#i hate doctors being open only during work hours

[pubby-paws]

venting in the tags sorry

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[10:14 am]

(cw: pregnant reader, some cussing I think, pregnancy symptoms/discomforts)

You groaned as you continued walking. What would have been a beautiful day for anyone else felt awful for you, nearly 2 weeks overdue. The sun was shining brightly- which was making you hot and sweaty. There was a breeze- which wasn't strong enough to cool you down. The birds were singing- just more noise to piss you off.

"Come on, honey. Keep going, almost back home," Jaehyun smiled at you while his hands gripped your forearm.

You glared at him, fury in your gaze, "you better not be lying to me like the last lap around the block Jung Jaehyun."

Being nearly 2 weeks overdue was a major pain in the- everywhere. You back ached, you couldn't sleep, you felt every movement of the human inside you, you were hot, cranky, tired, swollen everywhere, and sore. You had spent hours bouncing on a yoga ball, eaten spicy food, chugged various teas, ate viral salads, and here you were, going on your- you lost count- walk since your due date. One foot remained on the curb of the sidewalk while the other stepped on the road for uneven steps to "really open your pelvis." Jaehyun was very supportive, maybe even a little too supportive, in helping you during this tough period. It was him that encouraged all this excessive movement! Lovely!

As much as you grumbled about it now, he truly had been such an angel your whole pregnancy. He had painted the nursery 4 times when you couldn't decide on a shade only to end up choosing the first color he had painted! He never complained about waking up to get you your fast food cravings in the middle of the night and even tried your weird combinations.

Finally your familiar front door came into view and you left Jaehyun's hold in favor of making your way back to your favorite spot on the couch. You sighed in relief as you settled into the cushions of the couch, the air conditioning quickly cooling you off.

"More raspberry leaf tea, honey? A date or some pineapple?" Jaehyun asked.

You sighed tiredly, your eyes falling shut. "Can I just get some peace and quiet please?" You asked quietly.

"Do you want a snack for your quiet time?"

You felt yourself getting overwhelmed, hot tears filling your eyes. You breathed deeply, trying to get yourself to calm down, but all you felt was your body temperature rise all over again as your feelings rose. Your breath trembled as you repeated, "Can I please just get some peace and quiet?"

Jaehyun scrambled over to you in a panic, "Honey! What's wrong?!"

You felt your shoulders shake as you cried harder. "I feel terrible! This baby was supposed to be out like 2 weeks ago. I feel like a hippo, I can't do anything by myself. I'm tired of raspberry tea and salads and dates and pineapple. And you always want me to be active and I hate it! It takes a lot of work for me move the way I used to with my center of gravity thrown off and an extra 30 pounds to move. I always feel the baby moving and even when I want to be alone, I'm not! I can't ever have any peace!" You ranted while hot tears streamed down your cheeks, "And every time we go to the doctor she always mentions that this kid has gotten you big ass head- do you have any idea how much damage a head the size of yours will do to my body?!"

Jaehyun looked at you in pure shock. His eyes were wide and lips pursed. "I-I-I don't know what to say." He didn't dare mention that the doctor had mentioned the high likelihood of a c-section.

"Because it's not happening to you! You don't get it and you want me to do everything the way I used to but I can't! And I really, really feel like if you try to touch me in any way for the next 3 days I will hire someone to kick you in the balls since I can't get my legs that high," you add while exhaling shakily, using the backs of your hands to wipe away at your tears.

Jaehyun cleared his throat with a decisive nod, "I'm gonna go shower. I'm closing the windows and turning down the air for you. Then I'm going to draw you a bath with your favorite bubbles. Can I get you anything else before I give you your peace and quiet?"

"I want an iced coffee, please."

Jaehyun opened his mouth to argue- you were supposed to be limiting your caffeine! Then he remembered the rant from a minute ago and decided not to. He disappeared into the kitchen, whipping up your coffee and setting it beside you along with the TV remote.

"Honey?" Jaehyun started almost nervously, "I love you."

You sipped your coffee happily, "I love you too!"

Jaehyun wasn't sure he'd get used to the mood swings that came with you being pregnant, but luckily they wouldn't last that much longer since you went into labor just 5 hours later. This of course brought a whole new wave of you cursing him and screams- but at least at the end of it all he got to welcome your beautiful baby girl.

[mrsshabana]

Patient!Gyutaro x Nurse!Reader - CHAPTER 2

Chapter 1

✦ CW: 18+ MDNI, female reader. Dead dove: do not eat. Non-con, smut, violence, manipulation, mentions of mental illness. ✦ AN: This chapter has disturbing scenes with graphic violence and non-consensual sex. Please read all of the content warnings before continuing.

✦ WC: 1,808

“Good morning Mr.Shabana,” you chime, smiling brightly, bringing a tray with his breakfast into the room.

He stares at you as if he’s seen a ghost, eyes wide, skin pale, breathing at a halt.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?” you ask as you set his food down on the table.

“I-It’s nothin’...” 

“Well, I’ll see you in a few hours Mr.Shabana, feel free to call for me if you need anything in the meantime,” shooting him another kind smile before you exit the room.

His stare drills holes into your back as he watches you leave. He hasn’t felt this annoyed by a new nurse in years. Could it be that you are mocking him?

Pushing his food to the side, he clenches his teeth in frustration. He thought he got rid of you for good. You’re the first nurse that has stayed after he pulled that antic. It always works. But why didn’t it work on you? 

He’ll have to come up with another way to get rid of you.

After the first day with Gyutaro, you vowed to do everything in your power to help him heal his physical and mental wounds. Making sure to be kind, considerate, and paying close attention to his needs. The next few days have been surprisingly pleasant. No outbursts or insults coming from him like they once had before. He still doesn’t talk to you, hell he barely even acknowledges you. But it’s better than being assaulted every time you enter his room. 

Though you still get that gut feeling that you're in danger every time you are around him. Your hair stands on end and your hands get sweaty. But for the sake of doing your job, you ignore the warnings from your body. 

And it seems your persistence is paying off. As your keen eye quickly picked up on some of Gyutaro’s behavior. He only eats pre-packaged food. Why? You have no idea. Might be from some past trauma… maybe you’ll look back into his therapy notes later. 

But it’s quite odd. Every time you bring him his meals, he only eats the pre-packaged foods included in his meal. Usually things like cookies and muffins. He can’t be getting more than 500 calories a day. 

So, you start going out of your way to buy healthier pre-packaged foods for him. Things like canned tuna, beans, and sometimes potato chips from the vending machine. He’ll only eat it if you give it to him unopened. You want to ask him why he eats like this, but you figure he most likely won’t answer. Plus you don’t want to risk setting him off again. 

Your kindness really pisses him off. But he doesn’t hate when you bring him things he’s actually willing to eat. Surprisingly, he doesn’t think much of it. He’s not impressed that you figured out a way to get him to eat, because to him there was no trick. He wasn’t trying to be difficult. It’s just how he is. He won’t eat certain things and he has specific reasons for doing so. However, he isn’t grateful either. He could care less if he starved to death. But it is nice having a full stomach for once. He’s finally starting to feel a bit better, as his strength begins to return. Though, you may soon regret it.

.・゜゜・　♰　・゜゜・．

“Mr. Shabana, are you ready?” You knock on his door and peek inside to see him sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Mm hm,” he nods and stands. His lanky frame towering above you as he follows you out of the room. 

Today is Gyutaro’s hydrotherapy session, recommended to be given once every two weeks by his doctor. 

And since Gyutaro has been deemed to be a danger to himself, he must be supervised during the session.

You can feel him staring at you as he follows you to the sauna room. You swear his gaze is so spiteful that it causes you physical pain. Every part of your body is screaming at you as you unlock the door and open it for him. But surely you’re just overreacting right? It’s been over a week now with no incident at all. You finally feel as though you are making progress with him, and you aren’t willing to let go of that progress just because of a gut instinct. 

“Alright, remove your clothes and I’ll start the bath,” you say as you walk over to the hydrotherapy tub.

He doesn’t respond, but you hear shuffling behind you. Assuming that he’s getting himself ready, you get on your knees and adjust the temperature of the bath. Watching as the water slowly rises and steam fills the room. 

Dipping a finger into the water to check the temperature, it feels pleasantly hot. 

“There we go,” you smile, “Your bath is ready Mr.Sha-” You begin to turn around but in the blink of an eye your face is engulfed in heat. It all happens so fast, you don’t register what’s going on.

All you know is you can’t breathe, and it’s too hot. 

Holding on to the edge of the tub, you try to push yourself up and out of the water. But a strong grip on your neck is preventing you from doing so. 

You finally begin to realize the gravity of the situation when you feel Gyutaro’s body pressed up against you. He keeps his hand firmly grasped around the back of your neck, holding your head under the water. And with his other hand he roughly lifts up your skirt and pulls down your panties.

“Stop strugglin’ or else I’ll break your fuckin’ neck,” Gyutaro growls under his breath. 

Not only does he hate you because he finds your kindness incredibly annoying, but he also hates you because of how horny you make him. Seeing you in that short skirt every damn day. He gets hard every time you enter his room, and his throbbing cock becomes so persistent that he has to jerk himself off or else he’ll be in a bad mood the entire day.

How dare you tease him like this. Well he’ll show you. 

He’ll get to kill two birds with one stone. Satisfying the aching in his pants, and getting rid of you for good. There’s no way you’ll stay after this.

Cackling, he pumps his cock a few times, readying himself at your entrance.

“This is what you get for always teasin’ me…” he grunts as he forcefully shoves his cock inside of you. It takes a few thrusts to bully himself fully inside, as you aren’t wet at all. 

You feel like you’re being ripped in half, it stings and burns as he forces his thick cock into your tight hole. 

Water fills your mouth as you scream under the water. You panic, and use all of the strength you have left flailing your arms behind you, trying to push him away. But he’s too strong, and he’s between your legs so you can't kick him either. 

“Stop it, slut” he shouts, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. 

After a few thrusts, you start to get a little wet. Not enough to make this comfortable for you, but enough that he’s able to plunge easier into you. 

Having been in an Asylum for so long, he’s never had the pleasure of sex before. And even though it’s something he’s fantasized about many times, he never could have imagined how good it’d feel. The way your pussy tightly clenches around him, he feels like he’s already getting close. 

Your face begins to lose color, and you stop struggling. The abuse on your pussy is dulled by the pounding in your skull. 

Gyutaro notices you’re beginning to lose consciousness. He really doesn’t care about you but if you died now, he’d never be able to fuck you again. And he’s already getting addicted to the feeling of being inside of you… it’d be such a shame if this was the only time he’d be able to use you.

He reluctantly pulls out of you, grabbing you by the hair and pulling your head out of the water. 

Instantly you cough up a bunch of water and gasp for air. A devilish grin spreads across his face as he watches you struggle to breathe. 

Water and saliva drips down your chin as you open your watery eyes. Your vision is blurry but you can make out his erect cock throbbing in front of you. No wonder it hurt so much, not only is he long but quite girthy as well. Decorated with black spots and large veins, there’s a ring of blood at its base.

He grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him, “Well since you so kindly opened your mouth for me…” he grabs the base of his cock and forces you to take him into your mouth, “Might as well put it to good use.”

You cough and choke as he thrusts into your mouth, his leaking tip ramming against the back of your throat. Digging your nails into his thighs, trying to push him away to no avail. 

You hate to admit it, but you much rather have him abusing your throat than your pussy. But it doesn’t help that you’re still struggling to gasp for oxygen. Your lungs burn but you try your best to calm down and breath through your nose while you endure the torture. 

It doesn’t take long before you feel his cock twitch and his thrusts get sloppy. Just wanting this to be over as quickly as possible, you suck as fervently as you can. Twirling your tongue around his tip, taking him as deep as you can. 

“F-fuck…” he moans, cock twitching as he coats your throat in hot sticky cum. He tightly grips your hair as he rides out his high. 

Tears roll down your cheeks as you swallow his cum, not daring to look up at him. It tastes foul, salty, and bitter. It’s thick as it slowly slides down your throat.

He hisses as he pulls out of your mouth. A long string of saliva connecting from your swollen lips to the tip of his cock. 

He stands up and looks down at you. Grinning as a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. You can’t help but cry under his gaze, feeling completely humiliated and ruined. So disgusted with your own body that you don’t even feel like yourself anymore. 

“Pathetic whore,” he spits, his saliva landing on your cheek. Grinning in satisfaction as he pulls up his pants and puts his shirt back on. 

Without another word he walks out of the room, the heavy metal doors slamming behind him. Leaving you gasping for air on the floor, sore and bleeding from his abuse. 

Taglist: @gyusimp @sterzin @sassysaxsolo @gh0stedddd @cry-baby-stuff @hutchilli [If you asked to be added to the taglist and weren't, it may be because your tag didn't work when I searched for it. Or because you don't have your age listed on your blog]

[spectersgirl]

Taking Care of You (Life’s Like This p.2)

Harvey Specter x Reader

The original request prompt was “Harvey specter takes care of his pregnant wife” and this is part two!

————

Harvey paced restlessly inside his office, his worry evident. You’d had a rough time with morning sickness throughout your whole pregnancy, but from what he had seen, today was particularly bad. He’d watched you run back and forth to and from the bathroom all morning. He knew you’d feel much better if you’d let him take you home, but he also knew you well enough to know that you’d worry about your workload the whole time if he didn’t take over some of it.

As you hunched over your desk, battling nausea, the door opened, and Harvey stepped in silently. He moved to your side, rubbing your back as you leaned into him, feeling completely drained. He hated seeing you like this.

"Hey, you okay?" Harvey's concern was palpable.

You managed a weak smile. "Just another rough morning, Harvey. I’ll be fine.”

The look on your face was enough for Harvey to make his decision. With a firm nod, he guided you out of the chair, supporting you as you stood. "Nope. Let's get you home."

“Harvey, I have work to do.”

He shook his head at your protest.

“And you won’t get anything done anyway if you keep having to run to the bathroom to get sick.”

You sighed, knowing he was right.

Back at home, Harvey took charge, settling you on the couch with pillows and a blanket. He disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing with ginger tea and saltines, the only thing you could keep down on days like this.

"Here, baby. This should help." he assured you, kneeling beside you, holding the cup as you sipped slowly.

"But your case..." you worried.

"I've got Mike on it, he can handle it." Harvey reassured you. "Right now, my only case is taking care of you."

He stayed by your side, tending to your needs while you dozed off, the stress of your pregnancy visible on your exhausted face. As you slept, Harvey worked quietly, taking calls, reviewing documents, anything he could do for your cases so you didn’t get behind.

You woke a little while later, still nauseous but eager to at least read over the documents you’d taken home with you in preparation for the next day.

"You should be resting" Harvey insisted.

"I have work to finish," you protested weakly.

Harvey shook his head. "I've got it. Your health and our baby come first."

With a loving smile, you relented, allowing yourself to relax while Harvey took care of some of your workload.

Weeks passed, you had good days and bad, and Harvey was so patient with you through it. From late-night cravings to sudden emotional outbursts, he took each moment in stride, his only focus and priority being taking care of you.

One evening, you found Harvey sitting in the nursery, surrounded by baby clothes and toys. His expression was a mix of determination and tenderness as he carefully organized everything into the various pieces of furniture he’d put together.

"You don't have to do all this alone, you know," you said softly, watching him.

He looked up to you, a smile tugging at his lips. "I want to. It's for both of you."

You walked further into the room, sitting in the rocking chair and cradling your bump.

“You’re gonna be such a good dad.” You said with a soft smile.

“You think so?”

“I know so. You’re already the best husband to me, I know when the baby comes you’re going to be amazing.”

As the months passed, you both attended doctor's appointments, marveling at the ultrasound screen as you watched the baby moving around. Harvey held your hand tightly during these moments, his eyes gleaming with pride and love.

The bond between you and Harvey grew stronger as time went on, which was something you didn’t even think was possible. You’d spent hours discussing names with him, imagining what the baby was going to be like, debating whether it was a boy or a girl since you’d opted to keep it a surprise. Together, you picked out a few gender neutral names, opting to choose one once you had the baby.

You couldn't have asked for a better partner than Harvey, who seamlessly balanced his career and the difficult task of caring for you. As your due date approached, his dedication for you and the baby only intensified. He was constantly on standby, making sure you always had everything you needed.

When the day finally came that you were in labor, he never left your side. Calm and encouraging, he held your hand through every painful contraction and allowed you to squeeze as hard as you needed to as you pushed.

The first cries of your baby sounded throughout the room, and the look of pride and love on Harvey’s face was one you wanted to remember forever.

“Congratulations mom and dad, you have a beautiful, healthy baby girl!” The nurse exclaimed.

You looked up at Harvey with wide eyes and a huge grin.

“You were right, we have a baby girl!” You said excitedly. You had thought it was a boy the whole time, while Harvey was firmly team girl.

As you held the tiny new addition in your arms, watching Harvey's eyes well up with pure joy, you knew he was going to be an amazing dad.

[em-dash-press]

Tons of Reasons Why Writer's Block Happens

Lately I've seen a few posts on social media platforms being shared that are (supposedly) quotes from well-known authors. The quotes generally stick to the theme of: writer's block isn't real! No worries! It's just in your head!

Like...

That is so unhelpful for me and if I had seen those people (again, supposedly) saying that when I was much younger and newer to writing, I would have thought something was wrong with me.

So here are a few reasons why writer's block IS real for many people and what you can do about it. (Warning—this is a long text post but I tried putting all suggested solutions in bullet points and have lots of resource hyperlinks!)

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Tired

Sleep affects the entire body. There’s no question that when I don’t get enough of it, my brain isn’t working as well as it normally does.

Let’s start this section with what everyone should acknowledge—mental health conditions absolutely prevent people from being able to use tips like Just turn the lights off earlier! or Think calming thoughts while taking deep breaths!

If those work for you, great. Fantastic! But if they don’t, your doctor is the best person to get advice from. They can work through symptoms with you to rule out conditions like depression and insomnia so you get the best help possible.

Besides your mental health, there are a few other ways you might not be able to fall asleep or stay asleep:

You enjoy drinking afternoon coffee (most have a half life of 3-5 hours, so the caffeine doesn’t actually leave your system for a long time!)

You have a diet soda with your lunch or dinner (most diet sodas have the same amount of caffeine as a half cup to a whole cup of coffee)

You eat a midnight snack or a dessert after dinner (the extra digestion works against your body’s circadian rhythm and prevents a normal sleep cycle)

Potential Solutions

Swap your afternoon coffee/sodas for caffeine free sodas instead

Eat high-protein snacks shortly after or during dinner (protein keeps you full longer so you can eat them earlier in the evening)

Follow some tips from sleep experts with the Sleep Foundation

You Can’t Write Because: Your Routine Is Changing/Has Changed

When my life has gone through routine changes, my creativity has always slowed (if not stopped altogether). Switching from high school to college, from college to graduate life, and even from apartment to apartment is a big deal. My writing slows when I change jobs, see my friends less/more often, and even when the holidays come and go.

