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fangirl-dot-com · 1 year ago

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Reader Lore - Born to Break Records

So this is a little filler for between now and the next chapter. This chapter might have triggers for death, abusive parents, and brief mentions of bullying. If these make you uncomfortable, then please feel free to skip this chapter. The synopsis is the reader’s life up until her first race win in F2.

Welcome to Reader-Lore

2003

The cry of a baby filled the sterile walls of the delivery room. Pants filled in the quiet moments, but were mostly covered. The wailing baby was placed into the arms of the waiting mother, the father looking down on the two.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse told them, writing something down in a book.

The atmosphere suddenly changed. The once hopeful air was dampened with disappointment. The father sighed loudly, turning his head to look out the window. The mother, who had held her baby tight, loosened her grip. Her nose was now scrunched in borderline disgust.

The nurse, feeling the off energy, offered to take the baby girl. She made some excuse about needing to weigh her and make sure that she was healthy, things that could have waited until after the parents bonded.

The mother was quick to hand her over, waiving her hand as though it wasn’t a big deal. The father had now moved farther away from the hospital bed.

The baby had started to wail once more after being taken from the arms of her mother. Arms that she thought were safe. Arms connected to the body that had cared for her for 9 months. Arms that suddenly did not hold her tight. Arms that willingly gave her away to some stranger.

Once the nurse and frightened infant left the from, the mother and father looked at each other.

“I wanted a boy,” the male murmured.

The female rolled her eyes, “I know. And so did I. But we don’t have a choice anymore.”

“We do. Could always leave her here. A boy would be able to break records. A girl is useless.”

“And be arrested? No thank you.” The mother rolled on her side, arms around her front. The father just huffed.

“Everything we talked about, our future, is now a wasted memory.”

The mother looked at the door with a sliver of hope, although, it was too small for anyone to see it. “Maybe she can do everything that you wanted a boy to do.”

“We can just have another baby,” the father persisted.

“You heard the doctor. It would be too dangerous for me to have another. What’s done is done. You can walk out now if you can’t commit.” The woman went to say something else, but was interrupted by whimpers.

The nurse had walked back in, now with a swaddled baby. Begrudgingly, the mother held her hands out to take the bundle of blankets. She looked down at the brand new baby, but her heart didn’t swell with pride like she read about. Her heart filled with distain, as if the baby were a Christmas present that she didn't want. But this time, she couldn’t return the baby like she’d return a gift at whatever store it was bought from.

The father had taken a few steps closer to the bed, but kept his distance. There wasn’t a bone in his body that actually wanted the child.

“We still need a name for her,” the nurse stated, clicking her pen.

The mother glanced to the father before saying, “Y/n. Her name is Y/n.”

2008 – Five years old

The air was stuffy, filled with the scent of petrol and burnt rubber. The quiet that could have been was broken by the rattles of engines and throttles. You wished for silence.

You wanted nothing to do with this. But, you’d rather get in a kart then flinch at your father’s hand. You had been allowed to wander around the track. The big boys were driving now. And by big boys, you meant 11- and 10-year-olds. They were bigger than you and drove karts that were so much faster than the little one that you had.

You looked around. There was definitely not a shortage of girls hanging around, but none were dressed like you. Most were the older or younger sisters of the drivers. Their pink tops, paired with shorts or skirts, flowed in the wind. None of them were wearing an old itchy race suit that was two sized too big. They were allowed to wear sandals, while you had to endure the tight racing shoes that your dad had definitely yanked on the laces too much. It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t learn to tie them yet.

You watched their hair bounce in the tall pony tails tied on the tops of their heads. They didn’t need their hair to be wrapped in a bun at the base of their necks so that it could fit into a helmet.

You wished that your mom and dad would allow you to cut it off so that you could be the boy that they wanted. You knew that they didn’t want you, your little mind was able to catch on to things like that.

You understood patterns. Patterns on the track helped you know what areas to avoid. Patters on the kart taught you where to put your feet and hands. Patterns told you that moms and dads should be happy for their children, and not yell at them. Patters revealed that children did not flinch when their parents patted their heads or caressed their cheeks.

The wind blew loud as the kart race came to a close. You knew that you needed to get back quickly to where you parents were waiting, but you wanted to see the winners, wanted to see them taste a victory that you were so desperate for.

You squeezed past the other boys and looked up at the three on the podium. The one on the lowest step wasn’t rememberable. His hair looked the same as others. His height wasn’t tall or small, just in the middle.

But the boys on the other two steps were. The one on the second pedestal had a shaggy hair cut, with bangs that pointed down. You had seen him before, surrounded by his family. A little brother, a big brother, mom and dad, and then a man who looked at the boy with stars in his eyes.

You wished someone looked at you like that.

“And in second place, Charles Leclerc.” So that was his name. Sharl. His eyes were bright green and filled with light and hope. But a sadness still glazed them as he looked up at the boy on the top step.

The boy who towered over the crowd had blond sandy hair. For a winner, he didn’t look happy. His blue eyes didn’t hold the same brightness that the green eyes had.

“And our winner, Max Verstappen!”

That was a nice name. Max. You wanted to look at the boy winner for a few more moments. Engrave his image into your mind. Because, you didn’t know when the next time you’d be able to do this. Your dad would probably ban you from such things, saying something like you didn’t need to look at something you’d never achieve.

But you were hungry.

You were taken out of your watching by the announcement that your own race was going to start soon. And you weren’t in your kart.

You rushed through the crowd, trying to put on your bright pink helmet on. You could put your gloves on while you got into your kart.

By the time you got there, your dad was already looking at you with a disappointed look. Your mother was nowhere to be found.

“Where have you been,” he hissed, hitting your helmet.

“I wanted to see the podiums,” you muttered, getting your gloves on.

Your dad shook his head. “What have I told you about that?”

“That I shouldn’t look at things that I can’t get.”

“Exactly. Now get in your kart.”

You did as he said. You heart was pounding as you taxied the little thing onto the smaller track. You were able to be seen by everyone, your helmet acting as a little flag. It seemed to say “look at me! I’m the only girl trying to be on par with all these boys! Watch me fail!”

But you were determined to prove them all wrong.

By the last lap, you were right behind one more kart. One more pass and you could win. Prove your dad wrong. Prove everyone wrong.

You watched as he broke your pattern. The pattern that would help you win.

He made a mistake, and you welcomed it with glee.

You passed over the finish line with a significant gap behind you and that boy. At the stopping point, you parked your kart and stepped out, exhaling sharply.

You thought that people would cheer and shout, but the silence that you had wished for earlier had come to haunt you.

You won and there was nothing to celebrate.

2015 – Twelve years old

Everyone thought he was crazy. There was no way that he was going to sponsor a 12 year old in karting, a female none the less.

He wasn’t crazy. How could he not want to sponsor you, a consecutive race winner in your league. He constantly watched you drive circles around the boys who would berate you in their free time. He watched as you would let their words roll right off your back. You didn’t let their words get to you.

But, he was your godfather and he had a sense of responsibility for you. He watched as you climbed out of the kart, looking around trying to find a familiar face.

He could see your eyebrows raise through the visor when you caught sight of him.

“LoLo!” you yelled, quickly sprinting over to him. He was ready to catch you, but not expecting the hit with your helmet.

He let out an oof as you knocked him slightly off balance.

“Hey kid! You did good!” He rubbed your helmet as if it were hair. You quickly unbuckled the pink contraption and took it off, hair sticking to your forehead.

You looked around before your shoulders slumped. You kicked a rock as you spoke, “They didn’t come.”

Lorenzo had noticed a lack of your parents as soon as he arrived. He would have come earlier to help you with your kart if he had known that they weren’t here. He looked down at you with sad eyes, and that’s the last thing you wanted.

You always wished for someone to look at you with so much love and affection that it poured out of their soul. But you only ever got looks of hatred and pity.

He rubbed your shoulder, “It’s ok kid. But you wanna know something?” He crouched down to your level, pant legs getting damp with moisture. You nodded your head. “LoLo gets to sponsor you!”

You gasped, eyes tearing. Even though you were twelve, you knew the weight of the situation. Your parents had told you that because you were winning, you were embarrassing them. And because you were embarrassing them, they wouldn’t pay any more years of karting after this one. You wailed when you told Lorenzo the next time you saw him. And he saw your heart break into itty bitty pieces while you did.

When you left, he looked into every possibly way that he could keep you in karting. The only option was to sponsor you.

And sponsor you he did. He emailed, texted, and called multiple companies, trying to get their support. He would get sponsorship to put on your kart so that you could carry the logos proudly. He had your new one sitting in the back of his old truck, but that was a surprise. It was blue with two proud bulls on the very front. He had done it. He found you a sponsor that would keep you going for a couple of years.

His thoughts were interrupted by you actually knocking him over. He knew his sweater was getting damp, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to see you smile for the rest of his life.

You were too busy whispering thank you after thank you for you to notice the weird looks that you were getting. Looks from the boys that you had just beaten. Looks from the parents who didn’t know the worries of paying for karting.

He quickly picked you up and took you back over to get your cart. He helped you load it on the mover and rolled it over to his truck. You wouldn’t be needing this kart that was almost falling apart. You had a new one, and you’d be all right.

You talked the whole way home, animatedly moving your hands around as you described your latest win. Your hands rolled over the other as you showed him how you turned the wheel, barely clipping the front of the kart who wanted to push you off.

Lorenzo only looked at you with pure adoration. A look that you wanted so much, but were too busy to see due to your explanations of your imaginations.

Maybe he was crazy, but he didn’t think so.

2019 – Sixteen years old (F3)

Your eyes were pricked with tears as you read the letter you received in the mail. The big letters of DISOWNMENT flashed in the reflections. They had done it weeks ago, according to the date on the top of the paper. By now, your things were probably thrown away or burned.

You had just finished the F4 category and were making a name for yourself in F3. You couldn’t deal with this now. One of the management people came and knocked on your door, telling you that the race was about to start.

You crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash. If they didn’t need you, you didn’t need them. That was the lie you continually told yourself. Of course a girl needed her parents. They were the people who were supposed to nurture you and help you.

But they never did that in the first place. At least you didn’t have to constantly buy drug store foundation and concealer and try to explain the black and blue around your eyes after it melted off during the race. No more flinching. No more hiding.

Just no more.

You would call Lorenzo and see if you could stay with him for a bit during the break. You would have to or you wouldn’t have a place to sleep.

Your breath shuddered at the thought.

You told yourself that you knew this was coming. They had cut all contact with you months ago and weren’t spotted when you went home during the last break.

You allowed the tears to fall as you got your helmet on. No one would see the streams as you placed your visor down. You were now hidden away from the weird looks that everyone sent you. No girl had ever made it this far.

Sure as you grew, there were girls in karting. That number seemed to increase in F4. Most of them were from the driver academies. You were still able to participate due to multiple sponsorships that Lorenzo had gotten you.

But with increase, there has to be a decrease. You were currently the only female in F3 and were set to be the only female to make it to F2. Well, that’s what everyone told you. Your stats reflected your need to prove yourself.

Race win after race win helped thrust you through the blockades built by men. They wouldn’t stop you, and you didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever.

Each race win fueled your hunger in this world. And it only grew and grew.

Your tears were brushed away by the wind brushing through your car. At that moment, you told yourself that you wouldn’t cry over your parents ever again. They didn’t deserve them.

You could cry about other things. Such as passing over the finish line, marking your first win in F3.

You constantly showed the world that you could do it. You wanted to cry again as you listened to your anthem. You wanted to cry when the boys celebrated with each other, leaving you out. You wanted to cry as you walked back to your “motor home,” knowing that it was put up quickly for you.

The time you finally let yourself cry was when you were talking with Lorenzo on the phone. Your eyes were tired and dehydrated by the time you quit. Lorenzo was able to calm you down. He told you that he would take care of everything, take care of you.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to see him much though. The F3 calendar was far busier than the F4 one had. And you knew the moment you entered F2, time for relaxation would be far and few between.

But you had Lorenzo to fall back on when the times got hard. You could always count on him.

2020 – Seventeen years old (F2)

It was too soon. Too too soon. It wasn’t fair either. Your tears had not stopped streaming down your face since you arrived. The sterile smell itched your nose, but you needed to be here. For him.

He had gotten paler in the few moments since you had been there. His breath rattled with each inhale and exhale. And each breath brought more tears. You didn’t want to let him go.

“Please LoLo. I can’t do this without you,” you whispered, knowing that he probably would not hear you. The doctors told you that he was far too gone for that, but you liked to believe that he was still listening. “You can’t leave me like everyone has. I can’t be alone. I need you.” You put your face down in the blankets, squeezing his hand.

The nurses stood in the door, with tears of their own. They were watching a child lose the only family that she had left.

You inhaled sharply, wiping your tears away.

“You know I’m going to do it. For you. It’s only ever been you. You’ve been my best friend and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this scary world without you.” You hiccupped. “But, I know that you need to go. And I’m being selfish for keeping you here.”

You stood and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you LoLo, for everything. I love you.”

His chest rose, fell, rose, and fell.

But didn’t rise again. The multiple beeps from the different machines let you know that he was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

One of the nurses came and rubbed your back as you sobbed, not caring who heard you. Your tears did not stop.

They didn’t stop on the plane to Bahrain. They refused to dry up during the practices as you set record times. They let up as you gave post-practice interviews, saving you from being embarrassed.

You cried as you put your helmet on. Stickers had been placed on it the night before with Lorenzo’s name and dates of birth and death to commemorate his legacy that would continue through you.

You knew this race was important. You heard that multiple F1 drivers were there to watch. And you’d give them a spectacle, before hiding away to burry your dead godfather. You hoped that the blond kid with blue eyes that had grown up by now was there. He didn’t need to know that you looked up to him. You just hoped that he’d be there. And possibly the green eyed Justin Bieber look-a-like as well, you had followed him too.

You had managed to score a P5 starting on the grid and you knew it would be tough to fight for the front. But you had a feeling that you’d be just fine.

And just fine you were.

You all hauled your F2 car over that finish line, finishing with a gap of 10 seconds. Your crew was screaming in your ear through the radio and congratulations were being thrown everywhere. You pulled into the number 1 spot and climbed onto the nose. You put your finger on the big numbers on the nose of your car, kissed the finger that touched it, and raised it, pointing at the sky. You had changed your driver number to the permanent 89 this season, and for the rest of your career.

One time, Lorenzo had showed you pictures of when he used to kart. The big 89 was visible through the old photographs. He had trophies upon trophies, but was never picked up by anyone. You told him that if he had raced these days, he’d be able to skip everything and would be put into an F1 car immediately. He had just laughed and told you to do it for him.

So that’s what you were doing. After you commemoration, you scrambled down the car and jumped into the crews waiting arms. These days, you did not flinch when they hit your helmet. You knew that these were celebrations for racers and you were thankful to partake. Two boys followed you up and went before you. You didn’t remember their names, only the Australian accent and the odd American accent. But they would remember your name.

You carried your flag high as you walked onto the stage. The anthem sounded much sweeter this time around. The trophy felt a little heavier this time though. You looked up to see those blue eyes that you saw many years ago. Max said a quick congratulations before you raised it as though to almost offer it to the open sky. This time, you let the tears go. You quicky wiped them away and picked up the giant bottle of champagne. You hauled it over your shoulder and sprayed the others, absolutely drenching them.

This time, they did it to you as well.

You knew you made it.

I’ll do it for you, LoLo.

December 2024 – Twenty-one years old

Christian Horner sat in the folding chair, as he did year after year. A camera was right in front of him, with an interviewer to the side.

“Please state your name for the camera.” He rolled his eyes.

“My name is Christian Horner, and I am the Team Principal of the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team.”

“Let’s talk about your driver, Y/n L/n.”

The screen cuts to the pace of your car, passing multiple others in one clean sweep.

“She’s one of the best talents I’ve seen in a while.”

A scene of you holding a trophy, high in the sky.

“What is one thing that you admire about your driver. She has said a lot about you.” Christian smiled. Of course you had. You told him that you saw him as the dad you never had.

“Almost everything she touches, she turns it to gold.”

The scene changes to your first win. The crowds of red cheered your name. Something you didn’t think was possible. You had taken that win from their favorites and you were being praised for it. Slow-motion splashes of champagne hit you from either side as you wiped your face.

The scene returns, but Max is in Christian’s spot.

“She’s different. She’s the epitome of what a rookie should be. I’m just thankful that she’s my teammate and not working against me.”

The screen fades to two Red Bull cars with an Aston Martin in between them.

