we said mostly you with freckles of my color,”

She laughed, wincing. “I don’t think he’ll have hair,”

“I think he will. Maybe pointed ears,” Nick glanced at her, his smile fading when her face started to tighten again.

“And tusks-” she got out before her hand slapped against his arm to grip, this time wiggling onto her side to press her face into the seat.

It was another hour before the hospital was finally in sight, and for the first time in their relationship, Callie had been the one to leave bruises on his arm. Nick this time would take full advantage of being a cop; he could leave the cruiser parked right in front for as long as needed and no one could do anything about it.

“Ready?” Nick asked after darting around to her side with the bags looped around his shoulders and chest. His vest and belt had since been removed; they were only an annoyance at this point.

Callie’s response wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t entirely sure, either. Although she nodded, the tears in her eyes and tremble of her chin revealed to him the fear she’d tried hiding up to this point. All the times she’d told him, herself, everyone that she could do this, she was still questioning herself in the moment. All this time she’d done her best to bury that dread, but now facing the question anew, could she do this?

A small team of nurses had come out with a wheelchair after spotting exactly what was going down and Callie was transferred from from his arms to the seat, his hand lingering in hers until he was forced to follow behind.

Her intake was quick; apparently your water breaking got you a spot right to the front of the line in the maternity wing, but just as they’d given Callie a bed and IV with the promise of rest, an exam to verify what stage she was at had her cursing just as loudly as she did during a contraction. Nick’s fingertips turned white under her grip, watching in horror as the attending dove knuckle-deep to examine her.

“Okay my love,” the attending stood, pulling her gloves off. “You’re at seven, so almost there. Did you want an epidural?”

“No,” Callie snapped. “I’m doing it natural,”

“That’s fine, but know we don’t give them after a certain point so we don’t slow down labor. Who is your OB?”

“Sangui,”

“We’ll page her, I think she’s here today, actually,” she jotted down in her little notepad she’d brought forth from her chest pocket, a few strands of hair loose around her eyes. “Okay, sit tight and we’ll be back,” she smiled, squeezing Callie’s foot before leaving with the nurse.

“Hey,” Nick scooted back beside her, wiping his thumbs across her brow and looking into her tired eyes. “How’re you doing? What can I do?” he asked in soft tones, kissing her gently when she shook her head.

“Tell me I’m gonna be okay,” she croaked, hanging onto his wrist.

“You’re definitely gonna be okay, both of you are,” he reassured, pressing his forehead to hers when she closed her eyes and nodded, soaking in his confidence.

Now out of her soaked dress, the crisp hospital gown actually felt nice on her hot skin, as did the cold sheets of the bed, at least until she was rolling onto her hands and knees as another contraction roared to life. Callie cried from the misery in her lower back, unable to remain still or even lay down when it wrapped around her.

Between sprints, Nick, although feeling like more of a nuisance than actual help, spooned ice chips into her mouth and pressed forcefully against her lower back when she begged for some kind of reprieve, moving on to carry all her weight when she hung in his hold after deciding to stand and walk around; that only lasted a half lap around the room. It was an awkward way to hold her up like this, with his hands clasped against shoulder blades and forearms under her armpits, but it seemed the way she hung deadweight helped ease some of the insane force across her body.

Until they were taken upstairs to a more appropriate room for her delivery, Callie bit and smothered herself through the pain, leaning over into the bedding to scream instead of trying to walk and breathe through it like the nurses so urged. Sometimes it was the mental strain that needed to be eased.

But even then the allure of pain meds grew as the time drew on.

She walked and bounced on the exercise ball when they said it would help speed labor along, but either of those became impossible as the contractions only grew closer. There wasn’t enough time to catch her breath before the next one came barreling down, and within another hour, she couldn’t stand to be touched.

Laying down was murder, but so was standing up.

She stopped Nick everytime he urged to call Rosie or his mom, telling him he wasn’t allowed to until Leo was out. Knowing my luck this will all be false labor, she had groaned.

She wanted to rip off the noisy monitors banded around her distended waist, but hearing Leo’s heartbeat thunder through the speakers reminded her of what was to come after all of this, that she knew as soon as she saw him, all of this would be worth it.

So she grit her teeth and clung to Nick when the pain came, her nails digging into his arms and shoulders, but he didn’t let out a peep of discomfort. In the moments she was free of misery that left her breathless, he held her against his chest and kissed her steamy cheeks, wiping away the sweat dotted across her forehead. He only told her how strong and capable she was, but never asked her to keep fighting through the pain. He didn’t want her to think she had to break herself over this; that it was okay to ask for pain relief if it was easier on her already strained body.

Callie grunted against his chest, her knees propped apart with a couple pillows. She’d given up trying to find comfort with the ten pillows that only made her hotter, and although Nick was a heater of his own, he came with big hands that massaged her miserable back.

“Do I need to move?” he asked, starting to pull his shoulder from underneath her head.

“No,” she grunted, rolling her onto her back. ”I gotta go to the bathroom,”

The heavy door to their room opened, and at last Dr. Sangui came in with hands clasped and a warm smile. “What ever got you here needs to be relayed so I can share the secret with the other a hundred moms desperate to pop their babies out,”

“Homemade salsa,” Nick grinned.

“Oh, well some of them are out of luck then. How’re you doing Callie?”

“I have a lot of pressure on my butt,” Callie frowned tiredly.

“Well let’s do a quick check here then,” she moved to grab gloves from off the walls. “When was your last one?”

“‘Bout an hour ago,” Nick answered, already offering his hand after Callie slid fully onto her back and spread her knees.

“And you were seven then?” she asked, apologizing softly when Callie tensed. She still nodded through it, this one not anywhere as bad as before.

“Well, get ready for the last stretch,” she looked up at the nervous couple. “It’s time to start pushing,”

Callie’s expression worried, her head dropping back with a hand rested against her chest and the other in Nick’s grasp.

“Hey,” he called softly, stopping her before she walked into that storm. “You can do this, baby,”

She nodded with him, eyes glossy. “I can do this,”

“You can, you’re finally gonna see him,” Nick’s voice wavered, but he took the opportunity to kiss her knuckles before leaning down to kiss her, reassuring her as many times as needed.

The staff was a blur around them, setting up trays at her feet and dimming the lights to make way for the blinding one above her. Gowns were draped over scrubs and Callie’s bed was formed until she was upright with one foot in a stirrup and another in Nick’s hold, his thumb caressing her knee comfortingly.

“Alright hun, why don’t you give me one good push to see where we’re starting,” Dr. Sangui smiled from behind her mask.

Callie nodded, her chin touching her chest when she pushed, whimpering at the immediate growth in pressure.

“Mom’s a good pusher, let’s set up quickly,” she called back to her staff cheerily, smoothing down the blue mats between herself and Callie.

It was a small boost to her confidence, but one she’d take nonetheless.

She watched them finish laying the blankets over the warmed tray and the scale beside it, the stethoscopes ready around their necks and bulbs prepared to be used. She didn’t dare examine the tray of scalpels and head clamps within Dr. Sangui’s reach; she couldn’t concentrate on that possibly.

Callie’s knees started to tighten. “I’m gonna have another one,” she groaned, her toes curling.

“Okay Callie, when you feel it, that’s time to push, alright? Push right into your bottom like you’re poopin’,”  she instructed, scooting closer between her feet.

Her hold adjusted around Nick’s wrist, looking up at him, searching.

 I love you, he mouthed, grimacing when there was only a second of her bright smile before it was time.

She pushed with every fiber of strength she had left in her spent body. Until her face was red and they said rest, she pushed even if it felt like her middle was splitting open.

 Just go just go just go! She screamed internally, desperate to move her mind around the torture, but everything was pain, and she felt every second of it. Every twist Leo made in her pelvis, she felt. Every inch he moved farther down between her hips; at one point she stressed her hips could dislocate, but was only told to keep pushing.

The breaks between the pushes were still agonizing. The pressure was that of the kind around your skull when you dive too deep, but it didn’t lessen when she calmed.

“...seven, eight, nine, ten, okay take a breath,” Dr. Sangui breathed with Callie. “And again, push,”

With her chin to her chest and jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth would shatter, she started to care less and less about the gutteral sounds she made. She grabbed the back of her knees, her face scrunched-

“Here comes the head!” Dr. Sangui smiled. “Keep going- five, six, seven-”

Nick leaned forward to look, the air punched from his lungs once observing the horrifying sight before him.

“Okay take a quick break, this is the ring of fire but I think you can have his head out in another push,” she encouraged, piling gauze beside her.

“Oh fuck me,” Callie breathed, panting before falling back into concentration and pushing again, and lord did the ring of fire live up to it’s name. This time the shouts wouldn’t be suppressed, nor the curses. There was no way in hell anyone could expect composure now at this point with her center literally on the brink of ripping apart.

“Breathe breathe breathe and again,”

It was hard to hold her breath while she pushed; there was already so much pressure everywhere, and her head was starting to pound again-

There was a popping sensation, some slight relief.

“Heads out! C’mon Callie, one more good push!” Dr. Sangui cheered, a nurse stepping forward with a blanket over her outstretched arms.

Callie couldn’t see past her stomach when she searched frantically. “His head?” she looked up to Nick who’s eyes had glossed over when he looked at her.

“He has hair,” he smiled, his voice cracking.

Callie tittered, her shaking grip adjusting around Nick’s wrist again.

“You can do this,” he held the back of her head, sincerity pooling in his molten eyes. “You’re so close baby,”

Callie nodded again, eyes pinching shut when the wrath started to build up.

“Okay hun, one more time,”

She waited, inhaling deeply. “I can do this,” she whispered.

Nick started to exclaim and encourage when she felt Leo start to move from her, his grip tightening on her leg, but she couldn’t open her eyes while she pushed. Sangui cheered the same, and could feel her fingers move around Leo’s jaw and neck, pulling gently against her body until the pressure was finally gone.

She exhaled loudly as he came spinning out, Nick’s breathless exclaim opening her eyes just as the tiny, gargling screams came.

Callie sobbed as soon as he was lifted onto her bare chest, his arms thrown out angrily and puffy eyes pinched shut as he wailed into the cold world around him. Finally he was in her hold, at last able to touch the velvety skin of his face or feel his cries when resting her hand on his back, and the deep breaths he sucked in between every holler. She held the back of his delicate head, astounded by the dappling of Nick’s color that formed the markings across his round cheeks and human nose, all the way back to his tiny pointed ears.

Her words weren’t words at all, but simply emotions taking flight in wails and sobs as she touched every part of him that she’d grown.

She looked up at Nick who was wiping his eyes crudely against the sleeves on his arms. “I did it,” she sighed, her eyes sliding shut when he kissed her forehead. “Nick look at him,” she beamed, pulling him closer by the shirt.

His vision was blurry from tears when he dragged his knuckles faintly across Leo’s soft cheek, hiding the sobs in his other palm. His soft graze traced the tones of his skin, detailing the freckles that dusted across his shoulders and cheeks like his mothers.

His strong, little fingers wrapped around Callie’s, squeezing and releasing as he continued to weep against her chest as he was jostled and dried by the nurses. Nick smoothed the sticky, sandy blonde hair from his forehead, the parents laughing when Leo grunted loudly before stirring again.