If you think this might be a repeat experience in your life, my best advice is to give yourself grace. Your brain is only trying to conserve energy and process everything that’s going on. 

Potential Solutions

Resting and gently reattempting to write without expectations of what will come out of that writing session is sometimes the best thing to do until life settles back down.

If you can’t come to peace with changes, I’d suggest talking with someone. You can access help for free at:

7 Cups of Tea (chat with volunteer listeners and professional counselors)

Get in-person or virtual therapy through Open Path ($30-60/session with a one-time membership fee; aims to close the financial gap that keeps people from accessing mental health professionals).

Check out other budget-friendly therapy options recommended by the medical community.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Grappling With Indecisions

Indecision is a creativity killer for sure. I’ll address a few ways I’ve experienced it and how I know my friends have struggled with it:

You only have a few story ideas and don’t want to commit to any of them in case some idea comes along that’s more interesting (I hate leaving unfinished drafts too!)

You wonder how you should format your story and never start because you can’t decide (it might be the point of view, past/present tense, etc.)

You can’t nail down how a character looks, what sets them apart, what drives them.

You can’t decide on a theme because there’s so much you want to write about.

You don’t know how long the story should be, so it never starts.

Potential Solutions

Try new things to come to peace with unfinished drafts (I have a folder on my computer specifically labeled “Unfinished Stories” because I’m more comfortable when they have a home).

Practice writing one page within your story’s world from a different point of view or tense. See what feels most natural or authentic to you.

Do character research by looking at pictures of people on stock photo websites or Pinterest.

Story length is often found after someone just starts writing. You’ll naturally find a rhythm and come to a conclusion at the right length for your first draft. Revise/add if needed!

My most important tip might be—

Give your gut 24 hours (go with your gut on whatever you’re trying to decide, then set your work down. Come back in 24 hours to see if you feel as strongly about your creative decision).

You Can’t Write Because: You’ve Got Too Many Ideas

When there are too many creative ideas in your brain, it leads to anxiety and potential writer’s block. I know I’ve had the fear that I’ll commit to the “wrong” story and another one will come to life in my mind, but then be gone by the time I’m ready to write it.

Potential Solutions

Write all of your ideas down in a list (bold, highlight, or star whichever ones seem super promising at the time so they stand out when you’re ready for a new project)

Try stream of consciousness journaling for 30 seconds (set a timer! Whatever you write will reveal with emotions/thoughts/issues are on your mind and may create stronger stories with similar themes)

Write 500 words of a story idea (or another number you’re comfortable with; if you don’t like what you write, you know you can move onto the next idea).

Flip a coin (assign one idea heads and the other tails—then flip a coin or use a coin flip generator).

Number your ideas and use a random number generator to pick one for you.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Not Eating a Brain-Supporting Diet

I’m not here to tell anyone how to structure their diet. Everyone’s body is different and what you eat will change throughout your life. Your doctor and/or a licensed nutritionist are the best people for that job.

However, I can give you a few pointers that I definitely didn’t learn until way later than I would have liked:

Iron: if you don’t eat enough iron, you can feel super sleepy or stuck in brain fog. Iron comes from meat, but it also comes from these foods like spinach, watermelon, beans, whole wheat bread, and many more!

Vitamin D: vitamin D enhances brain function, especially for people with major depressive disorder. Drink that delicious Sunny D juice from your childhood or get it from foods like salmon, tuna fish, dairy fortified with vitamin D, and egg yolks.

Omega-3s: omega-3s are also known as fatty acids, which improve communication between brain cells by fortifying their membrane health. Fish is an excellent source of fatty acids, but you can also enjoy more omega-3s from foods like chia seeds, kidney beans, walnuts, and fortified foods. 

You Can’t Write Because: Your Responsibilities Are Too Important Right Now

As you get older, you’ll have varying responsibilities that sometimes you have to take care of on your own. Maybe you’re taking on new roles at your job or you’ve just become a parent. You might move into a new home and have a long list of projects to finish before you settle in.

Sometimes responsibilities are acts of self-care during challenging times. Those are all valid. It’s okay to step back and take a break if your situation is going to drain your energy until your routine becomes normal or you get used to the responsibilities. You’re a writer even when you’re not actively writing. Nothing can take that skill and passion away from you!

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Uninterested In Writing

It’s totally normal to sometimes feel like you’re completely uninterested in writing. That feeling might last for months or even years. I went through a good 5-6 year period where I didn’t think I’d ever write again just because I didn’t care to.

That may indicate that you’re in a period of self-growth. You might be discovering new parts of yourself that result in new hobbies you’d rather spend your time doing. That’s okay too!

Possible Solutions

If that’s not the case for you, ask yourself—are you still reading? My writing always grinds to a halt when I’m not reading a good book. Ask a friend what was the last book they couldn’t put down. Find out which books are currently taking the internet by storm and find them at your local library.

You can even research “Books like ___” and insert the title of a book that’s incredibly special to you. I promise there are going to be articles looping it in with other titles that you might enjoy more than branching out into a totally new genre.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Bored of Your Story

Life can get boring. People are sometimes boring. Stories get boring too.

It’s okay to step back from an idea if you groan at the thought of spending time in that world or with that character. You can always come back to see if the feeling has passed.

Possible Solutions

If your story is still dull when you come back to it, what can you add or change about it? You might need a plot twist to get things going in a new direction or another character to shake up existing character dynamics.

When all else fails and you still don’t care to continue writing what you’ve got, go ahead and scrap it. Consider what you’ve learned from the experience and move onto your next creative adventure.

You Can’t Write Because: Your Story Is Stuck

Maybe you’re writing a story and it reaches a point in the plot where you don’t know how to move your characters forward. They may have gotten themselves into a sticky situation you can’t think a way out of or the plot device that was working isn’t relevant anymore. Getting stuck is a form of writer’s block, but it’s not permanent.

Potential Solutions

Give your protagonist a different goal at the start of the story or a new goal after accomplishing their last one.

Add a new character (they’ll naturally make different choices than your protagonist and challenge them in various ways that are relevant to your themes).

Pull the rug out from under your protagonist (maybe they think they’re an incredible parent, but overhear their child complaining about them to a friend during a sleepover while walking past the living room).

Other Resources

12 Techniques for Getting Un-Stuck

17 Ideas to Continue Writing Your Novel When You Get Stuck

6 Methods to Unstick Your Story

You Can’t Write Because: Your Characters Aren’t Real Enough to You

Sometimes characters don’t feel real enough and it makes writing about them boring. Everyone encounters this eventually! Think about if your writer’s block is happening because you don’t enjoy spending time with your characters.

If that’s the problem, it’s time to make them more real. There are a few ways to do that! (If you try these solutions or others like them and your characters are still uninspiring, it might be time to walk away for a while/permanently.)

Potential Solutions

Give them something inspired by a real life person (add a personality trait that you love about your best friend, hate about a public figure, want in yourself, etc.).

Add a few flaws (perfect characters don’t feel real because no one is perfect)

Give them a face (this goes back to character research—save a stock photo that looks like your character or draw them. Post the picture on your wall where you write or in your phone for continual inspiration.)

Rework your plot (maybe you’re not starting them at the best possible point in their journey—start with an action scene, shift events around, or add a new twist that challenges their growth in some way.)

Complicate their relationships (maybe they have a fight with their best friend, clash with their teacher, form different opinions than someone they admire and learn from that experience, etc.)

Other Resources

9 Signs Your Main Character is Boring

5 Ways to Make Your Characters More Realistic

4 Bland Character Problems and How to Fix Them

Easy And Effective Ways To Make Your Characters More Memorable

You Can’t Write Because: You’ve Set High Expectations for Yourself

Your creativity will stop feeling as natural if your expectations of yourself or your writing are too high. 

When it’s time to write, where do your thoughts go? You may need healthier expectations if your thoughts center around:

Getting every word or scene perfect

Knowing exactly where the plot goes in every chapter

Worrying that your story won’t be receptive to future readers

Wondering if you’re the right person to talk about a certain theme

Making your characters or story the first of its kind

It’s good to challenge yourself, but not with unreachable expectations. Give yourself room to try things, to possibly fail, to learn from your mistakes. 

Every chance you have to write is another opportunity to hone your skills by learning from the experience.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Burnt Out

Burnout happens all the time, creatively or otherwise. Creative minds can push themselves too hard, just like you can throw too much of your energy into work or school. 

See if you’re experiencing any of these common symptoms of burnout:

Constant exhaustion, even after a “good” night’s rest

Headaches

Changes in appetite

Frequent illnesses

No motivation

A general negative outlook on life

Feeling trapped

Loud thoughts of self-doubt or failure

Not feeling satisfied with things that used to bring you joy

Feeling alone

Starting unhealthy coping mechanisms

Isolating yourself from people, even your loved ones

Potential Solutions

Talking with a therapist is a great way to handle burnout. Here are the resources for budget-friendly therapy again:

7 Cups of Tea (chat with volunteer listeners and professional counselors)

Get in-person or virtual therapy through Open Path ($30-60/session with a one-time membership fee; aims to close the financial gap that keeps people from accessing mental health professionals).

Check out other budget-friendly therapy options recommended by the medical community.

I have absolutely been the person who can’t afford therapy. I get it. You can also get some mental health help with these resources:

Self care apps—I use the (free) Finch app every day to redirect negative thought patterns!

Burnout recovery strategies recommended by health care professionals

Burnout resources recommended by the American Psychiatric Association (APA)

You Can’t Write Because: Your Writing Routine Isn’t Working Anymore

I used to write short stories literally every day while I was in grade school. Being stuck in classes for 8 hours a day was great for my creative writing because the sounds of the teacher talking, whiteboard markers writing, and students asking questions became background noise that tuned me into my stories. (I highly recommend paying attention to harder classes though 😂)

When I had fewer daily classes in college, my writing basically stopped. After I graduated, the environment that helped me write most easily completely disappeared.

It took a long time for me to learn why I had writer’s block—I wasn’t experimenting with my writing environment.

Potential Solutions

Try changing when you write to see if it’s a time issue. Get up earlier in the morning, write after eating lunch, or sit down after you’ve completed your responsibilities for the day.

Switch your scenery. You might write better at a coffee shop, the library, a park bench, your living room, your bed, or even your bathtub.

Change what you’re hearing. Try writing in complete silence. Use noise-blocking or canceling headphones and listen to lyricless music. You can also try background noises that often help people focus, like:

Background Noise—Coffee Shop

Background Noise—Tavern Fireplace

Background Noise—Rain Shower

Background Noise—Cozy Fireplace and Rain Shower

Background Noise—Forest Sounds

Background Noise—Blizzard Sounds

Background Noise—Interior Plane Cabin White Noise (The pleasant hum of a plane cabin is what I often write to—weird as it admittedly is!)

Background Noise—Christmas Music From Another Room

Background Noise—Lo-Fi

Ambient noise apps

Background noise apps

You Can’t Write Because: You Don’t Feel Motivated

Your story may not feel as captivating as you thought because you’re not as motivated with this one. Does it have a centralized theme? You can always search for your theme or pick one while figuring out what your story is supposed to convey to readers.

Some popular themes are:

Coming of age (discovering something about yourself/the world/both)

Survival

Corruption

Power

Courage

Love

Heroism

Death

Prejudice

You may find your motivation by writing about something very personal to you or something you want to tell other people. Write to the person in your life who needs to see something from your perspective or needs to learn from another person’s perspective.

Write about the thing you can’t stop talking about. Write about what you’re going through or want to figure out. Even if your story goes from a novel to a short story to flash fiction (anywhere from 4 words to 1,000 words), you’ll likely find it easier to write.

Other Resources

10 Most Popular Literary Theme Examples

Story Themes List: 100+ Ideas to Explore in Your Novel

100 Story Ideas Categorized by Theme

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Doubting Yourself

Self-doubt can pull the emergency brake on your brain. You may not think you’re good enough to write a story the moment you think of it. Self-doubt can come into play after you start writing or just before you finish a manuscript.

No matter when it hits you, it can cause another form of writer’s block. You’re the only person who can figure out where that doubt stems from and address the root of the problem, but everyone can practice daily positive affirmations to encourage themselves. With daily practice, you’ll chip away at your writer’s block.

While talking to a mirror or writing in a journal, tell yourself things like:

Writing is my hobby because it’s part of me.

I’m always a writer, no matter how often I actually write.

My voice and ideas deserve to exist.

Every word I write makes me better at writing.

No matter what comes out of my brain, stories are always my artwork.

Other Resources

Positive Affirmations for Writers

60 Affirmations for Writers, Authors, and Creatives

77 Positive Affirmations for Discouraged Writers

336 Affirmations For Writers Who Needs Support​

60 Affirmations for Authors, Writers, and Poets

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Literally Out of  Ideas

Ideas come and go. Sometimes your brain just can’t think of anything. There’s nothing wrong with your creative spirit—you may just have other things going on (like one or more of the above challenges).

When you really want to write something but can’t come up with anything off the top of your head, use a few generators to get things started.

Potential Solutions

Prompt Generators

Writing Prompt Generator by Genre

Prompt Generator

Random Prompt Generator

Story Generators

Plot Generator (Twists, First Lines, and More)

1 Million Plot Combinations

1000s of Plot Ideas Generator

Character Generators

Character Generator 

List of Character Generators (Zombies, Fairies, Ghosts, Murder Mystery Victims, etc.)

Character Profile Generator

Plot Twist Generators

Plot Twist Idea Generator

Randomized Plot Twist Generator

Either/Or Plot Twist Generator

—

I hope this helps someone feel more at peace with their writer’s block, even if you can’t think your way through it yet. Sit with the uncomfortable feeling and it will gradually lose its power over your creativity.

You’ll start writing again sooner than you think. 💛

[mixterglacia]

Dumb IHNMAIMS AU Ideas

As always, feel free to use. Tagging me is appreciated, but not necessary!

(this are intentionally silly)

Tumblr AU:

AM and Ted run Tumblr accounts and are CONSTANTLY fighting. AM is a morally repugnant person that always goes for the low blow while also acting like he's in the right. (Has thousands of comments on his kiwifarms thread) Ted appears to be in the right but had a huge callout post exposing him for being a fraud/terrible friend. (Has a small kiwifarms thread.) Ellen regularly steps in because ironically Ted is the one who doesn't know when to quit, and AM gets smug satisfaction out of being the bigger person.

Tiktok AU:

Ellen: Beloved pillar of the community, funny, deeply insightful takes on media, helps break down engineering problems to make them easier to understand. Ted: Booktok, regularly in fights with AM, tends to downplay his own contributions to his issues, gets people excited about reading, brand deal with some local bookstore. AM: Booktok (strong rivalry with Ted) , absolute menace, has very well nuanced takes that are ruined by his shit attitude, doesn't want to be idolized, has a dedicated group of haters that know how much he hates being babied/idolized and they keep a block speedrun record, gets banned constantly (often due to justifiable mass reporting. Once for smoking on live. Several for bullying others, but particularly Ted who he considers a hack.) Benny: doesn't make much content, simple photo slideshows, reposts his whole fyp. Gorrister: a shockingly successful page about whatever strikes his mind on trips, doesn't know much about Internet safety so he's been doxed a few times (Ted catches wind and helps him out), often makes small but sweet tributes to his wife. Nimdok: actively avoids Tiktok.

Furry Time! (Don't be shocked, I myself am a furry) 

AM: Something like an aeromorph or other anthropomorphic form of transportation (I'm not certain what train!sonas are generally called but i imagine he's a train). Ted: Irish Wolfhound. Ellen: Fossa. Benny: Belgian Malinois. Nimdok: Rook. Gorrister: American Alligator 

Theme Park AU:

AM is only depicted through silhouette and a voice on a loudspeaker. He owns the park and has for over 50 years. Ted is a recent hire, working as a janitor. Ellen works the ticket booth, but often helps Benny with repairs after hours. Benny is a handyman, keeping the rides in working order along with the other amenities. Gorrister runs one of the food stalls, often gossiping with Benny and Ellen during their breaks. Nimdok runs one of the carnival games, a ring toss.

Obligatory Coffee Shop AU:

AM is an unpleasant regular. Despite his attitude, Ted looks forward to his daily visits. Not because he likes AM, but because he finds their arguments entertaining. AM owns a dive bar down the street, visiting before opening his shop. Ted is a charming barista, regularly noted as a customer favorite. He can be a bit overbearing. Ellen owns the repair shop next door, Gorrister being one of her employees. Both of them prefer taking their coffee to go. Nimdok is a doctor at a local hospital. He visits at odd hours, often drifting off until his pager goes off and he has to hurry back.

[gtlurker]

My first ever story (and post) on this site! It's tilted inhuman and is about a girl named isabelle who do to genetic experimention is shrunken to four inches tall, it's also going to be told In multiple povs from each charater. the story can be a bit graphic and has a few mentions of suicidal thoughts so warning for that, otherwise I hope you enjoy.

Chapter one.

Isabelle

The first time I felt real hope in my life also ended up being the last.

I was nine when my father brought me and nine other kids to his lab where he and his team of seventeen scientists and three assistants researched the limits of the human body. I foolishly thought it was my parents showing an interest in something I was passionate about.

Science.

I used to love science. I loved taking the time to figure things out and learn about whatever I wanted in my own experiments, I loved picking things apart to find out how they work, and I loved the amazing feeling I got when I finally figured things out. But after i learned what it's like to be on the other end of the stick, whats its like to be picked apart for someone else to figure out how i work,

I hate science.

I pull my knees to my head as I try to conserve the very little warmth my cold cell provides. My eyes squeeze shut as the door creaks open, someone’s here. Nobody should be here, they only left two hours ago. I'm given six hours and thirty minutes of sleep every night after the experiments. Why is someone here? Please, god don't let it be another scientist wanting to play doctor with my tired body during the only break I'm allowed to have. I don't hear footsteps. It must have been the wind playing tricks on me. The familiar click of the door shutting once again gives me half an ounce of comfort as I realize I'm alone again. Everyone else is gone. I press myself against the cold metal bars of my cage and take in the room around me, the same overly clean environment that I've grown used to over the last ten years.