“Y/n, Max is currently behind the Aston. Gap to you is 1.237 seconds,” Mitch’s voice is heard off screen through the radio.

“Tell Maxie that it’s time to do the old switcharoo!”

Your car suddenly slowed down just enough on the turn, and the crowd cheered as Max’s car went wide, putting him before you. You quickly got in his slip stream and the two of you sped off, leaving the green car in the dust.

Another driver, with green eyes, is now in the seat, answering the same question.

Charles looked up in thought while blowing some air out his lips. “She’s fearless. You normally don’t see that anywhere. Sure, everyone gets scared if they have an impact, especially as big as the one she had, but not her.”

The camera cuts to the violent scene of your first DNF. Your car flipped, you were trapped. People’s faces were adorned with tears including Christian, no one had been able to contact you. Yet, the focus is now on you, wiggling out from beneath the wreckage. You, in spite of it all, raised your fist as though you were celebrating a first win.

The scene cuts to an Australian with a straight smile. He looks semi-uncomfortable in the seat.

“It looked like you and L/n had a tussle in the beginning. Is that true?”

Oscar shook his head. “There was never a tussle. We both made mistakes, but that’s racing. Wheels touch all the time: it doesn’t mean that we have the urge to take each other out.”

The interviewer continued, “But she did take you out.”

The screen fades to a clip of two cars dangerously close together, one orange and one navy.

David Croft’s voice could be heard, “And there goes the Red Bull of Y/n L/n and the McLaren of Oscar Piastri! They are close together around that corner and they aren’t backing down. Are they going to make contact! And they do! Off the track they go, debris is everywhere. And I don’t think they are going to be able to continue.”

You knew that you should not have “never backed down never what-ed.” But Oscar was going for it and so were you. And you felt terrible. You quickly used the halo to climb out. Looking over, Oscar was doing the same thing.

The camera followed you as you made your way through the swarming stewards. You just knew that you needed to check on the Aussie.

The crowds could hear David speak again, “Oh no. Looks like L/n is mad. Does Red Bull have a thing for drivers with anger issues?”

Oscar looked up and saw you storming towards him, batting away the stewards hands. He stiffened, ready for anything. But what he didn’t expect was a giant hug. He could feel you shaking and he quickly put his hands around you.

“I’m ok.”

The screen flashes back to Oscar.

He huffed, “She did. But the moment she got out of the car, she came to check on me. She batted away the stewards who were desperate to make sure that she was fine, since she took the brunt of the hit. If that doesn’t convince you that Y/n is a great friend and better driver, then I don’t know what will.” The Aussie looked livid.

The scene cuts to now a new face, your manager.

The interviewer asks, “What is something that people might not know about Y/n.” Vito put his hand to his chin. You had already given him the permission to talk about what might be discussed.

He inhaled, “She’s strong. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.”

“Can you give us an example?”

“The kid was disowned in 2019, right before her F3 debut. And you know what she did? She put that F3 car in the P1 spot. She never showed it though. She held her head high, and was squeezing into her place, that was waiting for her, in this sport.”

A quick flash of 16 year old you, holding your first F3 trophy, was shown on screen.

Vito kept talking as the scene changed to you walking around your motor home, greeting everyone who was there. They knew what had happened, and comforted you with words and hugs. You were thankful for them.

“She also lost her godfather Lorenzo in January 2020. It was heartbreaking to hear her over the phone. Her debut in F2 was the next day. I told her that she didn’t have to, but she insisted that she needed to race, to win.”

The camera followed 17 year old you, helmet on and visor down, as you walked to your F2 car, shining with your new number.

“In less than 24 hours, she was back in the car.”

Your car sped down the straight, over the finish line.

“And she won.”

The scene shifted to 23 year old Max Verstappen handing you the big F2 trophy. Tears could be seen in your eyes as you took the cup and thanked him.

“Did you know?”

Max looked at her in bewilderment. “I didn’t. And you would have never guessed it. Y/n has her heart on her sleeve, everywhere she goes, except when she races.”

A quick cut now shows Christian back in the seat.

“The last driver I saw with that mental strength was Charles Leclerc. He previously lost his godfather, and then lost his father. A few days later he won his race. Y/n lost the only family she had in less than a year.” Christian laughed. “These rookies are built different. You’d think they were made for the earlier days of racing, with how much they put into it. But Y/n, I don’t know. Her aura commands attention.”

The scenes now shown are from multiple races.

The camera followed you as you walked through the crowded paddock, trying to get back to hospitality. You thought that it would be different, that you’d have to squeeze through to get by. But with each step you took, the people parted like water.

You flashed a smile at many fans who seemed awestruck to be in your presence.

A new driver is now in the seat.

“She’s almost like Charles, in a sense,” Lando said. “The two of them,” he looked around, “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

“Can you try?” Lando shot her a cheeky grin. “They are basically the F1 royalty. Any driver has a ‘celebrity image’ and people are excited to see us outside. They ask to take pictures, but they also do things against us.”

The scene cuts to multiple instances of booing and pushing drivers.

“And yet, Charles and Y/n bend them to their will almost. They listen to them. The King and Queen of Formula 1.”

A video of you, Lando, Max, and Charles speaking before the Monaco Grand Prix plays.

“Ah, Max. Did I tell you that we have to address them as your highness now?”

Max looked up from his phone and followed Lando’s finger that was pointed at Charles and you, deep in conversation.

“No? Why?” Lando walked over and showed him the edit and comments on his phone.

The caption read “Y/n L/n and Charles Leclerc are F1 royalty and we need to address them as such.” The video that played started with a clip of Charles in Monaco, with the grid and Monegasque royalty behind him. He looked so majestic. It switched over to you in your home country, with a crowd around your pedestal. You hadn’t even won yet, and they looked at you as though you hung the moon. You stretched out your arms and the crowd roared.

Max looked back at the two, who were ignorantly blissed. Max looked up at Lando.

“You’re right.”

The camera is back to Charles.

His eyes were wide with eyebrows raised, “Lando really said that.” He smirked. Shuffling up to good posture he said, “I’m fine with that. Y/n has always been different, but in a good way. She knows what the people wants, but also doesn’t get caught up in all the PR. She’s herself.”

A clip of you with fans plays. Your smile was mirrored with theirs. Everyone wanted to see you, hug you, feel you. And the waves that were emanating from you only made the crowd happier.

Now, the seat is occupied by none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton.

“What do I think about Y/n?” he questions back to himself. “I know that she is one of the best rookies to ever come across in the world of Formula 1. I’ve had the opportunity to share podiums with so many drivers, but her? There’s something different.”

The scene flashes to a podium shared with you, Lewis, and Max. Lewis had been able to take the win, leaving you on the third step. You had almost had the win, but a late safety car ruined it. Lewis looked over at you, expecting a disappointed face. But all he saw was a smile that rivaled the sun.

“She never seems to be disappointed with anything. Even if she was to qualify in last place, she would still smile.” Lewis laughed. “And I think everyone loves her more than they realize.”

A small clip of you and a bulldog flashes across the screen. Roscoe was licking all over your face.

“Roscoe, stop!” But you were laughing, and the dog thought that he should continue. Lewis found the two of you in the middle of the floor in the Mercedes hospitality. A blanket was draped around your shoulders.

“And what are you doing here kid?” Lewis put his hands on his sides.

You shrugged. “Toto told me I could hang out here. Max is having one of those ‘adult meetings’ that Christian says my ears shouldn’t hear. I think they forget that I’m 21 now.”

Lewis just laughed, thinking of how Toto must have let you in and had given you a blanket as well. He just ruffled your hair and sat on the ground with you.

The scene changes one more time. You are now in the seat.

The interviewer asks, “Please state your name and your occupation.”

You smiled, “My name is Y/n L/n and I am a Formula 1 racer who drives for the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team. I also DJ,” you shot finger guns at the camera and clicked you mouth, “Thanks Lando.”

“How was your first season in Formula 1. You obviously showed the world of what you could do.”

You nodded before continuing, “The season went better than I expected. To place third in the driver’s championship as a rookie? Unheard of.” You smirked. “Until now.”

The person behind the camera continued, “You were only 10 points away from Charles Leclerc. How does that make you feel?”

You cocked your head. “It feels wonderful. Charles had a really good season.” You leaned in as though to tell a secret. “If anything, don’t tell Charles or Max I said this, but Max and I would rather lose to Charles than anyone else.”

“And why is that?”

You deadpanned. “Well Charles is Lightning McQueen incarnate and Max’s emotional support rival. Who else would we want?” People laughed in the background.

“Now that you know you could win a championship��”

You cut her off, “Oh I’ve always known I could win a championship. But I also know that I was born to break records. And right now, I’m on a path to help Max break the 7 streak.”

“Ah yes, sorry. What would you do after winning a championship.” You hadn’t seen Max slip in.

“I think I’d pull a Nico Rosenburg. Ya know? Retire while I’m ahead.”

“You would not do that!” Max said behind the camera and you looked straight at him.

“Yes I would.”

“No you wouldn’t. Because you said you were born to break records. Well Kid, if I make a record championship, you need to be the one to break it.”

Oh my gosh, I loved how this chapter turned out. And it is officially the longest chapter I have written so far – 6,077 words. Right now, I have to write the chapter for the last race of F2 and you readers have to pretend that it lands on a weekend that the F1 drivers can attend.

Also! I am pleased to announce that the first few chapters of a new series will be out shortly! It is called “Besties for the Resties” and it’s how you got close with many of the drivers. Not all of them will have their own chapter and not all the drivers are being written about. So please be aware that this will not be going over 10 chapters!

Thank you to all my readers and Happy Thanksgiving!

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halsteadlover · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

*Gifs and pic not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested by anon: Hi i saw your post 'exam buddies' and it gave me and idea of Jay gets grazed by a bullet or something and while he's getting checked out he is flirting with the doctor who he has had a crush on for a while and she does to so she denies him and says how unprofessional it would be but while she is talking he walks closer to her and starts undressing her while teasing her and saying "yes so unprofessional" of not that's fine love your work.

• Warnings: curse words, making out (hehe), mention of wounds, and I don’t know what else let me know if I missed any lol.

• Word count: 3604.

• A/N: when he gets stabbed just to see you 😍😍😍. Need me a man like Jay frfr. I hope you’ll like this one I really had fun writing it. Comment, reblog and leave a like if you want, it’d mean the world. Thank you so much for your support sending lots of love to all of you xx

“Halstead, third time in a month, that’s a record even for you.”

An amused expression appeared on your face as you entered the room of the patient you were supposed to see, who turned out to be no one other than Jay Halstead. He was lying on the bed, his back resting on the raised headboard and a bored expression on his face which however disappeared as soon as he saw you enter.

“Oh yeah I couldn't wait to see you, Dr. Sunshine,” he replied, letting his eyes wander unscrupulously along your uniform-covered figure, before returning them to your face and giving you a full on smile.

This was a nickname Jay had given you since the first moment you met and since then he had never stopped calling you that. In fact, since that day he had noticed how you always had a smile on your lips, constantly, how nothing seemed to disturb you. You always had a happy and serene expression on your face and this was one of the things that most attracted him from the beginning.

The two of you had met some time ago when Jay had arrived at Med's to question a suspect who he had injured during a chase and who you had taken into care.

He remembered how impressed he was with you when he first saw you, he couldn't deny you were a beautiful woman. But it was the marked humor with which you addressed him and your sharp but nice jokes that truly mesmerized him. While you two talked in front of that helpless patient who did nothing but bring his eyes between you and the detective, Jay found himself being attracted more and more to you, feeling the ever-increasing desire to get to know you better.

After that exchange in front of the patient, you left Jay talking to the suspect and walked out of the room, winking at him before closing the door behind you and leaving Jay standing there looking like an idiot.

Needless to say, as soon as he finished questioning the suspect, he immediately turned to his brother with the aim of asking for information about you. He didn't know why but he wanted to know everything he could about you. He had looked for you so he could have the opportunity to talk to you again but you were already with another patient.

From that day you had never left Jay's mind or his thoughts.

He found himself going to Med's every time for all sorts of reasons, most of which involved having to say something to his brother who couldn't help but make fun of the detective. You obviously weren't stupid and there was no shortage of your comments regarding the fact there was a very different reason behind those visits to which Jay responded with some mischievous joke that made you blush from head to toe.

However, there was no shortage of visits either due to some injuries Jay got due to his job but that didn't stop him from shamelessly flirting with you even if he was on a hospital bed.

He loved this relationship that had been created between you, the flirting, teasing each other, and every opportunity was perfect to see you but he wanted more. He struggled to admit it to himself but he had a huge crush on you and the fact he couldn't read you and know what you were thinking was driving him crazy. He was getting tired of looking at you from afar, of hiding behind the flirty jokes, he wanted you.

You giggled and looked at him for a moment as you quickly examined his body for injuries. Or at least that's what you convinced yourself of. You were pretty good at hiding your feelings because to say that damn detective gave you goosebumps and set every cell in your body on fire was an understatement.

You sanitized your hands and put on a pair of clean gloves before approaching him, his eyes never leaving yours and just the way he looked at you made you shiver from head to toe and your knees tremble.

Focus Y/n, he’s a patient now.

“What did you do this time?” You asked and he rolled his eyes playfully.

“You're no fun dammit, always straight to the point.”

“You know me Halstead,” you replied. “So?”.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a little cut while chasing a suspect, no big deal.”

Your gaze fell on his abdomen, at the level of his left side where you noticed a copious stain of blood. “Well let me be the judge since I’m the doctor. Lift your shirt up.”

His lips lifted into a mischievous grin and you rolled your eyes knowing where his mind had immediately gone. “If you want to undress me just say so Dr. Sunshine, there's no need for these excuses.”

He took off his shirt and you tried with every fiber of your being to try to maintain a composed and professional expression, trying not to look his abs and not to focus on the heat that was spreading through your body.

You swallowed the lump in your throat but you couldn't help but admire that Greek God laying in front of you. “You didn't need to take off your shirt Halstead.” You said in an amused tone before pulling up a chair and sitting next to the bed.

“Well, you know I'm a self-centered bastard,” he retorted and you rolled your eyes again as you began to examine the wound. “Plus I love the way you’re struggling not to jump on me right now.”

You flicked your gaze into his eyes, not responding but maintaining eye contact as he looked at you as if he wanted to undress you right then and there. The heat spreading through your body intensified and rose to your cheeks and you struggled to say anything because, damn, he was just telling the truth.

“J-just, let me do my job Halstead,” you murmured and cursed yourself for the way you stuttered. You looked away and back to his wound and he chuckled, probably aware of the effect it had on you.

You examined his wound. It was a stab wound and luckily it wasn't very deep so it only required a bit of disinfection and a couple of stitches. You took what you needed and sat next to Jay again, who continued to watch and examine your movements with meticulous attention.

“I'll numb the area so I can stitch you,” you said in a firm, professional tone of voice but refusing to look at him. You couldn't do it, not when his eyes were enough to make you a babbling mess.

You tried to maintain all the concentration you possessed, failing miserably as Jay was laying there in front of you with his shirt off.

You couldn't help but let your gaze travel down his abdomen, along his hips, the V-line disappearing into his boxers you so much wanted to trace with your tongue, the line of his underwear that slightly protruded from his pants.

He was so fucking hot and you were about to be burned.

Your breathing quickened even though you tried to keep yourself composed but this didn't escape Jay, who didn't take his eyes off you for even a second.

He carefully scanned your profile and features, the way your eyelids and eyelashes fluttered, the way your cheeks were flushed and he knew it was because of him, the way you were trying to avoid him even if you were attracted to him like a magnet.

“You're so beautiful Y/n, you know that?” he murmured before he could stop himself.

You almost dropped the pliers you were holding, taken aback by his words. You giggled, keeping your expression as neutral as possible even though that short and simple phrase had thrown you into a whirlwind of overwhelming emotions and sensations.

“And you know I’m your doctor right?”.

“Mmh just for now,” he replied “As soon as you're done you won't be anymore.”

“You're actually one of my most loyal patients.” You gave him an amused look, a smirk on your lips as you continued to stitch his wound. “Like I said, you're breaking every record so no, you can't make those comments it's very unethical of you.”

There was nothing ethical about Jay's sinful thoughts about you, but he didn't let them out at the time.

He laughed, never taking his eyes off you. “Since we see each other so often we’re more than just doctor/patient now, I’d say I have every right to tell you’re beautiful.”