“I didn’t expect this color,” Callie commented, carefully pulling it up to see he already had a few inches worth of hair running the curve of his head in a thick stripe.

“I didn’t expect hair,” he snorted.

Callie kissed his fingers, tears trailing down her cheeks as she admired him. “He’s so perfect,” she whispered, tapping his puckering chin.

Leo’s face scrunched, a soft chuff stirring a few coughs.

Nick’s heart wept; there was already so much of himself in him.

“I can’t believe how pretty he is,” Callie spoke softly, the pair in awe when he whined, his face sorrowing.

“He looks so sad,” Nick grieved, rubbing his arm that curled in tighter to his body, still gripping Callie’s finger.

Callie hushed him softly, craning her neck to press a flurry of kisses into his cheek and temple. “Que paso hermoso? Hm?” she cooed, more kisses finding his hand. “Are you angry you had to come out?”

“Is he…?” Nick trailed off, both of them freezing when his swollen eyes started to flutter open. Nick leaned far over, fighting to catch a glimpse of his eyes. “Can we turn that off?” he asked, pointing at the light.

“Oh, yep! Sorry little guy,” Dr. Sangui grinned guiltily, adjusting the high beam from his face.

Two bright golden jewels rolled around behind squinted eyelids, making out only a blurry outline of his father that smiled down at him.

“So all you got from me is my nose, huh?” Callie joked, both of them chuckling.

Leo’s big eyes opened wider, his head pressing back into her palm.

“Talk again,” Nick said, watching in amazement.

“Leo,” she called softly, beaming from ear to ear when he stilled, his eyes opened and looking in her direction. “Do you recognize my voice bebe? Do you hear me Leonardo Makar?” she whispered, kissing his knuckles.

He kept looking up, his blinks heavy as she spoke to him, kissing the space between his eyes that Nick ran the pad of his thumb up and down over to make his nose scrunch. When it was time for him to be weighed, her heart sank the moment he cried after being lifted from her chest, his serenity broken and warmth taken away

“Go with him,” she told Nick who was already following his crackly cries to the small heated bed.

He wailed and kicked, and Nick fought shouting at them to do this all later. Why couldn’t he just lay with Callie!? They didn’t need to be putting bands around him and measuring- he wasn’t going to grow that fast!

“He is ten pounds four ounces,” a nurse smiled back at Callie.

“Oh my god,” she wailed from behind him, but Nick wouldn’t drag his eyes from Leo who was continuing to howl and tremble under their assault.

 What else could they have to do!? They’d done the lengths, drying, wrapping yada-yada, what the fuck else!? How long were they gonna keep him crying there!? He wanted to move beside him and talk to him, offer his touch in comfort, but they remained huddled around him, rolling him side to side as they swaddled him.

 “Ready to hold him dad?” an older, more soft-spoken nurse asked Nick while she finished fixing the beanie pulled over his matted hair.

His anger fell away, excitement bringing forth a quick nod.

Leo was starting to whine angrily again just as Nick found his seat beside Callie’s bed, another nurse propping a pillow under his elbow before his son was lowered carefully into his arms. His head rested in the crook of his elbow, his body curled inwards towards Nick and his hands peeking out from the blanket where he tried to suck on his fist.

In Nick’s hold Leo looked small, but even he knew just by holding him that he was a big baby, but everything about him was precious, miniature. Nick’s curiosity moved under the beanie to his pointed ears, following his brow down to the tip of his rounded nose- Callie’s nose- and over his soft lips that searched for milk.

Leo’s feet nudged softly against Nick’s palm where his bottom half was curled up, and he squeezed them with great care, watching his toes spread when a foot finally broke loose of the swaddle. Nick’s thumb fit across the bottom of Leo’s silky foot, his toes curling around the tip of his finger when he pressed gently.

He chuckled every time a little arm sporadically sprung upwards, his grabbing hands aimless and sometimes gripping Nick’s shirt. His grip was strong around his finger, lifting his hand to gaze at his little, little fingernails.

Callie watched with misty eyes as Nick pulled Leo closer to his chest, leaning down to press firm kisses to his face, nuzzling his nose under his round cheeks even when the baby boy whined in protest. His crackly voice stirred sympathy in Nick’s already bursting heart, softly, and only half-heartedly apologizing to him after peppering more kisses against his chubby cheek. The blanket was secured tighter around his little shoulders, talking softly to him in Orkish whispers that he hoped would calm Leo’s tired cries. Babies crying usually made him nervous, but Leo’s little wails stirred something close to a sobbing laughter, something affectionate and overflowing with admiration for the little thing he held close to his heart.

He wanted to see those big, amber eyes look up at him, but the longer he remained curled tight against Nick’s warm chest with calming pats against his bottom, the more he couldn’t bear to move him from contentedness.

“Of course he doesn’t kick you when he’s angry,” Callie mumbled playfully, giggling at Nick’s goofy grin when he could finally pull his gaze away from his handsome son.

“He’s got a lot to say,” Nick rubbed the space between his eyes again, chuckling when his brows furrowed and he whined louder.

“Now we can call everyone,” she grunted, eyes pinching shut as the doctor went on to stitch and clean her up. It stung, but was nothing compared to five minutes ago.

Nick gasped softly. “I have an idea,” he whispered to Leo excitedly. He cringed when he disturbed him while stretching a leg to dig his phone from his pocket, comforting Leo enough to keep him from wailing as he found his mother in his call log, but his quick panting would soon lead to full on sobs again.

High-pitched whimpers started to emit from him, his arm coming from the blankets.

“I see what you’re doing,” Callie reached to touch Leo’s forehead, rubbing her fingers back and forth over the velvety skin.

Nick tensed when the line picked up, and as planned, Leo started to cry louder, his round face souring. “Ma?” Nick called, his voice bubbling with excitement.

“Nick- who’s, who’s baby?” Dinara finally spoke, breathlessly that was.

He fought but couldn’t steady his voice before saying, “He’s here, Ma,”

There was only shouting after that, clustered and slipping madly between English and Orkish as she screamed for Oleg, struggling to get out what she intended. Nick tried to answer her blubbering questions, but she was crying the next one out before he even had time to finish the first.

Nick let the nurse lift Leo from his arms and back into Callie’s after she’d finished, ending the call with his parents after getting enough out to tell them what hopital they were at.

“Come here come here,” Callie reached excitedly, cradling him tight to her chest and freely reining kisses over the small plain his soft face.

Nick wiped his eyes again, standing to watch quietly as the nurse assisted Callie on how to get Leo to latch, his body unwrapped from the blankets and resuming skin to skin contact. Now he was really screaming, his short legs kicking wildly and arms throwing erratically until he was placed on his stomach over Callie’s bare chest.

The sensation of breastfeeding would definitely be something to adjust to, and Leo although being eager to eat was a stubborn latcher, crying angrily when Callie struggled and her soft words doing nothing to calm his hunger.

Nick could see her becoming flustered under the gaze of the nurses, glancing up nervously while trying to adjust the support under her arms.

Without a word, he stuffed the pillow higher under her elbow, releasing his own breath when she did after Leo finally found his spot.

Her head dropped back, eyes closing with a small smile across her lips. “Thank goodness.”

It was a brief feeding; Leo needed only a few drops of colostrum before he released, but the whole feeding had been another sight to marvel at. He grunted through his nose as he suckled, his face scrunched hilariously. Leo detached himself with a single sharp cry, his big eyes starting to flutter open again. This time, Nick had his phone ready for pictures when he looked around sleepily, and blindly, basically, but his cries were now little grunts and chuffs, breathing rapidly in between wide yawns that made Nick and Callie’s hearts throb.

Nick promised and pleaded her beauty when he started taking photos of them, begging her not to hide her glow after pulling the blanket down enough to snap the photos that would be cherished forever. Leo lasted a while before his lids started to slide shut, his sporadic wiggles calming when Nick rubbed his bare, fuzzy back.

He leaned over to wiggle his face between his shoulder and cheek carefully, pressing final kisses everywhere until he started to stir, but rested his cheek against his back, the beat of his rapid heart filling his ears.

Callie touched Nick’s cheek, her eyes pooling with tears again. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

He kissed her before he lost his composure again, smoothing her messy hair away from her face and reminding her how beautiful, amazing, and strong she was. “He’s perfect because you’re perfect,” he kissed into her cheek, wiping her eyes when she tried to look away with blushing cheeks.

“Hey!” she sniffled, craning her neck to find their bags. “Get my phone, yeah? I wanna call Rosie,”

Nick quickly located her phone, handing it to her but replacing her hand on Leo’s back so he wouldn’t roll away by some miraculous chance.

Callie navigated her phone until the line was ringing on speaker, hopeful she wasn’t in the middle of a call.

“Heeey,” Rosie answered nonchalantly.

"You have to promise you won’t be mad at me,” Callie barely got out past the excitement in her voice.

There was a pause. “What did you do?”

She withheld the laughter to say, “I’m holding your nephew,”

“My nephew… my nephew. My nephew!? You had Leo!?” Rosie shrieked, the panic heightened in her shrill voice over the line.

“He has my nose!” Callie lamented, both her and Nick laughing when Rosie only screamed obscenely through the phone.

“I’ll be there! I’m coming right now, I love you so much I’ll see you soon!” Rosie sobbed, the line clicking before Callie could get another word in.

“I hope she doesn’t walk in screaming like that,” Callie giggled, stuffing her phone beside her.

Their attention quickly moved back to Leo when an acute growl vibrated through his small body, and that was when Nick lost it. He hid his face against the pillow behind Callie, laughing as she did but also sobbing like a mess. There was no need to explain the confusing swarm of emotions he was under the spell of to Callie or the nurses around them, and definitely not to Dr. Sangui who congratulated the new parents on their healthy baby boy, assuring to Callie that as soon as she left she’d be canceling the c-section.

When the sobs were muddled and eyes red and puffy found his son again, Nick rested his cheek against Callie’s arm above Leo’s head so he could watch him sleep, kissing soft I love you’s into his covered head while she counted his toes and fingers, touching the two freckles on his chin that matched hers. They detailed the distinct patterning of Nick’s hue over the caramel glow of his skin, the darker freckles in some spots and the lighter ones over his cheeks. Nick was in awe at how much of himself and Callie he found the longer he stared and how much was unexpected, but in every sense, and every way possible, Leo was perfect.

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

Leonardo Makar Jakoby

July 19th | 10 lbs 4 oz | 21 in

Born to proud parents Calista & Nicholas

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

😍Expect a lot of secret drawings of Leo now😍

[meismalis]

*TW* This post contains details about drug use, abuse and rape.

Just listened to the otherside by macklemore and Ryan Lewis for the first time again since my before my addiction

It was my favorite song in grade 12 but man it hits different now.

I started with Percocet, on to oxy 20s then 40s then 80s, then morphine (eslons, hydromorphs) then started shooting the morphine. Eventually ended with heroin and fentanyl. At the end of it I was shooting 5 points of fentanyl laced heroin a day.