A sigh escapea my lips as I take in the sight of the table they use to perform their sick experiments on me, they hadn't even bothered to clean up my blood. No doubt they left it there to torture me further. The sight of my blood on the table only reminds me that I will never escape, not even death can free me from this fate. Death cannot save me if death cannot reach me. I close my eyes again and go through a mental checklist of what they haven't taken from me yet. my memories, my voice, my thoughts. My memories, my voice, my thoughts. My memories, my voice, my thoughts. I repeat in my head over and over, reminding myself that no matter what else they take, I will always have those three things, even when I wish I didn't. envy is the only thing that comes to mind when i think of the other nine kids who were here with me, partly because they don't have to live with their memories and their thoughts, and partly because they even got to die.

The first of us died of blood loss, so they altered our cells so that we don't get the luxury of bleeding out.

The second caught fire due to the actions of a careless scientist, so made it so our skin can't be burned.

The third had died from being pumped with too many drugs at once, so they made us immune to overdose.

The fourth had died of sickness, so they made us immune to that too.

The fifth had attempted an escape, so they diminished our size down to nearly nothing. He had died during the tests to see if that would work.

The sixth had suffocated herself with a pillow, so they replaced our lungs with a robotic system that produces a different type of oxygen that only our bodies could handle.

The seventh had been crushed to death, so they made our skeletons able to withstand the weight of buildings.

The eight had died of cardiac arrest, so they made our hearts fifty times stronger than any human heart should be.

The ninth had been dissected and stolen for parts.

I am the tenth. The result of how far you can push the limits of the human body, and that is only until they find a way to break me too. I glare at the pile of blankets in the corner, there covered in too much blood and grime to be even considered as usable. They refuse to wash the blankets, which we regrettably used as tourniquets to tie off our wounds back when all this first started. The smell of them used to be nauseatingly disgusting, and I almost wish I could get sick from being around them.

Maybe if I was sick theyd give me a bit of a break. I doubt it though, they would more likely find a way to make me immune to that too. I wonder how long it's been since I have had the cold or even a stomach flu. I wonder how long it will be till I get sick again. I wonder how long it will be until I die, or if I even will die. I used to think It was my right as a human being to have a proper death outside of a place like this, but would I still have a right to leave this lab if I no longer have my mortality? I shake my head as if I'm shaking off the existential crises before it can fully develop.

“Atlas, did you even bother to make a layout of the building?”

an annoyed whisper cuts through the cold silence, And a pit of dread starts to build in the bottom of my empty stomach. It wasn't just the wind. I get up too quickly in an effort to try and get a look at the intruder of the lab. This person is quiet, I haven't even heard their footsteps once since the door shut. Why are they so quiet? Could they save me? Could they hurt me? Where are they? My eyes scan the room as I try to find the ghost person that's sneaking around the room. It's better if I find them before they find me. Almost like the ghost I keep comparing them to, they've hidden themselves perfectly. Away from the sight of the four cameras in the corner of the room, and away from my view. I can't make out if there's one or two ghosts in the room with me. I heard the man say a name, but I only heard one voice. What if there's no one here at all? What if after ten years of living in agony and suffering has finally broken me?

If the ghost-man is nothing but a figment of my broken imagination, then it wouldn't hurt me to talk to him, to call out for help. It would ease the neverending loneliness that this place has instilled in my mind. But on the off chance that it is a real person they could be dangerous and here to hurt me further. Stepping away from the edge of the cage I go over the pros and cons of calling out to him. Pro, if he's fake he doesn't pose a threat. Con, if he's fake then I've truly lost it and will have know way of knowing. Pro, if they're real then they could save me. Con, if they're real they could be scientists. A sigh escapes past my lips, and at the same moment a beaker falls and shatters on the glass tile. A strong smell of bleach invades the room and the ghost man lets out a series of curses in an accent that sounds almost french. Why would my mind make him french? I shake the thought from my head almost as quickly as it forms, what's important now is that i can finally see him. He's in all black with a hood covering the upper half of his face, but I can see a small scar on the left side of his jaw. He's obviously very muscular even with his slightly baggy clothes, and is holding a pistol tightly in his left hand. Why is he armed?! I watch in paralyzed fear as the man looks up and meets my eyes. His brows furrow as confusion takes over his features, he lowers his gun to his hip and takes a cautious step towards me, I return his gesture by also taking a step back. He takes another, more curious step forward, and I again step back. We continue this back and forth until he's at the edge of my cell and I'm pressed firmly against the furthest wall of my cell.

A tense silence fills the room as we both stare at each other intently, watching, and waiting for the other person to make the first move. A chill breeze passes through the room and a shiver racks my tiny body. This man is huge next to me. I've grown used to being man handled and grabbed by scientists whenever they wanted to use me for their sick experiments, but for this ghost-man to stand in front of me and really let me take in his size, its a new form of torture that none of the scientist could even hope to come up with. What if that's what this is? The scientist sending in someone to fuck with my head when they ran ran out of ways to deystroy my body. “Que diable…” the man breaths out a sigh as his shoulders slump with what seems like defeat. What the hell does “que diable'' mean? He's definitely real if he's speaking a language I don't know. He almost seems just as and if not more confused than I am. His eyes shift to the rotten pile of blankets sitting in the corner of my cell. And I feel heat rise up my neck and dye my face a subtle shade of pink from the embarrassment of this stranger seeing me in such a disgusting state. I straighten out the threadbare dress that hangs loosely on my body, before attempting to fix out my hair. I don't know why I care about how a stranger views me, maybe it's because he's the first person who's seen me in years who wasn't actively trying to hurt me. I flinch as he raises a hand that's bigger than my whole body, and gestures to me, more specifically my height. “Are you. . . Isabelle liana?” he asks, his thick french accent breaking through the silence, and my breath hitches in my throat when he says my name. I press myself up further against the wall, the cold metal pressing against my skin. He knows my name. Why? There's not a chance he's here to do anything good if he already knows who I am. I shake my head no, lying in the hopes that he'll leave and not hurt me. “Do you know where I can find her?” he asks, and i shake my head once more, i don't think he has good enough eyesight to catch the fact that i'm trembling with fear of what he may do if he finds out that i am in fact, isabelle liana. “Why, why do you need her?” My words are rushed since I'm not sure how well my vocal cords work now since I've only been using them for screaming the last year. His eyes widen and his face shifts to one of shock and slight confusion at my sudden refound voice, and it takes him a few moments to regain his confusion. He rolls his head as he contemplates the way he could phrase things. Does he think I am a child? “Her brother hired me to find and rescue her.” he explains, shrugging his shoulders and leaning down to peer into my cell once more. I shudder under his heavy gaze, but as his words sink in, hundreds of thoughts rush through my head, one playing louder than all the rest. “Damiens okay?” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth, and the regret buries itself deeper in me as a smile spreads across his face. “You know damien?” he asks, a playful hint to his tone,

“Yes.” i respond.

“And you're not isabelle?” he asks.

“I am not.”

“How do you know damien?” he crosses his arms and leans on his left hip. “Family ties.” I confidently replied. “Like a brother?” He raises his eyebrow. “Yes.” I cross my arms in return. “So you're isabelle?” he tries to suppress his smirk. “obviously.” fuck. I don't know if it's sleep deprivation or hunger, but this guy is starting to annoy me more than scare me. A grin plays on his lips as he chuckles quietly, I flinch at the sound and take a step back. My eyes go wide as he pulls out a small pair of dull looking scissors out of the large bag he wears on his hips, but they dont look like normal scissors. They're bigger than his hand and seem like they should be stored in a tool box.

“What is that?!” I shout, now fearing for my safety once again with this ghost man. “Chain breaker.” he replies blankly, before raising it to the lock of my cell. It moved to the far back corner, getting as far away from his chain breaker as I could. “I'm ronan, in case you were wondering.” he tells me as he swings open my cell door. I gasp, the only barrier between him and my safety easily stolen without a care in the word from him. Tears brim my waterline at the thoughts of everything he might do to me if i dont get away from him. But I can't. He's blocking the only exit with his way too big hand that is now entering my cell. Oh my god his hand is in my cell. My eyes snap shut and I put my hands up defensively. “NO!” I cry out, and a small sob escapes my throat. the warmth that's been radianting off his hand leaves my cell. And I almost want it back. Sobs rack my pathetically small body as he just watches, I bet he's just struggling to contain his amusement at seeing me like this. He was lying about knowing damien, he guessed i had a brother and this is all just one big trick set up by the scientist to torture me even more than the already have. My sobs soon turn to wails as I realize that I indeed am going to die without seeing my brother again, Ronan, if that even is his actual name was just sent here to bring false hope just so they could rip it away one last time before they finally kill me. And that's only if I still can die, they might bury me under ground and leave me there to starve or dehydrate, whichever comes first, then study the effects it has on my inhuman body. No one will reprimand these awful people for everything they've done to me and the nine others who lost their lives in this place, they'll bring in a new batch of kids and do the same to them, and all our deaths will be in vain. I flinch when I feel a finger begin to gently pat my back, and I jump away from it. “Hey, hey, calm down, stop screaming.” he says, as he puts his hands up so i can see there not doing anything to hurt me. “I already told you this but i'll tell you again, your brother, Damien Liana, hired me, Ronan Moreau, to rescue you from this place.” i shake my head no, not wanting to believe a word he's saying, this man has managed to go from terrifying, to annoying and back to terrifying, and i don't think i could trust him even if i tried. I flinch hard again when I notice that he's slowly extending his palm towards me. But it stops before it even enters my cell. “Please, I promise I'll get you out of here safely.” he says, and i wipe some of the never ending tears off my cheek. “Pinky promise?” I whisper, and he chuckles at my childish request. His hand shifts so that he's holding out his pinky finger to me. I hesitantly hold mine out as well. Because of the immense size difference we can't interlock our fingers, so we just touch the tips together. It may not seem like much, but it means alot to me that he was willing to go along with such a childish request for the sake of my comfort. This time, when he reaches out a hand for me to climb onto, I take a deep breath, and step onto the hand that's offering me the freedom that I have been praying for.

[renecdote]

give some tree the gift of green again

Summary: 

Buck doesn’t make a habit of it.

Really, he doesn’t. If he adds up all the times he’s had stitches in his life, it’s not even two full hands of fingers. And the ones for the surgeries on his leg? He’s pretty sure those don’t count.

So the way Bobby sighs and says, “oh, kid,” when the doctor leaves the curtained off cubicle of the ER to get a suture kit is completely uncalled for, in his humble opinion.

For BTHB: stitches

[Read on AO3]

Buck was seven the first time he got stitches. He remembers being scared, holding Maddie’s hand tightly, his father a stoic presence in the corner of the room. He remembers ice cream afterwards, and takeaway Chinese, and not seeing his mother all night.

A few days into healing, the stitches started itching like crazy and he woke up one morning covered in blood because he accidentally tore them open scratching during the night. It’s something he’ll never forget: waking up to his mother’s shriek when she came in to get him up for school. Her hysteria turning quickly to snappish anger, his father brusque as he told Buck to get in the shower, Maddie gentle as she towelled his wet hair dry.

“I didn’t mean to,” he told her, chin wobbling.

“I know,” she soothed, her gentle smile reassuring. “You’re not in trouble, Evan, mom was just—surprised.”

It’s funny, the way you remember things that happened when you were a child, all blurred edges and bittersweet reflection. Hey remember that time you woke me up for school and thought I was dead— is the start to a childhood story that might be laughed about in other families, or at least talked about, passed around at family holidays and pulled out for embarrassment at birthday parties. But Buck can’t even remember having a birthday party past four years old—if that one isn’t just a false memory anyway—and the Buckleys definitely never shared family stories.

(They never really did family at all.)

There used to be a scar on his arm where those first stitches were, but it was already faded by the time he inked over it with a tattoo at twenty-one. A few years after that, it was gone completely, just one more invisible scar, but Buck’s fingers still know where to trace to find that invisible line. He thinks they probably always will.

***

The first time he needs stitches as a firefighter, Hen takes him to the ER. She’s calm and professional and Buck misses Maddie so much he wants to cry. Thinks he might cry, actually, eyes stinging and lip bitten so hard to hold back tears that he splits it open and tastes blood when he licks them.

“Cap’s going to send you home,” Hen says when they’re back in the battalion truck, three new stitches above Buck’s eyebrow, her eyes focused on the road. “I’m telling you so you don’t think it’s anything personal.“ Because I know what you’re like, she doesn’t add. “You’re hurt, he’s going to send you home.”

“I’m fine,” Buck says, but it’s a flat protest. He winces at every flash of the streetlights as they pass.

Abby has been gone for two months, hasn’t replied to his messages in two weeks, and he has started dreading going back to his—her—empty apartment after every shift. He’s supposed to be working two extra twenty-fours covering for C shift this week, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that says Bobby is going to spontaneously find someone else who needs the extra work more.

Hen’s right: Bobby sends him home.

Buck only sulks about it the whole drive back to the apartment, then for a few more hours after that, then again when he wakes up late the next morning with a vice-like headache and finds that he still hates the whole situation.

There’s a part of him that wants to call Maddie, to say “I’m okay but I got hurt at work,” and let her make him feel better. He wants to say, “I miss you,” and hear that she misses him too. He wants to hug her, wants her to cup his cheek the way she always used to when she was reassuring him. He wants, and wants, and wants.

“How’s your head?” Hen asks when he walks in for their next shift.

The headache is lingering, but Buck smiles, all bravado. “Never better.”

Chimney snorts where he’s buttoning up his shirt.

“Did you actually rest like you were supposed to?” he asks, and it’s something more than skeptical. Something almost… brotherly.

“I rested,” Buck replies, rolling his eyes. He hides a wince in the shirt he’s pulling over his head, careful to lift the neckline so it doesn’t drag over his stitches. When he gets it off, Hen and Chimney are both looking at him, matching expressions on their faces. Buck frowns. “What?”

Chimney raises his hands innocently.

Hen says, “You look tired, Buck. Are you sleeping alright?”

Not really. Buck bites his cheek, rummaging through his bag for his LAFD t-shirt.

“I sleep fine,” he answers, and his smile doesn’t wobble. “Is Cap cooking breakfast?”

They let it drop.

***

It’s Chimney who finds him in the bunk room later, quiet in the way he opens the door and slips inside, finding his way through the room without turning on the lights.

“Here,” he says quietly, and the ice pack he settles over Buck’s head is almost instant relief.

Buck sighs, shaky, and keeps his eyes closed in the darkness.

Chimney lingers, uncertain, then sits down on the edge of the bunk, his boots scuffing against the thinning carpet.

“I know we’re all shit at asking for help,” he says, and it’s hard to tell in the darkness, with his eyes closed under the ice pack, but Buck doesn’t think Chimney is looking at him. “But you know you can, right? Ask us?”

Buck’s chest feels uncomfortably tight. He sat beside Chimney’s hospital bed and held his hand, once, and until this moment, he’s not sure he really believed that Chimney would do the same for him. He’s not sure what to do with it, knowing that he would.

“It’s just a few stitches, Chim.”

The quietest of sighs.

“Right. Just a few stitches.”

Cold slides down his neck and Buck shivers, hands curling in the blanket. Chimney shifts, the faintest impression of warmth that might be a hand, and Buck thinks, for a moment—but no, Chimney is just standing up.

“Cap says you can stay behind next call,” he offers, and unlike yesterday it does sound like a suggestion, not an order. “You can start dinner prep if you’re up to it.”

His footsteps retreat, as quiet as they came, and the door is closing before Buck remembers to say, “Thanks.”

He’s not sure if Chimney hears him.

***

Eddie is the one who takes him to the hospital the next time he needs stitches. He drives faster than he should, and sticks close by Buck’s side, a hand on his back as he says magic words like “laceration” and “blood thinners” that get them through the ER doors with hardly any wait.

In hindsight, it all feels a little dramatic.

At the time? It feels a little like Eddie saves his life.

(He googles it, the way he googles everything: how long does it take to bleed out from a cut on your calf?

Answer: hard to say, but blood thinners definitely speed the process up.)

Afterwards, Eddie takes him home again—to his own house, that feels more like home than any place Buck has ever lived in—and he sits on the Diaz couch, sunk low into a borrowed hoodie, watching Tarzan swing through the jungle.

“You can watch something else, you know,” Eddie says when he sits down beside him, pressing a warm mug into Buck’s hands. “Chris isn’t here, it doesn’t even have to be PG.”

Buck blinks at the rippling surface of his tea.

“You don’t like Tarzan?”

Eddie’s face does something that means no, he doesn’t like Tarzan, but he’s not sure if he’s going to offend Buck by saying so.

“I was more of a Little Mermaid guy,” he shrugs, sipping his own tea.

“Huh.” Buck imagines a little Eddie Diaz singing along to Under the Sea and can’t help grinning. “My favourite was Mulan.”

Eddie nods, like this makes sense. Maybe it does.

“Maddie took me to see it when it came out,” Buck tells him. “We went after school one day and I remember I ate so much popcorn it made me sick, and mom and dad were mad that I’d ruined my appetite with junk food before dinner, but Maddie sat with me until I felt better and sung the songs she could remember from the movie.”

He thinks that’s how it happened, at least. He remembers being sick, and his parents arguing with Maddie, and her singing True To Your Heart, but the memory pieces are broken, jagged where his mind has fit them together. Maybe they don’t go together at all.

“Maddie always took care of you, huh?”

Eddie is smiling at him, but there’s something a little sad under the softness, a little I see you, I see what you’re not saying. Buck shifts, uncomfortable, trying not to grimace at the pull of the stitches in his leg.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I mean, you took care of your sisters, right?”

Eddie hums. “Never had to drive them to the hospital, though.”

He reaches out and taps Buck’s knee, just above the neat row of stitches.

“Still not sure why you wouldn’t let me call her today,” he adds. “You know she’s going to find out when you call out of work tomorrow anyway.”

Buck huffs. “That was a suggestion—”

“Which you’re going to follow.” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

Buck huffs again, sinking lower, chin disappearing into his hoodie.

“That’s what I thought.”

Eddie is smiling when he reaches out to tousle Buck’s hair.

Or. Buck’s thinks that’s what he means to do, but his fingers just push back through the mess of curls, too gentle to do any damage. Then he tugs up the sweatshirt’s hood, pulling it low over Buck’s face, so that he can barely see to blink up at Eddie, hardly daring to breathe. It feels like a second, a minute, an eternity; one breath, then the next, then the next.

“Long day,” Eddie says, something low and fuzzy in his voice now, everything soft and muffled past the curtain he has pulled over Buck’s head. “You wanna nap?”

Buck wrinkles his nose. “Are you treating me like your child? I think even Christopher is too old for nap time, Eds.”

He can’t see Eddie’s smile anymore, but he can hear it.

“Suit yourself, I’m going to nap.”

And he stands then, holding out a hand. Buck sees it floating at the bottom of his obscured hoodie vision and frowns. He hands over his tea, automatic, and Eddie takes it, then holds out his other hand, fingers wriggling when Buck still doesn’t move.

“You coming?” he asks.