“Stop it.” You gave him a fake disappointed look even if you were internally giggling like a little girl. “Am I hurting you? You feel anything?” You also asked but the smug expression on his face and the smirk on his lips had given you the answer you needed.

He shook his head. “Come to a date with me.”

Your heart started beating wildly, more than it already was since the first moment you say Jay laying on that bed. “Is this a question or an order?”.

“You want to tell me no?”.

“Jay, I need to focus.”

“That's not a no though, so I have some hope.”

You laughed, at the tenacity and cheekiness he was showing and to mask the nervousness you were feeling, God, you didn't know how long you could last before giving in.

After about ten minutes you finished suturing his wound and placed gauze over it, recommending him to disinfect it and change the gauze at least twice a day even though he did nothing but flirt with you.

You stood up and removed your gloves before throwing them into the bin along with the dirty gauze you had used earlier and disinfected your hands.

You glanced at Jay, noticing he had sat up in bed, still wonderfully bare-chested. For the second time you found yourself running your eyes over his frame, his broad shoulders, his muscular arms and toned chest.

That man oozed sex from every pore of his body and you no longer knew what to do to resist him.

“Why are you this far? I don't bite, you know.” He said with a wicked smile on his lips, not even trying to mask the way he was eye-fucking you.

You rolled your eyes for the thousand time and crossed your arms over your chest, remaining firm in your position even if with difficulty. You felt as if there was some kind of force pushing you towards him and as the minutes passed you were less and less able to fight it.

“Don't you have to go back to work?”.

“Not until you give me an answer.”

“About what?”.

“About the date.”

“You didn’t ask me though.”

“Well will come to a date with me?”.

You tried to suppress a chuckle but didn't answer, keep losing yourself in those two emeralds that were his eyes.

You didn't have to hesitate like that, you didn't even have to think about it. You were a doctor, he was your patient and there was nothing more immoral.

But then why didn't you say no? Why were you actually thinking about that?

Jay stood up and walked over you noticing your silence, standing a step away from you.

Still shirtless.

God please have some mercy on me.

You raised your head slightly so you could look in his eyes given your height difference, the words dying in your throat every time you tried to say something.

It was undeniable there was an attraction between you two that in one way or another always pushed you towards each other. It was undeniable that man made you feel things you hadn't felt in a long time.

You didn't know what he had done to you, what kind of witchcraft he had practiced on you since there had never even been anything between you. Sure, you flirted with him too, he shamelessly hit on you and sometimes you didn't even know if he was serious or just because of the way your relationship had turned, but you couldn't get him out of your mind.

“You're thinking about it, aren't you? I know you want it,” he whispered, lifting a hand and stroking your hair, moving a strand behind your ear as his eyes continued to admire and analyze every little feature of your face.

You let your arms drop to your sides, dumbfounded as his fingers caressed your skin so lightly his touch seemed unnoticeable. But you felt it all, you felt his touch in every corner of your body.

Your breathing quickened as your eyes alternated between his and his mouth, without even being able to stop yourself.

“We can't,” you whispered back.

“Why not? We both want it, I know it and you know it too.” He wet his lips with his tongue. “And the way you're looking at me now, fuck… I'm fighting every fiber of my body not to throw you on this bed and have my way with you. You can't deny it Y/n, you can’t deny what's going on between us.”

Before you knew it, your hands were resting on his chest, his skin hot under your fingers and his breathing visibly quickening under your touch. “And who tells me it's not just the thrill of conquest? That once I say yes you won't just disappear?”.

His hands cupped your face, his lips so close to yours they kept brushing each other. “I’m planning to do so many things to you that a lifetime won't be enough Y/n, you're not just a conquest. I want you.”

His thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip and your breath hitched, almost making you pass out at his feet.

God Jay what are you doing to me?

“You really think every time I'm here it's to see Will? Don't get me wrong, I love my brother but do you seriously think I'm here almost every day just to see him? Do you seriously think I would randomly find myself at Molly's every night whenever you're there? Do you think I’d let myself get stabbed just to have another excuse to come here and see you?”.

You pulled away from him, hitting him in the chest in disbelief. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?! I hope you're kidding.”

“Do you see me laughing? I'm not fucking kidding. I could’ve easily overpower that piece of shit but you got into my head so much that at that moment I just thought I had the perfect excuse to see you and be close to you. That's how fucking insane you make me Y/n. Please just give me a chance, I want you so bad,” he spoke, not caring about how desperate he sounded.

Now that he had said it out loud he realized how crazy he really was. But did he care? Absolutely not. He just wanted you to accept to go to that date.

“And it's not just wanting to have sex with you. I mean, God yes, you turn me one so much I would fuck you on every floor and surface of this hospital… But I want everything, I want to know every single part of you, the good and the bad, I want you to be mine, I want you to know me and I want to be yours.”

You sighed in frustration, the temperature of the room rising a degree with each passing second. How were you supposed to push him away?

“Tell me you don't want me and I'm leaving right now and you'll never hear from me again. Tell me you don't feel like this thing between us is consuming you too... Tell me,” he continued, brushing his nose with yours.

“You're so unprofessional Jay,” you whispered, trying so hard to fight the urge to give in but, fuck, you didn't think it would be this hard.

“Yeah so unprofessional. Now answer me.”

You sighed. “Jay I…”

“God you're so stubborn Dr. Sunshine, you really want to torture me until the end? Have mercy on me at least now that I'm… Shit,” he stopped, holding his side where he had been stabbed and letting out a cry of pain.

“Jay! Hey, what's going on? Talk to me please.”

“Fuck it hurts.”

“Here, let me help you. Sit down so I can take another look at you. Everything will be fine.”

You helped him sit on the edge of the bed, worried and thinking of every possible scenario imaginable like an internal bleeding.

But when he instead surrounded your hips under your white coat and pulled you towards him, making you settle between his legs, you understood that asshole was just faking it.

“You piece of shit! You've got me worried sick!” You exclaimed, hitting his shoulder harder this time. You tried to pull away from him but his grip was too tight around your waist.

He laughed, a cocky look on his face that only made you want to punch him. “Look at you so worried about me. Just as I thought.”

“You thought about what? That you’re an asshole?”.

“Yes I am,” he replied amused, “But also that all this facade you want to put up, all this resistance is fake. That you want me as much as I want you, so why do you keep fighting it so much?”.

“Because it’s unprofessional, I'm a doctor and you're my patient. We can't.”

“Of course we can.” His hands tightened around your waist, moving up your hips, distracting you and making you forget what you even wanted to say. “Like I said. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”

You didn't answer, again.

You just looked at him and melted under his touch.

You didn't know what happened, it was like a switch had been turned on inside you.

All your rational thoughts and abilities left your mind as you grabbed his face and crashed your lips onto his.

You didn't want to resist anymore, especially since you weren’t strong enough. Let's be honest, it was a battle you already lost from the start.

You didn't want to live in fear of what might happen, hide behind the hypocrisy of 'unprofessionalism' because the truth was that you wanted that man more than anyone you had ever met in your life. The truth was, you couldn't look him in the eyes and tell him you didn't want him when just hearing his name made your heart beat wildly and your body lit up on fire.

Jay kissed you back, not even being able to explain how ardently and for how long he wanted that moment.

You parted your lips slightly and he immediately took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss which was becoming more and more passionate, borderline pornographic.

His hands rested on your stomach and moved up your abdomen, grazing your breasts before settling on your shoulders. He hesitated and you nodded during the kiss, giving him permission to take off your white coat which fell to the floor next to your feet.

His hands then trailed down back to your ass which he squeezed and groped without any shame as you threaded your fingers through his hair, sighing into his mouth at the sensation.

If at first there was a thread of doubt that left you perplexed, after finally feeling his lips against yours, their taste, you knew there would never be a return from that point. You were deeply and inexorably lost for Jay Halstead.

Your heart was pounding as your body continued to press against his, as if you were both trying to suck out each other's souls.

You bit his lower lip and a small moan escaped him which immediately made you press your legs to each other, your insides twist and goosebumps on your skin. He slapped your ass in response, a gesture that turned you on more than you would ever admit.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, pulling him towards you.

“I'll take this as a yes?” He whispered the moment you both broke apart panting as you tried to catch your breath.

He slid his hands down your back, up your ass, your thighs, touching and caressing every inch of your body he could reach.

“What do you think?” You replied, one eyebrow raised.

“I can't even think right now to be honest, all the blood has rushed to my dick. It actually hurts a little, can you kiss it better?”.

“You’d really love it wouldn’t you?”.

“Oh you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you kissing me better, especially my dick. This mouth of yours is haunting me princess.”

You chuckled – not mentioning how bad you wanted to do it – and he smiled back, feeling lighter, happier.

“Is tomorrow night okay?”.

“Tomorrow night? Are you kidding me? You really think I can last until tomorrow especially after you kissed me like that? No, there’s no chance. I want to see you tonight.”

“Oh Halstead, remember that patience is the virtue of the strong,” You smirked at him, caressing his shoulders. “See you tomorrow night detective.”

You gave him one last sweet kiss on the lips and picked up your white coat from the floor, then straightening out your wrinkled uniform. You winked at him before exiting the room, leaving him sitting on the edge of that bed with an erection in his pants he knew he’d struggle to keep at bay for the next twenty-four hours.

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alotofpockets · 2 months ago

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Rough shift | Caitlin Foord x Doctor!Reader

Where Caitlin comforts you after you lose one of your patients

Warnings: surgery, blood, cpr, patient death

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

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“Good morning, how is my favourite little Champ doing?” You ask as you walk into Maya’s hospital room, followed by four of your interns. “I’m doing good.” She answered, but the smile didn’t fully reach her eyes, a tell tale that she wasn’t telling the truth.

You had met Maya last year, when you moved back home to work at the hospital you worked at before. It had been hard leaving London, moving away from your girlfriend and your friends, but there was a shortage of pediatric surgeons at your former place of employment, and they reached out to you. You talked about it a lot with your girlfriend, Caitlin, who was very understanding of why you felt like you needed to go.

The two of you have been doing long distance for the duration of it. While it was hard at times, the two of you made it work. You were already excited to see her later today, since she and the rest of the Matilda’s would be arriving for their training camp.

Maya had been one of your first patients when you got back. She had been in for many surgeries before you had met her, and have been there for plenty after. She was a tough kid, that besides all of the medical treatment remained positive.

“Alright,” You continued, ignoring the fact that she lied about her well-being. She was here for another surgery because her bowels were acting up again. Sadly no one had been able to find a permanent solution for her illness yet, and repeated surgeries were only short term solutions. “Doctor Taylor, can you present, please?”

He stepped up with Maya’s chart, and started presenting her case. “Thank you Doctor Taylor.” You said after he perfectly shared all the necessary information. To teach the interns, you asked them a couple questions about the surgery, and made sure that they answered in a kid friendly way to make Maya feel at ease.

“Do you have any more questions for us, Maya?” You turned to the young girl on the bed. “Will you be there when I wake up?” Her eyes filled with hope, “Of course, I always am.” And you had. After every surgery you had been with her in the recovery room, always making sure to give your patients that extra bit of comfort that they needed.

While your interns walk out of the room, you take a moment to speak to Maya’s parents. While they were used to the surgeries by now, every parent was nervous about their child getting operated on. Surgery on the bowels was always risky.

“How long do you think this fix will last?” You felt for Maya and the family and were gutted for them that there still wasn't a permanent fix. “Our best hope is another few months.” They knew that was the answer they were going to get, yet they still hoped that this time would be different.

When you walked back into the hall you overheard Taylor brag about being the best in their class, and not needing the hours on peds because he won’t be choosing that specialty anyways. You listen for a bit longer and cannot believe the words you hear coming out of his mouth.

“Why do we keep going with these hopeless cases? It’s not like she’s ever going to get better. We’re just delaying the inevitable.” His words hit you like a punch in the gut, but you quickly gather yourself and step forwards. “Doctor Taylor,” The sharpness of your voice quickly grabbed the attention from everyone around you. “With me, now. All of you.”

You didn’t say a word until you had all of them in an empty hospital room. “These aren’t just cases, they are human lives; children’s lives. You are talking about Maya as if she’s some sort of lost cause, but she’s not. We are giving these kids the best care possible. We are keeping them alive, for when there is a permanent cure.”

Taylor opens his mouth to respond, but you aren't done yet. “If you cannot handle treating every patient with respect, you have no business being in this field. You are off this case, go find the Chief and see if she is willing to put you on a different case today.” He walks off with the whisper of a “Sorry.”

“As for the rest of you, I want to make it very clear that this is not how we talk about patients, especially not on the floor where everyone can hear you. If one of your peers does this, I want you to take the responsibility to tell them off. Do you understand?”

They all nod in understanding. “Good, now that we have that out of the way. Anderson, please get all the tests to the lab and page me when you’ve got the results. The rest of you with me to continue our rounds.

It was your job to make these interns good doctors. You hated having to kick them off cases, but if they treated patients like this, there had to be consequences.

The rest of the rounds went smoothly, and just as you got done with the last patient, Anderson paged you that the results were ready.

“How are we looking, Anderson?” He handed you the tablet, “Looks good. All her test results come back to the right levels.” You look over the results yourself to verify and agree with his conclusion. “Alright, prep Maya, and let me know when she's ready to go to the OR.”

“I'm here!” You announce before bending down and putting your hands on your knees, pretending to be out of breath. “Did I make it? Am I still on time?”

Maya's giggles filled the room, the reason you loved to joke around like this. Kids deserve to feel comfortable and at ease in a place that is filled with unknowns.

“We can't start without you, silly.” The girl laughs. “Oh, you're right, silly me!” You wipe the non-existent sweat off your forehead. “Alright Champ, are you ready?” She nodded and reached out her hand for you to hold, like you had done for the last couple of surgeries.

You hold her hand until you arrive in the OR. “Alright Champ, hop on over.” The girl expertly switched onto the surgical bed. “What flavour popsicle will it be this time?” She puts her hand to her chin, “Strawberry!” You had expected no other flavour, as it was her favourite. You grab your phone and start typing. “Alright, I've let the chef know your order. It will be served when you're ready.”

Once Maya was under anaesthesia, you left the room to scrub. You learned that kids often found comfort in seeing someone they knew, you, for as long as possible. When you got back into the OR you were gowned and gloved, before you went to work.

The three interns still on the case were allowed to observe in the OR. You remembered what residency was like for you, and wanted to make sure that they got as many opportunities as possible in an OR, before they got their first operation.

Everything went smoothly, until it didn’t.

Seemingly out of nowhere her lower abdomen filled with blood. “I need suction.” You instructed and were instantly handed the device. It was pooling in her abdomen fast that you could clear it. You handed the suction device to Doctor Jackson, who was on the other side of the table. “Lap pads, please, and keep them coming.”

Lap pad after lap pad was thrown in the little bin beside you, but the blood didn’t seem to lessen. “Doctor Smith, what’s her pressure?” You needed one of the interns to read the board, since you were both too occupied with trying to stop the bleeding. “BP is 60 over 40 and falling.”

You cursed under your breath, while desperately trying to find the source of the bleeding. “Clamp.” The tool was in your hand mere seconds later. You tried to clamp off the vessel, but despite your best efforts, the bleeding didn’t slow down.

“She’s crashing.” The anesthesiologist warned. “Not on my watch. Doctor Anderson, take over suction. We’re going to transfuse.” Doctor Jackson handed over the suction, and got ready to set up a transfusion.

“BP is 50 over 30.” Doctor Smith announced. “Hang in there Maya.” You willed her to fight. But the blood was still not slowing down and her pressure was dropping rapidly.

“We’re losing her.” The anesthesiologist said with worry in his voice. “We are not giving up. Get the crash cart ready.” You took a deep breath and got ready to start CPR.

The room full of doctors watched in silence as you continued compressions on the tiny body that laid on the table. “Come on, Maya.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t know how long you had been going, but your arms were starting to get tired. Doctor Jackson put his hand on your shoulder, “It’s time.” You shook your head, “No, she’s just a kid.”

His hand stayed on your shoulder, “You did everything you could. It’s time to let her go.” You slowly stopped compressions and looked down at her still body. Tears blurred your vision as you realised she was gone.

“Time of death,” You started but weren’t allowed to finish the sentence. “11:16” Doctor Smith filled in. You stepped back and ripped your bloodstained gown and gloves off, and threw them onto the ground in frustration.

You took a moment to gather yourself. You had to inform her family, and you needed to be strong for them.

The moment you walked into the waiting room, Maya’s parents stood up. “No.” Maya’s mom said as all hope left her face. “No, my baby.” She could tell from your expression that the news wasn’t good, like it had been previous times. “I’m so sorry,” your voice broke. “We did everything we could, but Maya didn’t make it.”