I remember meeting up with a guy I never really hungout with before and we went a picked up and he did half a point and I did a 2 point smash of fentanyl and he would not let me do anymore than half a point. I was like listen, I'm not going to die, that will take away the withdrawals but I will barely feel it and I had to literally give him my narcan to get ready to revive me because he didn't believe me. He was stunned at the fact that me, a 98 pound girl at the time, could smash 2 points of fentanyl laced heroin.

My habit was a MINIMUM of $100 a day, and that was just to not be sick. I wanted to actually get high? At least $200-300 that day.

One day, my bf and I were driving after picking up and pulling into an empty parking lot to do a smash and he looked over at the passenger seat and I was passed out, white as a ghost, barely breathing, making gargling noises. He later said it sounded like a drain draining coming out of my throat, the life literally draining out of me. He couldn't call 911 because we had one shitty phone cause we sold our phones for drugs, and that phone didn't have a sim card, only on free wifi would we be able to use it. We were on a long country road too with barely anything around. He ended up pulling into a Tim Hortons after a while and dragged me out of the car on the ground crying and screaming for someone to call 911. 911 arrived and pulled me away in the ambulance and the last thing he heard them say as we pulled away was "I'm not getting a pulse" the cops didn't press charges on him, I guess because they thought he was just about to lose his girlfriend, and took the needles and stuff out of the car and let him go to the hospital.

Meanwhile I'm in the ambulance unconscious with barely a heartbeat, and woke up violently with a massive needle in my chest. They gave me narcan and it didn't work so they jammed an adrenaline needle in my heart, then the narcan started to take effect. I immediately went into precipitated withdrawals, it was hell. The first thing I did was scream at the paramedic for ruining my high and started crying. When my bf came to the hospital and saw that I was okay, he came running up to hug me and the first thing I asked was if he got the drugs out of the car. I was relieved when he said yes. I was about to be released but I was in horrible withdrawals and couldn't wait even one more minute, I went to the bathroom and grabbed the needle and cooker out of my underwear and did a shot right there in the bathroom of the hospital after nearly dying.

When I say you lose all sanity and everything about yourself when addicted to opiates, I mean it. You are chemically a different person. You are physically dependant on something to keep you okay. If you don't have it, the worst pain and symptoms you have ever felt in your life take over. It feels like you need to open up your chest and itch your heart, it feels like your skeleton needs to burst out of your skin, your skin is full of pins and needles, the burning kind. You're sweating buckets, nauseous AF, migraine galore. Every single part of your body is extremely uncomfortable and painful. Your eyes, your fingertips, your fucking hair follicles. Everything is on fire. I would not wish it upon my worst enemy. The way I describe it isn't dramatic enough, it's 10000x worse than what you can imagine. And one little pill or shot takes it all away immediately, and puts you in the most warm, cozy, state of euphoria you have ever felt. Going from death's door to that feeling, I can't describe it. Now as I'm writing this, I have the urge to break 3 years of full on soberness and shoot heroin up my veins. I won't lie, I would love it. Its orgasmic......but I know it isn't worth it. Well, that's actually half a lie. To part of me, anything is worth it. Which is why I had to hit absolute rock bottom and have some pretty horrible things happen to me to get sober.

It's very difficult for me to talk about but there was a 3 month period were I was held hostage by a trafficker and couldn't escape because my bf would of literally been killed. I was forced to break up with him and go with him. He constantly had his "buddies" with me if he wasn't there. Those months were full of pain and numbness. I wasn't trafficked myself (he "loved me so much and didn't want that life for me") but I helplessly watched as he would bring me everywhere to keep an eye on me, including the sketchy hotel rooms where girls would be meeting guys and supplied with their drug of choice and he would pick up the money these girls made, leaving them with like 15% of what they made. Some of these girls were so young. Barely turned 18. Some may have even been 16, 17. It was horrid.

Everytime he would kiss me or touch me, I wanted to throw up. I was high AF every single time, it was the only way I could deal with it. Its very difficult for me to talk about what he did to me in details, I can barely tell my therapist. Anyways, I ended up getting away, I ended up getting a note to my bf and explained everything, and I had to beg him not to react, not to basically kill him. He went to the police and they knew his name, and he had the police come and find me. They ended up fake arresting me and putting me in a cop car so I could get away without suspicion. The cops took a statement from me and ended up raiding the hotel I told them about. Unfortunately no charges came about as the girls were "willing" and "consenting" and "gave the money they made willingly". It makes me sick to my stomach that nothing happened regarding that.

I ended up getting a restraining order (to this day, I'm terrified he will find out where I am) and leaving Oshawa with my bf, and we ended up in a different Town and got clean not too long after that. Since then, I have gotten back to a semblance of myself. I have been COMPLETELY clean about 2 months over 2 years. I started my journey of being clean 4 years ago essentially, I was clean for a majority of those 4 years, but about 2 years in, I relapsed and ended up doing it for a couple weeks after the relapse again, but since then I have not touched it once. My bf and I moved back to our homeland (Newfoundland) and we have made extreme strides at rebuilding our lives. We both have stable decent paying jobs, a beautiful apartment and cat, amazing relationships with our families again, I'm getting my full driver's license in March and my bf paid off his DUI fines and got his lisence back and we're getting a car in a couple weeks, my step mother is giving us her 2014 ford and I am going back to school starting night classes this winter while working full time still, and then in the fall I am going back full-time for Marine Environmental Technology (essentially marine engineering and environmental sciences together :))

I never thought I'd be here. I never thought I would make it out. I was convinced I would die in that state and period of my life. I am NEVER going back there, mark my words.

Oh my, that was way heavier and longer than I expected it to be, though it was nice to get all of that off my chest and out into the open. If you made it here to the end, thank you for listening. I your image of me hasn't been ruined too badly..........

[lavieenprose]

on being ill

“On Being Ill” isn’t just making a case for illness as a literary subject, but for the brute, bare fact of the body itself. By insisting we acknowledge that we sweat and crave and itch all day (“all day, all night”), Woolf reminds us we have the right to speak about these things—to make them lyric and epic—and that we should seek a language that honors them. The man who suffers a migraine, she writes, is “forced to coin words himself, taking his pain in one hand and a lump of pure sound in the other.” What does it sound like, this strange, unholy language of nerves and excretions? How do we articulate the kind of pain that refuses language? We throw up our hands, or we hurl our charts: one through ten, bad to worse, from the smiley face to its wretched, frowning cousin.

Woolf’s argument may have been more urgent in her time than in ours—we have more records of the “daily drama of the body” now than we did then—but when I first read her battle cry, her call to arms (not just arms but legs and teeth and bones), it felt like encountering a long-lost relative: the banner I’d never known I’d always been fighting under: Bodies matter—we can’t escape them—they’re full of stories—how do we tell them? Her argument might have the urgency of a battle cry but it’s also vulnerable; it’s posing questions; it’s got mess and nerve—it’s leaking some strange fluid from beneath its garments, hard to tell in the twilight, maybe pus or tears or blood. Even her syntax feels bodily—full of curves and joints and twists, shifting and stretching the skin of her sentences.

People have often told me my own writing seems to be all about bodies. A woman from a writing workshop once suggested I call my collection of stories Body Issues. (I didn’t have a collection of stories: If I did, I wouldn’t have called it that.) But I’ve never wanted to write about “the body,” by which I mean I’ve never set out with that explicit intention; I’ve only ever wanted to write about what it feels like to be alive, and it turns out being alive is always about being in a body. We’re never not in bodies: that’s just our fate and our assignment. (In her beautiful memoir The Two Kinds of Decay, Sarah Manguso writes that she despises “the body” whenever it describes anything but a corpse, and I love that, though I use the phrase constantly anyway.) To my mind, the more aggressive choice is writing that isn’t physical; this insistence carries the burden of intentional absence.

All that said, I’ve always felt a certain shame about the ways my writing keeps coming back to bodies, which is why I loved finding Woolf. My shame felt such relief at the prospect of her company. My first novel was all about addiction and eating disorders and sex, and there was food everywhere, some of it gone rotten. I used the word “sweat” too many times (my editor told me); there were too many fluids (my editor told me) and far too many bruises (my editor told me) and even worse, too many of these bruises were “plum-colored”—for this last one (my editor told me), we would both get mocked, if we didn’t get rid of some of these plum-colored bruises right away. A certain shame hung over the whole narrative, like a faint body odor I couldn’t smell because it was mine: There was too much body, and this too-much-body risked banality and melodrama at once. I’ve always wondered if this shame about writing about the body is connected to the shame of quasi-autobiographical writing, that sense of failing to imagine beyond one’s own experience. Is writing about bodily experience somehow the extreme form of this failure, the ultimate solipsism? You haven’t even gotten beyond your own nerve endings; it’s no accident they call it navel gazing.

I often think of an old painting I once saw that shows an injured body pointing at its own open wounds. The most graceful victim, of course, is the one who doesn’t need to point at his holes or ask for sympathy—who doesn’t take up the lump of pure sound, who just keeps quiet. The way I imagine being scolded goes something like this: There’s something selfish about talking about bodies too much if the bodily experience fueling everything is your own.

I often think, also, of a cross-country race I ran in 10th grade: I tripped on a slab of concrete sticking up from the dirt, about a hundred meters after the start, when the pack was still dense; and I was trampled by the horde of 15-year-old girls running behind me. It was pretty minor, as tramplings go. But still, it was a trampling. I got up to run the next three miles of the race but I was shaken up and bleeding. I wasn’t running well at all—nothing close to what I’d need to do to place well for our team.

When I reached my coach, who was calling out our one-mile splits, she said something to the effect of “Why are you running so slow?”—only perhaps not so delicately phrased. I remember the awkward way I tried to point at my own wounds without slowing my (turtle) pace; and I remember how badly I wanted her to see the streaks of dirt-clotted blood; I almost stumbled again in my urgent need to show her the proof of my stumbling.

That memory has become the vessel for a certain kind of shame—the shame of pointing too overtly at what hurts, jamming the laser-pointer of language at some wound and then expecting it to yield wisdom or explanation. My coach didn’t want the epic or lyric account of my damaged body, she just wanted me to keep running, and hopefully pick up the pace.

I’m still haunted by the specter of myself in this moment—a mute form pointing, bleeding. A few years after that race I spent a couple months actually mute: I’d gotten jaw surgery and they’d wired my jaw shut to help it heal. During those months I wrote quite frequently but it was mainly practical, because I couldn’t talk. I requested things by scribbling them in a little notebook: vicodin, please; okay ensure (my mom was always foisting Ensure on me), but are there any cans of dark chocolate left? HATE butter pecan. I asked for sheets draped over the mirrors, so I wouldn’t see my swollen face; I asked for the pair of scissors that I was supposed to keep on-hand in case I vomited and needed to cut the wires between my teeth.

Eventually I started writing poems about those quiet weeks, and the surgery before them, the days in the hospital. The poems were full of IV lines and numbness and feeling returning after numbness like water oozing back into crab holes in damp sand (“crackling lines of hurt,” I wrote). I imagined myself the bard of swelling; I wanted to write toothache lyrics for swelling—to evoke the chronic panic of its deforming sculptural practice: it shapes you into something like you, but not you. I wanted to bring that aching knowledge to my nonexistent reading public.