“You just don’t want to watch Tarzan,” Buck replies, but he takes Eddie’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Lets himself hold on a bit longer, too, because… he wants to. And Eddie’s right, it has been a long day, he can blame it on the ordeal if Eddie tries to pull away.

But Eddie doesn’t pull away. He just squeezes Buck’s hand, so close and yet so far from the way he squeezed his shoulder in the hospital waiting room, and waits until Buck is ready to take another step.

***

Buck doesn’t make a habit of it.

Really, he doesn’t. If he adds up all the times he’s had stitches in his life, it’s not even two full hands of fingers. And the ones for the surgeries on his leg? He’s pretty sure those don’t count.

So the way Bobby sighs and says, “oh, kid,” when the doctor leaves the curtained off cubicle of the ER to get a suture kit is completely uncalled for, in his humble opinion.

“Wasn’t my fault,” Buck mumbles, thick and bloody through the gauze held against his lip.

“I know.” Bobby squeezes his leg. “Do you want me to call Eddie?”

Buck makes a face, then winces at the way it tugs at all his cuts and bruises. He hasn’t got a good look at himself in a mirror yet, but he knows it’s not going to be pretty. It’s a miracle his jaw isn’t broken, but his nose definitely is.

(The real miracle, Buck didn’t tell the doctor, is that he somehow hasn’t broken his nose already.)

“I’m not going to be able to kiss him, Bobby,” he groans.

Bobby looks like he can’t decide whether he should be amused or sympathetic, his face caught somewhere between both. “Your face will heal, Buck,” he says, patient. “I’m sure you’ll cope.”

He might not. Tomorrow is supposed to be date night, and they had plans for all the things they were going to do without Chris for an evening. Plans.

“Tell you what,” Bobby says, as the doctor comes back in. “I’m going to step outside and call Eddie, then check in with the rest of the team. You’ll be okay here?”

Buck would smile if it didn’t hurt so much. “It’s just a little needle, Bobby. It’s not even you it’s going in.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Smartass.”’

He does make a quick retreat though, the curtain swishing shut behind him.

“Right,” the doctor catches Buck’s attention, smiling kindly. “You ready for this?”

No, Buck thinks, but he just closes his eyes and waits for the first stitch to go in.

When it’s done, there really aren’t that many of them: two in his lip, three more in his cheek. Safety glasses saved his eyes, at least, and other than the broken nose, most of the damage is superficial. Really, it could have been worse.

He’s had worse.

Buck is still dreading the recovery though.

“Eddie is coming,” Bobby tells him, reappearing after the doctor has left again, leaning over Buck while he lies on the bed and tries not to move his face.

Buck just hums; he never doubted Eddie would come.

“You don’t have to wait,” he tells Bobby, but Bobby is already sitting down on the stool the doctor left beside the bed, making himself comfortable.

“Hen and Chimney have things handled at the station,” he replies. “I’ve got time.”

Buck’s dad stayed that first time he got stitches, but he wasn’t really there, not the way Bobby is now. The way Bobby has always been.

Speaking hurts, but Buck pushes through it to say, “Thank you.”

Bobby shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me, Buck.”

He does. Not just for staying, or for pulling him out of that building—for everything else, too. For being so much more than a Captain. For that first time, even, when he sent Buck home but told him to call if he needed anything and he meant it.

Bobby must catch something on his face because he leans forward to squeeze Buck’s hand.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says again, firmer.

And these days, Buck can almost believe it.

***

By the time Eddie arrives, the hospital is ready to discharge him. Buck is out of the gown and back in his dusty LAFD shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed while he tries to decide whether bending to put his boots on is going to hurt. Answer: probably, but surely not more than anything else does at the moment.

“Hi, honey,” Eddie murmurs, fingers gentle carding through Buck’s hair before settling at the back of his neck, thumb at the corner of his jaw as he takes in his face. “This looks like it hurts.”

Buck shrugs, one shouldered. Painkillers have taken the edge off now, but everything still feels tight and achy, like one wrong muscle twitch is going to crack his whole head open.

Eddie kisses his forehead, soft and lingering. It’s a tiny thing, it shouldn’t even help, really, but it does.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Desperately,” Buck answers, and it’s a hissing, lisping mess of a word through his swollen, stitched together lip, but Eddie doesn’t laugh at him. He just kisses his head again—a quick, almost absent thing this time—then bends to help him into his boots.

“I texted Chris,” he says on the way out. “Gave him a heads up that you’re hurt. I think ice cream and feel better movies are in your future.”

It hurts, but Buck can’t help smiling.

“Tarzan?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I think we can skip Tarzan this time.”

Buck kind of loves him a stupid amount—incorrect Tarzan opinions and all.

“I want to kiss you,” he sighs in the car, watching the sunlight turn Eddie’s lashes golden, a little concentrated wrinkle between his brow as he checks the traffic before turning onto their street.

Eddie glances at him, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You want to kiss me?”

“Shut up,” Buck complains, biting his cheek to stop his own smile from pulling at his stitches. “I mean it.”

He meant it the first time too: sitting in his Jeep in Eddie’s driveway, turned sideways to watch his best friend’s eyes flutter closed as he clutched the coffee Buck handed to him, their shift bags slung into the backseat, side-by-side like they belonged there together.

“I want to kiss you,” he said then, without really meaning to.

And then he’d said it again, when Eddie had frowned, still half asleep, sunrise painting his face in yellow and pink: “I want to kiss you.”

And Eddie had nodded, put down his coffee, and said: “Okay.”

Then he’d kissed him.

Buck wishes it could be that simple now.

Eddie parks in their driveway, then picks up Buck’s hand and lifts it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“I wish I could kiss you too,” he says, squeezing Buck’s hand. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

You won’t, Buck wants to say, but right now he knows it’s not true. He twists their grip, lifting Eddie’s hand in turn, and ghosts his lips over his boyfriend’s knuckles, more intention than touch. Eddie smiles.

“We survived five years without kissing each other,” he points out. “I think we’ll last one week.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. But that doesn’t mean Buck has to like it.

“I’m never getting stitches again,” he swears. “Never.”

Eddie just shakes his head, fond. “Okay, baby.”

(And when Buck does, inevitably, need stitches again, he kindly doesn’t point out the fact that with all his bad Buckley luck, a resolution like that never really stood a chance.)

[samcrosfaith]

SKIN AND BONES 𝟏𝟏| 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖙

The hours at work didn't seem to pass. Every minute felt like an hour, increasing Tessa's restlessness. Tessa had never smoked as much between shoots and during her breaks as she did today.

Besides smoking almost a whole pack, Tessa also checked her phone every five to ten minutes. There was no new message from Cal. It just had to be him, anything else wouldn't make sense. Little whore gave him away, revealing that he was behind the text and the attack on Tara.

God, Tara would hate her once she found out she was responsible for the attack. But she had to tell her the truthᅳ and everyone else too, especially Happy. This was something she couldn't keep to herself. In order to protect themselves, the club had to know about this, no matter how uncomfortable it made the Laney woman feel.

Taking a deep drag of her cigarette, she held the nicotine in her lungs for a while, slumping her shoulders. Why couldn't she finally just live her life? First she had to be afraid of Cal, her sociopathic ex, and then she was controlled for years by her father who was using Sawyer as leverage. Now it was CPS that she had to worry about. And to top it all off, the cherry on top so to speak, Cal came back into her lifeᅳ stabbing her friends for fun.

Why didn't the universe allow her to be happy for once? All she asked for was to live her life with her son in peace, maybe even with Happy in the future. And now, now all of that was at stake because everyone was in danger because of her.

A painful hiss fell from her lips as Tessa dropped her cigarette, being too absorbed in thought that she didn't notice how the stem had already burned down to the end and would now leave a small burn on her finger.

"Hey sweety." At Lyla's soft voice, Tessa wiped around, forcing a smile on her lips as the blonde came up to her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you okay? You seem off track today."

Worry flashed in Lyla's eyes, worry for her friend and Tessa felt miserable not being able to tell her what was going onᅳ yet. First she wanted to talk to Happy before she sat down at a table with Tara, Lyla and Gemma.

"I'm just a little tired", she waved her friend off with a strained smile, rising from the bench she had been sitting on. "And what happened to Tara..it's not fair."

"Shit, right. " Sighing, Lyla scratched her eyebrow. "I think I'll head over to her place and bring her some take out, make sure she's doing okay."

"I think she'd like that", Tessa assured, happy that Lyla would also check in on Tara. Still, Tessa was worried as hell about her two friendsᅳ the only real friends she ever had. "But just be careful, okay?"

"I will." Lyla scrutinized the younger woman, gently nudging Tessa's arm. "Hey, don't worry. Some idiot probably just tried to attack her because he thought a doctor must've a lot of money in her pocket."

With a tight-lipped smile, every muscle in her body tense, Tessa nodded. "Yeah..you're probably right about that."

The raven-haired woman felt Lyla's intense gaze on her, her blue eyes staring into her soul, as she noticed that Lyla was skeptical. But then the blonde placed a kiss on her cheek and clutched the handles of her bag.

"Okay, I'll leave so I can spend a few minutes with Tara before I have to pick up Piper", Lyla let her know, already on the way to her car before she turned around again. "You know you can talk to me if something bothers you, right?"

"I know, Lyla", Tessa replied, gratitude evident in her tone. "The same goes for you."

"That's what friends are for, right?" With a smile, Lyla patted the roof of her car with the palm of her hand before slipping in to make her way to the Teller House.

ᚔ

After her shift and finally back in her clothes, Tessa pushed open the large, heavy doors of the porn studio, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

Five hours may not have been a long working time, but at some point it became tiring to walk half-naked or even completely exposed through a former warehouse, from set to set, only to constantly have to perform uncomfortable poses for the perfect picture.

But it was a job and Tessa was grateful for it. The good feedback also boosted her self-confidence. For the first time, the twenty-one year old felt really comfortable in her bodyᅳ with or without clothes.

Reaching into her pocket, where half of her arm disappeared, Tessa looked for a lighter, groaning in annoyance when it took her forever to find the little thing. When she finally found one, she brought the flame to her cigarette, but looked up as the awful feeling of being watched returned.

Lowering the lighter, she removed the cigarette from her mouth, staring across the street. A little further away there was a car parked that suddenly seemed quite familiar to her. Since about two weeks the same car was always parked in a different parking lot near the studio.

Tessa had never thought about it until nowᅳ to be honest she hadn't even noticed how often the car was parked here. Until she got that text earlier. Since then she has been paying attention to every little detail and being more attentive than ever. Only then it dawned on her.

With shaky breaths, she rushed over to her old BMW, wasting no time in getting in. Swallowing, the Laney woman threw her bag onto the passenger seat and, without hesitating, started the engine and rounded the corner with squealing tires.

Tessa gave Gemma a quick call, asking her to watch Sawyer for a while longer, which turned out to be no problem at all. Gemma loved spending time with her grandkids and Sawyer. Then she also called Happy and asked him to come home because she really needed to talk to him.

And, as if they had planned it, they both arrived at Happy's house almost at the same time. Just a moment after her, Happy parked his bike next to her car and met her as soon as she got out.

His grim, stoic expression was tinged with slight worry as he looked down at her. "You okay? Did something happen?"

"I'm okay", she let him know quickly as she began to look around nervously, checking to see if the car had followed her. "But something happened", she added quietly, almost in a whisper. "We need to talk, Hap."

With a curt nod, Happy placed a hand against her back before gently pushing her towards the house, taking a look around himself. Tessa didn't seem so nervous and paranoid for no reason and Happy wanted to know why. If someone threatened her, which he suspected, they should prepare to lose the fight because he would kill that person before they could even try to run.

ᚔ

The Laney woman lowered her gaze in embarrassment as Happy's clenched fist came down on the table, her phone sliding across the table with Cal's text still open after she was completely honest with him. The tension in the air was thick, so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"The fucker won't live long enough to get close to you or Sawyer", Happy said with a low growl, a hint of madness in his gaze that sent a shiver down Tessa's spine. "You're sure your ex is behind this?"

The last time she saw him so angry, so full of madness and rage, was when she stormed into the clubhouse that one Friday night a little over two months ago and told him what her father had done to his mother.

"Yes", she murmured meekly, her self-confidence long since gone. Fumbling with her fingers, Tessa swallowed quietly. "He always called me little whore when he was angry", she told him with a shrug of her shoulders, something sad and disturbed in her tone. "He loved calling me thatᅳ anything that sounded humiliating."

"You know that I'm serious about him dying, right?" Happy's intense gaze was on her, boring into her soul while the muscles in his jaw twitched. "Until he's no longer a threat, you won't go anywhere alone. Andᅳ", he stood up, exiting the kitchen for a moment, leaving Tessa wondering.

But her eyes widened as Happy came back and placed a black Glock 19 right in front of her.

"You'll carry that with you in the futureᅳ always, you hear?", he said, putting emphasis on the word always, his look meaningful, showing her that he wouldn't discuss about this. "And if he comes close to you, you shoot without a second thought, Tessa."

"Happy, Iᅳ", her voice trembled as her breath hitched in her throat. With caution, as if she could release the trigger with just a touch, she ran her fingertips over the weapon. "I've never used a gun before, I have no idea how it works."

"I'll teach youᅳ it's not as hard as some might think, little girl", he rasped, something stubborn mixed with anticipation flashing in his dark eyes. "I just want to know that you can defend yourself if you need to and that the same thing that happened to Tara doesn't happen to youᅳ or worse."

The Laney woman uncertainly raised her gaze when Happy's hand slipped onto her shoulder, standing so close to her that she could smell the fabric softener on his clothes that she had been using regularly over the last few weeks. Before she moved in, it was a typical male householdᅳ which was okay, but she had added a few things anyway.

"Tara's going to hate me, right?" Her voice cracked at her question, tears welling up in her eyes. The guilt she felt towards Tara was eating her alive. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me, you have to believe me."

"Why would you even think that?" With a grunt, he sat down in the chair next to her, shaking his head as soft sobs filled the kitchen. "No one's goin' blame you for this, Tess."

Despite the occasional tear rolling down her cheeks, a small smile tugged at her lips as he called her Tess, apparently a new nickname for her besides little girl. And she liked it. "But it's my ex, and he's only here because he wants revenge."

"Yeah, probably", the SAA said with a shrug, reaching for her hand, which he clasped in his to stop her from tearing at her long, black fingernails any further. "But you can't help it that your ex is a fuckin' psychopath, little girl."

"I'm so scared, Happy", she finally admitted, her voice no louder than a whisper as another tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a black streak from the mascara and eyeliner on her pale skin. "He'll hurt my baby. Or maybe even ᅳ"

Without even saying it, one sob followed the next, heartbreaking sniffles filling the kitchen as she wiped her nose and cheeks, desperately trying to stop her emotional outburstᅳ without success.

"I'm sorry", she choked out, probably never feeling so ashamed in her life.

Having such a breakdown in front of a man like Happy, who now probably thought she was weak, was nothing she was proud of. Then, when he leaned forward and placed a hand against her cheek, wiping away a few tears with his thumb, she felt an immediate sense of comfort and safety.

"Never apologize for things that don't need an apology, woman", he taught her, giving her his famous iron stare. "You don't have to be scaredᅳ I won't let anything happen to you, or Sawyer. You're familyᅳ and as you already know, I cross some lines to protect the people I care about."

Sniffling, she listened to his words, her nose stuffy and her eyes bloodshot from the many tears she had shed in just a few minutes.

Looking straight at him, Tessa took another deep breath, trying to get her voice under control as Tara's words from earlier swirled around in her mind.

'Talk to him and get to know him better.'

"Murder doesn't seem to be a problem for you", she stated matter of factly without sounding judgmental. It was frightening, yes, but on the other hand the whole thing also made her curious. Happy wasn't a bad person, that was for sureᅳ but he still seemed to have blood on his hands. "I want to know more about you. What you do, who you really are. Iᅳ"

Happy cut her off, looking at her closely. "I don't think you want that."

"Yes, I do", she replied softly, now placing her hand, which was not yet clasped in his other hand, on his. "Because I like you, really like you. And I just need to know who exactly I'm slowly falling in love with."

Her cheeks were glowing, blushing hard, as it had taken so much braveness for her to confess to him that she was slowly developing feelings for himᅳ if she hadn't already. Despite the shame she felt, this time she didn't look away from his now intense gaze.

"Okay", Happy simply grunted, leaning back in his chair. Of course he heard what Tessa had said, but he had to process it firstᅳ maybe he just wanted to pretend it wasn't a big deal. But secretly he knew how much he had been waiting to hear such words from her. "You want to know who I am? You're sure you're ready for that?"

She nodded slightly, her hand still on his. "Yeah, I'm sure. You know who I am, you know my whole story now. Let me know who you are, Hap."

Happy rolled his shoulders, getting ready to share his life story with the woman who was, so far, the only one he'd really considered opening up to completely. That just showed that he trusted her, that she was now one of the people in his life that he would kill and die for.

"In 1987 I started to sell drugs to support my Ma and me. She got sick around that time and we needed the money. I thought selling cocaine on another dealer's block would bring me new customers and more money. But that guy, Will, he jumped me and punched me in the face and I pulled a fucking gun. Well, it wasn't loaded. His crew beat me to a bloody pulp and I ended up in the hospital. I was arrested later for drug and gun charges and ended up in prison. That's when I met Tig for the first time. After I did my time I got out but Will kept harassing my Ma and me andᅳ", he trailed, studying her face to watch her reaction. At the thought of how he got his first smiley tattoo, a satisfied smile took over his face. "ᅳ and one day I snapped and killed him and another guy that was with him with an axe."

With her jaw dropped and her eyebrow lifted, Tessa stared at the man in front of her, swallowing softlyᅳ which he noticed. Yet Happy still continued.

"In Tacoma I got my first two smiley tattoos." Leaning back a little more, Happy pushed his shirt up to reveal all his smiley face tattoos so she would understand what he was talking about. Yet he was sure she had gotten a glimpse of them already once or twice when he was walking around shirtless. "I get a smiley face for every kill. Or, well, at least the important murders."

With her lips slightly parted, Tessa stared at the smiley tattoos, finally knowing what they were all about. She had often wondered whether they had a meaning or were just there on his skin because he liked them.

"My position in the club as SAA means that I'm the one, besides Tig, who's taking out the club murders. I have enough torture methods to get information out of people. And you know what? I even enjoy it most of the time", he finished his story that she wanted to know so badly with a slight shrug and pulled his hand back. Fishing a cigarette out of the pack on the table, he held the pack out to her, pretty sure that she needed a cigarette more than he did at the moment.

Happy wasn't a smoker, now and then he lit a joint, especially after a long day. But cigarettes, they had never been his thingᅳ yet he really needed something right now.