You stood by as they fell into each other’s arms with tears streaming down their faces. They knew every surgery was a risk, but losing their little girl was something no parent was prepared for. “What happened?” Her dad asks.

“She lost too much blood. I- we tried everything to stop it, but we weren’t able to.” He nodded, still in disbelief. “Alright, thank you.” He got out before letting out another sob. Your heart broke even further. “If you want, you can see her for a bit. Would you like me to take you to her?”

You walked them to the room and let them have a private moment with their daughter. Once you stepped outside, you got a page and headed to reception where you were asked for assistance.

In a blur you walked down the hall and rode down in the elevator. It wasn’t until you laid your eyes on Caitlin that your vision got a bit more clear. You make your way over to her, and fall into her arms without saying another word. With her comforting arms around you, you couldn’t hold back any longer. The tears started streaming down your face, and Caitlin had to hold you tight, to keep you up right.

“Oh, my love, what’s wrong?” She shared a worried look with her best friends Mackenzie and Alanna, who you hadn’t even realised were there too. “Can we go somewhere more private?” She asked softly. You nodded and took her hand. That’s when you realised the other girls. “Oh hi, I’m sorry. You guys can come too.”

You walked the trio into your office and pulled Caitlin down onto the couch, to fall into her hold again. “I lost her, Cait. I lost Maya, she didn’t make it.” The room went silent. Caitlin held you while you sobbed.

After a while you had no more tears left. “I’m sorry, you guys were here for a fun time, and now you’re stuck with me being emotional.” Alanna is quick to shake her head, “Don’t apologise, we’re all here for you.” Mackenzie agreed, “Yeah, if there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.”

“You should drink some water, love.” Caitlin suggested and pointed out the water pitcher to Alanna. You did as you were told, and sipped on the water that Alanna handed you.

“Macca, could you do something for me?” She nodded instantly, “Of course, anything.” You had thought back of the last conversation you had with Maya. “Could you go down to the cafeteria and get some strawberry popsicles?” The request seemed odd to her, but she asked no questions.

Not long after she got back with four strawberry popsicles. “They were her favourite, we were going to have some when we were in the recovery room.” You put your head back on Caitlin’s shoulder. “This one’s for you Maya.”

You sit with the girls for a while longer. Maya had been your only surgery for the day, as you had taken the rest of the day off to be with Caitlin. When you feel strong enough to get up, you ask them to meet you down in the lobby, since you wanted to check on Maya’s parents before you left.

Her parents just walked out of Maya’s room when you walked onto the floor. You weren’t sure what to say except sorry, which you did again. What happened next surprised you. Her mom hugged you. “Thank you for giving us more time with our girl than we ever thought we’d have.” Every surgery had given her a couple of months longer to live, yet you had hoped you’d be able to keep her alive until a permanent solution was found, they made you realise that keeping her alive this long was a miracle already.

Maya’s dad gave you a firm handshake. “While now is a dark moment for us all, we want you to know that we know you have given your best to our Maya, and for that we will forever be grateful.”

“Maya was an incredible young girl. While the circumstances of us meeting were never positive, I am honoured that I was allowed to know her. If there is ever anything I can do for you and your family, please don’t be afraid to reach out.”

You made your way downstairs again, where Caitlin met you at the bottom of the stairs. Her arm wrapped around your shoulder, as she walked you out of the hospital. “I sent the girls to get us some food, they’ll meet us at home.”

You didn’t care for the food, but you were glad to be surrounded by your loved ones. All plans you previously had for the day were wiped off without having to communicate your needs. The couch is where you spend the rest of the day. A movie was playing on the tv, but you had fallen asleep in Caitlin’s comforting arms a long time ago.

-----

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gyummigon · 8 months ago

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like when we first met, i hate you and i love you | beomgyu

beomgyu x fem!reader | playlist

୨୧ word count: 6.8k ୨୧ genre: angst, slight smut ୨୧ warning: non-explicit sex (or so i think), unspecified mental disorders and illnesses, depressive thoughts, thoughts of death, thoughts of loneliness, verbal incitement to suicide, very mild violence (not dating violence), unstable and unhealthy relationship, emotional dependency, mild family strife, and lots and lots of anguish. i don't suggest reading to anyone under 18, in fact don't read it if you are under 18. ୨୧ a/n: writing this was a challenge, but i consider it to be one of the writings i put more of myself into. thank you in advance to the people who are encouraged to read, and i hope i will not disappoint you. my native language is not english, so i apologize for any errors or inconsistencies in the text. have a nice weekend!

It was easy for Beomgyu to feel trapped in his own mind, to mourn the days that were more than just lost; he swore that he remembered nothing of them, and yet they could bring him down at any moment.

He had spent nearly a quarter of his life living in hospital rooms, moving from one to another, but in the end remaining within the same four plain, pale walls. No matter how many times the morning came to him, or how long the night before, they meant nothing when all he could see was a ceiling that could only be distorted in the recesses of his mind.

On this particular morning, the ceiling he saw as he lay sprawled on his bed was not the usual one. The sun's rays struck him from a different direction, the comfort of the mattress was not what his body was accustomed to, and the gentle puff of your breath beside him sent his mind wandering to alternatives that would save him from his growing need to flee your uncomfortable presence.

Your situation was not entirely unfamiliar to you. You knew him too well to have any idea what was going through his mind. The guilt overflowed from the brown of his eyes and hit you almost as hard as the reality of waking up in the same situation again. As you felt the warmth of his body next to yours, you wished bitterly that he was a stranger, that way you could let him go without claiming the warmth you lost the moment nakedness stopped meaning anything.

"Beomgyu," you called him with an uncertain tone. You slid your head from the pillow to his chest and let his heartbeat against your ear flood your mind with fear. You wished you could control it and make it keep beating even if it wasn't for you. "Promise you won't let this happen again."

Beomgyu closed his eyes. The yellow color of your walls was too cheerful and always made him feel depressed.

"I'll visit you tomorrow," was his answer. He gently put your head back on the pillow and started to get up.

A lump in your throat kept you silent as the raw fragility of his nakedness escaped the sheets. Even as he finished dressing and turned to look at you, you kept your attention on the place farthest from her eyes, afraid to get too close and discover that there were demons lurking there.

You and Beomgyu met in seventh grade, in the fall of 2016, under the rays of a bright sun and the orange hue of the leaves of an old oak tree. He had just transferred to the same school as you, but with his bright and enthusiastic personality, he had no shortage of friends, attention, or the furtive glances your curiosity encouraged you to give him. The first time you spoke to each other was after an embarrassing skateboard fall at school, but a handshake and a few awkward smiles sparked a bond that made you inseparable.

Aside from similar musical tastes and an interest in hiking, you didn't have much in common and were constantly having not-so-serious discussions about your differences. It was this contrast that made Beomgyu so eager to spend time with you. You were the respite from his usual routine, the color that was missing from the memories in his mind; the shade that waited to protect him from the sun, even though you were completely unaware of his difficulties. And things should have stayed there, in an innocent and uncomplicated friendship, but your childish need for romance and his urge for compression turned you from friends to lovers in a matter of months.

It was an inevitable fact from the beginning. He was a young man full of life carrying a heavy secret, and you were a naive young woman who didn't know what she was getting into when he opened the doors of his heart and you walked right in. By now, after six years of relationship, both of your hearts were worn out and the constant barriers that Beomgyu's unstable mental health put between you widened a distance that even monotony could not close. Beomgyu felt his soul heavy and dirty even when he was near you, the color of your life itself made him feel like a gray stain, and the shadow that once comforted him now burned him every time he tried to cling to its coolness.

"If I don't come tomorrow, don't go to the hospital until you've finished your homework, okay?"

The pain hidden in your silence made Beomgyu feel miserable and almost made him give in to your earlier request. Promising you was the right thing to do, but with him being meaningless, purposeless and pretending, how could he control himself not to come back here?

"You'll be all right, won't you?" he heard you say in a weak, languid voice.

He couldn't do anything but look at your grieving body under the sheets. He felt terrible, like a piece of trash. Every time he looked at you, he realized how disgusting he was for coming here and making you do all those things. He wanted to get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and at the same time berate you for letting him do it, for giving him your body even though it made you both feel dirty.

"I love you."

He wasn't sure if those words came out of his mouth and reached you, maybe he had buried them, forgetting their meaning and now they were just a broken compass. What day was it, could he go on or back? Was this the end of the story or had it just begun?

He hated himself so much.

A small smile that didn't reach your eyes spread across your face, you pressed the sheet to your body and propped your knees up on the bed so you could touch him. "Will you be okay?" you repeated as you traced the softness of his cheek with your fingers.

In a losing battle against despair, Beomgyu leaned his face into your touch and closed his eyes. He could not stop pretending that you were not the vessel into which he poured his misery. Every word out of his mouth seemed to weigh tons and lying was the only way to be with you more than just physically.

"I'm trying."

"How long will you keep running away?"

Hearing you, Beomgyu opened his eyes and you sighed as the familiar feeling of fear and uncertainty washed over you as you looked into them. There was a heartbreaking fragility and desperation in them, the same one that was present every time he touched you and made love to you; the same one that remained when his lips moved slightly upward, giving you a faint glimpse of the hidden dimple on his cheek.

"I'm not running away, the hospital doors are always open."

"Beomgyu." You tried to sound stern, but the quiver in your voice at the mention of his name was noticeable.

"Don't worry," he murmured, putting his hands over yours to pull them away from his face. "You have enough burden with school, so avoid distractions and study hard, okay?"

"Then don't come back here, please."

"I'm so sorry." Beomgyu, with his eyes closed and a lump in his throat, placed a hand on your head and pulled you close to him to plant a kiss on your forehead. "Get some sleep before you go to school."

A helpless expression appeared on your face as Beomgyu gently stroked your hair before pulling away. You closed your eyes and bit your lower lip to stifle any more pathetic pleas from your mouth, listening to his every footstep taking him away from you.

An impulse made Beomgyu turn on his heels and look at you again. For some reason, when he saw the way you hugged yourself and closed your eyes tightly, a deep urge to die washed over him from head to toe. He thought he owed it to you after all he had put you through, that there was no other way to give you a chance to escape him.

With a sigh, he took one last look at you and turned his feet toward the exit of your room, offering you the only comfort of his absence and his silence.

And as every time you watched him leave, you felt that he took a piece of your soul with him.

"You have to stop for a moment." You heard Hanna say as you both walked to your next class.

Walking across campus carried a weight that felt thicker in that moment. The weight of the morning was reflected in every step you took, shuffling your feet with the characteristic reluctance of one who has crossed an already too long college day.

Your path to your next class is a routine one, but you have never been able to get used to the distance between one classroom and the next. As you made your way along the path of worn bricks and open spaces where the bustle of students mixed with the sound of car engines, you felt overwhelmed and anxious to get home as soon as possible.

"Take a break." Despite the weight of her guitar on her back and the art portfolio occupying her hands, Hanna moved forward beside you with lighter steps, keeping a calm tone in her voice. "You're starting to rub off on me with your negativity, if you're too tired to study then rest."

You sighed and looked at the time on your watch, your class had started five minutes ago and you still had a long way to go to get to the building where the class was.

"You just don't get it, I rest every day even when I shouldn't," you said as you picked up your pace and Hanna mimicked you without any difficulty.

"Procrastination is not rest, you have to really relax."

If your breathing hadn't been so fast due to the intensity of the walk, you would have sighed. From your perspective, the situation was more complicated. Your current emotional state was beginning to affect your academic performance, and you hated it. As a student of letters and a lover of reading, you had never fallen so far behind in your academic reading and homework. You were used to reading for school as much as for yourself, but in the last few weeks, it was impossible to even hold a book without being a matter of time or will. You couldn't find the concentration to be yourself anywhere, and you feared that if you didn't overcome the block and regain some focus, you would have to drop out of your classes before you failed.

The thought of doing poorly in school made you feel absolutely worthless and nervous.

"I'll try to change, just... don't tell Beomgyu. He's been a little intense lately about the idea that I'm doing well here."

"Why, is he pressuring you or something?"

You paused and thought about all the times Beomgyu told you to stay focused in school, to study hard and get the best grades. It always seemed to you that he said it in a sad rather than a demanding way.

"No, but the situation has been difficult since his relapse," you replied.

Hanna looked at you for a moment with her big, thoughtful eyes before she let out a sigh. "Y/n, since I met you your relationship has been difficult."

"As long as he was under observation he would study online, but he became an irregular student. I guess that's thwarted his plans a lot and knowing my current situation will probably make him sensitive..." you tried to explain in a hurry, but stopped yourself when you couldn't ignore the little conviction in your words. Hanna gave you a reassuring smile and maneuvered her hands to free one of her arms for a few seconds and wrap it around yours. Both your legs slowed in unison and your body relaxed as you tilted your head and rested it on her shoulder. "Do you love him?"

Her question didn't surprise you, but you let a few minutes of silence pass between you before answering. For some reason, it was always difficult to talk about your relationship with Beomgyu; either they didn't understand it at all, or they understood it too much that you started to get the pity treatment.

"Of course."

"As a boyfriend? I mean, do you love him romantically, not as a person you've known since puberty?"

You turned your head away from Hanna's shoulder and brought your gaze to an imprecise point in front of you. It wasn't always up and down with Beomgyu, the stability you both once had and kept you both so alive was as tentative as the current instability, the love manifested was as strong as the doubts. What did it matter how you loved him now, there was no way to know that it would make a difference. The two of you were bound together by more than love, you had a history with too many loose ends to tie up, words whispered in silence that needed to be heard and answered, wounds deep enough to choose to bleed without trying to close them. Yes, the distance was frightening, but you weren't defeated, you could take what you needed from each other to survive, and that wasn't necessarily wrong.

Except for the fact that neither of you were alive.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Hanna's voice broke through your thoughts and brought you back to reality. You let out a sigh, each question weighing you down with exhaustion. "I just... I want to understand you."

"Does he seem bad to you?" you replied without a hint of anger or concern.

"No, I like Beomgyu, I just... since I know him, he's kind of scary to me."

"No, gosh... He's... the nicest, most sensitive guy I've ever met."

"Not that type of scary."

When you heard these words, you felt frustrated. You didn't understand, even though you were also scared, you didn't understand what it was that Beomgyu reflected when he was with you that you couldn't see; because you were also absolutely terrified and couldn't identify the cause.

"He's fine, Hanna."

"And I'm so glad, but what about you?

You wished you could answer that question without your heart trembling with hesitation, but you were at a point where you doubted even your own words. What your mouth was saying and what Hanna could surely read in your eyes were contradictory things. If only you could have at least known which was true...

"I'm fine, okay?"

Your eyes glided over each word on the page with an almost exaggerated slowness, you had read the same paragraph over and over again in the last few minutes, your head was throbbing and fatigue irritated your eyes, but they were not the reason for your lack of concentration, at least not the main one.

Beomgyu sat a meter away from your desk, and you could feel his attention on every twitch of your facial muscles, on the movements of your hands, on the restless tapping of your foot on the floor. Those silences were the ones you hated the most to share with him, they made you insecure and any chance to approach him in a way that didn't make you feel suffocated slipped through your fingers.

You closed the book with a sigh and turned in your chair to look at him. The dark circles under his eyes hardly surprised you, they seemed as dull as the last times you saw him, barely a spark to show they were still screaming inside.

"Are you done?" he asked, slurring his words, but you were sure he already knew the answer.

"I'm tired," you replied instead as you stood up and sought a safer position on your bed, away from his eyes.

"Me too..."

You sighed as you saw him shrink back into the chair and averted your eyes to the floor. You couldn't shake the desire to be silent that came over you every time you saw him, even you couldn't describe the feeling, it made you sick, afraid to say the wrong thing, to push down the hopes he could barely hold in his hands. You were so afraid of breaking him. Despite your caution, you admitted that you were one of those guilty of endangering the stability of the thin rope he was walking, because as long as you were together, you would be the person Beomgyu held his hand and led him to discover the worst ways to sabotage him. It was as if he was testing your criminal mind and inviting you to watch from the front row as he murdered his own dreams and hopes for life.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you felt the weight of his body sink into the mattress. You turned your face in his direction, slightly dazed as you watched him kick off his shoes and curl up into a ball under your sheets. You sighed, not resisting the urge to bring a hand up to his face and caress his cheek, the way you knew he liked it.

"Lie down," he asked you in his little whisper.