I turned the poems into a series and then I turned them in to my undergraduate writing workshop. The series was called “Waiting Room,” meaning the waiting room before surgery but also the injury afterward as a waiting room—get it?—the aftermath as the cramped little chamber where you wait to get better; where you have to keep waiting even once it seems like you should already be there.

I wasn’t satisfied with the poems. Pain was hard to describe. I encountered Elaine Scarry’s famous formulation—“pain does not simply resist language but actively destroys it”—which recognized but did not solve the problem. My workshop wasn’t satisfied with the poems either. Everyone wanted to know: What were they about? I thought it was pretty fucking self-evident, but no, it was a different problem: My classmates got that these poems were about pain and injury—maybe in a dental office?—but what were they really about? My workshop was thinking everything must be a metaphor for something else: the cut lines on raw gums, the self-quieting sparkle of anesthesia. But in truth, nothing was a metaphor for anything. It was more or less this happened, and it hurt. There was nothing below the surface.

At the time I took this as a verdict of poverty and lack—which is why I loved finding Woolf, so many years later, who seemed to be saying, the surface of the body isn’t poverty; it isn’t lack. She rose from the dead for the express purpose of silencing that workshop, or at least arguing against the notion that there had to be something besides bodies for these poems to matter. She was saying the surface is poetry; bodies are poetry; or poetry can be made of what these bodies need and crave and bleed and feel.

I felt her summoning an army, everyone I’d ever read whose language does some justice to the way our bodies are, the ways they betray us or bind us together: Walt Whitman’s greed to catalogue the physical forms of his countrymen, William Faulkner’s fixation on muddy drawers and the waft of honeysuckle; Marcel Merleau-Ponty’s insistence on the body as an “eloquent relic of existence.”

Woolf writes: “It is not only a new language that we need, more primitive, more sensual, more obscene, but a new hierarchy of the passions; love must be deposed in favour of a temperature of 104; jealousy give place to the pangs of sciatica.” I can see the way these marching orders have infected my own prose—even this piece, with its twisting, bodily contortions—and the way they’ve helped me claim a dialect I’d been afraid was junk, a ledger of the body’s travails, not the “Waiting Room” poems (which weren’t really that great) but the notebooks I kept when my jaw was wired silent, full of their banal complaints and requests: Vicodin, please. Where are the vomit scissors? These are daily dramas of the body, charged with force and longing; the record Woolf never found, the words that pain and pure sound made.

[nitewrighter]

I'd love to see Gency but back when Genji was learning how to walk with his protheses. I love what you're doing, keep up the good work !

Thank you very much!!!

——

It was four in the morning as Genji stared up at the ceiling of his room in the infirmary. He wasn’t healing fast enough–at least, not in his opinion. Doctor Ziegler kept saying things like ‘Oh your progress is coming along much more quickly than anticipated!’ But she never seemed to want to adjust that progress for what he could do. He could move his prosthetic arm just fine now. Sure, eating soup with it without spilling was difficult, and moving chess pieces without knocking some over was a headache, but he could move it.

He just needed to be able to move it more. He just needed to fight again, maybe bring the memory of his training back to the ghost limb trapped within that metal apparatus. But no. Doctor Ziegler was a stickler for safety, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was doing her best to keep Commander Reyes from his quarters as well. Why? He had spoken to Reyes only a few times, but he did get the feeling Reyes wanted Genji out in the field just as badly as he wanted to be out in the field. A bitter part of him wondered if it amused Doctor Ziegler to see him frustrated like this, but he knew she was just as exhausted by his constant goading to move forward faster in his physical therapy.

He gave a glance to the wheelchair parked next to the door to his room, maddeningly out of reach. Then, he looked to the IV next to his bed–only a slow saline drip so he wouldn’t get dehydrated in the night. Tomorrow’s–or today’s physical therapy would be in the stupid pool–with the stupid guided breathing exercises and him floating on his back, staring just as uselessly up at a ceiling and breathing as he was now–no. He could do more. He had to do more. Every second he was stuck in this damned bed he could feel Hanzo getting further away, more of the Shimada clan slipping into the cracks. He couldn’t stay in here. He whipped the sheets off of the two stumps of his legs and he huffed. Right–they tended to take his leg blades off for lights-out. Granted, he did sleep easier with them off, but it was also a precaution against him trying to get up and hurting himself. He knew he had a spare pair in the physical therapy center.

He looked at his IV stand and then to the saline drip running into his remaining organic wrist.

“Kuso…” he whispered under his breath as the thumbs of his prosthetic hand uselessly brushed up against the tape, “Come on–” he managed to peel up one corner of the tape, “Ha!” getting overexcited, he ripped off that corner of the tape, leaving the IV still in his arm. He huffed. It took him another minute to grab another corner of the tape and slowly peel it back before he took a deep breath and summoned all of his focus to keep his prosthetic steady as it pulled the needle from his arm. He brushed the little bead of blood at his wrist off on his hospital gown and took ahold of the IV stand with his prosthetic. It lifted off the ground surprisingly easily. A few twists and Genji was able to extend the IV stand to its full height. Steadying it with his organic hand, he reached across the room over to the wheelchair, wedged the hook of it in one of the spokes of the wheelchair’s wheels, and started pulling.

 The brakes of the wheelchair were in place so it squeaked and groaned across the floor as he pulled it over. It surprised him a bit how strong the prosthetic was. He set the IV stand back upright, then adjusted the wheelchair next to his bed, propped himself up on his arms and pushed himself over into the wheelchair with a heavy exhale. His heart was thumping–the urge to move was still itching under his skin, but he was aware now that, as Doctor Ziegler reminded him virtually every day, less body mass meant easier fatigue. He took the brake off and wheeled to the door, taking the little clip-on ID badge off of the pocket of his hospital gown and holding it to the door’s panel.

“Not Authorized,” the door responded automatically and he swore again. Doctor Ziegler let him wheel all over the place during the daytime, but considering the fact that he would probably be in prison right now if Overwatch didn’t scoop him up, he couldn’t really blame them for not letting him sneak out at night. He glanced over at her desk in the corner, where a computer was keeping more detailed track of his vitals. He wheeled over to the desk and rifled through the drawers.

“There you are,” he said, pulling out Mercy’s ID tag. He had noticed she kept spare key cards ferreted away in certain spots around the Watchpoint–in case she forgot hers or needed to lend one to someone who forgot theirs… always thinking of others, that Angela. He held the key card to the door panel and the door slid open. Pocketing Doctor Ziegler’s key card, he wheeled out into the halls. It would have been eerie, but he found it peaceful. He could see the mountains from his own window, but there was something a bit more thrilling in seeing the mountains roll past as he wheeled through the hallway. Their white-painted peaks were blue in the moonlight. He knew the path to the physical therapy center well. He used Mercy’s key card to take the elevator up a few levels, rolled down a few more halls bordering the courtyard, and used Mercy’s key card to open a door leading out onto an open-air walkway. The night breeze of the mountains hit him hard and a huff escaped him as he wheeled quickly across the walkway to another door, opening that one with Mercy’s keycard, and rolling through as soon as it opened, closing it behind him.

“So…” said Genji rolling forward slightly in his wheelchair, “We meet again.”

He was addressing the two parallel bars that stood at roughly waist-height in the center of the physical therapy room.

“You’re not getting the better of me,” he said, to those bars, wheeling over to where his spare leg blades were in a locker (opening that cubby with Ziegler’s card as well), “Not tonight.” He strapped on his leg blades and wheeled back over so that his wheelchair was positioned between the two bars. He took a deep breath and set one leg blade against the floor, then another, then braced his hands down on the bars and with a grunt pushed himself up and out of his wheelchair. He was breathing heavily as he steadied himself with his arms.

“Okay,” his breath was huffing, “Standing. You can stand.” He knew his arms were doing most of the work here, though, “And if you can stand, that means you can walk.” He gritted his teeth and pushed his leg forward, “You… can… walk,” he told himself. He dragged one leg forward and huffed. Okay shuffling. Shuffling wasn’t that far off. He moved between the length of the bars, putting the majority of his weight on his arms but moving forward.

“Hands forward. Hips between your hands. Hands forward. Hips between your hands,” he spoke the words as a mantra to himself as he moved forward until he reached the end of the bars, “HA!” his excitement was short lived as he realized he would have to turn around. Well that was fine. He was a pro at turning around at this poi–

He miscalculated in shifting his weight between and slipped. The floor was padded beneath him and he caught himself with his hands still on the bars, but still, he grunted. “Stupid,” he muttered, “You’re better than this.” He moved to haul himself back on his feet but found his arms shaking with weakness at this point.

“No–come on!” he tried to will more strength into his arms.

Well now you’ve done it, a bitter voice spoke inside of him, Maybe you should crawl back to your wheelchair and roll back to your room before any of the night nurses know you’re gone.

No. No, he didn’t roll all the way out here and probably put himself on probation with Doctor Ziegler and all of Overwatch just to crawl back in defeat. His hands still gripping the bar. He tried to pull himself up again but just grunted and exhaled. He took a few steadying breaths, Please, he thought, Please help me. I can’t do it without you.

He opened his eyes to see green light spiraling around his arms, filling them with strength. Controlling his breathing, he hauled himself to his feet and braced both arms on the bars to stabilize himself. He looked to the green light spiraling around him. “Thank you,” he said very softly. A dragon’s head only as big as his thumb materialized on his wrist as if to give him acknowledgement before dissolving back into the ribbons of green light spiraling around his body.

The clan elders would probably be going mad to see me stooped to using you like this, thought Genji, looking at the light, But then again, neither of us were very good at following their rules, were we? 

He pushed forward again, leg blade still dragging against the floor.

He pushed another leg forward. We can do this, he thought, Lift up. lift up one foot– 

He brought the leg blade up off the ground and his breath caught in his throat.

The door slid open and his head jerked up to see Doctor Ziegler in the doorway. Not even in her lab coat, she was in sweats and a holey university crew neck with her hair up in a lopsided top-knot. She looked like she had just sprinted out of bed—and she probably had. Genji could see the dragon’s light reflecting in those big eyes of hers as she stared at him, stunned.

“Doctor Ziegler, I can explain–” he brought his hands up off the bars and she gasped and took a few quick steps forward.

But he didn’t stumble. He looked down at his leg blades, standing balanced on the ground. His hands were shaking as the light of the dragon faded off of him.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“My comm gets pinged if someone not matching my biometrics uses my keycard. I looked at the last place it was pinged and… How are you doing that?” she looked at him up and down as he put one hand on the bars to stabilize himself.

“You did say progress was coming along much faster then anticipated,” said Genji.

“I–I know but—even in the top percentages of recovery speed for injuries this severe, it should be weeks–months before you should be able to…”

“I don’t have weeks or months,” said Genji, still bracing his hands on the bars, but grunting a little as he pushed forward, closing the distance between them.

“Genji you don’t have to–” she took another few brisk steps forward and they all but bumped into each other between the two parallel bars. Genji had been so used to looking up at her from hospital beds and wheel chairs, it caught him off-guard to have her nose so close to his at this level. He also became acutely aware of how sweaty he was from all the strain of wheeling over here and struggling between the bars with her this close. Still, he tightened his jaw.