"That's my story", he said calmly, his dark lenses resting on her. "Are you still falling for me? The person I really am?"

Tessa chewed on the inside of her cheek, not taking her eyes off him. The entire time she had listened, she didn't break eye contact. As Happy handed her the lighter after lighting his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side, she also placed the cancer stick between her lips.

The young woman placed the lighter back on the table wordlessly, letting the nicotine fill her lungs as she thought about an answer.

She was shocked, surprised even, and perhaps a little intimidated by the thought that Happy enjoying inflicting pain on people. But she also knew his other sideᅳ his caring side.

He was helpful, kept Sawyer and her from any danger, and made sure they were safe. Since she was here in Charming, despite Happy still not being happy about her decision to take the job as a nude model, he hasn't let her down for a moment or even thrown her out of his house, which he could've easily done.

Happy, people could think whatever they wanted of him, had a good soul.

"I should probably be more shocked than I am right now", she finally said, breaking the silence as a large cloud of smoke formed in front of both of their faces and immediately disappeared again. "But I got to know you, your good side, before you told me about this side. And, as stupid as this sounds, you only kill when necessary, when someone is a threat to you or your family."

"That's exactly what I do." Surprised and not too surprised at the same time, Happy frowned, brushing off the ashes from the cigarettes in the ashtray. "So no, I'm not just going to go out on the streets and cause a bloodbathᅳ I'm not a damn psychopath", he said with a huff, as if he didn't know for sure that he had sociopathic traits.

"I didn't expect that either", Tessa answered calmly, her heartbeat still a little faster than usual. But that was probably just the adrenaline that was pumping through her body from his story. "So yeah, I'm still falling for you. At least now I know where the nickname Tacoma Killer is coming from", she added with a shrug. "You won't be able to get rid of me that easily, Happy."

"Who says I want to?", he asked with a rasp, the slightest grin tugging at his lips, drawing a smile from her.

A comfortable silence fell over them as both took the last puffs of their cigarettes, just looking at each other. It was a look that said it all, a look full of commitment.

Happy opened up to her, which was supposed to show her that she was special to himᅳ and Tessa felt the same way.

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Forty Two

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends <3

Hope you are all okay. Thank you so much for your continued love of this version of them, it means the world. Lily might be here now, but I still have so much of their story to tell <3

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am excited to know what you think!

Happy Sunday!

-x-

Words: 3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily had always hated hospitals. 

When she was young, only a couple of years older than Jack was now, she’d sprained her wrist. They had just arrived in Paris, and she’d fallen over whilst running around on the hardwood floors, her socks not giving her the grip she needed as her father chased her, both of them laughing as Elizabeth rolled her eyes. When Emily fell, her little hand reaching out towards the ground in a last-ditch attempt to stop herself, her father picked her up immediately, soothing her as she cried, not able to bear anyone even touching her wrist. 

Elizabeth had not gone to the hospital with them. Her glare aimed towards her husband as she said she had work to do, and that it was his fault Emily was hurt. 

Her memories of all were hazy, everything seeming so big and scary as she leant against her father, desperately wishing her mother was with her, whilst everyone around her spoke in a language she didn't yet know. She was sent home with a soft splint on her arm and a new hatred for something that had never entirely gone away. 

When she had her surgery to donate some of her liver to her mother, she left the hospital a couple of days before the doctors wanted her to. She happily signed the forms agreeing she was leaving against medical advice, ignoring the pull in her abdomen as she packed her bag and the nausea that took days to shift. The thought of being just down the hall from her mother, of being so close when the emotional distance had never felt so substantial, was too much to bear. 

She wanted to do the same now, to go and recover in the comfort of her own bed. To see her husband all the time, and not just during the allotted visiting hours as she had the last three days. She wanted to take her daughter home.

If it was just her to consider she was sure she’d already have left the hospital, or at the very least tried to convince Aaron to talk to the doctor and nurses for her, but it wasn’t just her. 

It never would be again. 

No matter how much she was told Lily was okay, that the emergency that had happened in the lead-up to her birth hadn’t caused any damage, the concern lingered under Emily’s skin. She found it difficult to be separated from her daughter. She turned down any offers from the nurses to take Lily to the nursery. She preferred to keep her nearby, even if it meant she wasn’t getting the amount of rest the doctors and Aaron seemed keen on her getting before she went home. The thought of being separated, of not being able to see her little girl, was enough to make her chest get tight, the fear that had spread through her veins as she was being prepared for the surgery she was recovering from making a return any time Lily was out of sight. 

She paces her hospital room with Lily in her arms, pleased to finally be wearing her own pjyamas that Aaron had brought in for her, not the scratchy gown she’d worn for the first couple of days. Her doctor had encouraged her to move around, and it just so happened Lily seemed to like it when she was on the move, her cries quieting down whenever Emily gently rocked her and softly sang to her in French. It made Emily smile, her habit of singing to her bump when she was pregnant clearly having paid off. 

She looks up as the door opens and she averts her gaze as her nurse, Alice, raises an eyebrow at her. 

“I was told I couldn’t carry anything heavier than her,” she says, patting Lily’s back, “She’s lighter than my cat for god’s sake.” 

“That wasn’t my concern,” Alice says, nodding past her to the little paper cup with her pain medication still in it on the side table, “You didn’t take your painkillers.” 

Emily clears her throat and adjusts her hold on Lily, internally berating herself as it makes her wince, pain from her incision lancing up her abdomen, “I don’t need them.” 

Alice hums and walks over, gently taking Lily from Emily, “Let’s have a little look at how Miss Lily is doing,” she says, resting the baby in her bassinet so she can do her usual checks on her. Emily lowers herself onto the bed, her hand pressing into her belly as she does so, the pain making her screw her eyes tightly closed, “You really should take the medication.” 

Emily groans, opening her eyes and looking over at the nurse, “I’m fine,” she says again, not sure she believes it herself, and she looks at Lily, smiling as she sees her shifting about, her limbs moving in short, sharp movements as Alice checks her over, “Is she okay?” 

Alice smiles and nods as she wraps Lily back up in her blanket, “She is perfectly fine,” she says, turning back to look at Emily, “Unlike her Mom who had major surgery three days ago and is refusing to take painkillers.” 

She sighs and reaches over to the bassinet, smiling as Lily’s tiny fist wrapped around her baby finger, the tight grip soothing the anxiety that had been building in her chest. 

“I’d just…rather go without them if I can,” she says, swallowing thickly, avoiding Alice’s gaze as she continues to stare at Lily. She looks up and the understanding look on the other woman’s face, combined with the pain she was struggling to ignore, makes her say the part she’d never said out loud, “Addiction…is a bit of an issue in my family,” she says, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying, looking back down at Lily, “My mother she…” she clears her throat again and shakes her head, lifting the hand that wasn’t next to Lily to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, “Anyway, I’ve always been hesitant with taking anything stronger than Tylenol once a month when I get cramps.” 

It was something she’d struggled with whenever she’d been prescribed painkillers over the years, bright orange bottles that stared back at her, the pills and her future visible through the coloured plastic. Her transformation into her mother both her greatest fear and what she’d once thought was inevitable. It meant she’d always shoved the bottles to the back of the medicine cabinet, or returned them to the pharmacy unused, smiling in the way she’d been taught to as a child as she ignored the confusion from the pharmacist at the sight of the unbroken seal. 

It was a concern she’d only ever shared with Aaron before, something she knew she wouldn’t be sharing with Alice if it wasn’t for the hormones she was still completely at the mercy of, and he understood. He shared the same fears because of his father, and she’d had to convince him to take painkillers after he was attacked by Foyet. 

“What we’ve got you on is a very low dose,” Alice says, putting Emily’s glass of water in her hand, “And you need it so you can recover quicker and look after that precious little girl of yours.” 

“She’s right you know.”

Emily rolls her eyes at the sound of her husband’s voice and looks over to the doorway to see him standing there, a soft smile on his face. 

“Hi, honey,” she says, her voice overly sweet, a warning sign that he’d become familiar with during the last few weeks of her pregnancy.  

“Hi sweetheart,” he says as he walks over and drops a kiss on her forehead before turning to look at Lily, lifting the tiny baby up into his arms, “How are my girls doing?” 

“Lily passed her checks with flying colours,” Alice says, heading towards the door, “Your wife, however, could do with some convincing to take her painkillers.”

Emily narrows her eyes as Alice leaves the room, muttering under her breath as Aaron sits on the bed next to her, “Just when I was starting to like her.” 

Aaron chuckles and presses a kiss to her temple, “You should take your medication, baby.” 

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, tilting her head so she’s looking down at Lily, reaching out to run her knuckle over the newborn’s soft cheek. 

“I know. I just…” she drifts off, the vulnerability that was as overwhelming as her exhaustion thrumming under her skin stopping her from putting it into words. 

“I know,” he says, not needing her to say it. He knew her better than she did sometimes, and she was sure now was one of those moments. She was awash with hormones and was exhausted from having a baby, her usual ability to compartmentalise left somewhere back in her second trimester when she used to be able to control her emotions, “I know, Em,” he says, smiling at her as he looks up from Lily, “But you need to look after yourself so you can look after her.” 

It’s a dirty trick and they both know it, her need to look after the people she loves well known to override any sense of self-preservation. He knows if it was just her, if she was in the hospital because of an injury she’d got on a case, he would struggle to get her to take anything. She glares at him for a second before she reaches for the paper cup with the medication and the glass of water, taking them with little fanfare. 

“Clever,” she mutters as she puts the glass back down and raises an eyebrow at him when he smiles. 

“I thought so,” he says, winking at her before his attention is pulled down to Lily who starts to cry, “You’re okay princess,” he says softly, rocking her slightly, “You want Mommy?” 

Emily smiles as he passes Lily over, love blooming in her chest as she takes her into her arms, the fact she was someone's mom now, that she had a little girl, still somewhat settling in. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” Emily says, smiling as Lily settles down slightly as soon as she’s in her arms, a small sense of pride washing over her, “Do you think we can convince Daddy to break us out of here early?” 

Aaron chuckles and kisses her cheek, his arm looped around her shoulders as he pulls them in closer, “Not a chance.” 

___

Two days later, she sighs in relief as Aaron pulls the car into the driveway, wincing as the car comes to a stop, the jolting of the vehicle making her groan.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says as he stops the car, his eyes meeting hers in the rear-view mirror. She’d insisted on riding in the back of the car with Lily, her hand on the car seat the entire journey. Aaron had driven slower than she’d ever known him to, something he’d attributed to having ‘precious cargo’ in the back of the car. 

“That’s ok,” she says, her voice strained, the drive more difficult on her than she thought it would be, “Can you get her?” She asks as she undoes her seatbelt, groaning as she pushes the door open, “Even I think picking her up in the car seat is probably a bit of a stretch right now.” 

“Of course,” he replies, getting out of the car and doing as she’s asked, unhooking Lily’s car seat and smiling as he lifts it up. Lily was fast asleep, her lips in a small pout that reminded him of how looked when she slept, and he makes a mental note that the car seemed to be something that relaxed her, the exact opposite of what it had done for Jack when he was this small. He closes the car door, and is only partially surprised when he finds his wife already at the stairs of the porch, her hand on one of the bannisters as she prepares herself to take the first step, “Sweetheart, let me help you.”

He makes it to her side quickly, leaving her bags in the car to collect later, hopefully when he’s convinced her to take a nap, and he doesn’t miss how she rolls her eyes at him.

“Aaron, I’m fine,” she says, purposely ignoring how the short journey from the car to the house had made her slightly breathless, her grip on the bannister giving away the discomfort she was in. He knew she’d weaned herself off of most of her medication already, now only really taking it when it was time to try to get some sleep. He knew it was important to her, so he didn’t want to argue with her on it, instead settling on simply helping her where he could. 

“I know you are,” he says, not acknowledging the way she glares at him in response as he loops his arm around her and places the hand not holding Lily’s car seat on her hip, “But think about it this way, you’ll be doing me a favour.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, leaning slightly into him without realising she was doing it, “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he says, attempting nonchalance, “This way I get to hold both my girls as we walk Lily into the house at the same time.” 

She knows it’s nonsense, just like she knows she realistically cannot take the stairs herself without his support, but she loves him for it. Loves that he knows her well enough to not outright tell her she was being stubborn, but offering her an alternative instead. 

“Well,” she says, finally resting more of her weight on his side, one of her arms snaking around his back, “Who am I to deny you that?”

He smiles and kisses her forehead before he attempts to walk up the stairs, “Ready?” 

“Wait,” she says, gripping his hip and stopping him, “I’m not about to walk into a house full of people am I?” She asks, frowning at the thought of it, “Pen kept texting me about a welcome home party and-”

“I very firmly reminded her of what happened last time she crossed boundaries,” he assures her, one of the corners of his lips turning upwards as he thinks of the conversation he’d had with their friends just the day before when he confirmed Emily and Lily were coming home but wouldn’t immediately be up to visitors. They were disappointed, Penelope visibly more so than the others, but understood, “I told them when you’re ready, we’ll let them know.” 

She nods, breathing out a deep sigh of relief as she leans in and kisses him, “Let’s go inside,” she says, looking around him at a still-sleeping Lily in her car seat, “It’s too warm out here for her.” 

Aaron helps her up the stairs at her pace, not saying anything when she grips at him with enough force to wrinkle his polo shirt as they finally make it to the front door. He briefly places the car seat down on the porch and digs out his keys. He unlocks the door and picks up Lily again, guiding Emily into the house with his hand at the small of her back. 

They walk to the kitchen and as soon as he has placed the car seat on the counter Emily is unbuckling Lily, smiling contentedly as she lifts her into her arms, holding her against her chest. 

“Welcome home, Lily,” Emily says, smiling at him as he walks the few paces towards them, careful as he wraps his arms around them, well aware of Emily’s residual pain and just how delicate and small Lily seemed. 

“Welcome home,” Aaron repeats, kissing Emily’s cheek to hide how his words catch in his throat. He cups the back of Lily’s head, content to let himself be relaxed by the familiar scent of his wife’s shampoo and the way she seemed to already be wearing motherhood like a fine perfume. A natural to it like he knew she would be, something he knew he’d have to reassure her of in the days to come when the realities of having a newborn in the house would settle in. 

They hear a distant meow in the house, followed by a familiar pitter-patter of paws on the hardwood, and Emily chuckles, disconnecting herself from Aaron as she heads to the living room where she knows she’ll find Sergio. 

“Come on, sweet girl,” she says, walking slowly to the living room, closely followed by Aaron, “Now you’re home it’s fine for you to meet your best friend.” 

He looks around, his eyes falling on photos they kept on the wall, and the gaps he knew would be filled with pictures of Lily, of the adventures they were all yet to share. The house covered in memories that Emily was insistent on displaying, an overcorrection of sorts of growing up somewhere where her photos had been limited to her mother’s office, as if her pride in her daughter was something to hide. 

He joins them in the living room, and the sight he is greeted with eases something deep in his gut. The house had been far too quiet when he’d been there the last few days. The usual life that ran throughout it, that made everything brighter, was nowhere to be found without Emily or his children. It was only now, with Emily and Lily home safe, that he could finally relax. The fear that had overwhelmed him ever since they told them Lily was at risk during labour, the fear he hadn’t yet let himself fully feel, fades away. Pushed into a box he knows will open one day, but for now, he lets the joy override it. The sight of Emily holding Lily close and gently murmuring into her skin, Sergio standing on the back of the couch and sniffing the air curiously, unsure about the new person in his home, the balm Aaron had needed for days. 

This house wasn’t his home, they were, and he didn’t know what he would have done if he’d lost them. 

-x-

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[aromanticbuck]

“You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.” + Nate/Gio

post-finale AU angst? you offered me spicy and I said 'no 💛'

[ dialogue prompts ]

warnings: off-page death, reference to past terminal illness, swearing

He was really beginning to hate hospitals.

After being in and out of enough rooms and seeing more than enough doctors while his mother was getting treatment, and the follow up when she was in recovery, Nate never wanted to see the inside of a hospital again. The only reason he visited at all was when he needed something from his sister. Even then, he preferred to not go too far past the waiting room, at least when he could help it. That was one of the perks of having a sister who was a doctor - he could get anything he needed at home if something about the job got physical, and he had someone on speed dial if anyone else got hurt and needed help.

If someone got shot at, or got punched and ended up with a black eye or a split lip, or any of the million other hazards that came from their line of work, Nate knew exactly who to count on. Grace had gone to medical school. She was smart. She saved people's lives every day. She could do anything.

At least, everything had seemed that way. He'd always believed in his sister, always felt like he could lean on her. She'd taken on his debt with Moretti, after all, saved his life by risking her own, and he hadn't even asked. But that night... for the first time in a long time, he remembered that there were some things that even Grace couldn't do.

[ read the rest below or on ao3 ]

She couldn't resurrect anyone. She couldn't go back in time and stop anyone from pulling a trigger. She couldn't make any surgery go faster so that he could get updates. Of everyone who had been shot that night, exactly two of them had survived. With the FBI apparently watching his every move, he shouldn't go visit either one of them, but it had been a very long night already.

Nate had seen the aftermath of the massacre at the bakery, the flashing lights of the police cars and the ambulance. He didn't stick around long enough to figure out if anyone had survived, or who it would have been, not after he talked to his sister. His goal after that phone call was just to get to the hospital, to be there when his mother and Constantine got out of surgery. The last thing he'd been letting himself think about was the massacre - most likely, based on what carnage he'd seen, no one had survived that. Gus, Stavos, Gio...

He could internalize those losses while he sat by his mother's bed and waited for her to open her eyes. As long as he had something else to focus on, the rest of his grief could wait. He could mourn as soon as his heart stopped racing, as soon as he stopped holding his breath.

Except, the mourning started before he was ready for it.

The flatline was still ringing in his ears while he sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair. He'd shrugged his flannel shirt off when things felt more than a little overwhelming, and it had started in his lap. During the time he sat there - he could have been minutes, or hours, or even days - it had slid off of his knee enough to brush the floor with one of the hanging sleeves, and he didn't have the energy to change that. Every inch of him was exhausted, and it didn't feel like he should have any tears left. Surely, the pain was bad enough that he should have been more than numb.

When the chair next to him moved and he felt the gentle squeeze to his shoulder, Nate made himself look up. There was nothing left of him to be surprised when he saw his sister there, the weak offer of support the best either of them could muster. No one could expect anything more, not after the day they'd had - the truth about Constantine's connection to their family, the shock of both attacks, the sudden wave of grief that came with their mother's death, the knowledge that the death toll was so much higher than anyone wanted it to be...