There he was, like a ghost in the darkness, looking at you with a longing that made your body tremble. Though he was overflowing with an inexhaustible weariness, and his features bore the nostalgia of the stars that once shone, he was heartbreakingly beautiful. His smooth skin had the feel of a misunderstood canvas, his eyes, deep and enigmatic, carried unreadable pleas. It was sadness embodied in the skin of an ethereal being, unable to be torn away.

Your eyes closed unconsciously as Beomgyu leaned towards you after you obeyed his words, hiding his face in the curve between your neck and shoulder. The warmth of his body was always overwhelming, but his words had the power to slip between the trembling crevices of your heart and freeze its beating at will.

"I miss you..." he murmured against your skin, the roughness of his fingers clinging to your hips and his nose sliding along your collarbone, enveloping your skin with his breath and stealing layers of your scent. "I miss you so much."

How many times had he said those words to you? You wanted to scream at him that you were here, that you hadn't gone anywhere, that he had you, that nothing would tear you from his side, but even you weren't sure of that anymore.

"Me too, babe," you replied, lowering your face to his as his eyes sought yours. Damn it, you thought, it will happen again.

Within minutes, Beomgyu's lips left your neck and traced a path down your belly. Silently, you gave his hands permission to roam beneath your clothes, to trace the curves of your breasts and massage your soft flesh. More than one sigh was stolen from your mouth as his fingers slid to the pointy centre of your breasts, sending a stream of emotion through the gentle pressure. You couldn't explain the emotion that was marked by the trace of his touch on your skin, it wasn't lust, it wasn't need, it wasn't passion, but it was soft and comfortable, just enough to seem like love, just enough to reduce the agony and inappetence of longing to something subtle.

You whispered his name and cupped his face in your hands to draw him to you. Despite the suffocating emotion in the air, your bodies met in an anxious embrace, seeking solace and a cure for the raw hopelessness they could only express through gestures and silent caresses. The weight of his lips against your forehead made you close your eyes, almost begging him to never let go. Your lips ached with the need that filled them as the cold enveloped your body and replaced your clothes. But he did not kiss your lips, though they cried out in supplication, nor did you kiss his, knowing you would find the bitter taste of apology in them.

You also helped him get rid of his clothes. You imitated his lack of shame and suppressed any negative emotions that would make you believe that seeing and touching him as you did was wrong. How could it be so wrong when you had Beomgyu in your hands, gentle, vulnerable and intense? Trembling sounds escaped his throat and bound your hands, begging for more. His hands tightened around you, his fingers sliding down each side of your neck and his thumbs pressing against the softest, most vulnerable part of your shoulders. You leaned into his direction, letting his warm breath brush against your ear.

"My sweet Y/n..." Despite your skepticism that such a thing was possible, the sweetness in his voice made you believe that he really could feel the lost, that your body and voice could soothe his pain.

You kissed his hips with your fingertips, touching the roughness of his bones, holding him close as he wriggled against your touch. He responded just as sharply and slid one hand over your belly and the other between your legs where he pressed his fingers to your most sensitive spot, where pain and pleasure intertwined and sent a tightening sensation to your chest. "Beomgyu..."

"Shhh... it's okay." He took hold of your knees and, as if he had forgotten his own frailty, he exposed you and adjusted your position for him. Your eyes sought his, eager to hold on to something, to reassure you that it wasn't a stranger touching you; to remind you that all was well, that you were safe. You wanted to find security and familiarity away from this quiet, reserved, sleepy version of himself, you wanted a smile of encouragement, one that would light up the night but not set the moon on fire.

Beomgyu held your waist, preventing the involuntary, violent jerks of your pelvis. You swallowed saliva, dizzy and anticipating the raw invasion of his being inside you.

"What's wrong?" you asked as you watched him look at you motionlessly.

"You're not wet enough."

"It's okay, just do it."

Beomgyu's lips brushed your cheek, his voice a whisper in your ear as he leaned closer. "I just want you to relax," he said. "Let me take care of everything."

With a gentle tug around your waist, he sank you deeper into the bed, your head back against the softness of the pillow as he parted his body from yours to give him an open path for his hand to the shy, sensitive place between your legs. His fingers traced the inside of your thighs and slid down to the slit of your crotch, where he made circular motions with his fingertips for a few seconds before penetrating you.

You closed your eyes and gasped for air. It was as if he was lulling you and slapping you at the same time. Part of you wanted to take it with or without pain because you didn't think you could take it much longer; another part of you, the more disillusioned part of you, wished it was him who gave up and ran away. You tried, you really hoped it would work. For a while, sex had been the relief for this raw ache, but nothing really cured it. No matter how many nights you devoted your body to Beomgyu's desires, there would always be a night when you would lock yourself in your room and cry for all that he lacked, for all that you couldn't give him, for all that you didn't want to give him. And he would know, he always noticed these things, the tears burning under the flesh of your cheeks. But he would not caress your heart as you cried, nor would his hands wrap around you as your mind and soul had done a thousand times with him. For Beomgyu would still be miserable, and neither you nor he was ready for him not to drag you down with him.

Your body responded to the demands of Beomgyu's fingers and gave him what they were looking for. He clung to you as if he didn't want you to escape. You could feel his muscles tense and tremble, his breath in your ears, his heartbeat and breath on your skin. It was the only thing you could hold on to so that you wouldn't collapse right there.

Beomgyu slid back, his fingers suddenly far away from the spot between your legs. The feeling of his emptiness inside you was such a familiar pain that you almost reached out for him for a moment, but the caress of his lips on your shoulder and that voice you missed so much brought your focus back to him.

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asked as he slid slowly and carefully inside you.

You didn't answer, you both already knew the answer.

The silence in the room was overwhelming. You were lying on the bed, minutes had passed since your breathing had returned to normal, and now the only sound in the room was the pattering of the rain against the glass of your window. The sweat had dried on your skin and the sheets; your muscles, now relaxed, felt a slight sense of fatigue that made you want to stay in bed.

You looked at Beomgyu's back and traced the curve of his posture with the pad of your index finger. The delicate contours of his vertebrae were illuminated under the dim light of your desk lamp, lacking muscular strength, with a fragility palpable in every stroke your finger outlined.

"Don't come back tomorrow."

"Y/n..." he said in a vague form of protest, but you cut him off before he could say anything else. "I have an exam and I really need to study.

I'll visit you on Friday." There was a minute of silence in which you thought he would try to protest, but he just nodded.

"Well, uhm... Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"You're thinner."

"Maybe."

"Have they been feeding you well?" He gave you a sideways glance and raised his shoulders reluctantly. "It's hard, I have no appetite."

"Hospital food is terrible, isn't it?"

"I guess."

You sighed and looked at the back of his head as if you could see through it.

"It's not the kind of food we were made for," you replied, trying to lighten the mood. Beomgyu finally moved, turned around and his head landed right on your chest. You could feel his hands touching your ribs, his lips in your hair, your feet on his. "I could make you some fried rice," you continued. "So you can eat something."

"It's okay, just stay with you. I don't need any-"

Your eyebrows furrowed as he interrupted himself. He had raised his gaze and was now staring at you.

"What's wrong?"

"You look pretty."

Pretty.

The mood in the room changed when he said those words. You held your breath. Everything around you seemed weaker, as if it would fall apart at the wrong sound. You wanted to speak, but you dared not, out of weakness, your absurd cowardice, to show what you were thinking inside. You didn't feel beautiful. You didn't feel loved. Oh, what a relief it would have been to be able to express it to him at that moment, what a different and less complicated way it would have been not to wait for your surroundings to collapse in order to tell him all that you were hiding inside. Maybe if habit did not keep you silent when misery hovers around you, maybe if darkness was not the only stimulus urging you to seek the light, maybe you would have said it.

I feel lonely.

"Let's cook something, you know, like old times, but this time without burning anything. Let's make gimbap, but not just any gimbap. We can look up my grandmother's recipe, remember? I made it once for your birthday, haven't made it since, but I don't think I've lost the touch. The recipe has to be out there somewhere. My mother..."

"Okay," he interrupted, surprising you with a kiss on the cheek. "Forget the gimbap, fried rice is fine."

"Do you... do you want to join me or would you rather stay here and rest?"

"It's okay, your sister could meet me any minute."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

With an overwhelming hope growing in your chest, you left your room and went to the kitchen. The house was plunged into a terrible silence and you had to fight the urge to return to the room, knowing that you would not find a warmer atmosphere inside. But the silence didn't last long, just as Beomgyu had predicted, Leah, your older sister, closed the front door as you finished descending the last flight of stairs. You were wearing only a plus size t-shirt and your panties, so you weren't surprised by the annoyed look she gave you.

"Looks like the rain caught up with you after work."

"He's here, isn't it?"

You weren't even surprised that she ignored your attempts to start a conversation away from Beomgyu. You rolled your eyes and headed for the kitchen without looking at her. "Oh, not again, Leah."

"That bastard," you heard her curse as she nipped at your heels. "He thinks he can do whatever he wants to you because of his illness?"

"He didn't do anything to me."

"That's the problem, y/n. In your opinion, he never does anything."

"Mind your own business, Leah." You told her as you tried your best to look busy, moving your hands around the closet, but the truth was your hands couldn't even remember what they were looking for. You opened one of the cabinets, then another. By the third, you felt a little discouraged, so you opened the fourth. Your hands began to despair, until finally a small package of rice wrapped in plastic caught your eye. You gently picked it up and placed it in your lap as you pulled a wooden stool closer to the side of the counter and sat down.

"I'm minding my own business." She replied, standing behind you for a few moments, a tense silence settling between the two of you, and you didn't dare look her in the eye. You felt a pang of embarrassment.

"Leave me alone."

Leah took one of your hands and forced you to face her. "You know I don't like to keep quiet when it comes to this, I didn't before, I won't now. Even if my words are in vain, even if I don't have the right to tell you what to do, I won't swallow my disapproval of you continuing this story in which you are clearly not a heroine. You are a fool, just like mom, don't you see? You witnessed her long years of misery for what? To repeat history? What is broken only hurts."

"Stop." You pulled her hand hard. "This is between Beomgyu and me, no one else has any part in this. How many times do I have to explain myself to you?

Leah let out a frustrated sigh, she seemed to be debating your words and your back stiffened as you waited for her next attack, but the tension in your body turned to surprise when you felt her hand tugging at the collar of your shirt.

"Leah!" you screamed, but your attempts to push her away faltered as you became aware of what she was looking at with such displeasure. You didn't even remember the purple marks on your collarbone, they were old and therefore barely noticeable, but her sharp eyes hadn't missed them and her expression made it clear that he knew who the culprit was; which was just one more reason to increase her displeasure.

"I'm going to... God, that idiot..." After a few seconds of silence, you heard her sigh and turn away. You felt your stomach sink. "Is he upstairs?"

"Leah, don't..."

Your reflexes were fast, but not fast enough to catch her before she came out of the kitchen. Less than a meter from the stairs, your fingers clutched at her clothes, perhaps too tightly, perhaps so desperately that it left your sister and you in disbelief.

You thought of Beomgyu waiting for you in your room, vulnerable and feeble with his own thoughts. Maybe he agreed to let you cook for him because he wanted to be alone, maybe he called you pretty because it was easier than saying anything else. Maybe you loved him and it wasn't right. Maybe you hated him and he knew it. Maybe you took his sadness for granted, or maybe you should have understood that he wasn't worth it. But there was more, something darker than all possible answers, something you suspected but were afraid to admit to yourself, afraid to face it.

Beomgyu didn't need you, it was you who needed him.

Your hand loosened its grip on Leah's clothes and you stepped back. A tremor went through your body as you looked down at your hands, suddenly afraid of yourself, your own demons. "I'm sorry, just... leave him alone."

For a few seconds you thought she would say something, argue, scream, or just try to move on as if she didn't hear you. She did none of these things, instead she turned back to the stairs and said those words that hit every sensitive nerve in your body.

"If your disease doesn't kill you soon, you should kill yourself."

At first, her words were like an attack that you couldn't digest for the first few seconds. They hurt, they stole your breath, and you heard the crackling of something weak, something sensitive breaking; but it was only when you saw where the attack was directed that fear and a searing anxiety invaded your body and made your knees fight against a wrenching weakness.

"Leah!" the scream tore at your throat.

Beomgyu was standing on the stairs when he met your sister's gaze. His jaw was clenched, but his tired expression made him look almost expressionless. But he wasn't. He was shaking, more than you. He was suffering, more than you. He had never looked so small, so fragile, so far away. And you had never felt so helpless, so frightened, so unaware of your impulses.

"How... how can you say such a thing?" Your palms slapped Leah's back, once, twice, three times, as if to force her to spit out an answer. You were distraught, desperate, about to burst into tears. "How can you be a human being and say such a thing? How can you be my sister and..."

"'Whoa, whoa, take it easy... Just calm down..." Beomgyu's arms, who seemed to have rushed down the stairs at full speed at the first of your attacks, wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. You tried to pull him away, even though you had no intention of returning to your sister, but he clung to you tightly. "Come on, outside."

You didn't resist as he led you outside your house. His hands released you only when he closed the door behind him and you turned to him with a pleading expression. Beomgyu said nothing but shook his head in a gesture you could not decipher and the fear that shook every part of your body could not have been worse.

Silence.

You parted your lips, desperately wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Beomgyu gave you a dejected smile and shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he always made when he wanted to play things down and cheer you up. You had to look away to keep from collapsing.

The raindrops on the pavement were bright white under the streetlights. The streets were empty, the only sounds being your accelerated breathing, the pattering of the rain, and the rustle of the trees in the wind. The air was tinged with damp bark and earthy moss, a smell that for the first time you found more devastating than comforting.

"I'm going home, back inside."

Your breath caught in your lungs and you made an incredible effort to get the words out of your mouth. 'If your disease doesn't kill you soon, you should kill yourself'. These words kept going over and over and over in your mind. How could your sister tell him that, how could she even think about it? Beomgyu, who had lived in a body full of anxiety, instability, impulsiveness, confusion, and paranoia since he was sixteen. Beomgyu, who had to live with an incurable diagnosis and inexhaustible medication. Beomgyu, in whose confused mind, behind a thick layer of emotions, there was only a genuine desire to be loved, accepted and valued by himself and others. Beomgyu, insecure, bright, dull, happy, depressed, who started a new war against himself every day. If your sister had known all this, would she have said those cruel words? If your sister had seen the sharp, cutting impact that melted into Beomgyu like a heavy anchor that prevented any hope from floating, would she really have stayed at home so calmly?

"She doesn't know what she said," you whispered, lifting your gaze from the floor to look deep into his eyes. "She's... selfish, arrogant, completely irrational. She thinks she knows you. They think they know you. But they don't know anything about you! They don't know you like I do, no one...no one..."

"It's okay."

"Nobody does."

"I know." Beomgyu took your face in his hands, his intense eyes never leaving yours. "You know me better than anyone."

"Stay."

Beomgyu shook his head sadly.

"No, I..."

"I love you."

Your interruption seemed to shake the ground beneath Beomgyu's feet. The boy sighed shakily and leaned his forehead against yours. His eyes, now wet and shiny like the concrete of the long avenue, were hidden under his eyelids and closed with the force of something burning to be seen.

"Do you sometimes... do you sometimes not have the urge to die together? To throw us in a lake and drown? Something like that?"

A sob escaped your throat and your hands cupped his cheeks, almost as if you were holding his heavy soul with the edge of your fingernails to keep him from slipping from your grasp. Nothing was ever more frustrating. "No, God, of course not, how can you say such a thing? I want nothing more than to live by your side, to synchronize your heart with mine, to hear you breathe, to see you smile... I want to calm you down and for you to calm me down. I want to survive with you.

Beomgyu let out a soft snort that resembled an attempt at laughter. "Always giving me the cold shoulder. Go back inside, you'll catch a cold."

Your hands grabbed his clothes. You didn't want to let go, your whole being told you not to, not to let him go, not like that, not with those words still echoing in his head. Beomgyu gently pushed your hands away and you trembled. You were afraid for everything, for him, for yourself, for the future. You feared his departure and that he would become unreachable. For the first time, you feared that you didn't love him.

Beomgyu's breathing was steady now, only the faint, clear outline of his body pressed against your chest told you that he was still there, still present. "I'm scared," you whispered.