“I do have to,” said Genji, “I have to bring down the Shimada clan. I have to k-” he caught himself.

“…Kill Hanzo?” Mercy finished the thought and he huffed and glanced off. 

“You have to let me do this,” said Genji, “I won’t know any peace cooped up in this infirmary. You know that.”

“You won’t find any peace in killing things either!” Mercy snapped at him, “The second you prove healthy enough for Reyes to put you on his team you’re going to–You’ll—”

“…do what I’m best at,” said Genji. He wobbled a bit where he stood and Mercy quickly and easily positioned herself to support his weight. “Whatever Reyes will have me do, it can’t be any worse than what the Shimada clan had me doing before.”

Mercy’s lips were pursed. “They won’t just be releasing you from my care, they’ll be putting you in with Blackwatch’s cyberneticists.”

“So I’ll get better legs than these ones,” said Genji, looking down at his leg blades. 

Mercy looked down at the leg blades as well and pursed her lips. “Their methods…” she started but trailed off.

 “Hey,” Genji spoke and she looked up at him, “I’ll be fine! I’m already fine! Look!” he brought his hands up from the bars.

“Be careful–!” Mercy started but Genji took a successful step backward from her and only wobbled a little. 

 “See?” said Genji.

Mercy pressed her hand to her forehead and pushed a few stray hairs from her topknot back. “Genji–I saw those lights earlier–I… I don’t understand what they are, but I do know last time you… brought that…that thing….”

“Dragon.”

“Dragon,” Mercy repeated, still feeling a little crazy every time she said it, “Last time you brought that dragon out, it was to keep yourself from dying. So you can understand my concern at you pushing yourself like this.”

“I wouldn’t be pushing myself if you weren’t holding me back,” muttered Genji.

“I’m not holding you back, Genji! I’m following normal medical procedure! You shouldn’t even be here! What if you hurt yourself?!”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m in a fucking infirmary, isn’t it?!” Genji snapped right back at her. He wobbled and flailed for the bar but Mercy caught him easily. They were both short of breath, Mercy, holding him secure with one arm around his waist. Genji was gritting his teeth. She was silent. 

“I’m sorry. I’m… I’m so tired, Doctor Ziegler,” Genji’s voice was taut, on the edge of breaking.

“Well, that’s why we have to take it slow, Genji, build up stren–”

“I just wanted to walk again,” Genji’s voice cracked a little. The reverberation of the cybernetics in his throat managed to catch the pitch.

“You’re doing incredibly well, Genji…” Mercy said quietly, “I know it’s frustrating and painful. But… you… you are probably the most strong-willed person I’ve ever met. And believe me, I know some of the most stubborn bastards in the world, working here. You will get better. I know you will. But we have to work together for that.”

Genji’s eyes were shining. She couldn’t tell if he was holding back tears or if it was from all of his exertion just moving around to get here.

“We…” Mercy took a deep breath, “We can use the hydrotherapy session tomorrow–well, today, to rest up before we start you on crutch training. I don’t want you straining yourself too much after all you put yourself through here.”

“Crutch training?” said Genji.

“You’ll be on your feet more often. We’ll keep a wheelchair nearby, just in case,” said Mercy, “I am wheeling you back to your room, though. You know it’s nearly 5 in the morning, right?”

Genji huffed a little, “Understandable,” he said, still leaning on her. He looked over at the wheelchair at the other end of the parallel bars.

“I can help you—” Mercy started hoisting him up.

“Wait–” said Genji and Mercy paused. Genji pushed away from her only slightly, she braced his forearms in her own.

“Are you sure?” Mercy looked at his leg blades as Genji swayed a bit to get a better gauge on his weight distribution with them.

“Yes,” said Genji.

 Mercy kept their arms braced together, she walked backwards as Genji stepped clumsily forward. They walked the length of the parallel bars together before Mercy helped Genji take a slumping seat back into his wheelchair. 

“That was good!” she said, the most cheeriness in her voice he had heard all night.

“You think so?” said Genji.

“I don’t think you’ll be using the crutches too long,” said Mercy with a smile. 

Genji smiled and eased up in the wheelchair as she turned him toward the door. “Oh–before I forget.” She held her hand out to him.

“What?” said Genji.

“Key card,” said Mercy.

Genji rolled his eyes and handed her key card over. She passed the card next to the door panel and walked him out into the night. She shuddered as a breeze hit them on the walkway, and quickly entered the other building where a long stretch of hallway laid out before them, all periwinkle in pre-dawn light.

“Hey…” said Genji, “Can you run really fast down this hall? Just… wheel me as fast as you can.”

“Genji, that is pointlessly dangerous and ridiculously immature,” said Mercy.

She took off in a run.

[plus-size-reader]

The Best Way

Damon Salvatore x Plus size!reader, Stefan Salvatore x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1607 words

Warnings: Polyamory

Summary: Reader is Damon and Stefan’s girlfriend, and when she gets turned into a vampire, the boys argue over how to handle her transition. 

———————————————————————————————————

Being caught between Damon and Stefan was less than a cake walk when you were human but the second you turned, your life was basically over.

The boys fought over every decision regarding your immortality at any chance they got, from where you would go and who you would see but especially who and what you were permitted to drink. It was just meant to be a simple breakfast but instead it had to turn into another drag out fight between brothers.

"She's a vampire, vampires eat humans" Damon barks across the table, sneering at his brother in the worst way possible. "She doesn't have too, she has a choice" Stefan fires back, his voice much calmer but steady.

You had heard this argument time and time again, and all you wanted right now was to finish your eggs in peace.

"Boys, please" you force, rolling your eyes as you stared them both down. Damon rolled his eyes back at you and stabbed his fork into the eggs you'd made, that he was adamant tasted like concrete powder. Stefan smirked, knowing that your shutting down Damon meant he was one step closer to winning.

Ultimately, it was your choice if you decided to drink or not but he wanted you to have that choice. Damon would have you drink from anyone you could find, without knowing anything about them or feeling bad about it, and that just wasn't the way.

Of course, Damon disagreed. He was worried for your health. He'd seen how hard it was for Stefan to get clean and he didn't want you to have to go through that too. Vampires were meant to have blood, fresh from the vein...that was just the way it was.

Their constant bickering left you, sandwiched between two very different, but very stubborn brothers who both loved you too much to let the other win.

You risked upsetting one if you agreed with the other so up to this point you had stayed pretty neutral, but you could feel the hunger burning you up inside...whatever you ate, it would have to be soon.

The home cooked breakfast you'd made was supposed to distract you from the hunger and blood lust but the truth was, it wasn't doing anything. It didn't even touch the itch, led alone scratch it.

And the boys knew it.

"What's wrong darlin?" Damon cooed, resting a hand on your shoulder, closer to your collarbone, while Stefan placed the back of his hand on your forehead. You were literally burning up.

It felt like your skin was on fire, almost as if you moved the wrong way you would cease to exist at all. When you opened your eyes, both Salvatore's were staring at you, worry glazed over both of their faces.

And that was the last thing you saw before you blacked out.

~

Slowly, you blinked...1,2,3 times, faint voices coming into focus in your mind.

It was clear that they were arguing over you, fighting over Stefan's suggesting to start you off on animal blood instead of cleansing your pallet later. It would keep the process clean and precise, or at least it should have. That wasn't always the case...

"Her body rejected that garbage Stef, I told you she couldn't drink from squirrels this early on"

You knew that was Damon, and you also knew that he was pissed.

His words were followed by a huff from Stefan, who had probably been listening to the same thing over and over for the past few hours.

"She'll build up a tolerance, it's better to start now than to detox her later" Stefan reminded, his own tone indicating that they were at it again.

They would never give it up.

"God, my head is throbbing" You whined, alerting the boys of your presence, holding your head in your hands in mock pain. The pain was blinding but it didn't hurt to play it up to get them to stop fighting. There was nothing in the world that mattered more to them than you.

Before you could even breath, they each had one of your hands in their own, giving it a testing squeeze to stabilize you. There was anger burning in each of their eyes, hidden beneath worry but it wasn't directed at you over the other.

"What hurts? Tell me what's wrong Kitten" Damon pleas, his voice full of something you'd never heard before...fear. You didn't quite understand the severity of your situation yet, but you would when you couldn't move due to your cells shutting down.

Vampires lived on borrowed time, using the life force of other living people to continue existing, without the loss of life, a vampire couldn't keep on living...a concept his darling brother also didn't seem to grasp.

"This is the hangover from hell" you groaned, smiling lightly up at Stefan as he moved to pull your hair up out of your face, securing it up in an elastic.

Always being practical.

"Its not quite a hangover Y/N, it's more closely related to dehydration...if you must compare it to something" He informed, his hands still lingering at the base of your neck as he tried to assess your physical state.

Stefan understood his brother's argument, and if it turned out that human blood was the only way for you to stay healthy, he would come to terms with that. It just couldn't be the only option, he needed you to know that killing wasn't something you had to do just to be with them.

Dehydration...you were dehydrated?

"How is that possible? I've been drinking non-stop for days trying to keep this headache at bay, I think we can rule that out" you tried, knowing full well he didn't mean water, it was easier to take than the truth.

It wasn't that you were opposed to drinking blood, it was just new. You had never even considered something like that before and now here they were, your loving boyfriends, telling you you'd die if you didn't.

It was clear that Damon'd had enough of the deliberation. As far as he was concerned, you were slowly dying the longer they sat here, and that wasn't going to fly with him. "You had your chance Stef, it didn't work so now it's my turn...it's the only way" he sighed, part of him hoped it would work, but the vegan lifestyle just wasn't practical for a fledgling.

He could see the look in your eyes, telling him all he needed to know about what you were thinking. "I'll help you, we can start slow" He promised, pressing his lips lightly to the corner of your mouth, his own careful seal that told you he wouldn't let any harm come to you.

And he was telling the truth.

Damon started by bringing you bags from the hospital, blood that was obtained without the loss of life, so that you could get the nourishment you needed without having that on your conscience.

Even he knew you were no where near ready enough to handle that.

It worked well enough, kept you out of trouble and made your headache go away, finally. That wasn't the real problem though, it was Stefan and his internal conflict. He had a real moral problem with Damon taking your choice, something you had to correct right away.

~

"Stef?" you cooed, peaking into the bedroom slowly, your voice cautious and slight in nature as you searched for him in the full expanse.

Slowly but surely he entered the room, coming from the closet, a new book in hand. "Everything okay Y/N?" he asked, not stopping until he was at your side, his hand falling on your waist comfortingly.

Stefan's natural state was to be worried about you, and at this point, you were doubtful anything you did would stop that.

"I'm okay, but are you? I know you didn't want me to do this" you counter, stepping backwards until your knees hit the bed, allowing you to plop down in a comfortable, awkward position.

Stef followed slowly, sitting down beside you, his eyes following yours curiously. He really couldn't get a read on how you were feeling. There wasn't a telling sign on your face.

"It isn't that I didn't want you to do it Y/N, I just wanted you to be able to decide for yourself. I don't think its our place to make you a killer, or to put that burden on you" he shrugged, dropping his shoulders heavily at the end of his sentence. This was a lot deeper in him than you had originally assumed.