Grace had mentioned, when he arrived, that there was one survivor from the attack on the bakery. He hadn't asked who it was, and she hadn't had time to keep him updated before she ran off to handle something else. And he understood that, with everything else going on. Someone had to check on Constantine, and field questions from the FBI agent who was poking around. He didn't need to know who it was then. He wasn't even thinking about it.

But getting the news when he had just recovered from his latest bout of sobs was more overwhelming than he could have imagined.

Gio.

Of all the people they'd lost over the span of a few months, the trigger he'd pulled himself, the bombs and the kidnapping and the horse that had nearly gotten him killed, he didn't know he was still able to feel relief. So much of it seemed stupid and avoidable when he looked back at it, and the things that were too big to be avoided weighed heavier on his shoulders. He still had someone left besides his sister and Constantine, and that was more than he knew he had any right to ask for.

Nate should have avoided visiting, with a federal agent lurking around the hospital hallways, and it would only put an even bigger target on his back. It would probably put a bigger target on Gio’s back, too, which wasn’t recommended when he was recovering from three gunshot wounds. But where else was he supposed to be?

His mother was dead.

Grace was balancing Constantine and the FBI.

Everyone else had been shot down in the bakery.

The only place it made sense for him to be was sitting at another bedside. He even took a moment to silently thank God that Gio was awake when he slipped into the room. Awake and responsive was good, even if they spent their shared time in silence. They had the beeping of the heart monitor, and the hum of the lights overhead, and steady breathing. It was a lot better than sitting in a silent hallway where he was stuck in his own head. Out there, it was all storm clouds and thunder. At least that room had a silver lining.

Nothing about the lack of conversation worried him. Nate had been a part of the group for long enough, had interacted with the man in front of him more times than he could count, and that was just how things were. Sure, Gio liked to talk when he had something to say, but too much had happened. No one had anything to say about the events of that night, let alone the last few days, not even someone who typically had a comment for everything.

Nate probably still had tearstains on his cheeks, and his eyes still felt puffy, and were definitely still red. There weren't many people who would want to talk to him when he looked like that. Most people would want to be careful about what they said and be too afraid to say anything at all, and he had resigned himself to the quiet that came with new grief. Still, it wasn't that surprising when the voice came from the bed and pulled him out of a daze.

"How bad is it, kid? How many did we lose?"

It took a few tries for him to make sound come out. His mouth was open, but it didn't work as readily as he'd like it to. Listing all the losses of the night, both the lives and the fights they didn't know they were in, would be too exhausting. They'd already lost so much. He was desperately trying to cling to the few good things he could claw from the rubble his life had become.

"It's uh... you, me, Constantine. We're the only ones left."

"Fuck..."

They fell back into the quiet that they'd created before, the air heavier with the truth in it. Nate felt the shift in his gut that came with it - feeling both more and less alone in his little corner of the universe. Saying it made it true. There were less than a handful of people left that he could trust, and that was even including himself. But at least the grief was shared, split between the two of them instead of weighing only on his shoulders. It was another small wave of relief that felt impossible, especially when it was accompanied by the regret of having to share the news at all. Gio could have gotten better rest and had a smoother recovery if he'd said nothing. Grief and stress could make things harder, or something like that. He was struggling to remember what Grace had told him over the years, different pieces of advice getting twisted up with other ones.

"Well, chin up, kid. It could have been worse." He glanced toward the bed to see a familiar smirk, something that had been constant through the last few months of his life. Usually, it came with a lewd comment, or some story that he couldn't stop himself from telling for the third time. It was almost comforting to see, a reminder of what he still had to ground him in the middle of the earthquake of everything else. "You could have been stuck with a buzzkill like Stavos. At least I know how to have fun. Everything will be back to normal in no time."

Nate tried to return the expression, he really did. But the idea of normal that he'd had in his head couldn't ever really come back. He wouldn't be able to go home to his mother's cooking ever again. He wouldn't be able to sit at the table for a game of poker or go for a walk without looking over his shoulder. He would probably be lucky if he managed to drag himself out of the hospital once the night was over instead of wasting away right there in the chair.

He wanted to be a part of the light teasing, the easy energy that came with every ridiculous conversation he had with Gio, but that was hard. The whole truth was still close to his chest, pulling him down too far into the darkness to reasonably reach for the light.

"Yeah... normal..."

"C'mon, no one with us is worth your tears. We'll be fine."

Hiding his feelings used to be easier. The tears on his face didn't help when he was trying to put an uncaring mask in place, the air of nonchalance he'd learned over the years of working with and around mobsters. He was too much of a mess to be relaxed about any part of it. Gio was alive, but so was his mother, and they thought things were going to be fine. Should he really get attached to this new version of his life before it settled? Or was he getting ahead of himself and welcoming more grief into his future?

He knew he was a mess before it was even brought up, before he was called out on it and had the fact presented to him so bluntly. The rest of the mess had brought him along with it, and he hadn't seen the point in trying to clean himself up yet. No one but Grace was really going to see him like that, and it was still up on the air on whether or not he cared about Gio seeing him like that, too.

"Any other losses you need to get off your chest, kid? Is your sister okay?"

"Grace is fine." That was the truth, at least when it came to physical injuries. He wasn't the only one grieving a mother, and she had even more on her plate after talking about Constantine. Nate was in pain, but he wouldn't pretend that he was the only one in pain, or that his pain outweighed anyone else's. "But, uh... they followed Constantine to the house. Shot it up. He's out of surgery and he's supposed to be okay, but my mom..."

The words caught in his throat, and Nate quickly looked down at his hands so that they didn't escape with a new round of tears. He didn't think he was capable of sobbing anymore, not without a good twelve hours of sleep, but his eyes found a way to make more tears no matter how many he'd already shed.

"Hey..."

He didn't have to move his head to see the hand at the edge of vision. That hand had been on the bed just a few seconds earlier, minding its own business instead of intruding on his grief. Now, it was stretched out toward him, an offering of comfort when he didn't know where to look to ask for it. It was something he didn't know he desperately wanted to cling to until he took what was offered, curling his fingers around a warm, alive hand. It was the eye of the storm, a brief pause before everything went to hell again. It was enough.

"That's rough. I'm sorry."

The fingers squeezed his gently.

"Don't worry. If you need anything, you've got me behind you. You and Grace both."

Another squeeze to his hand reminded him to breathe, and Nate slowly shook his head. He took a few moments to breathe again, a big, deep breath that he needed just to find his voice again. It kept escaping him, running away when he needed it most, and it wasn't a solid thing he could cling to like the hand in his and the body attached to. It was a flighty thing, something he was still trying to pin down after years of practice. He could act tough, like the job he didn't wasn't dangerous and didn't risk his life on a daily basis - or at least like he didn't notice or care. Death was a terrifying thing he had to look in the eye and face down more often than he liked, and it was getting all too close. It kept coming in and taking people away from him, and there were only so many losses he could handle on his own. There were too many to carry, and it was only a matter of time before he was next on Death's list.

"That seems like a lot to take on, when there's rebuilding to worry about. And you almost died. You shouldn't be worrying about anyone else-"

"Kid," Gio cut him off sharply, "you're family. I'd crawl out of a grave if it meant helping out when you need something."

The words made Nate pause, biting the inside of his lip to keep from saying something without thinking. The idea of still having a family when all that was left of his own was himself and his sister was odd, but comforting, like the hand he was still holding onto just a bit too tight. He should let go, he knew that, but he really didn't want to. If he let go, the last few good things in his life might burn down, too.

"I'll try not to be too needy while you're stuck in a hospital bed."

That was enough to draw out a laugh that ended with a cough and a quiet wheeze, and he was quick to let go of the hand in his so that the newest problem could be taken care of. He didn't mean to cause this kind of reaction, and there was very little he could actually do that was helpful.

"Damn, Devlin, I just got shot in the chest. You can't make me laugh, of all things." But Gio was smiling, and still trying to hold back his reaction to the comment, not that Nate really understood what was so funny in the first place. "Or maybe it's impressive that you got me to laugh, considering almost everyone we know is dead."

Nate couldn't help the small expression that tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he didn't know if his own weak shadow of a smile counted for much. He didn't really feel better about anything, and he doubted that would change any time soon, but it was nice to have a little proof that he wasn't alone in any of it. He had Grace at his side when they needed to grieve the more normal side of their lives, and Gio for when he needed to grieve the crazy parts. That counted for something.

"How impressive is it, really? You laugh in your own face in the mirror. Though, I see why."

"Low blow, kid. Leave my face out of this. It didn't do anything to you." Gio waved a hand in his direction, the familiar smile growing further into his cheeks. "And it is impressive. Tonight was a shit show, and that's putting it lightly. Seriously, you should get an award for managing this. As soon as I'm out of here, I'm getting you a prize."

Nate felt his own smile widen while he shook his head, leaning forward in his seat. It was an automatic reaction, something that hadn't been entirely uncommon in the last few weeks. Since they had to start covering for each other's felonies regularly, they'd gotten closer, formed an actual friendship outside of the bonds that came with what they did for a living. As awful as it might sound, there was a part of him that was glad that, if only one person could have survived the attack on the bakery, he wanted it to be Gio.

"What kind of prize would I even get for this? A plastic statue with a cheap engraving? A gold medal that's actually chocolate?"

"A chocolate medal? No, it'll be way cooler than that."

They were quiet again while he seemed to genuinely think about the options he had as potential prizes. He'd have plenty of time to think of something while he was recovering. He'd have days, if not more than a week, and all the quiet time on his own to just brainstorm. But he seemed intent on coming up with an answer before Nate inevitably had to leave the room to find his sister again, hopefully before the FBI agent found him.

A few drawn out moments of quiet was all it took, and then Gio snapped his fingers just in time to stop him from drifting back into his thoughts. "I know what it is. Nathaniel Devlin,-"

"That is not my full name."

"-for the ability to make someone laugh in the middle of a fucking shit show, you've won one free pass to my bedroom."

Nate coughed out a laugh at the decisive tone that formed the words, shaking his head. He was too stunned to fight the grin that had formed on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the offer. Maybe they both deserved prizes for the ability to make each other laugh when they really shouldn't be able to. Though he wasn't going to make quite the same offer, not even close.

"Yeah, to change your bedpan, maybe." He shook his head again when his ability to speak returned, unobstructed by swallowed laughter. "Someone's going to have to take care of you until you're back on your feet, and you don't have a lot of options. And, in case you haven't already noticed, I'm technically in your bedroom, right now."

Gio scoffed and glanced around the sterile hospital room with a frown, most likely feigning his offense. "Then this is breaking and entering. I need to have you removed. Hit the button that calls a nurse into here?"

Rolling his eyes, Nate made himself stand up from his seat, his grin fading into something softer. It was a weak smile, but still there. "I should go see if I can find Grace again, anyway. I'll be back again later. Get some rest so we can get you out of here sooner."

"You're ungrateful. I offered you a wonderful prize, and you made a joke about it. At least revisit the idea once this shit show is over."

"Yeah, Gio, whatever you want."

[writingseaslugs]

I'm alive...kinda?

So it's been a while huh? Since the end of March actually, since I last posted anything. Which sucks because it was literally right after I was super excited to do a collab with a friend, as well as my plans for getting content out! So what happened you may ask (and I'm referring to the lovely people who are in my inbox asking and being concerned, I'm so sorry for worrying ya). Well, let me tell you!

Health.

Sucks.

So here's a quick TW because I'm going to go into detail about everything that's happened since the last time I was here under the cut. This includes both issues with eating (involuntary), as well as surgical stuff. There will also be a TL;DR at the end of this post.

So as I've mentioned previously (I think) I have chronic nausea. I'm almost always feeling sick after I eat therefore I don't really...eat much. Especially not when I'm working because I can't afford to be sick and have to go home (my job requires me to be on my feet, interacting with clients all day and I woke 9-hour shifts). So because I'm unable to get enough nutrients (normally I won't even eat until I get home from work, and if I do it's protein drinks and pudding during my work day), I'm pretty...weak most of the time.

Let me tell you, eating is so important to function like a human. If you don't you are tired, your muscles hurt, and there are so many other horrible things that go into it that I won't go into detail about.

My biggest problem with not being able to eat enough is fatigue. I am always tired and in a brain fog that writing is impossible. If I can even get the energy to open up my laptop and bring it to my bed, it's typically dashed the moment I open a Word document and can barely type.

I had maybe a solid good week or two a month back right after I went on vacation to see a friend (probably because I was able to eat regularly-ish due to not having to worry about being sick at work) however, like always, it was quickly squashed with reality and I went back to brain fog central, but I feel like it was worse this time.

I only had the energy to talk with three of my closest friends, and occasionally I'd have the brain capacity and energy to play games with one of them, but that's about it. I can't tell you how many times I had to cancel my weekly call with one of my friends from being too tired or putting off playing a game with my other because I just didn't have the energy to cross my room and pick up my controller. It was bad.

Most of my days off have been in bed, sleeping, and trying to eat. So it hasn't been great.

However, two weeks ago something happened. I had stomach pain. Which granted, I have had before. Not the normal nausea but physical pain that if you pressed on my stomach it hurt. I was even walking with a limb by the end of the day. It doesn't happen often but I'm stubborn and don't like going to the hospitals so I had always chalked it up to a "self-correcting problem". For years. Whenever this happened it would go away within a few hours (nine hours max).

So when I woke up the NEXT day and it was still hurting, something was a bit wrong. I called out of work because there was no way I would've been able to stand and made a small deal with myself that if it wasn't gone by the next morning I would...go to the doctor. I know, crazy that I was gonna wait to be in pain for nearly three days but I hate hospitals and I didn't have health insurance with my new job.

Well, this wasn't good enough for my mom and she convinced me to go. The only way she did that was she seemed concerned. Now I'm dramatic. Very, very dramatic. And also a bit of a hypochondriac so I always feel like when I'm sick or in pain I'm simply being dramatic and that it's not actually serious even though my anxiety is telling me I might literally be dying (the number of times I have almost passed out by standing up and brushed it off, or laid in bed and suddenly my heart rate was going off like I sprinted a mile and decided I was probably fine is impeccable).

So I go to the emergency room and they ran some tests and what would you know! It's my appendix. And it wanted to break up with me...how admirable. And apparently, it was way worse than doctors initially thought because I happen to have an abnormally high pain tolerance so when asked on a scale of 1 - 10 what my pain was I said a 3. Apparently, with how bad off it was, I should've been at a 10+ but oh well.

The surgery that they predicted would be no longer than half an hour ended up being an entire hour, and I got four incisions when they said I'd only have three.

So I've been recovering for the past two weeks and should hopefully be back at work on Thursday. Decided to make this post because for once I've been able to eat decent meals for a few days in a row since I haven't been at work, and my brain is actually working for a while. I'm hoping maybe it'll continue so I can start writing again (Writing Twisted Wonderland content is a huge comfort of mine) but who knows.

Maybe my chronic nausea will be solved and I'll be nice and healthy and be able to eat regularly. I can dream. However since I have had a lot of people in my inbox asking me where I've been and if I'm doing already, and how I've essentially ghosted several friends in the fandom since I just don't have the energy to message many people, I figured I should give you the explanation as to what happened.

I'm going to try to get a little bit of writing done today, maybe bust out a few requests. I'm a bit stressed out since one of my good friends is currently on their way to the hospital because she's also a sick bean like me, but also I know damn well she'd enjoy seeing some Twisted Writing so imma do it.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings! I love you all!

TL;DR - I got really sick and couldn't write and then my appendix said bye.

[mi-rae07]

can i hve a San drabble,like angst cz i am in da mood rn :>

btw i am addicted to ur blog i started a few weeks ago

Choi San : Once Upon A Time

Pairing : Choi San (Ateez) and named character (Park Sunhee)

____________

A/n : well TO BE FAIR, I did start this off as a drabble, but you can't really blame me it turned into an entire story, can you? It just happens to me.

But thank you!

_____________

Sunhee : and the matters of that village we last talked about, minister?

Minister : it's all under control, your majesty. The people seem to be cooperating well enough.

Sunhee : that is not what I asked, minister. Their health, have the doctors found a cure to their disease yet?

Minister : unfortunately, no. but they have found out that this disease is communicable. Hence why the village is under a lockdown currently.

Sunhee : and how long is this cure going to take? Until my people die of it?

Minister : this is new for all of us, your majesty. All we can do for now, is prevent it from spreading to more people. And you too, please stay safe and try not to step outside of the palace much during these times.

Sunhee let out a breath, standing up from her seat in the meeting room as the other ministers rose as well.

Sunhee : a queen without her people, is no queen at all. I hope you remember that as you work forward, ministers.

Sunhee turned around and walked out of the room, the ministers' heads bowed down as they muttered a chorus of "your majesty's". Sunhee opened the door to her private chambers, rushing to her bathroom as the sight of a knight came to her view. The person that was her retreat from this cruel world, the person that had kept her sane while being queen for the past 5 years.

Sunhee ran towards him, crashing into his arms as san wrapped his arms around her waist with a chuckle. Sunhee wrapped her arms tighter around san's neck, bringing him as close to her as possible.

San : had a bad day?

Sunhee : please don't leave, san-ah.

San smiled, nuzzling his head onto sunhee's shoulder. This was their time of the day, the few hours that the both of them had always cherished. San wouldn't dare leave even if he was forcefully dragged out of her room.

San : I didn't take all this trouble and lied to all your guards to just leave, sweetheart.

Sunhee sighed, resting her head against san's shoulders. She knew how wrong this was, she always did. A queen, with a knight? It would be frowned upon by the entire nation, and it could cause the execution of san. Since he was from the lower rank, only he would be blamed for all this. Which was why they had been meeting in secret like this for the past 5 years, it was the only way the both of them could be together without causing their own deaths.

San slowly brought his hand to the string that tied sunhee's dress together, pulling on it as it came loose. Sunhee hummed as san pulled the first layer of her clothing down, kissing her neck with closed eyes. Sunhee tangled her fingers in his hair, her head feeling light.

Sunhee : san.

San : shh, let me.

San stripped sunhee off of her clothes one by one, all while walking her towards the bathtub. And soon enough sunhee was sitting in the bathtub, san kneeling down next to her right outside the tub. Sunhee ran her hand along san's hair, dampening it as san scrubbed her clean with a soap.

Sunhee : you're so beautiful, choi san.

San smiled, it wasn't the first time he was hearing this but it never got old. Especially when it came from someone twice as pretty as he was.

San : honored, your grace.

Sunhee : san-ah.

San : mm?

Sunhee : I hate that we have to keep hiding like this.

Wasn't the first time either. San sighed, keeping the soap away as he let the water from the bathtub clean her body.

San : sunhee-ya, you know we have no other choice.

Sunhee : but you're a knight, it can't be that bad, right?

San : I am only a knight, love. While you're a queen, queen of the most powerful nation this land has ever seen. And before that, you were a princess. Sunhee, you were born into royalty, born into a life that I couldn't even dream of. As much as I want to be with you openly, you know we both can't.