"Me too."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Friday, I'll see you Friday."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Finally, you stepped back, still wanting to say many things, but lacking the right repository of words to get them out. Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, his mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to speak. But he didn't. You took a deep breath and stepped back again, your face blank and your hands hanging limply at your sides. Your lips trembled, but then, almost out of nowhere, you smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, nothing like that, given the situation. It was desperation eating away at your life, the wind hitting your body and telling you how empty your hands were now. It was Beomgyu, tired and in pain, making his way into the distance.

You smiled even more when the sky began to rain.

masterlist - txt

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covid-safer-hotties · 4 months ago

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Alarm bells ring in Japan as experts warn of fast-spreading new Covid variant KP. 3 - Published July 19, 2024

Paywalled at the South China Morning Post: Unpaywalled by Covidsafehotties.

The country reported a 39 per cent week-on-week surge in infections from July 1 to 7, with Okinawa the hardest hit

Japan is grappling with a new and highly contagious coronavirus variant that is fuelling the country’s 11th wave of Covid-19 infections, health experts warn. The KP. 3 variant is spreading rapidly, even among those who are vaccinated or have recovered from previous infections, according to Kazuhiro Tateda, president of the Japan Association of Infectious Diseases.

“It is, unfortunately, the nature of the virus to become more resilient and resistant each time it changes into a different form,” Tateda told This Week in Asia. “People lose their immunity quite quickly after being vaccinated, so they have little or no resistance.”

Tateda, who sits on Japan’s advisory panel formed at the start of the pandemic, said the coming weeks will be critical as authorities monitor the variant’s spread and impact.

While hospitals have reported a sharp uptick in Covid-19 admissions, Tateda said he is “relieved that not many of these cases are severe”. Typical symptoms of the KP. 3 variant include high fever, sore throat, loss of smell and taste, headaches, and fatigue.

According to the health ministry, medical facilities across Japan logged a 1.39-fold – or 39 per cent – increase in infections from July 1 to 7, compared to the previous week.

Okinawa prefecture has been the hardest hit by the new strain of the virus, with hospitals reporting an average of nearly 30 infections per days. The KP. 3 variant has accounted for more than 90 per cent of Covid-19 cases nationwide, the Fuji News Network reported, leading to renewed concerns about bed shortages at medical facilities.

Since Japan’s first detected Covid-19 case in early 2020 involving a man who returned from the Chinese city of Wuhan, East Asian nation has recorded a total of 34 million infections and around 75,000 related deaths. The country’s Covid-19 caseload peaked on August 5, 2022, when more than 253,000 people were receiving treatment.

Japan’s uptick in cases coincides with similar increases being observed globally. In the US, the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention reported a 23.5 per cent week-over-week rise in the number of people visiting hospitals with Covid-19 symptoms during the week ending July 6.

High-profile US.figures such as President Joe Biden and Doug Emhoff, husband of Vice-President Kamala Harris, have recently tested positive and gone into isolation. Meanwhile, several riders in the ongoing Tour de France cycling race have also returned positive test results.

Experts say it is too early to determine the full impact of the new variant on Japanese businesses or cross-border activities like travel. Precautionary measures are already in place at the country’s air and seaports to monitor the health of incoming arrivals. However, the global spike in cases may deter some Japanese from venturing abroad this summer.

A recent survey by Nippon Life insurance found that just 3.2 per cent of Japanese plan to travel abroad in the coming months, which is likely to depress annual travel figures once again. In 2023, Japan saw 9.62 million outbound travellers, a recovery after three years of extremely low pandemic-era numbers, but still far below the 20.01 million outbound travellers recorded in 2019.

Despite the latest surge, infectious disease expert Tateda insists there is no need for panic in Japan. However, he emphasised the importance of following precautions implemented during the pandemic’s peak, such as mask-wearing in public, handwashing, and social distancing.

Tateda also stressed that anyone testing positive should immediately isolate themselves.

#covid #mask up #pandemic #covid 19 #coronavirus #wear a mask #sars cov 2 #still coviding #public health #wear a respirator

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familyaya3 · 1 month ago

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‼️ Please don’t skip taking a look 🍉🇵🇸

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 Here is my story 🍉🇵🇸

I am Islam from Gaza. I am 36 years old and a father of three children. I was living a life with my wife @family-aya pregnant with my fourth child in the last months, but on October 7, my life turned upside down. I was displaced from my home. On the first day, I lived in a house in central Gaza. My wife was pregnant with my daughter and I went through the worst circumstances. There was a siege, food shortages, and water pollution. During my pregnancy, many nearby homes were bombed, and the smell of death and the smell of gunpowder affected my daughter, putting my daughter’s life in danger under the tragic conditions of the hospitals.

On December 24, my house was bombed and completely destroyed by Israeli raids. My wife and I became homeless. On January 23, the occupation launched a ground campaign against the place where I live, forcing us to flee within 5 hours. My wife ran away and I was behind her because I didn't want to leave my city. It was a difficult displacement journey, as I was carrying my ninth-month-old daughter and fled on foot for a distance of about 20 kilometers under enemy fire and bombing. .

My children and I faced great difficulty during displacement as there was no clean food or drink and a lack of vitamins. On February 27, my wife received news of the death of a number of her relatives. I was seriously injured in my shoulder, and my daughter was also seriously injured in her body and seriously injured in her eye as a result of an Israeli raid. My daughter and I now need to undergo surgery and treatment outside. There is no treatment here..... After the bitterness of loss and sadness, on a rainy night and under bombardment, the time of birth came .It was one of the most difficult nights, as there was no doctor, and there was no continuity of going to the hospital. The sounds of explosions filled the place, and after we arrived at the hospital, there was not adequate medical care, whether from doctors, hygiene, or any needs of the pregnant woman. After hours of waiting and a doctor.

I gave birth in the most difficult circumstances, as there were no clothes for my daughter in light of the aggression. My wife suffered from not having a bed to sit on after giving birth. The birth process was very difficult, as if I had escaped death again and God blessed me with my daughter, Fatoum. My wife, my children, and I were displaced again into the unknown, and we live in a tent that does not protect us from the cold of winter or the heat of summer, with 15 people in a small tent Due to malnutrition, poor living conditions, and continuous bombing, my infant daughter died, and this had a major impact on my wife’s psychological and health condition, as she lost many of her relatives, her infant daughter, and our injuries.

Therefore, help us to seek treatment abroad, escape death, and bear the burdens of life.💔🙏

#lslamfamily #free palestine #free gaza #ot3 #i stand with palestine #all eyes on palestine #palestine genocide #palestine fundraiser #save palestine #gaza strip #gaza #gaza genocide #gazaunderattack #jerusalem #gofundme #donate #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #photographers on tumblr

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gatheringbones · 1 year ago

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[“To understand the shortage of beds, it helps to think of just-in-time delivery. Companies like to have just enough space for what they need, work with, and sell, not more and not less. For a hospital, the human body is the object that is to be delivered, altered, and shipped away just in time. There should never be too many bodies, or too few bodies. There should be just the right number of bodies on just the right number of beds.

Good doctors, good nurses, and good assistants resist this logic all the time, but they are pushing a boulder up a mountain. Maintaining beds costs money. No hospital, in American commercial medicine, is going to maintain a reserve of beds when other hospitals do not do so. Since financial logic dominates medical logic, the country must always be unprepared for epidemics. There can never be a reserve of beds, nor for that matter a reserve of protective equipment or ventilators. Managers counting on a quarterly profit cannot factor in pandemics, which arrive about once a decade. Each time a plague comes, the situation will be defined as exceptional, and the shortages will make the emergency even worse than it had to be. Then money will fly around: not to where the doctors might want, since they will not be asked, but to the sectors of the economy with the loudest voices. This just happened, and with commercial medicine it will keep happening.

In the hospital, sad to say, a body is a widget. Kindly assistants, competent nurses, and decent physicians try to humanize the widget, but they are constrained by a system. A body creates revenue if the body is the right kind of sick for the right length of time. Certain kinds of illnesses, especially ones treatable (or reputed to be treatable) with surgery and drugs, make money. No one has an economic incentive to keep you healthy, to get you well, or for that matter to keep you alive. Health and life are human values, not financial ones; an unregulated market in the treatment of our bodies generates profitable sickness rather than human thriving.”]

timothy snyder, from our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary, 2020

#timothy snyder #currently reading #horror! horror! horror!#a body creates the revenue

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arachine · 2 years ago

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. . . tender wounds & soft kisses (won't you stay?) ; i. midoriya

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis :: trouble comes knocking on your doorstep seeking salvation. the question is, do you answer it?

── ˚₊✩‧₊ general tags :: pro!hero au, angst, fluff

── ˚₊✩‧₊ content warnings :: fem!reader, mentions of blood + death but nothing explicit, reader patches his wounds, intense feelings, making out, 3k words

── ˚₊✩‧₊ notes :: part one of two (?) of a future mini series :3 next part will include filth pinky promise !

it doesn’t matter how many times he shows up at your door like this—battered and bruised, that is. you’ll never get used to it. you want to turn him away, to tell him he’d have better luck going to a hospital—but—it’s half past midnight, and it’s cold, and it’s raining, and…he doesn’t know where else to go.

he knows you’re tired. can see it in the way you lean your head against the door frame, and the way you blink up at him with indifference, as if your eyes are telling him “come in now or i’ll leave you out in the cold”.

with an appreciative smile, he enters through the door and brushes past you. takes his heavy, muddy boots off, one by one, and leaves them to sit in the foyer where they contrast starkly against your pristine-perfect ones.

it’s a sight that’s starting to become all too familiar to you. sometimes it looks like there’s another person living here, like there’s someone to share the space with, but you know his presence is only ephemeral. you’d wish it weren’t, though. especially since he already knew the floor plan of your apartment like the back of his hand.

even in the pitch-black dark, his steps are confident. calculated. familiar. he dredges down the corridor with impressive precision, and yields absolutely no qualms of bumping into your many awkwardly placed pieces of furniture. doesn’t even trip over the new coffee table you recently purchased. because instead of him doing the bumping and tripping, you do.

izuku comes to a sudden standstill in the middle of the living room, and you walk right into his back, knocking him forward a bit from the force.

“what’s wrong?” you question, trying not to let yourself sound too concerned, but it comes out more tender than anything. he breathes out a quick nothing, and continues the trek to your bathroom, wincing through gritted teeth while clutching his side.

if he’s in pain, he won’t say it. which is another reason why you’ve come to resent his spontaneous fix-me-up visits. impatiently, you side step by him and rush to the bathroom. turn on the light and stand at the door frame with your arms crossed over your chest, like you were practically urging him to quicken his pace so he could be out of here faster.

but he takes his time. because despite the sharp-ache in his ribs, and the sting above his brow, he gets to see you. izuku midoriya gets to be touched by you. to be cleaned by you. patched up by you. sinewy muscles and bruised flesh, all taken care of by—you.

so, yeah. he takes his sweet time getting to the bathroom—even if he’s five steps from getting there. he’ll make it ten. anything to make this last longer.

“come on, i’m tired,” you say, turning on your heels to open the cabinet. “i’d like to get back into my comfy bed as soon as possible.”

when you take a look inside the cabinet, you frown at the shortage of supplies you’re met with. which, honestly, shouldn’t even really surprise you—considering he was the one responsible for its barren state.

regardless, you pluck what you can of what’s left, then set them down on the counter in the order of which you’ll use them: clean rag, soap, ointment, steri-strips, and gauze (in case there’s a bigger wound somewhere under his tattered clothes).

from your peripheral, you can see his silhouette appear from out of the darkness, and you watch intently through the mirror as his now fully-illuminated body trudges behind you. god, he looks worse than he did standing under the light of your front porch.

well, that’s what you think. prior, a good portion of his face had been enshrouded by night, so you couldn’t really make out anything worth noting—even if you wanted to, at least.

but now you bear witness to the hues of red that dance across his face; both from the inflamed capillaries underneath his skin, and the blood ribboning down the gash above his brow.

“you know the drill.” your gaze is pointed, and you eye him through the mirror while dousing the rag under the warm running water.

he comes to a halt in front of the toilet, grimacing once, then clutches his side protectively before bending down to sit. you note that too.

“so…” a beat. “you gonna need help taking that off? or—“

“i’ve got it,” the green haired boy quips, moving to retract his arm from his side.

you throw your hands up in defeat, and reposition yourself to lean against the sink’s ledge. your eyes trace every movement, and you watch amusedly as he pathetically struggles to remove his gloves, but eventually achieves.

next, he attempts to tackle his zipper. a grimace. then, he attempts it again, only to withdraw in pain.

“let me do it,” impatience on the tip of your tongue. you lunge forward to unzip the damn thing yourself because you can’t bear to watch any longer, small hand swatting his much larger one away.

dropping to your knees, you sit between his legs and zip it down until the entirety of his torso is revealed. a solemn frown settles on your lips, and it takes everything in you to not shed a tear.

gathering your wits, you continue undressing him, gently pulling each arm from its consecutive sleeve, before moving to unclasp the mask tugged down his neck.

“i hate when you do that,” your voice speaks up, replacing the unpleasant silence. there’s evident irritation laced in it, and he can’t help but to wince from the way it pulls his heart strings.

“when i do what?” you take a brief moment before answering him. busy yourself with the loose thread hanging on the side of his leg pant, tug on it until you snap it off. “when you pretend you’re not in pain.”

izuku sighs through his nose, something long and heavy. “i’m sorry,” he attempts at an apology, though he knows he’d have better luck convincing someone else who wasn’t accustomed to seeing him like this.

“no you’re not, otherwise you’d stop waking me up in the middle of the night to tend to your wounds.” there it is. that venomous tongue of yours, the one that doesn’t hold back in telling him what he needs to hear. he can’t even counter it—so he takes it. leans back into the cool porcelain of the tank, and watches as you walk away to the sink, only to return with a stool and rag in tow.

for a minute, you mull over which area of skin to tackle first, until you decide on prioritizing his torso. you take the damp rag and run it along the perimeter of his wound where there’s a culmination of dried blood and fresh red. his abs flex in response to the sensation, a sharp intake of breath.

“sorry,” you mutter without looking at him, eyes focused and hands working diligently between swipes.

“nope, ‘m fine.”

“liar.”

“yeah,” he breathes.

“how’d you get this one, huh? oh, wait, let me guess. off doing god knows what, at god knows where, chasing after some guy you’re not even authorized to be chasing.”

you rise up from your seat to dispose of the rag, grabbing the remaining items on the counter. “did i get any of that right?”

izuku laughs, a small admittance. “i don’t think i’m at liberty to say.”

scoffing, you plop back down in front of him, and carefully, begin cleaning the inside of the wound with a damp piece of gauze. every now and then, you check his face to gauge for any pain, but his relaxed expression is unfaltering. because he’s looking down at you with so much warmth it’s scalding.

his gaze feels like a thousand little pricks, makes you shiver from the intensity, and you silently pray he doesn’t catch it. though, it’s really wishful thinking on your part. he noticed most things, was just in his nature.

“what are you looking at?” all bite. his eyes shift from your face to the tiled floor. suddenly, the grout was starting too look interesting, in fact, when’s the last time you touched it u—

“n-nothing,” he stutters, warmth spreading across his face to the tips of his ears.

“so weird…” your eyes flit up once, before refocusing on covering the wound in clean, dry gauze.

in juxtaposition to your jagged edged words, you’re so gentle. delicate in everything you do, but especially so, when you’re handling him. it’s something that he’s come to find massively endearing, and he hates that the only time he’s a recipient of your attentiveness, is when he shows up at your door all bloodied and bruised.

“shit, uh, can you hold this in place for a second? gonna get some tape.”

izuku nods in compliance. follows with trained eyes as your frame disappears into the dark. then, the sound of a flicker follows suit shortly after, and the light—from what he presumes to be your room—illuminates the rest of the hallway.

in the distance, he can hear the soft thud of feet padding back and forth between rooms, and can just about isolate the cacophonous sound of drawers opening and closing, along with muttered obscenities.

the impending sound of footsteps announces your return, and you take your seat between his legs, this time with a roll of tape in tow.

“and,” you drawl, “done. now let me look at that nasty gash on your face.”

he scoots closer to the edge to give you a better look, and the pair of your knees knock together. neither of you acknowledge it, nor do you make an effort to move. the proximity has him reeling, but you seemingly remain indifferent.

reaching up, you take hold of his chin and maneuver him intermittently as you prod and poke at the open flesh. suddenly, a feeling of sadness washes over you upon the realization that one day he might not even make it to your doorstep. that maybe this will be the last time you hold his beautiful face in your hands. that this will be the last time those kind, green eyes look up at you. the reality of the situation is that every day may very well be his last.

when you stop your ministrations, he knows something’s up. “what is it? what’s wrong?” the intonation in his voice rising, displaying the sincerity of his concern. a calloused hand finds solace on the side of your cheek, and you careen into its warmth.