Slowly, you moved across the room, only stopping at the side of the bed where Stefan was now perched. He looked so dejected, it hurt to see one of the men you cared so deeply for in pain. You didn't like it one bit.

"Look Stef, I know the whole thing bothers you but this was my choice. I couldn't feel like that anymore, it was like a hungry animal was rooting around in my skull. I couldn't take the scratching" You explain, wrapping one arm around his muscular shoulder, trying to get him to feel your pure intentions, as if that could be done through the skin.

Surprisingly enough, it seemed to work. Stefan did slightly relax at the contact and seemed to understand what you meant, after all, he had felt it too. It was so long ago now that he'd dealt with the withdraw symptoms, maybe he'd forgotten just how excruciating it could be.

Part of Stef was glad you'd decided to put it to an end, at least for a while. It seemed like, for once, Damon may have been right in your relationship.

[lordsister]

Bad Things Come In Threes (Yut-Lung Lee x Reader)

It started that morning.

In an odd stroke of misfortune, your wedding band slipped off your finger and down the drain while you were in the shower. Your distraught cry as you desperately tried to fish it out had Yut-Lung running from the bedroom, ready to defend you with nothing but his bare hands.

When you explained what happened he simply chuckled, relieved that the problem wasn't something more serious, and said that he'd buy you a new one. At your half-hearted glare, he pulled you into him, naked, soaking, and upset, and soothed you the best he could, rubbing circles into the bare skin of your back and whispering sweet comforts in your ear.

Neither you nor he had ever been the kind of people to believe in superstition and he was quick to dismiss the occurrence, but you were obviously upset and a little unsettled. Thumb rubbing the paler, sensitive skin of your ring finger, your mind drifted at the lack of metal. Something didn't feel right and it was more than just the loss of your ring. The hairs on the back of your neck refused to lay flat and the muscles in your shoulders itched with tension.

You tried to shake it off, praying nothing else would happen that day...but the world doesn't always work the way we want it to.

"Do you have to go to work today?" you asked, as Yut-Lung slipped on his shoes and coat. "Whatever you have going on can wait, can't it?"

"I wish it could, but I have some important meetings to attend today," he sighed, bringing you into a hug. "Try not to worry too much, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can."

Before he could pull away you cupped his flawless face in your hands and kissed him hard, kissed him as if it would be the last time you kissed him. "Stay safe, okay?"

Leaning forward to press his forehead to yours, his dark eyes gazed into your own as he murmured, "I will." He took a deep breath in and out, the vulnerability on his face something he was willing to show to you alone. "I love you, (y/n)."

It took a massive amount of effort to unknit your furrowed brow and give him a smile. "I love you, too, Yut-Lung."

With a wink thrown over his shoulder, he was gone.

You stared at the door long after it had closed, pressure building in your throat and the sound of its shutting echoing through your mind. Lips barely parting, your next words escaped on a whisper.

"Come back to me..."

Your nervousness refused to abate as the day continued and you forced yourself to continue with your daily life. The slightest, most ordinary sound made you jump and you had to stop yourself from anxiously texting Yut-Lung every hour.

Maybe you were overreacting, but considering the nature of the cruel, underground world you and Yut-Lung lived in you thought your concerns were justified. If anything happened to Yut-Lung....

Your phone rang, startling you from your thoughts and almost making you drop the mug of tea in your hands. For a heartbeat you thought it was Yut-Lung, but looking at the contact you found it was a number you didn't recognize. "Hel-" Your greeting was abruptly cut off as an explosion from outside rocked the floor and made the windows bulge and crack. Tea and shards of ceramic spilled across the floor as your mug fell from the counter. Instinctively dropping low to the ground, you waited for bullets to shatter the windows, for hitmen or kidnappers to invade your home, but no further attack came.

"Are you still alive, Mrs. Lee?" a static-warped voice asked from the phone discarded on the floor nearby, its screen cracked. "There's much more of where that came from awaiting you and your vile family in the future." And the line went dead.

You did your best to appear calm as the guards rushed in, checking you over for injuries and escorting you to a safer location, but you couldn't control the shaking of your clenched fists or the trembling of your lip as the attacker's words ran through your mind.

"There's more of where that came from..."

"Notify my husband of what's happened immediately," you ordered, your firm, steady voice at odds with the mad beating of your heart.

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Lee is being taken to a safe location as we speak."

Nodding, you faced forward, trying to calm your breathing. You desperately wished that Yut-Lung was there with you, but for now it was enough to know that he was safe.

Absentmindedly, your thumb strayed to your ring finger, rubbing the bare, vulnerable skin.

Warning bells blared in your mind. You'd been repeatedly assured that Yut-Lung had reached his destination safely and was under heavy guard, but it did nothing to quiet your growing fears. You needed to see him, to confirm with your own eyes that he was okay. Under direct orders from your husband, you weren't allowed to leave the safehouse you had been taken to, but you couldn't stand this any longer. You could feel it in your bones that something was very wrong, that the two bad occurrences that had taken place that day were about to be joined by a third.

It would be near impossible to sneak away from the guards and they had been given permission to physically restrain you if necessary, but you weren't about to let that stop you. When everything had reasonably settled down and your assigned protectors left you alone for a moment, you ducked away down a shadowed side corridor and stole a car from the garage.

What you were doing was reckless by all means, but you didn't care about the consequences right now. All you cared about was whether the love of your life was truly safe and unharmed.

Even though you were endangering yourself for the sake of a hunch, you prayed that you were wrong, prayed that everything was fine and that you were just going crazy. And as you approached the safehouse Yut-Lung was supposed to have been taken to, everything did seem fine, but you really should've known better.

A bullet hit one of your front tires just as half of the building before you exploded into flame. More bullets peppered the side of the vehicle, bouncing off of the reinforced glass as you tried to maintain control and managed to crash just behind the side of the building the wasn't currently burning. The car door opened and you recognized the Lee family's guards as you were unceremoniously dragged out of your seat and towards a side entrance. People were shouting and running around in disorder as you were practically carried down the hall. A gunshot sounded somewhere close by and your cheek stung, the guard that had been pulling you along dropping to the ground with a sickening thud.

Refusing to succumb to shock for even a heartbeat, you bolted, racing down in the hall in a mad dash for survival. You had barely rounded the corner before gunfire filled the previous hallway and you forced yourself to move faster.

Panic-filled moments went by and your heart beat painfully in your chest as you burst through the first door you saw, hoping that whoever was on the other side was a friend. Guns turned in your direction and a shout came to hold fire, but you didn't hear it over the roar in your ears, relief weakening your knees at the sight of the man before you. Blood seeped down your face from the graze on your cheek, mixing with tears, but you didn't care as you threw yourself into Yut-Lung's arms.

"(Y/n), what the hell are you doing here?!" he said harshly, his arms tight around you. You could tell he was angry, but it was an anger borne out of concern for your safety. "Why didn't you stay where it was safe?!"

"Sir! We've received word that the other safehouse has been attacked as well! And the teams that were deployed in the east wing have been overrun!"

"What?!"

A nearby explosion made the floor tremble and a protective arm wrapped around your waist as Yut-Lung pushed you behind him.

"We need to leave, now! Send word to fall back!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Goddamnit!" You heard your husband growl out from between clenched teeth as he ushered you towards the door, guards falling into formation around the two of you. The door opened and you were hustled out into the chaos, the sounds of combat and men in agony loud and relentless as the company turned a corner towards the back of the building and the bullet-proof vehicles parked there.

Men dropped, dead and dying, around you, but you forced yourself to keep moving, facing straight ahead and counting the steps until you and your loved one reached safety.

The two of you were close, oh so close, to making it out unscathed, but a third event to join the first two had yet to come and fate wouldn't have it any other way.

Guards covered you and Yut-Lung as you emerged from the safehouse and made your way towards a van. The back doors were opened and your husband's hand refused to leave yours as he pushed you in, following close behind you.

And that's when it happened.

In the heartbeat before Yut-Lung was able to fully get in the van a bullet somehow got through the barricade of guards, hitting the Chinese man directly in his side. If you had to describe what you felt in that moment, it was as if you had been shot too. Blinding emptiness and shock chased by incomparable pain, the kind that tears hearts open in an instant and drives even the most level-headed to madness. You didn't even register the scream that escaped your lips as Yut-Lung fell on top of you, his face twisted in agony. A few more guards jumped into the van, closing the doors and starting the engine. Someone was yelling something about a hospital, but you weren't listening, too focused on the life escaping your love.

What began that morning with the loss of your ring had come full circle.

A sticky warmth seeped through your fingers as you pressed them to your husband's stomach, desperately trying to staunch the blood. Your mind worked in desperate, adrenaline-driven bursts as you realized he wasn't breathing. Screaming for help, you started chest compressions, alternating between pressing on his abdomen and giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

"Stay with me, Yut-Lung."

1...2...3...compressions and you pressed your mouth to his, breathing air into his lungs.

"Stay with me, my love."

1...2...3...more compressions and the process began again.

"Please, don't leave me!"

1......2......3......

A/N: I actually enjoyed writing this quite a bit. Banana Fish took my heart, lit it on fire, and threw it under a bus.XD 

I do not own Banana Fish or any of its characters. The plot, however, does belong to me.

Thank you for reading~!!!

[cxramel-cat]

(SUPERBAT WEEK 2019) day 04

Chapter Title: Last Memories Day Four: Bed Sharing Rating: General Warning(s): Angst, Major Character’s Death Word Count: 1438 Summary: He knew someday, it will be their last night together. Side-note: Written for @superbatweek​​ Other link(s): AO3 | Wattpad | Fanfiction

He wasn’t supposed to feel exhausted. He shouldn’t be. However, when he glanced over at the clock and back to the man on the bed, Clark felt how heavy his heart was.

Bruce was bundled up beneath the covers. Once in a while, he would grunt out in discomfort and Clark would immediately lean forward to check on his state.

Two days ago, Bruce had a minor heart attack in the middle of the night. Clark, who panicked upon seeing the other collapsing down, had immediately rushed his husband to the hospital. A quick check from Bruce’s personal doctor had explained how the man’s heart was slowly corrupting. Ever since then, Bruce had been restricted on bedrest in the hospital until his heartbeat could stabilise.

Clark despised this. He could see Bruce’s face in the darkness, and he could tell that Bruce was suffering. He didn’t need the doctor’s comforting words about how Bruce might survive— he could hear his lover’s heartbeats clearer than the medical gadgets.

Bruce wasn’t going to survive.

This was his third minor heart attack in a month.

His heart wasn’t able to withstand the pressure.

Clark knew this day would come.

Bruce’s body had never recovered completely from the injuries he withstood in his glory years as Batman. They’d just became an illness, which had been tamed when he was young and strong. Now, as he became older and frail, those old injuries came striking as aftereffects.

“Bruce…”

Bruce’s fingers twitched under Clark’s call. The man slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his husband.

The Kryptonian looked distressed, and Bruce detested it. He knew the condition of his own health, and despite the encouragements from the doctors and the nurses, he knew that there was only a minor possibility for him to survive. Even if he did survive, he would probably have to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair and consuming large amounts of medication every day, while anticipating when the next heart attack would come.

That didn’t fit his style of life.