Sunhee pressed her lips together, her hands clenching against san's as she whispered

Sunhee : come closer to me then.

San smiled and moved closer to his queen, her pulling him closer towards her before crashing her lips against his. San breathed heavily and lifted sunhee off the bathtub, the water from her body drenching his clothes as he walked with her towards the bed. But he could care less, about anything in this world except park sunhee.

Sunhee : I love you.

San : I love you more, my queen.

____________________________

San stepped out of the queen's chambers a few hours later, buttoning his shirt properly as the guards right outside the room bowed at him. He was popular enough among the public and his own soldiers. San nodded with a smile and was about to walk away when a voice disrupted him

??? : what were you doing with my sister, knight?

San turned around to face the queen's brother, Park Seo-jin. San bowed as he muttered under his breath

San : lord prince.

He hated the prince.

Seojin : I asked you a question, knight.

San : the queen and I had some matters to talk about, your highness.

Seojin : matters at this time of the night?

San : yes.

Seojin : do you think the both of you are being that sneaky, knight? You think everyone else is stupid?

San bit his lip. He knew seojin wanted the throne for himself, he had been enraged when his father had passed down the crown to a woman, instead of him. It had crumbled his ego to watch the coronation of his own sister. Ever since then he had tried countless ways to bring sunhee down, all of it failing miserably.

San : and? Do you have proof to show to the ministry that her majesty and I have indulged in improper acts as you accuse us of?

Seojin stared at san with wide enraged eyes, his hand clenching on his sword. But the both of them knew seojin could do nothing. Sunhee was far too loved and respected by the entire nation, and san was the commander of the royal army and navy. They were both too important to be killed like that.

San : do not question the dignity of my queen, lord prince. For if I hear another word of that sort coming out of your mouth, I shall have your tongue cut off, prince or not.

San turned around and walked away from a stunned seojin, a victorious smirk on his lips.

___________________________

A month later :

Sunhee : what? San, no!

San : sunhee-ya, shh. Listen to me first-

Sunhee : so that you can get yourself killed? San, do not be stupid.

Sunhee was about to walk away when san held her arm, bringing her close to him as he said softly

San : I'm only going for a small battle, sunhee. I will be fine, alright?

Sunhee let out an exasperated breath, looking away with fear in her eyes. She hated when san had to go for battles that were outside of her territory. Because it meant that if something were to happen to san, there would be nothing she could do for him since he was under the territory of another ruler.

Sunhee : you are sacrificing your safety for this, san. Why can't you just send someone else-

San : sunhee, I am a knight. My duty is to protect this nation.

Sunhee : protect, not die for it.

San held sunhee's cheek, shaking his head as he whispered

San : I will come back to you, my love, I promise.

Sunhee wrapped her arms around san, hugging him like her life depended on it. She knew she couldn't stop him, this had to be done.

Sunhee : please don't die. I have no one in the world apart from you.

San smiled, kissing her cheek before whispering

San : I will try not to, my queen.

________________________________

2 days later :

Sunhee was now pacing around the throne room, knowing that today was the day san was supposed to come back from battle. She had no news from him whatsoever, or from anyone else that had gone with him to battle. Which had been expected, but sunhee still worried. For her men, and for san.

Sunhee looked up as the throne room door burst open, revealing a guard who bowed down while breathing heavily.

Sunhee : yes? Have they returned?

Guard : they have, your majesty. But the knight, lord san has been injured very badly-

Sunhee cut the guard off as she ran past him abruptly, the guard shocked at how fast she was with all that she was wearing. Sunhee gasped as she saw a few soldiers holding san up by his shoulders while walking towards the infirmary, san's head lowered. There were hundreds of other citizens standing right outside, meaning to welcome their soldiers after a victorious battle. But sunhee did not bother caring about them, as her eyes were trained only on san who seemed to be in too much pain.

Sunhee let out a breath and ran down the steps, the people's eyes widening at the sight of their queen. Sunhee rushed towards san, quickly holding onto san as the other soldiers stepped back with their heads bowed.

Sunhee could hear gasps and mutters of shock around her as she touched san's pale cheek with her gloved hand.

Sunhee : san-ah. San, look at me!

Sunhee lowered the both of them to the ground, san's upper body rested on sunhee's lap as she held his cheek that was smeared with dried blood. She could care less about the dirt and blood getting on her clothes, and she could care less about anyone and anything except san.

Sunhee : no no no, you promised you would come back to me!

San's eyes slowly fluttered open, his eyes hazy as he coughed hoarsely. Sunhee stared at him with anxious eyes, placing one of her hand against his chest as she felt his heart beat hard against her palm. He was alive, thank god.

San : sun-sunhee?

Sunhee sobbed in relief as she hugged san, the soldiers and the people around looking away in part shock and part respect. They were shocked, to say the least, but that didn't lessen their respect for their queen.

Sunhee didn't seem to care, but san did, despite the immense pain he was in. and although this was what he had always wanted, for sunhee to hold him like this right after battle, for her warmth to give him comfort, he couldn't let this happen in front of all these people.

San : oh no. no sunhee, the…the people. You can't…you're not supposed to-

Sunhee : I don't care. I don't care san, let them be.

Sunhee pulled back, eyeing san's wounded body. A thousand different cuts littered all around his body, a few stab wound in his left arm and slash marks visible at every inch of his body.

Sunhee : you're hurt. San you…I told you not to go-

San : sunhee you have to le-let go before your mother-

??? : PARK SUNHEE!

Sunhee shut her eyes tightly as she heard her mother walk up to them hastily.

Sona : what the hell is this? What…is that choi san?

Sunhee : mother, please. He needs help. I-

Sona : are you in love with this man?

The spite in her mother's voice caused shivers to run down sunhee's spine as she held san's weak body closer to her own body protectively.

Sunhee : and if I am?

Sona : YOU LITTLE-

Sunhee turned to a soldier before saying, ignoring her mother completely

Sunhee : call the doctors to my chambers.

Sona : YOUR CHAMBERS! SUNHEE ARE YOU MAD-

Sunhee : THIS IS MY NATION, MOTHER! THIS IS MY NATION AND I AM QUEEN! Hence you will listen, and step aside before I ask someone to physically hold you back from me.

Sunhee turned to the solider once again with fierce eyes as she said more sternly this time

Sunhee : call, the doctor, soldier.

The solider bowed and ran towards the insides of the palace with a small smile on his face. Sona stared in pure shock as sunhee ran her thumb along san's cheek, his big eyes staring back at her with a thousand emotions. Sunhee gave him a small comforting smile

Sunhee : you're going to be fine, my love.

The people outside the palace gates watched the entire thing in awe, some of them having smiles on their faces. Except what any of them didn't know was that the crown prince was watching the entire thing with a wicked smirk on his face, snapping his finger as his secretary rushed up to him.

??? : yes, my lord?

Seojin : round the ministers up for a meeting. It's time for a change of monarchs.

___________________________

Sunhee was now sitting next to san on her bed, slowly brushing past san's hair as he slept peacefully with bandages wrapped around his body. Sona was staring at the both of them with furious eyes, asking under her breath

Sona : when did you start loving him?

Sunhee : the day father announced me queen. I've always been in love with him, mother.

Sona : he is a mere knight, sunhee. He is not even a baron. He has no amount of royal blood in him.

Sunhee : I do not love him for his royalty, mother. I love him for the man he is.

Sona : the people will talk, sunhee.

Sunhee : then let them. I still remain queen.

Sona : if it goes this way, you will not. Sunhee, you know the rules. A queen, marries a king. Or even a prince, that is the lowest we can go. Any other person of any other title than those, are not fit to marry someone like you. You know what happens if it does.

Execution, that was all.

Sunhee : I will not let anyone hurt him.

Sona : don't you understand, daughter? You won’t have a choice! Your brother-

Sona cut herself off as a knock was heard on the door before it opened.

Guard : your majesty, your highness, the crown prince requests the both of you to come to the throne room. He has summoned for an official meeting with the ministers.

___________________________

Minister : the word has spread around the nation like a wild fire, your highnesses. There is no way we can take anything back now.

Sunhee : and? Why are we so concerned over a few words?

Minister : because our nation depends upon it, your majesty. You are only allowed to marry someone of your own status, by royal decree. Lord san is all but a knight. If you marry him, it leads only to execution.

This had been going on for an hour now. Again and again, the same literal thing. You cannot marry him without killing him.

Except she could, and sunhee had decided something the moment san had came back from battle, wounded.

Sunhee : you think I will stand still while I have a bunch of men executing the man that I love, minister?

Seojin : this, is what I have been trying to say all this while, ministers of court. A woman, is unable to rule a nation, she always will be. A woman is only capable of falling in love, and taking care of her husband. A queen is useless to our nation.

Sunhee turned to glare at her brother who was sitting on his seat next to where she was sitting on her own throne.

Sunhee : shall I tell them of what a man has done to our nation's treasury, brother? The amount of money you have lost through gambling?

The ministers gasped at that. Seojin's eyes turned angry as he turned towards his sister

Seojin : you-

Sunhee : I may be unable to rule this nation properly, but you are no more capable of ruling it than I am. You are unable to rule even over your own self, dear brother. How would anyone expect you, a man, to rule over this entire nation, then?

Seojin : how dare you.

Sunhee : I may lose this throne, but I certainly will not let you sit on it either.

Seojin let out a triggered noise before standing up from his seat, taking out his sword from it's sheath as he was about to point it at sunhee who sat unbothered on her throne. The guards around her was about to point their own swords at seojin when another sword was heard unsheathing, it's golden blade blocking seojin's path as the minsters gasped.

Sunhee : san!

San glared at seojin with fierce eyes, bringing the edge of his sword closer to seojin as seojin stepped back in part fear. He looked every inch of the knight he was, and sunhee had no idea how san had managed to dress himself up in the state he was last in.

San : point your sword at my queen once more, and I will have your ribs shattered into bits.

Seojin : you would not dare.

Except san did not take his eyes off seojin's, almost burning a hole right through his skull with the stare. Seojin let out a huff and sheathed his sword back, stepping aside as san finally lowered his sword as well.

Sunhee : you're not supposed to be here. Go back to my room, san.

San : this is our mess, I will not let you deal this by yourself.

Before sunhee could protest further san stood to the side of the throne sunhee was sitting on, the gleaming point of his sword touching the ground as san said

San : I am in love with the queen.

Sunhee shut her eyes tightly, the ministers staring at san with wide eyes. No one had expected san to actually say that out loud.

San : and if that goes against your rules, goes against the entire nation, then so be it. If that makes me a criminal, then so be it. If that would lead me to my death, then, so be it.

Seojin scoffed, looking away in dismay. Sunhee could only stare at san helplessly.

San : but I will not let anyone say anything against the queen because of this. She sits in this throne because she deserves to, and she's done an amazing job at proving her worth to the people, and this court. And as for the people who do not believe in her rule, you are all free to step out of this nation and never return.

Sunhee looked up at san, her eyes wide. What the hell was he going to do? San raised his head, his eyes not betraying a single emotion as he said

San : kill me if that pleases you, do whatever you want with me-

Sunhee : no. no, san stop.

San : sunhee-

Sunhee : no!

This was it, this was the moment. Sunhee stood up from the throne, looking at the ministers with stern eyes.

Sunhee : the rule book, says that the queen or the king, must marry someone of their own status. If they refuse to do that, the one of the lower rank, gets executed. But that isn't the only way out.

Sona : no. no sunhee-

Sunhee : if I give up the crown, no one dies. If I give up my crown, I get to be with the man that I am now not allowed to be with.

San stared at sunhee with wide eyes as her hands went up to the crown on her head. And before anyone could say anything, sunhee took the crown off her head, placing it on the throne before saying, her words firm

Sunhee : I abdicate the throne.

The ministers started protesting, none of them wanting the queen to leave. But sunhee ignored them all, turning to face san as she said

Sunhee : for freedom, as we both always wanted.

San smiled, letting go of his royal sword as it clattered to the ground. He nodded as he held his arm out for sunhee to hold, the both of them descending the steps together. And just like that the both of them stepped out of the royal palace, the sight of a huge crowd of people standing below the steps coming into their view. And just by the sight of san and sunhee together, all of them seemed to know what had happened. Sunhee stared at them, waiting for anything they had to say.

Except soon enough the people parted into two sides, making a clear pathway for both sunhee and san to pass through. A smile was on all their faces, some of them nodding their heads. San smiled as he looked at sunhee who also seemed to have a proud smile on her face. They both walked down the steps of the palace together, each step reminding them of each of their moments, and all that they had left behind for love.

The people bowed down as san and sunhee walked past them arm-in-arm, sunhee saying words of thank you with a smile. Sona and seojin looked at all of that from the balcony of the palace, sona muttering to her son with a smile

Sona : wherever she goes, she will always remain queen, son.

The people cheered as sunhee and san walked towards their new life, a life filled with happiness and peace. And most importantly, togetherness.

And the world would remember them as the queen who left her crown for her knight, and the knight who was willing to sacrifice his entire life for his queen.

______________________

[cryst4lwitch]

Modern angst if you look long enough but it's hidden within the shitpost ask!

Nobody hates finals week more than Lady Dimitrescu. She gets to deal with not one, but three daughters during finals week.

Finals week might as well be called, "Kiss your daughters' common sense, sleep schedule, emotional/mental/physical health, sanity and low stress levels goodbye week"

Bela goes from composed to a literal mess. Lady D has seen her eldest wide awake at four in the morning on the kitchen floor with bags under her eyes and her hair looking like a bird made a nest in it. She is surrounded by a shit ton of notes, an open text book filled with sticky notes, flash cards scattered about that probably thrown in a fit of rage, notebooks with several pages highlighted, and a hastily made sandwich, that's just bread with a slice of cheese in the middle, siting on a plate next to her while she sits in silence trying to process the apparent fact she's going to fail before biting into her sandwich and immediately breaking down over how the sandwich tastes like failure.

Lady D doesn't even know how long Cassandra has been awake and she isn't even sure she wants to know. But it's been long enough that she's witnessed her middle daughter start having a conversation with her laptop before trying to toss it out the window when her project didn't save. Cassandra's laughter is no longer playful but hysterical as she laughs while saying she's going to fail and drop out before she starts crying and mixes the fifth energy drink in her pack of six with a large mug of now cold coffee and adds four shots of expresso to it, and downs it in one go.

Daniela has barely eaten in the last three days and Lady D is half tempted to call a doctor because of it. She's seen Daniela come home, flop onto the floor, and nap for ten minutes before getting up and perching herself ontop of the fridge to not move for several hours and work on an essay that has enough words to be considered a novelette. And before she can cry over writer's block for the umpteenth time, she tries to pull herself together and say she doesn't have time to breakdown because the essay is worth a large portion her grade, it is due in two hours, and she can cry when it's over all the while tears fall regardless.

Lady D has endured so many comments about her daughters planning on burning their school to the ground. And comments regarding their own murders during the exams seem less like jokes, if she's being completely honest.

She's seen her daughters fight over the smallest things with the stress levels being so high. She's seen Daniela decide that the railing of the top of the stairs was a perfect place for nap. At the same time seen a sleep-deprived Cassandra decide that the stairs were a waste of time and figured swan diving off the second floor was a much more efficient way to get to the first floor. As well as seen a stressed out Bela that was too trapped in her own head run directly into the wall and miss the door.

She hates seeing her daughters absolutely fall apart over their projects and tests. She hates that Bela spends the night before a huge exam in the bathroom crying until she passes out from exhaustion only an hour before she's supposed to get up. She hates that Cassandra actually manages to stress herself out so badly she actually gets sick. She hates that Daniela is dead on her feet most of the time because she's far too anxious to really eat anything and it's taking its toll.

But Lady D is probably just as relieved as they are when it's all over, honestly.

i love modern au

[back2bluesidex]

Broken Glock 03 - JHS (M)

Pairing: Mafia King!Hoseok X Assistant!Reader (ft. other members)

Summary: 

Hoseok is cold hearted, that's what everyone says. He is made of stone, no emotion runs through his veins, everyone believes it. Everyone but you. Because you have seen concern in his eyes and felt warmth in his touches. You have seen the real him, someone he doesn't acknowledge to be. And that's what has made you fall for him even though you believe you are nothing but a paid employee to him. But the reality is different. You're the only one that makes Hoseok a sane human being, he loves you with all of his heart, so much so that now he has started pushing you away from him to keep you protected from any harm. But will you two survive without each other? What if you can't? And what if you won't? 

Theme: Angst, mutual pining, fluff and eventual smut. 

Word count: 3,958

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of blood and violence, 18+ content (minors DNI) 

Series Masterlist

Previous chapter

A/N: This chapter majorly contains the past of the mc and Hoseok. Then back to the present with a little confrontation.

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

Currently you are laying down on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your eyes sting so bad from all the crying that you have been initiating for a good 6 hours now. It's past midnight and you suddenly started to contemplate your entire existence, questioning it again and again. You have never been lucky when it came to love, and by love I mean from every aspect.

Your father was a drug addict, he was intoxicated 24X7, too out of his head to "love" his children. Your mother couldn't take him anymore. She indeed loved you but she loved herself even more and as a result, she ran off with someone you don't even know. You and Whojoon were left alone, totally alone. You couldn't give up your studies but you compromised it as much as possible. You wanted to be a doctor but your fate wanted otherwise. You ended up studying to be an HR and finally got a job. But did your miseries end? No. Your father died leaving you under a pile of debt. You had Whojoon to take care of as well. The job was your only anchor so you didn't think about yourself twice before working overtime. You managed it somehow, but you barely breathed.

However, the man called god enjoys your miseries much more than he should. One day during your overtime, your manager grabbed your ass calling it way too sexy, especially when you wear those pencil skirts (this is actually why you hate pencil skirts). You somehow managed to live through the sexual abusive behaviours, fighting against it wisely, but at a point water went above your head. You complained to the higher authority and lost your job (which was very natural for an easily replaceable employee like you). For several months you were unemployed. You had no money to pay the loan sharks, rent, water bills, electricity bills, Whojoon's academy fees and every other goddamn bill that exists.

Taking up random part-time jobs didn't help much. You kept on trying for jobs but nothing worked out as you already tainted your resume by being kicked out from the previous one. You were depressed to the point that you even considered committing suicide but Whojoon became the biggest and only obstacle. Your landlady was a nice person, who couldn't really see your misery anymore. She said his son faced similar issues since he was a convict of a burglary and nobody gives a job to an ex-prisoner but his current boss is a kind person. She promised you that she would be talking to her son if there's any opening at their organisation. And just like this you landed in the astonishingly scary yet beautiful office of Hoseok.