“i don’t…i don’t know how many times i can keep seeing you like this,” you admit, voice straining at the effort it takes to quell your tears.

izuku brings a second hand up to your face, cradles it in his calloused palms. swipes his thumbs soothingly over the apples of your cheeks and shushes you before a sob can erupt from your throat.

“nonono, don’t get yourself all upset over me.”

“how can i not ‘zu?!”

“‘cause ‘m not worth it,” he spits, and it almost scares you how much he believes in the veracity of his statement.

“‘not worth it’…” you repeat, “if you weren’t worth it, i wouldn’t let you keep coming back into my house. i wouldn’t patch you up…wouldn’t let you keep making me feel like this.”

“i’m sor—“

“don’t you fucking dare say sorry,” you get up abruptly, releasing yourself from his grasp. “god, you make me—you make me fucking crazy! can’t you see?” your hands go to reach the ledge of the sink, and you rock back and forth on anxious heels.

forgetting the ache in his side, the pro-hero rises to his feet. he lets his weakened legs drag him to where you stand. your head is down, and your arms are out-stretched to support your weight. he can’t see your face, but he hears the beginnings of a sob.

thoughts race through his mind a mile a minute. what should i do? he thinks. how can he console you? should he touch you? hold you? but what if you don’t want to be touched? he racks his brain for an answer, to no avail.

for a while, he just stands there—because in the short distance he traveled, he didn’t really think of a plan. just acted on impulse. but then he sees a big cartoonish teardrop land on the counter and he loses it.

unthinking, the greenette takes you into his hold. slots himself behind you like a puzzle piece and wraps you up, one arm across your chest, and the other over your middle. the sudden contact surprises you, but you make no contests. instead, you find yourself relaxing into his grip, and he takes that as a silent confirmation to squeeze you further into his embrace.

“don’t cry,” izuku whispers into the interstice of your neck, “can’t bear it. don’t like it.” you raise your head to lay against his chest, and wrap your fingers around his forearm. his body radiates a warmth that you find wildly comforting. it’s intoxicating, almost. and now that you’ve had a taste of it, you’re not quite sure you’d be able to let go.

but while the feeling is nice, it’s also equal parts scary and debilitating. because you weren’t a couple. you weren’t temporary lovers. you weren’t…anything, and yet—you fit like one. and that was scary. terrifying.

it scared you how much space this person took up in your life; how little he gave in return, and how much of your heart belonged to him. and the worst part of it all? how scared he was to trust you with a scintilla of his. of all the years you’ve known izuku midoriya, this is the coldest you’ve known him to be.

“alright, i’m better now. you can let go,” you speak, though the words that escape your lips directly conflict with what you really feel.

don’t let go. don’t let go. hold me a little longer, please.

reluctantly, the bigger man releases you from his firm grasp. he holds your gaze through the mirror, waits for you to start the conversation—which your eyes seem to have already started, because he swears that right now, they’re singing a song of sorrow.

“be honest with me, please. don’t you think i deserve that much?”

suddenly, the pain in his ribs throbs. his forehead falls to rest on your shoulder. he’s stalling. biding his time so that he can come up with an answer.

“of course you do, you deserve the truth and so much more. but…”

“but,” you repeat plainly, because of course there’s a but.

“—but there’s things that i just can’t tell you. and i know it sucks, and i know it sounds like a bunch of bullshit, but if something were to ever happen to you because of the information you knew, i literally wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” the words flow from his lips hurriedly, like if he doesn’t get it all out now, they’ll detonate inside of him.

“you gotta just give me this, please, baby.”

baby.

babybabybaby. he called you…baby. your eyes widen like saucers at the pet name, and then it dawns on him that he let it slip through a fit of passion.

“baby? uh, pft, i meant…” he tries to recant the part in his spiel that he let slip out, nervously scratching the back of his freckled neck.

“i hate you.” a lie. but it sounds right to say, even though there’s no real weight behind it. still, how dare he? how dare he make you go years thinking your feelings were unrequited? how dare he fucking steal your heart again with one little word, two syllables, and four letters?

izuku smirks. if you had uttered these words to him when he was still young and unsure of himself, he’d believe you. but he doesn’t—because he knows you. knows that your venomous tongue lacks potency. and he knows that your heart is reserved for him, always has been—even if his negligence almost cost him you.

“you don’t,” he says matter-of-factly, viridian irises soft, staring back at you.

“i do.” unceremoniously, two large hands grab your waist. they turn you around with uncharacteristic speed, pin you against the sink and leave you with no exit. a gasp bubbles in your throat.

“okay, then say it to my face, “ izuku leans forward, strong arms encasing you between his chest and the sink he holds. his neck tilts downward so that he’s looking into your eyes, and god, he’s so big. so imposing, takes up too much space. too much.

“tell me you hate me, and i’ll stop doing…this. i’ll get out of your hair for good.”

any and all semblance of composure you had up until that point, dissipates into thin air right then and there. your eyes squint into slits because he fucking proved you right. you were too much of a coward to say it, but on the off-chance that you did, he’d see right through you. one thing you hate more than being proven wrong, is feeling like you have no control over things.

things like izuku. he made your head all foggy with just a glance, and your stomach knotted up with an utter of your name. but this? god, you couldn’t handle this. the proximity, the intimacy of your rather compromising position, the intensity of his gaze, or the way his breath kissed the curve of your jaw. he was everywhere, all the time. omnipotent.

“you’re right,” you admit with a huff, acquiescing to his boyish-grin. your admission has him lurching forward, inching closer, and closer to the pair of roseate lips pouting up at him so prettily (that they might as well be an open invitation for him to kiss you).

“i’m right.”

you find yourself initiating a game of cat and mouse. every time he moves in, you move out. it’s so silly. makes you feel like a love-sick school girl waiting by the lockers to give her crush a handwritten note. but you’re relishing in it; and so is he, admittedly more so than you.

with every passing second, you become less and less aware of your surroundings. all you know is that your lips are moving in tandem, hovering over the other, open-mouthed and panting. you want him. you want to taste him, to bite him, to give him another wound that will turn into a pretty pearl-grey scar amongst the rest.

your desire for him is carnal, but you play this little game like time is infinite. and you suppose, time can be anything you want it to be when you’re encased between his body.

just as he’s about to close the gap, you whisper a plea into his ear. “promise me,” your voice is breathy, wanting, but still firm. his lips dip down to your neck, and he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss into the divot of your clavicle. trails upwards as he pops up to answer you.

“i’ll promise you a hundred things, i’ll - i’ll promise you whatever you want.”

“promise me you’ll start being careful,” you say breathless, “that i won’t see your name as a headline on the news.”

“i promise,” he delves back into your neck, repeating it like a mantra along the vein of your jugular until he kisses his way up to your lips. there’s a brief pause initiated by you when your hand pushes back his chest.

a look of confusion overtakes his features, and you’re looking at him with nervous eyes. are we really about to do this? they say. are we really about to cross that threshold? like you haven’t already done that and more within the span of ten minutes. but you need the reassurance, to be told that everything after this will be okay.

yes, his say. it’s fine. you can trust me.

you felt again the rush of helplessness, the push and pull of the current; until, finally, you let it sink you. he kisses you gently, delicately, then with a swift gradation of intensity that has you whimpering into his mouth.

“hate you,” a kiss, “for making me,” another, “wait so - mmf - long,” you try to speak between clashes of teeth and tongue, smoothing your arms up his exposed chest before encircling them around his neck.

“i know, baby, i’m terrible,” he breaks away to suckle your neck, “i’m the worst.”

“the worst,” you agree. suddenly, you start to understand why people say kissing is like melting, because every part of your body he touches, has you dissolving rapidly into sea-foam. you’re so hot and bothered, you don’t even know what to do with your hands.

they were around his neck at some point, but now they’re roaming freely. over his chest, his biceps, down his back, in his hair—on his face. maybe you’ve traveled too far, because the sound it elicits from him is teetering the border between pain and pleasure.

“sorry, did i do that?” you gesture to his brow, which he shields protectively.

“just a scratch, i can take it,” he reassures, attempting to resume his assault on your collar bone. you grab hold of his chin, redirecting him to look at you.

“just a scratch, huh? well, you’re lucky you got away with just a ‘scratch’.”

#:: — LEXI WRITES !#exposure tags >>>#bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya smut #deku x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x reader smut #mha x reader #mha x reader smut

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soon-palestine · 5 months ago

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There’s really no safe corner in #Gaza. The latest reports on evacuation orders in Gaza City will further impede delivery of very limited life saving care.

Al-Ahli and Patient Friendly hospitals are out of service. Patients either self-evacuated, were given early discharge or referred to Kamal Adwan and Indonesian hospitals, which are suffering shortage of fuel, beds and trauma medical supplies. Indonesian Hospital is triple over its capacity.

Al-Helou Hospital is within the blocks of the evacuation order but continues to be partially functional.

As-Sahaba and Al-Shifa hospitals are in close proximity to the areas under evacuation order but remain functional so far.

Six medical points and two primary health care centers are also within the evacuation zones.

These key hospitals and medical facilities could quickly become non-functional due to hostilities in their vicinity or obstruction to access.

Ceasefire!

#palestine #gaza #free palestine

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poughkeepsies · 6 months ago

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when you're gone, i come undone

Buck’s never been religious, and he sure as hell wasn’t raised with the brand of catholicism that seems to plague Bobby and Eddie’s every step, but he thinks he can understand why Bobby likes his rosary beads so much. At the very least it would give him something to do with his hands while he sits vigil at Bobby’s side, way past the time visitors who aren’t on a first-name basis with half of the hospital staff would be allowed.

The others had left hours ago, some with kids who needed taking care of and others anticipating early shifts the next day, promising to take over from him as soon as visiting hours started. There was no shortage of people who wanted to be the one to keep watch over Bobby, but the night shift would’ve usually fallen to Athena, if she wasn’t recovering in her own room and allowed more than a couple minutes out of bed at a time to come see him.

There was a quiet devastation clinging to her that Buck had never seen before. Maybe because before there would’ve been the safe walls of her home and the arms of her husband to cover her when she lost her unflappable mask.

That, more than anything, makes him feel utterly helpless. As much as he had been thinking of Bobby as more of a dad to him than his own father for close to a decade, Athena was never his mom.

After the rough patch at the start of their relationship, they’d understood each other in the way only two people who love someone as much as they both loved Bobby could. You hold half of his heart, so you’ll hold your fair share of mine, as well. Maybe that was why he’d taken one look at the longing in Athena’s eyes and promised to stay the night with Bobby. No matter his own desire to never let Bobby out of his sight again, he also wanted to protect the pieces of Bobby that were with Athena, as well.

The only problem is that Buck has never been able to stay still for too long. He fidgets, and he bustles, and he fills silences. At the minimum, it usually earns him a dead-pan look that’s suspiciously drenched in fondness, or his name uttered in gentle scolding twinged with amusement.

He half-expects the latter to fall from the corner of Bobby’s mouth with a single eyelid cracked open to give its best effort at the former, the way it usually happens when they’re in the bunkroom and everyone else is ready to sleep like the dead while Buck is wide-awake and wired like an electric fence.

The image stands in such contrast to the blank slate of Bobby’s unconscious face that it does nothing to soothe his nervous fidgeting. He’s leaning so far forward, trying to summon any sort of conscious intention behind the mechanical rise and fall of Bobby’s chest and every reflexive twitch of his face, that he accidentally shifts the chair, so the bottom slides against the floor and breaks the momentary silence that only exists between the regular beeping and intercom noises that come muffled through the hospital room doors.

Come on, Bobby. Tell me to shut up and go to bed. Tell me it’s late, and I can either close my eyes and actually try to sleep or go make some of that lavender tea we keep for this exact reason. You know you want to. Stilling so as to not miss any minute signs of Bobby’s stirring, Buck’s breath catches tight in his lungs like it used to when the fridge door would be too loud as he tried to sneak past his dad’s sleeping form in the living room armchair when he was a kid. Unlike back then, the disappointment when Bobby fails to stir is a living thing that threatens to swallow him whole. He rides the wave of devastation by opening his mouth and intentionally filling the silence, instead.

“I’m gonna say something, but you can’t get mad at me,” he says. Bobby is silent, but that’s not much different from how he’d usually react to such an opening from Buck, so he takes that as his go-head anyway. “I think this may be all my fault.”

It’s probably just his own nerves, but the air in the room settles around the words with so much tension that it only serves to spur him on. “Not the- not the fire, obviously. I mean, I had no idea you’d even met the guy Athena thinks is responsible for it, but that’s kind of what I mean, you know? I had no idea.”

His breath is shaky as he exhales, a tremble running up his shoulders.

“I don’t- I don’t think I ever told you, what I saw when I was in the coma. Maybe you already guessed. Some days it’s like you seem to know what’s going on in my brain better than even I do, but it was just. It was a different world, Bobby. Daniel was still alive, so I guess I never had a reason to come to L.A. and join the academy and everything was just…wrong. Maddie was still with Doug, and Eddie never got to meet Carla so he couldn’t figure everything out fast enough to keep Chris, and Chimney…well, Chim was still Chimney but he told me that you were dead, Bobby. He told me you’d been dead for years and it was like I couldn’t breathe.”

He kind of feels like that now, actually. His face feels hot and his eyelashes are heavy like when he’s about to cry but his eyes are dry. For the first time in years, he’s in agreement with his body’s reaction to something. If he were to start crying now, he wouldn’t ever be able to stop, and that feels too much like giving up to be acceptable.

Deep breath, he thinks, in through his nose and pushed out from his mouth. His lips are dry. He keeps going.

“I used to think that’s why I died, you know. Like I was supposed to learn something and that’s the only way the universe could think to get it through my thick skull, I guess.”

“But I think I got it wrong,” he whispers, and it echoes as loud as the beeping from the heart monitor.

“I thought it meant that I matter, you know. Like, ‘they need you as much as you need them! Don’t leave them alone!’ But I was so stupid.” So much for not crying. His day-old stubble is damp with tears. He’s been wearing these clothes for more than 24 hours at this point and he’s starting to feel overstimulated in the way he sometimes does when they’re on a busy shift and don’t have time to freshen up. It occurs to him that Bobby usually notices, like he notices most things that have the potential to bother any of them. This would be the time when he tells Buck to go ahead and take a quick shower while he reheats the food. And Buck would come back good as new, a weight lifted off his shoulders before he could even recognize it because someone cared enough about him to know him better than he did himself.

“I’ve been so caught up in my own stuff since I came back and, God, I’ve just been so happy these past couple of months it feels like I’ve been walking around with blinders on. I didn’t even notice this thing going on with Eddie until it was too late and now he might lose Christopher. You came to talk to me after our last shift and I should’ve - I should’ve - noticed something was wrong but all I could think about was if I had everything to go stay with Tommy. a-and then something happened with Eddie, and I honestly don’t think I spared you a single other thought that night, Bobby. I was using your recipe to make dinner for my date while your house was burning down.”

He’s tripping over his words, like if he says them fast enough he can reach Bobby and earn his forgiveness first, before the disappointment settles in and bars the gates.

“I should’ve remembered, Bobby. The dream showed me a world where I wasn’t there and you died, and I left it. I came back because I couldn’t live in that world. I refuse to.” Saying the words settles something in him, and he wipes the wetness from his eyes away with the flat of his palm before crossing his arms and sitting up in the chair, body once again posed like a shield between the outside world and the figure lying in the bed.

“Look, maybe-maybe I already missed the chance the universe gave me. But you know better than anyone that I’m way better at third chances anyway.” He tries for a smile, and if he squints really hard he can almost see the muscles under Bobby’s eyes tensing the way they do when he’s about to smile, too.

“You’ve never given up on me before, Bobby. Don’t start now.”

The monitor’s beeping remains the only other sound in the room, but that’s okay. He’s learning to be patient. Bobby knows that, too.

#dear god im literally in emt class rn but i had to post #if anythings fucked ill fix it later #911 spoilers #weewoo brainrot #evan buckley #911 abc #bobby nash

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redroomreflections · 7 months ago

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Who Lives, Who Dies Chapter Two

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader are married. They get into an accident where Natasha suffers serious injuries including amnesia. Natasha no longer remembers her life with reader and their children. All she remembers are her days loving Bruce.

w/c: 4.9k

Another hour has passed when you notice Natasha shift in the bed. Lily is still curled into her while Olivia is sound asleep by her side. You’re sure Natasha has gone past the state of uncomfortable to full-on pain. You also know she won’t say anything if it means keeping the girls close to her. Even in her current state, her first priority is her children. Whom she just met. There’s clear adoration on her face every time she looks down at them. Every sniffle or subtle movement and she’s watching them like a hawk. Daring any hospital personnel to tell her she couldn’t have them here.