“Clark, please stop acting like I’m already dead.” Bruce sighed. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The remark struck Clark. As always, Bruce spoke like he had everything under control. He might have a point, but nothing could be changed.

“You’re here, for now. But tomorrow… who knows?” Clark laughed bitterly. “I’ll still be in this world the second you die, Bruce. I’ll have to watch you leave this world. And the last thing I would remember about you would be this moment – in which you’re bedridden in the hospital instead of our home.”

The smart comment took Bruce aback. He fell silent. Clark was right. This could be his last night, and he would probably die in this poor excuse of a bed. How depressing.

“Then… why don’t we sneak out?”

Clark jerked up at the suggestion. His eyes wide with shock. “Are you crazy, Bruce? We shouldn’t do that! The doctor said ̶ ”

“Oh, come on, Clark,” Bruce huffed. “You and I knew about my heart better than the doctor.”

Bruce looked tired, Clark realized. Not physically tired, but tired of being stuck in the hospital which reeked of medicines and depression, the entire atmosphere. Something about his state brought an ache to Clark’s heart, a pain he had never prepared for.

“I miss our home, Clark,” Bruce confessed. “If this is the last day of my life, I would rather spend it like any ordinary day. I want my last moment to be a wonderful memory for you, Clark. I want it to be a memory where you can look back and smile. As you said, you hate to see me bedridden in the hospital as well. Right?”

It sounded tempting. However, at the same time, it would add up the yearning of keeping Bruce by his side forever – which Clark knew was impossible. Good last memories would be everlasting, but it would cause more heartache.

Was he ready for this?

“All right...” Clark took a deep breath. “I’ll get you out of the bed. But you have to promise me, Bruce. Don’t be stubborn.”

×

He flew Bruce back to their home. For the whole night, both of them acted as though Bruce had never been to the hospital. Clark cooked whatever he could find in the fridge, while Bruce brewed their coffees as early breakfast. Then, after the hearty meals, Bruce led Clark back to the living room and put out a hand.

Knowing it was a cue to one final dance, Clark accepted it. There was no song, but a simple tune which both of the men hummed under their breaths. It wasn’t perfect in retrospect, but for both Clark and Bruce, it was enough. As they danced slowly in their cozy house, swaying along with the song they were making out of their mouths themselves—  the same piece played during their wedding, it summarized every memorable moment they had spent with each other in this house.

Bruce was humming the tune rather delightfully, even if his face didn’t express much. The dance was elegant, despite some clumsy mistakes here and there, since Clark haven’t danced for a long time after their marriage.

Clark pulled Bruce into his embrace deeper, latching his hand around the other’s man waist so that he didn’t have to let go. Bruce rested his head against Clark’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, memorizing Clark’s scent in his mind.

Clark stared at Bruce with half-lidded eyes and a wistful look. He didn’t want his husband to die. The words were itching to come out of his mouth. He didn’t want Bruce to leave him. But Clark couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. So, all he could do was smile and kiss Bruce.

“Clark,” Bruce hesitantly peeled himself from the other’s embrace. “Let’s… go to our bedroom.”

×

They lay on the bed together, their fingers interlocked. They didn’t sleep for the next few hours before sunrise, as they looked through the photographs of the past and talked about all of the exciting things that happened in the past.

It was around six in the morning, when Bruce felt his heart giving out. At that moment, the stubborn old Bat started to reminiscence on his long life. Looking back, he wondered what Clark saw in him, this decrepit shell who was no longer young and charming. Yet he’d never left Bruce’s side.

Bruce leaned closer against Clark’s chest. He was very warm, Bruce thought. Yes, this was home. This was where he would rather die — the comfort of his lover and the bed he remembers.

Bruce squeezed back at Clark’s hold, tilting his head as he stared into the Kryptonian’s gaze. “Clark.”

“Yeah, Bruce?”

“I love you.”

They were married for thirty years. They said the same words to each other every night before they went to sleep. However, for tonight, those words were not something which Bruce said casually. Those words conveyed Bruce’s feelings deeply.

“I love you too, Bruce.”

Clark smiled through his hidden sadness. He leaned forwards, letting his lips press against Bruce’s. It wasn’t a touch, as his tongue began to latch on Bruce’s.

Bruce closed his eyes. With his remaining consciousness, he indulged into the kiss as Clark was. Minutes had gone by, but Clark didn’t remove his lips from his husband’s.

Right now, time was the cruellest enemy to them. At this moment, Clark could still feel the warmth of Bruce’s lips and he appreciated every moment of it. It was just Bruce and him, in their comfy warm bed, and nothing else mattered. He felt the last of Bruce’s seconds. He tasted his blood. He felt his last breath brushing against his skin.

Until he could no longer feel the breath.

He sensed that Bruce’s soul had left his body. Clark pulled away, paused at the sight of his husband’s closed eyes. There was nothing more painful than feeling the soul of your loved one slipping out of your arms. However, Clark knew that he should feel happy for Bruce.

He had left this world without regrets. The agony was finally lifted from Bruce. There was nothing that Clark felt greater than the fact that Bruce had left this world in peace.

He caressed Bruce’s fingers in his. His gaze settled on the gold ring on Bruce’s finger, before he lifted the hand up, pressing one final kiss on his husband’s hand.

“Thank you, Bruce Wayne, for spending the last thirty-five years of your life loving me.” 

[all-hail-the-witcher]

“I don’t know, does he normally just lay on the ground like that?” sprace?

ah yes, in the actual book this line came from it was used as comic relief but no one was actually hurt, can’t say the same for this

__________

ship: sprace also some blush

genre: hurt comfort angst/ worrying

word count: 1461

warnings: physical injury, worrying

editing: not at all

__________

Phone calls from Mush always made Spots heart race. Mush was a doctor and his boyfriend Blink was a surgeon at a local hospital. Since they knew that their friend group was prone to strange accidents they had long since offered free medical services to their friends at their apartment using their stash of medical supplies that they had swiped - probably illegally - from the hospital. In exchange, they had a different couple from the friend group do their grocery shopping every month.

Spot had gotten a few calls from Mush and Blink over the years about Race. Although the calls usually pertained to a stunt Race and Jack had pulled that resulted in one of them getting minorly banged up. The only problem was Jack and Davey were out on a date that night and Race had gone out to skateboard a few hours ago.

“Hello?” Spot said hesitantly after he had picked up the phone.

“Hey there Spot,” Mush answered the phone using his calm and collected doctor voice. “I’ve got Race here in my apartment.”

Spot sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes, trying not to panic.

“Don’t worry,” Mush said quickly, he must have heard Spots sharp intake of breath. “He’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” Spot said, running into their room and grabbing Race one of his hoodies and some sweatpants. “Can I come over?”

Mush, of course, understood what he was really asking. “Yeah, you can come see him. But you can’t bring him home just yet.”

Spot stopped pulling on his shoes and stood up with a start, a pit growing in his stomach. “Why?”

“I want to keep him here overnight, cause, well….” Mush trailed off.

“Mush, tell me, please, is my boyfriend okay?” Spot begged, his hand tightening around his phone.

“He’s fine, Spot, I swear. You know I wouldn’t lie about that,” Mush reassured him, although it did little to calm Spots nerves. “He’s just still unconscious and I need to keep him here for observation.”

Spot allowed himself exactly one second to freak out before jamming on his shoes and running out the door. “Well, do you know what happened?”

“We think it was a hit and run,” Mush said calmly. “He showed up here about an hour ago, barely conscious, nearly gave Blink a heart attack, we’re not quite sure how he even managed to get to our place but-”

“Mush, I… I can’t- could you please just stop talking?” Spot said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t hear it right now.” He didn’t want to think about Race getting hit by someone and hauling himself up to Blink and Mush’s apartment all by himself, hurt and alone. This wasn’t some dumb stunt he and Jack had pulled, like that time Jack had dared him to jump in the lake in Central Park in the middle of January and he almost got hypothermia, no, this time Race was actually seriously hurt and Spot wasn’t there for him.

“Sean Conlon, you better listen to me right now,” Mush commanded him as he stepped out of his apartment building and flagged down a taxi. “Race is one of the craziest people I know. If he can survive all that junk Jack dares him to do, then I promise you, he’s going to be fine. But you’re not going to help him if you come in here freaking out, alright?”

“Alright,” Spot said, pausing to rattle off Blink and Mush’s address to the cabbie.

“Okay, good,” Mush said. There was some noise in the background. “Spot, I have to go, Blink needs me. We'll see you soon, yes?”

“Yes,” Spot affirmed. “I’m in the cab right now.”

“Good, alright I’ll see you in a few,” Mush said hanging up.

Spot stared down at the sweatshirt and sweatpants he was holding, trying to heed Mush’s advice and calm himself down before he saw Race. Mush was right, Race had done all kinds of stupid stuff, especially with Jack. He would be fine, he had to be fine. But a small part of him was still doubtful.

•••

5 minutes later, Spot was standing outside of Blink and Mush’s apartment. Blink answered the door, letting him in.

“Where’s Race?” Spot asked immediately.

“Oh hi, Spot, nice to see you too, I’m good, thanks for asking,” Blink said, rolling his eye as Spot stepped inside.

Spot kicked off his shoes, glaring at Blink.

Blink threw up his hands in exasperation. “Oh fine, he’s in the guest bedroom.”

“Is he okay?” Spot asked quickly.

“I don’t know, does he normally just lay on the ground like that?” Blink asked and Spot’s eyes widened. What was he talking about? Mush had said that Race was fine…

“Louis!” Mush yelled, coming down the hall. “Stop harassing Spot.” He shot his boyfriend an exasperated look which Blink returned with complete accuracy before leading Spot down the hallway.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” he apologized. “He had an 8 hour surgery today and only slept for about an hour before Race showed up on our doorstep.” He paused outside the guest bedroom. “Do you want the injury run down now or later?”

“Now, I guess.” Spot was really itching to see Race and make sure he was okay, but he wanted to know what he was walking into first.

Mush gave him a reassuring smile. “5 broken ribs, cut on the left thigh, cut on left temple, both of which required stitches so be careful, bruised left shoulder, and we’re monitoring him for signs of a concussion.”

Spot must have looked alarmed because Mush pulled him into a hug. “He’s gonna be fine, Spot, I told you. He’s Race, he’ll be fine.”

“I know, I know,” Spot sighed. “I just wish he didn’t get into these situations.”

Mush rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but this wasn’t him and Jack jumping out of a tree into a kiddie pool, it was a hit and run, could’ve happened to anyone.”

“I just wish it wasn’t him,” Spot mumbled.

“I know, Spot,” Mush sighed. “But it could have been so much worse.”

Spot gave a half hearted nod, he had spent the entire ride over here thinking about how bad it could have been.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Call me when he wakes up, alright?” Mush offered him a smile and walked down the hall.

“Will do,” Spot called after him. He hesitated a second, took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.

Race was laying perfectly still under the covers, his skin ghostly pale. Mush had put an IV drip in his arm - why he even had one at his apartment Spot didn’t want to know - and propped him up against several pillows. A good half of his face was obscured in white bandages.

“Oh Tony,” Spot sighed crossing the room and sinking down on the edge of the bed. “What happened to you, babe?”