He skimmed through your documents and locked his gaze on you. You felt small under his eyes but you couldn't help admitting his good looks. Only if your situation was normal would you already have a huge crush on him just with the first glance. He only asked one question, "So Ms. Y/N, why are you unemployed right now and why are you so desperate for this job?" You told him everything, not leaving anything out. As much as you needed the job, you needed someone to share your story with as well. You were astonished to see him listening to you without any interruption without any sign of irritation. After you were done, he started, "let me tell you one thing very clearly. This is not an average organization. I am a mafia leader and this is a mafia empire. We do all sorts of illegal activities here. Starting from illegal transportation to taking lives if necessary, I do everything. Now you tell me, will you still be wanting to fill up the position for my assistant?" He already had your respect and after he told you everything without hiding any bit as if you were someone important even when he hardly knew anything other than your name, your heart was warmed. You said yes without thinking twice.

Within these two years you have seen him in his every shade. You have seen him angry, happy, vulnerable, hurt. He didn't show those emotions openly but then again who understands him better than you? No one. You were very easily successful to see what's underneath that cold hard exterior of him, and once you witnessed it, you fell in love with him. His subtle care towards his members, his anonymous donations to the orphanages along with a threat note to the wardens for treating the kids right, his not-so-apparent affection, kindness and affection towards you, made it hard for you to hold back. You were happy finally for the first time in your life, everything started to get into tracks but then Hoseok sent you an excel shit full of numbers of girls. And again, you were in misery but this time it was from a broken heart.

You can read him and his actions but you could never understand what he feels for you. You swear at times you felt your feelings are mutual. When his gaze rested on you longer than it should, when his shoulders brushed with yours unexpectedly, when he scolded his men for staring at you, when he would always offer to drop you when he wasn't busy, you felt like he had this mutual thing. But then again he never made a move so you were not sure. Moreover, his whores only increased with time. Then he reassigned you. So you buried all of your hope deep in your heart. But today, today he kissed you back with the same urgency and in the next moment he rejected you. It clearly tells you of his disgust for you.

You understand that kissing you back was the decision of his hormones not his but then again what were there in those eyes? Wasn't it longing and yearning? You know it well because your eyes had the same thing pouring out way too much. But whatever it is, you decide to belive the clear cut-throat words that came out of his mouth rather than the abstract feelings that you have witnessed in his eyes. You try to push the thoughts away and silently vow to try to cross paths with him as little as possible.

—-----------------

Hoseok stares at nothing particular. His big office seems bigger than ever. His eyes get stuck at the doorway, from when you exited a few hours back. He takes a sip of his whisky as he recalls the moment you two shared just right here. Only if he was a normal guy doing a 9 to 5 job, he would have been the happiest person on earth right now. You, the only woman to win his stone cold heart, has just confessed to him in her own way. You are so brave, unlike him. Only if he was a normal guy, he would be braver and he would claim you in front of the world.

But fate has always been so cruel to Hoseok. Fate had been cruel when he saw his parents die in front of his eyes. The house burnt to ashes and eleven years old Hoseok couldn't do anything other than crying. Fate had been cruel to him when none of his so-called relatives took his responsibility and he had to settle for an orphanage. The orphanage was a nightmare itself, so as soon as he graduated, he moved out. Fate was cruel when he struggled with his house rents as the part-time payment wasn't enough. Fate was cruel when he couldn't find a job with his seemingly low grades. Fate was cruel when he sat at the police station not knowing what to do when police arrested him and his roommate for selling drugs, which was discovered from their shared apartment.

Fate only seemed to shine when Mr. Bang walked into the police station and everyone seemed to get stiffened with his arrival. At once, Hoseok knew he wanted to be like Mr. Bang. The man had an aura that scared everyone and the same fear got Hoseok and his roommate out of the police station with just a small talk.

He tailed the man in order to thank him for helping them out. However the man replied in a way Hoseok didn't expect, "if you want to thank me, join your roommate and don't get caught." That night Hoseok got to know who Mr. Bang is, and what Bangtan is. It's not that his conscience didn't knock him twice but he was too aimless at that time. His life had no meaning, no direction, nowhere to head. He was just existing, somehow managing to live. Living a life of thrill didn't seem to be a bad idea. Moreover, if power comes free with it then he could step over those who have disregarded him in the past, his so-called uncles and aunts who never thought twice before receiving expensive gifts from his parents.

He rose to power soon enough. His loyalty towards Mr. Bang and his exceptional fighting and leadership skills made him the second in command and eventually the king. Mr. Bang had no successors and Hoseok had all of his faith. When the man died, he asked Hoseok to promise him that he will lead Bangtan even better than Bang himself, that he will never entertain any weakness, that he would be invincible. Hoseok made sure to act upon each and every promise.

But then you stepped into his life. He still remembers the day you walked into his office. A pale, discoloured blue blouse paired with some formal dress pants, you looked too depressed for your own good. The eye bags under your eyes and the desperation dancing inside them didn't skip Hoseok's observation. He took pity on you, he took pity until you started talking. While you were sharing your story, he couldn't help but to associate himself with you. You two shared the same ill fate, the same kind of misery. The only thing that was different was the desperation. Hoseok was desperate for power but you were desperate for your brother. At that moment, he envied you. You had something to hold onto but he had none.

When he told you everything about the organisation and you lifted your face looking directly in his eyes saying "yes" without any hesitation, something in his heart shifted. And that happened for the first time in a while since Mr. Bang's death. The rest is history.

It was impossible for Hoseok not to fall for a woman like you. You are so strong, but not extravagant. You are so soft but not delicate. You are so determined but not desperate. You are so beautiful but not artificial. And the way you have treated him, it's something his human side has always craved. You didn't even hesitate to make scolding eyes for him when it was needed, that warmed him every time. For the first time in his life he wanted to spend his entire life with a woman and not just a single night.

And now that want is stronger than ever but now the situation is worse than ever as well.

Hoseok's mind reels back to the earlier events for one more time, his eyes shot open when he realises the way he behaved with you. "Ugh" he grones. He doesn't know what to do next but the first thing he decides to do is to apologise to you. No matter whatever the reason behind pushing you away is, his behaviour is not justified. A woman like you, who has never tried to throw herself at him, doesn't deserve to be treated so harshly. He promises himself and he will apologise to you tomorrow.

—-------------

You didn't sleep a blink for the entire night and as a result you feel so tired, so worn out. Moreover, you need some time to prepare yourself mentally. So, you dial Jimin's number, he receives the call after two rings. You tell him that you are not fit for working today and you would like to take the day off. Jimin asks you to take care of yourself and it's okay if you would like to drop tomorrow as well but you say it will be alright within a day. You decide to spend the rest of the day eating to your heart's content, crying till your eyes run dry, occasionally watching Hoseok's photos that you took at last year's party, and then crying again.

—-----------------

The elevator dinged, signalling that it is the 11th floor, the door opens and Hoseok feels like nausea just hit him hard. Fuck, had he ever been this nervous before? How the hell is he going to face you after the way he screamed at you yesterday. What words should he use for crafting a perfect apology? No, he doesn't expect you to forgive him. Neither does he want it. But it's his responsibility to apologise, also, it's a chance to see you again, talking to you again, maybe for the last time before you cut him out of your life totally.

He enters the lobby and his heart drops to his stomach. Your desk is right outside of Jimin's personal office but it's empty today. It's 11 am already, so there's no chance that you are running 1.5 hours late. He stares at your desk for any sign of you, what if you are probably in Jimin's office or in the washroom but everything is neatly placed, way too neat to assure your presence.

He knocks on Jimin's office door and Jimin permits for enter.

"Ah hyung?" Jimin says being a bit surprised.

"Hmm. Where's Y/N?" Hoseok asks, stepping towards Jimin's table. He doesn't sit down but stands right opposite of Jimin.

"She called in sick. She sounded really sick actually. I'm quite worried for her." Jimin answers, a small sigh escapes his lips.

"She's sick?" Hoseok's eyes go wide. Did you somehow manage to let you migraine win over your body again? He knows very well how your migraine troubles you from time to time. And he also knows this time, it's him who triggered it.

Jimin nods his head as an answer. Hoseok looks at the younger and then leaves in a haste without wasting any extra second.

Hoseok is now contemplating whether to tap the call button on your contact or not. However, before he could decide anything his phone's screen changes and now he's getting a call. Thanks to heaven, it's not from you. "Kim Seokjin" that's what the caller ID says. He sighs heavily and then takes the call.

"Yes?" Hoseok says.

"I need to meet you now." Seokjin replies.

"Why? Is it urgent?" A frown takes over Hoseok's pretty forehead.

"If your money isn't dear to you then it's not urgent. You can go back to doing whatever the fuck you were doing." Seokjin raps on the other line and Hoseok has to pull his ears away from the phone as an impact.

Seokjin is the treasury head of Bangtan. He manages and monitors every single property that the organisation owns. He was in the organisation even before Hoseok came. Hoseok respects him a ton and almost never skips any of his advices.

"You see? This is what I am talking about." Seokjin says pointing at the paperwork.

"But I never received any letter or mail or any fucking news about the land being taken over." Hoseok says with a frown.

"You should have. The land is in your name! All the preparations for the construction have already started and now when I'm reviewing it, it's not even Bangtan's land anymore!" Seokjin sighs, "we need to do something. Within today. Ask Y/N about letters and mails. She is your assistant. She should know."

"She's not in the office today. And…" Hoseok pauses for a while, "she's not my assistant anymore." Hoseok replies.

"What? What are you saying? You fired her?" Seokjin asks, surprised.

"Well no. I did not. I kinda promoted her and now she's Jimin's assistant."

"What? What kind of promotion removes you from the leader's side and makes you the lawyer's assistant?" Seokjin chuckles in pure amusement.

"It's complicated. I don't owe you an explanation hyung, it's my decision." Hoseok rolls his eyes.

"What's complicated? Your feelings for her? Then yes, I already know that much." Seokjin counter attacks, "and about the explanation part, yes you do owe me an explanation. You can be the leader here but I am your senior, don't forget that. How can you just remove her from the position when she already knows too much about you? Did you make her sign any bond on privacy? Are you keeping tabs on her? I know you are doing none of this. How can you be so careless? What if she actually didn't deliver you the property related mails? What if she's just like Siwon?"

"Hyung! Enough!" Hoseok seethes in anger. "She is nothing like Siwon. She's the one that I trust the most after you six. I agree and apologize for everything related to Siwon. But Y/N is harmless. I'll go and ask her myself." And with that Hoseok takes long strides out of Jin's office. Jin sits there with a smirk on his plump lips.

—-----------------

You put another gummy worm on your mouth while staring at the devil's photo. The tv is playing some news you aren't even interested in. Just staring at the photo brings back the taste of his lips on yours. You sigh and close your eyes while leaning your head on the headrest of the couch. It's almost lunch time but your appetite is nowhere to be found just like the peace of your mind. The sudden ring of the doorbell startles you. You stare at the door blankly. No one visits you during this hour on a weekday, unless it's a delivery guy. But you are certain you don't have any deliveries left to receive. The doorbell rings again, pushing yourself out of your thoughts.

You take careful steps towards the door. Placing your eye in the peephole doesn't help, whoever is outside is blocking the view. You get a bit tense but decide to open it anyway. Your breath gets caught in your throat when the visitor comes to your view. It's him. You stare at Hoseok while he stares back at you. The eye contact feels so damn intimate that it sends shivers down your spine. He doesn't say anything, just stares back at you with those intense almond eyes.

You were on the verge of believing that you're seeing things but then he speaks, "Can I come in?"

You blink at him at first but then you realise that Hoseok is actually here, at your house, that too, not wearing his expensive suits but a pair of ripped jeans and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up. You nod slowly, tearing your eyes away from him. You step away from the door frame providing him enough space to enter your apartment.

Hoseok has been here before but only to the door, he never stepped inside. Your apartment is small but very well managed, just like you. You click the door shut behind him and he turns to face you. Fuck, did you have to wear such a thin tank top with those shorts that are really short? He's distracted already. However, he somehow manages his composure and tries to say something but you cut him off.

"Are you here to fire me?" You ask him, eyes piercing through him.

"Do bosses pay personal visits to their employees to fire them? I don't think it is how it works." He replies.

You scoff, "not all bosses and employees end up kissing each other as well. I thought I was a special case."

Hoseok clears his throat before speaking, "I was informed that you were not well. So, I thought of paying you a visit. Is it a migraine again?"

"No. It's something else" you reply very curtly and it hurts Hoseok, he's not accustomed to you being rude or harsh on him. He misses your warm smiles already but then again he hasn't done anything to deserve one.

"What is it, Y/N?" He asks.

"As if you don't know." You look at him with glassy eyes, "may I ask you why are you actually here?"

He sighs, "I wanted to apologise for the way I behaved last night. I…. I am really sorry, Y/N. I got worked up. I was shocked with everything that happened and I couldn't keep my thoughts straight."

"You don't have to apologise. I was the one to kiss you first even though I don't know what's the point of responding at first but pushing away later on, but I guess I deserve that for kissing my employer." You reply with a sad smile, a fake one obviously.

"No. Please. You deserve none of it. I am just. I am really sorry." He says staring down in your eyes and you get lost in him yet again but you are not gonna commit the same mistake again so you look away.

"Is that all you are here for?" You ask.

"Actually, no." Hoseok shuts his eyes. Opening them again, he asks, "have you received any paperwork or letter or mail related to the land in Gwangju earlier this month?"

You let out a dry chuckle in disbelief. "Okay so this is why you are here." You shake your head a little, "No. I did not. If I did you would know it anyway. I understand it's big enough to bring you here to my house but I hope you trust me enough. Even if you don't, you have enough manpower to keep tabs on me as well as a strong intelligence department to skim through my phone and the laptop I used while I was your assistant."

Hoseok sighs in relief even though your words cut him deep. "I do trust you Y/N. I just needed confirmation. That's all." He says, and you nod.

"And this is not the only reason why I am here. I was genuinely worried for you and wanted to apologise to you."

"Mr. Jung, there's no need to be worried." You say in a low voice, "but since you're already here, I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead" he says.

"Why did you kiss me back?" You ask, looking directly at him.

Hoseok falls short of words, "I…. I don't know. Maybe because Dahyun riled me up already." He lies and his own words disgust him but he doesn't have any other option.

"O-oh okay" that's all you say but Hoseok searches for more. He searches for disgust in your eyes but he finds none. Now he's searching for something else.

"And what about you Y/N? Why did you kiss me?" He asks, he's being brave with you for the very first time.

"Because I am in love with you." You reply so simply as if you are letting out some universal truth.

Hoseok's eyes go wide. The truth hits him like a truck. He doesn't know if he should be happy or sad, "Y/N…. I" he whispers.

"But I know it's not mutual. So it's okay Mr. Jung." You cut him off, "I'll try my best to stay away from you. I won't bother you anymore. But... but I won't say sorry for kissing you, because I don't regret my actions. However, I actually am sorry for making you uncomfortable." You say with another sad smile, one that breaks Hoseok's heart in a thousand pieces. You saying you will stay away from him somehow terrifies the shit outta him, even though that is what he wanted.

Next Chapter

Taglist:-

@billy-jeans23 @scuzmunkie @madinainspire @seokjinkismet @eternalhope7 @effielumiere @butterymin @hiii-priestess

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WIP Wednesday

My first WIP Wednesday! I did post a little snippet on the WIP i’m working on Sunday! You can find that here. Here another little snippet from the same piece The Ripple Effect. I’m at 10K which isn’t something I’ve done for a long time but I’m really enjoying working on such a larger story! Any way, hope you guys enjoy!

Buck could have brought up that he had to move during their 12-hour shift. The calls aren’t taxing – a call out to a park where a teenager is stuck in the baby swing, a young boy stuck in a tree trying to rescue his cat that had gotten stuck first, and a hotel worker who thought hiding from their boss in the industrial washing machine was a good idea.

 There were plenty of opportunities to tell them; cooking lunch with Bobby, while battling Hen and Chimney in Mario Kart, doing inventory with Eddie. Except, every time Buck opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out.

 Because Eddie was dating Ana, Hen was studying to be a doctor, Chimney had a new baby and as much as Buck wished, Bobby wasn’t his dad. Buck couldn’t help but feel that he was being left behind and he hated the ugly twist his stomach gave at the thought. He tried to quieten the sneer in the back of his mind, practicing the techniques that Doctor Copeland gave him. But it was hard when –

 “Hey, you guys want to grab a drink?” Buck asked after their shift had ended and they were civilians once again.

 “Sorry, Buckaroo.” Hen’s smile was tired and sympathetic. “I’ve got a ton of study to get through.”

 “And I have some very beautiful girls waiting for me at home,” Chimney added with a grin.

 “Uh yeah, sure,” Buck nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He turned to Eddie, a hopeful smile on his face.

 “Sorry,” Eddie shook his head. “I’m seeing Ana tonight.”

 Buck could recite the excuses off by heart now. They were the same ones they had given him the last time he had asked to hang out. And the time before that. And the time before that. Buck had stopped counting the number of times he had been blown off with other plans.

 “Sure,” Buck said, shoulder’s slumping. He shut his locker door (and he winced at how loud it sounded in the locker room.) He grabbed his duffel bag, swinging it over shoulder and strode out of the locker room without another word or before he could do something truly embarrassing like getting on his knees and begging for just one night out.

 “Buck!”

 Buck paused with his hand on the handle of his jeep, turning to see Eddie jogging to catch up to him.

 “Why don’t you come around this weekend?” Eddie asked, eyes warm and inviting as he smiled easily at Buck.

 Buck’s heart gave a traitorous little flip at the sight, and he could feel himself weakening as he stared at his best friend. He wanted to be mad at Eddie for blowing him off constantly, for only seeing him when he needed Christopher babysat (which was never a hardship and Buck looked forward to his nights with his best friend) before Eddie was rushing out the door to go meet Ana. But he couldn’t because it was Eddie, and he was so in love with the man it was pathetic.

 Opening his mouth to agree, the words died on his tongue as Eddie’s phone rang loudly.

 “Sorry,” Eddie said, fishing his phone from his pocket. He checked the screen, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s Ana.”

 Buck’s little bubble of happiness popped.

 “Looks like you’ll be busy, Diaz,” Buck said, opening his door and tossing his duffel into passenger seat. He climbed in after it, settling behind the wheel. He grabbed the door handle, glancing at Eddie. He swallowed as he saw the confused pull of Eddie’s brows and the slight hurt in his eyes. “Maybe next time.”

 Buck yanked his door closed, satisfied with the slam it made. He turned the engine on and carefully peeled out of the station car park, leaving Eddie standing there, watching Buck’s jeep leave.

Buck wondered if there would ever be a next time.