Race, obviously, did not respond.

Spot lifted the covers gingerly to see what sort of damage they were hiding. Race appeared to be only in his boxers, Mush had probably discarded his clothes elsewhere while they were fixing him up. His chest was tightly wrapped in several layers of thick bandages, as was his shoulder and left upper leg, and there were several flowering bruises that Spot could see peeking out from his bandages.

After lowering the covers gently, Spot picked up Races right hand and held it tightly in his. “You scared me, Race,” he whispered. “When mush called me, I got so scared, I thought you were gone. You can’t scare me like that.” He kissed Races hand lightly.

Almost immediately Races eyes began to flutter. “Spo’?”

“Yes, Tony, I’m here.” Spot had never known relief until Race opened his eyes gave him a small smile.

“Why does everything hurt so much?” Race grumbled, grimacing as he tried to left his left arm. “What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re at Blink and Mush’s apartment,” Spot explained gently. “They think you were involved in a hit and run accident, apparently you showed up at their doorstep,” Spot paused, letting go of Races hand and moving to get up. “Actually, Mush asked me to go get him when you woke up.”

“Wait, Spot,” Race called, trying to push himself up and letting out a yelp of pain.

Spot quickly turned around, eyes wide with alarm. Gently, he lowered Race back onto his mound of pillows. “Careful there,” he whispered. “You're pretty beat up.”

“Can you just lay with me for a second before you get Mush?” Race pleaded. “I’m kind of tired, and I want to sleep.”

“Of course racer,” spot smiled, climbing next to him in the bed. “Anything for you.”

__________

let’s have a moment of silence for blush and all the junk they’ve delt with over the years

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

tag list (also, if you’ve asked to be on here and i didn’t put you on can you send me an ask reminding me cause some of them have gotten lost in the pits of my blog or in comments and it’s hard to keep track of)

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@well-the-kids-do-too

@racetrackcook

@bouncyscreamingnewsboys

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try

@ben-cook-can-cook

@the-woild-is-my-what-now

@elmer-s-s0cks

@voice-foundshoe-lost

@galaxy-trees13

@stopthe-presses

@imjusttheoutgoingsidekick

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@bencookisagod

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@hellasoulless

@stellar-alpaca

@smolcanadiangirl

@saxoph-ella

[blaithinwrites]

May the Best

Summary: A year ago Bucky lost his arm and his memory in a motorbike accident. Somehow his journey back to normality involves pretending to date the rich and troubled Tony Stark.

(loosely, so loosely, inspired by to all the boys I’ve ever loved with a lot more angst)

Chapter 1 (AO3)

Bucky was angry.

He was always angry these days. The feeling was a hot itching madness that churned under his skin. He burned with it, his teeth clenched, his muscles screaming after hours held in tension,

And Brock Rumlock seemed determined to break any sort of control he had.

Bucky punched his hands into the pockets of his hoodies, fingers curled into fists. He could imagine himself letting go, swinging up and punching Brock’s smug, sneering mouth.

Brock, unaware of how close Bucky was to knocking him down, rocked back drunkenly on his heels, gesturing wildly. Liquid sloshed out of his red cup, drops flying out to land on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky breathed in slowly through his nose, almost deaf due to the roaring inside his skull.

“Barnes! Nice to see you’re all in one piece.” Brock’s eyes dropped to Bucky’s covered right arm. Even with his hoodie, the stiff, unnatural, metal edges of his prosthetic were obvious. Brock snorted, “Well almost one piece.”

Bucky surged forward. The movement sent Brock stumbling backward, caught off guard by the sudden invasion of his space. He staggered and scowled, his eyes narrowed, hazy and bloodshot.

“Buck!”

Steve was stood at the centre of the party, illuminate gold and silver by the flickering bonfire as he waved his arms to get Bucky’s attention. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the small boy, drowned in the Bucky’s oversized coat.

Beside him, Brock snorted, “Still hanging around with that weirdo then?”

“Don’t talk about him.” Bucky hissed, snapping back to Brock. Brock was visibly wobbling now, eyes unfocused as he stepped closer to Bucky. Repulsion and irritation sizzled through Bucky at the sight.

“You know Barnes, you’re different,” Brock said, flicking the dangling cords from Bucky’s hoodie. “Did you scramble your brains when you lost your arm?” Bucky’s fist landed solidly on Brock’s nose, bone-crunching beneath his fingers. Brock crumpled to the ground, cursing and heaving in pain. Bucky stepped over him, energy thrumming through him.

“Bucky!”

The red mist that had swallowed Bucky evaporated slowly at the sound of his name and Bucky was suddenly aware of the lull in sound. Behind him the party had ground to a halt and Bucky could feel the eyes of the party goers on him, judging as they whispered to their friends.

Bucky could imagine what they were saying, James Barnes was back and he had already broken the nose of the star quarterback.

Bucky stuffed his hands back into his hoodie, ducked his head and strode away. He didn’t run but it was undeniably a retreat.

He didn’t stop until the party was a distant flicker of lights and sounds on the horizon. Bucky crouched down, dropping his head into his hands. He had found the shadowy edges of the woodland, far enough away from the illicit high school party to avoid any wandering partygoers.

“To be fair, I think its fairly common to punch Brock Rumlow when you first meet him.”

Bucky glanced up to see Steve standing above him. He was smiling but the skin around his eyes was tight, worried. Bucky was getting really of people looking at him like that.

“Coming here was a mistake.”

“Leaving you with Rumlow was a mistake,” Steve retorted. He dropped to the ground next to Bucky, sitting close enough that their shoulders pressed together. “And that one’s on me.”

“He knew there was something wrong with me. He asked if I had scrambled my brains. I just got so mad.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Pressed up against him, Bucky could hear the faint rattle in Steve’s chest. He could feel the way Steve’s chest was over expanding, heaving. Bucky hadn’t thought about how Steve had found him so quickly; he must have run flat out to catch up.

“Take your inhaler,” Bucky ordered, and Steve smiled weakly, digging through his clothes to comply.

“You haven’t changed that much,” Steve told him after a moment. “You always used to tell me to take my inhaler and you always gave me your jacket when I was too cold.”

Bucky snorted, “How long I have been doing that for?”

“Since we were toddlers.”

“Then why haven’t you learned to bring a coat yet?” Bucky demanded and snagged Steve around the neck, rubbing his knuckles into the boy’s hair. Steve choked with laughter, sharp elbows flailing into Bucky’s face.

“Mercy! Mercy”

Bucky let Steve go and a moment of perfect, happy silence strung out between them. Steve’s body was a bony comma curved against his and the lights from the party crackled before them, illuminating the dark, cloudy sky. Bucky felt the restless, anxious part of himself simmer down and wished that they could stay like this forever, just him and Steve. No crying parents or prodding doctors or cruel schoolmates.

A twig snapping behind them was all the warning they got.

“Woo!” A male voice called out in surprise. He was walking fast, running right over Steve’s outstretched legs. His arms flailed and a wild arm slapped Bucky around the head. The boy stumbled onwards, cursing as he tried to find his footing and coming to a wobbly stop before them.

Bucky jumped to his feet, hands curling up at his side, his teeth bared. For a moment he thought it was Brock but a second glance at the figure showed the boy was too young, too small to be Rumlow.

The boy held his hands up at the expression on Bucky’s face. His eyes were huge, luminous despite the darkness. He seemed amused by the entire affair. “Hey, at least half of this unexpected encounter is on you two – sitting in the dark in black clothing.”

“We wanted some privacy.”

“Uh huh.” The boy said in a way that Bucky suspected meant he was wiggling his eyebrows.

“Not like –”

“I’m not judging! Whatever floats your boat, man. Just be careful of frostbite, some things don’t recover from that!”

“We’re not –” But the boy was already stumbling off, waving lazily behind his back.

“Who the hell was that?” Bucky demanded, staring at the wavering figure.

“Oh, that was Tony Stark,” Steve said.

There was something in Steve’s voice, a note of flatness that Bucky hadn’t heard yet. He glanced down at the boy, but it was too dark to make out the expression on his face.

“Do I know him?”

“Oh, No. He transferred just before your accident, I don’t think you ever met him.”

“Huh…”

“Let’s go home. I’m freezing.” Steve said, getting to his feet.

Bucky glanced back towards the party. Tony was a tiny, barely distinguishable dark figure in the distance. The golden glow of the party haloed him as he stretched out his arms, a showman making an entrance.

“Didn’t you want to go to this party?” Bucky asked. The party, a prelude to the school year starting, had been Steve’s idea. A soft way of introducing Bucky back to his schoolmates and a way of filling him in on the people he was meant to know but could no longer remember.

“Nah, I only come to hang with my friend and here you are.”

Bucky turned away from Tony’s dramatic outline and smiled down at Steve. He nudged the shorter boy, unable to quite express the churn of relief and gratitude he felt as having Steve as his friend.

“Alright then, let’s go. Hopefully, Brock won’t remember that I punched him.”

It had been near Christmas when Bucky had had his accident.

Not that Bucky remembered much about it, just flashes of snow and falling, of pain.

His first proper memory was of waking up in the ER. He remembered the smell the most, the overpowering scent of disinfection, the tang of blood and burning skin. He remembered pain, unbearable, impossible agony radiating from his arm. He had looked over, trying to see what was hurting. Hanging from his shoulder was a mangled, bloody mess, unidentifiable as an arm.

There had been a flurry of activity around him, hands holding him down, pinning him still as he tried to fight, to get away. They had injected him, to put him under, but those few seconds had seemed to string out for infinity. Never-ending moments of pain and panic and confusion.

Bucky had known what they would do, he had heard them say amputation and he had tried to protest to beg them not to. But his throat was raw and the anaesthesia made his tongue numb.

His arm had been amputated, but that wasn’t what the doctors were most concerned about when he’d woken up. In his accident, he had hit his head and there was swelling on his brain. Bucky didn’t understand the technical terms, but he did realise that his memories weren’t right. He hadn’t recognised his family, he hadn’t recognised Steve.

For months Bucky had been confined to the hospital, carefully monitored and put through rehab for both his physical and mental injuries. Physically he had made an amazing, unpredicted recovery and some rich businessman had heard of his accident and had paid for him to be fitted with the state-of-the-art SHIELD prosthetics.

But his mind.

It had been eight months and Bucky’s memories were still half hazy, like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. He could remember people but rarely the times he had spent with them. The doctors treated Bucky like a science project, an interesting specimen they had found and captured. The last visit had resulted in a memory journal where Bucky was meant to write anything new he remembered but Bucky had stopped regaining memories months ago and to fill the blank pages Bucky had just started writing about the people around him.

He wrote about how his mother cried at night and how he hated the pity in her eyes. He wrote about Steve, wrote about how they were best friends but how sometimes he looked at Steve and wanted more than friendship and he wondered if he had always felt this way or if it was just after the accident. He wrote about his nightmares of his amputation, the panic attacks he had been having, how he sometimes looked at his metal prosthetic and got so mad that he wanted to tear the world apart.

Steve was too polite to say anything but Bucky had figured out he hadn’t been this angry before the accident. People had described him as carefree, as charming. Now they were wary,

Bucky was getting tired of feeling like he was somehow failing to be himself.