For a moment you wish you were Wanda. You wish you could tap into her mind and figure out what she’s thinking. Unfortunately, that's beyond the scope of your abilities. You can feel the magic at the tip of your fingers, it's a low hum, only apparent as you’re stressed. You will yourself to calm down for the time being. You have to do this with a level head. Even when all you want to do is break down and never get up.

“I can take them,” You offer. Alexei and Melina are most likely still in the waiting room. Since hearing about the accident they’ve been helpful. They kept the girls while you took the time to recover. They even kept them during your stay at Natasha’s bedside. “I’m sure you need to rest and stretch. Alexie and Melina are-”

“No,” Natasha frowns. Oh. You hadn’t expected this. “I don’t want them taking them.”

“Natasha, the girls have been staying with them for the past week.”

“No,” Natasha shakes her head again. “I’m their mom right?” You nod. You can see her gain new confidence at your confirmation. “I don’t want them there. I don’t trust them.” She looks at you pleading with you to understand. You do. Natasha doesn’t remember her time in Budapest with Yelena or Melina’s farm or taking down the Red Room again. She doesn’t remember their reunion. You don’t think now is an appropriate time to say that Alexei and Melina have a home just outside of NYC that you visit frequently.

“Okay, Nat, I understand.” You can see her visibly relax at your words. “I’ll call someone else.” You think. There’s no shortage of people who would come and get them at the drop of a hat. The girls are very popular amongst your friend group. Monica would come no questions asked. Though she might not be prepared to keep them for a couple of days. Wanda is the next on your list. She’s good with them. She loves them as if they are her own. You’d have to figure something out.

You look at the time on your phone. Visiting hours would be over soon.

“I have to talk to your parents,” You stand. She bristles at the title you’ve given them. “I can, um, find you something to eat if you’re up to it?”

“That would be great,” Natasha gives you that much. You leave the room with a mission in mind. First is the nurse's station where you ask for food for Natasha. It’s not the best but it would hold her over until you’re home. If she decides to eat. Next is Alexei and Melina who are sitting so patiently in a corner of the waiting room.

“Hey,” You greet them with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened in there. She-Natasha is. It’s so complicated.”

“She doesn’t have her memories?” Melina concludes.

“No,” You break it to them gently. “She doesn’t know us. She doesn’t know who we are.”

“So back to square one?” Alexei asks. “We have to win her over again?”You can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s already planning something of how he will get her to speak with him.

“The time that Natasha remembers,” You raise a hand to stop him. “Five years ago. Ultron. It’s when we first met. I don’t think she has any recollection as to how but she remembers battling him. Which means everything after that is iffy for her.” For just a moment you are grateful that she doesn’t remember you. Your meeting was less than fantastic or romantic. In fact, both of you were left with more than enough bruises and scrapes. Your time at HYDRA wasn’t your proudest moment. Somehow you think Natasha won’t be too welcoming of that.

“She doesn’t know the girls,” Melina says lowly.

“She’s Natasha through and through,” You sit beside them. “She doesn’t care if she doesn’t remember. She is their mom and she has her boundaries. She doesn’t want you guys to take them.”

“Then who will?” Melina doesn’t seem so surprised by this though Alexei has kept quiet.

“Yelena is still in and out so it can’t be her.” You shake your head. “Wanda. She’s close. If Nat doesn’t remember much of me then…..” Her words come back to you. She knows. “God! This is so fucked.” You rest your head on the back of the chair to allow the rest of your body to slouch. There’s no way she’s letting the girls go with Wanda. So, Steve is the next option. She knows Steve. Trust him. He wouldn’t lie to her. “I’m, um, I’m going to go make some calls. I’ll be right over there. You guys can go home if you want. I’ll keep you updated.”

They nod, gathering their bearings, before standing to leave.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.” Melina rests a hand on your shoulder. You nod. You’d try your best. Alexei bids you goodbye with a kiss on your forehead. You don’t move until they’re out of your sight. Suddenly it’s weighing on you how different life is about to be.

You pull out your phone to facetime Steve. After a few rings, he answers.

“Hey, how’s it going?” He asks immediately. There’s shuffling in his background and you can tell he’s moving over to his couch. He sets the phone down, making sure it’s at a decent angle, and it’s then the rest of the Avengers step into view.

“Hi guys,” You greet. “There’s no easy way to say this. Natasha woke up. She’s stable. Talking and moving around. You know how Natasha does.” You shrug.

“There’s a but in there,” Sam bends over the couch.

“She has amnesia,” You tear the bandaid off. There’s no sense of sugar coating. “She hit her head pretty hard and things aren’t looking so good in that aspect.”

“How much does she remember?” Steve frowns.

“Ultron,” The word sounds funny on your tongue. It’s still hard to even utter his name knowing what the aftermath was. You lost your brother. Wanda lost her twin. “She remembers being with Bruce and hiding at Clint’s farm.”

“Jeez,” Steve curses. It’s the closest he’ll get to a swear.

“She wants one of you here. To speak to you,” You tell them. “Maybe you Steve? I need someone to keep the girls and you’re the only one she trusts.”

“I understand,” Steve nods. “Of course. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.” Steve promises. He’s always so trustworthy.

“Thank you guys, again.” You sigh for what feels like the millitonth time. “Wanda I will call you later.”

“I’ll be here,” Wanda bids you goodbye. You hang up the phone feeling like a weight was lifted from your shoulders. You return to the hospital room to find Natasha sharing her lunch with Olivia.

“Mommy, no peanuts in it.” Olivia informs you. You look over to the small meal. Green beans, mashed potatoes, a dinner roll, and pudding for desert. Peanut free.

“She’s allergic she told me,” Natasha murmurs. She doesn’t take a single bite of food. “It’s a bad allergy right?”

“Life threatening,” You nod.

“I should know more about them,” Natasha begins. “It’s important that I do.” She’s admitting to a new weakness.

“I will tell you everything you need to know when you are better,” You promise her. “For now you rest. Uncle Steve is on his way to take you home with him.” You bend down to look Olivia in her eyes. She’s too busy making a mess of the mashed potatoes on her face. “Are you okay leaving with Uncle Steve?”

“Yes,” Olivia nods. She always has a blast with him. There’s no reason for her not to be okay with him. You move to sit in your chair, content watching Natasha interact with the kids, as you think of everything that you have to do.

She’s so good with them if a bit unsure of her position. Lily is still sleeping soundly, her face pressed against Natasha’s breast, as she breathes softly. Olivia is more active and has questions about everything. You don’t really pay any mind. Until she brings up her dance recital.

“You didn’t go cuz you were in the car ‘ccident.” Olivia says so casually. “I danced at school.” Natasha looks over to you for answers. “Her dance recital. We were on our way when we got hit by a car,” You simplify it. There’s no need for a full blow explanation.

“You didn’t have any injuries?” She scans you from where you’re sitting. Her tone is almost accusatory. You’re not willing to go there with her.

“Just a few dings,” You shake your head. Suddenly there’s another knock at the door. You stand to open it, thankful for the reprieve, to reveal Steve Rogers in all his glory.

“Unlce Steve!” Olivia grins. “You’re here to see Mama?” She questions.

“I am,” Steve steps into the room. He’s cautious. He comes to the side of her bed. Natahsa’s eyes never leave his.

“You’re bulkier,” She comments. She takes note of his full head of hair and fully grown beard. Steve looks good.

“I lift more,” Steve shrugs.

“I’m going to take Liv to get cleaned up,” You offer to give them some time alone. You reach across the bed to take Olivia. You can see Natasha take a deep pained breath. You ignore it for the sake of not starting anything.

You’re in one of the visitor bathrooms, cleaning up Olivia, when you realize you have to explain it to her. She’s three. She understands and picks up on more than what you think. Keeping things a secret from her won't bode over well in the end.

“Have to dry my hands,” Olivia walks over to the automatic driers to hold her hands under them. She’s so smart and attentive. There’s no way she won’t notice. Once she’s done, you walk over to the visitor's room. It’s not the best place to tell her but she needs to know. Olivia sits in the chair, bouncing in place, as she waits for you to talk. She’s only half paying attention as the hustle and bustle of the room catches her eye.

“Hey, Mouse, I need to talk to you about something important,” You start.

“Important? Oh? What’s important?” She looks to you.

“Remember how Mama and I got into the car accident and she bumped her head really hard?” You try to explain on her level. Olivia nods, picking at her sweater, as she tries to keep focus. For the most part, she’s doing quite well. “Well, when she bumped her head it did something. Her memories are gone. Which means she doesn’t know a lot of things that she used to.”

“Memories are gone,” Olivia repeats though you don’t think she understands exactly how any of this works.

“Yes, her memories are gone,” You try to think of a better way to keep this process smooth. “Mama is sick. So for a little while we have to be patient with her.”

“Oh,” Olivia nods. “Give her kisses and hugs to make it better?”

“I think she would like that,” You are in agreement on one thing. If you know Natasha, and you do, she is going to want the girls there every step of the way. Not that you know what the next step is. Of course, things are a bit harder to gauge when you’re doing it alone and she doesn’t trust half of the people you interact with daily. You could only hope this would work.

Meanwhile, in Natasha’s hospital room, she’s eyeing Steve with a guarded expression and curious eyes. She doesn’t hide her complete distrust for you and the entire situation. She needs to hear all of this from someone she knows. Someone from before. Steve wouldn’t lie to her. At least she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You’re still Avenging?” Natasha asks. She’s asking the easy questions for now.

“I am,” Steve confirms.

“The rest of the team?”

“Scattered but still around,” Steve sits in the chair you abandoned. “Thor is with Jane. They have a baby boy. He’s the same age as your little one.” He gestures to Lily. “Clint and Laura are with the kids still on the farm. Tony is Tony. He has a little girl.”

“With Pepper right?”

“Of course,” Steve nods.

“And Bruce?” She tries to appear uninterested but Steve knows better.

“Bruce is around,” Steve shrugs. “He’s here and there. Isn’t really an Avenger anymore.”

“There’s a story behind that,” Natasha prompts him to speak further but he doesn't.

“That is for another time,” Steve says. He bends until his elbows rest on his thighs. “You’re not supposed to be talking this much. Fractured rib. It has to hurt.”

“You know that’s not going to stop me,” Natasha attempts to take another breath though this time it’s too painful. She can’t even hide it. This leads her into a terrible coughing fit that has her clutching her side. Once she’s settled down, she lies her head against the pillows. “Turns out I have a wife now. I’m married.” She mumbles.

“Happily,” Steve reminds her. She lets her head loll in his general direction before opening her eyes again. “You and Y/n are an example of a loving marriage. Don’t push her away, Nat.”

“Who says I was,” Natasha presses her lips together into a thin line. She would like to drink a gallon of water right now. “She’s pretty.”

“That she is,” Steve laughs. “Seriously, Natasha, that woman would go to hell and back for you. I know your spy training tells you not to trust her. Especially when you only remember you and Bruce. Let her in. You’re going to need the help.”

“I’ve never needed help,” Natasha is a bit snippy with that statement.

“We both know that’s not true, Romanoff but I’ll let you have it,” Steve stands. “She’s raising and having your babies. Don’t write her off so soon. You may find that you’re in love with her all over again.”

Natasha remains mute at his words. Natasha Romanoff could never be in love. She’s never been in love. Love is for children. What she had with Bruce was…different. She can’t put a label on it. Not that she remembers anything that happened after her proposal at Clint’s farm.

“I’m going to take the girls now,” Steve reaches over to take Lily in his arms. She cuddles up to his chest. “If I don’t wake her now she’ll be up all night.”

“You’re taking this Uncle Steve title seriously,” Natasha jokes.

“I have to,” Steve bends to press a kiss to her forehead and finds himself explaining at her surprised face. Back then they weren’t so close. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” He leaves Natasha by herself for a few moments to come and find you.

Natasha finally takes a much-needed deep breath, clutching her side again, as she tries to wrap her head around this entire situation. She’s married. She has kids. What did Steve mean by “she’s raising and having your babies.” Were you pregnant? No. You don’t look it. Maybe it’s just a throwaway line. A thing people say. He also said your marriage is a loving one. Natasha finds this entire thing hard to believe. This one doesn’t sit right with her. She can’t run. Not when those two little girls look up to her as if she means the world. To them she does.

For them she’d stay.

**************************

Steve approaches you in the waiting room with an unreadable expression. He’s carrying a now awake Lily in his arms. When she spots you she holds out her arms for you to take her. You sit her down in your lap, kissing the top of her head, knowing how clingy she is when she’s sleepy.

“How was it?”

“She was fine surprisingly,” Steve admits. “No weapons to the throat or any of that.” He stands with his arms folded. “Are you sure you want her to come back home with you? Maybe it would be better for her to go back to the tower?”

“I’m sure,” You nod and speak past the lump in your throat. “If things change. If she expresses that it's what she wants then it’s fine. She can go back. We can arrange something with the girls and visit. Can we just play it by ear?” You pull your gaze from some random object in the room to Steve’s concerned eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Steve uses that voice. You know the one. He’s so caring and compassionate and somehow always able to pull the truth from you.

“I’m fine,” You have to be. There’s no other choice. “As long as she’s okay I’m fine. I think ask me in a few days. Maybe I’ll have a different answer.”

“Good,” Steve kisses your forehead much in the same way he did Natasha’s. “Now are you girls ready to go with Uncle Steve?”

“Yeah,” Olivia nods. She signs to Lily whose eyes light up at the idea of spending the night with her uncle.

“Don’t worry they’re safe,” Steve nods.

“Is Mama coming too?” Olivia looks over to you. She thinks Steve is taking you home.

“No, Mouse, Mama’s not coming,” You cringe at the trembling bottom lip and the sad expression. “Right now Mama has to get better in the hospital and then we can all go home.”

“To my house?” Olivia questions. She’s not liking this at all.

“Yes, to our house,” You kiss both of her cheeks. “Uncle Steve will take you to Aunt Wanda if you ask and I’ll call you before bedtime. I have to stay here with Mama to make sure she’s doing all better. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” She answers reluctantly but for now a tantrum has been averted. She climbs down from the chair to take Lily’s hand. She’s so protective of her baby sister. You give them both a final kiss before you watch as they walk to the elevator.

It’s then you stand to return to Natasha’s room. It’s time to face the music. You take several deep breaths, willing the magic to calm inside of you, as you walk back to her room. When you step inside, a nurse is checking Natasha’s vitals again. She’s just finishing up when you sit.

The nurse works around the two of you before bidding you a good night.

“Can I have a cot in here please?” You ask before she can leave. She nods before retreating. You turn back to Natasha who’s been watching you thus far.

“You’re sleeping here?” She breathes slower this time. She shifts to get comfortable.

“Yes, I’ve slept here every night since the accident.” You lick your lips.

“Have you eaten?” Natasha questions and for a second you’re hopeful. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out if you’re the one that’s supposed to be taking care of me.” Your face falls though you quickly hide it with something else.

“I can take care of myself,” Your hand twitches. She’s been awakened for five hours and you have yet to kiss or touch her. It’s a bit unsettling. The nerves in your stomach have since turned into dread. There's a pregnant pause before she asks again.

“Who is the woman in your phone? Brunette.” She doesn’t bother to look at you. “A mistress?”

You pat your pockets, wondering when she took the item before she lifts it with her good hand.

“My sister, Wanda.” You answer with a bit of annoyance. Natasha doesn’t recognize her. Which you don’t know whether to classify as good or bad.

“You have a sister?” She looks over to you.

“I do,” You speak softer this time. “I’m not a cheater, Natasha. Whatever thing in your head you’ve thought of is untrue. If you have questions ask me.”

“How long?” Natasha looks up at the ceiling. “Have we been together?”

“Four years,” Her eyes flash to yours. “ Five years ago we met. During Ultron.” You lick your lips again. You don’t mean to leave out key details. It’s better if you do until later. “We moved pretty quickly. With everything that was going on. Marriage was. Is what we wanted in the end.”

“You’re an Avenger you said? How?”

“I have powers,” You raise a hand to show the purple leaving your fingers. Her eyes widen and as quickly as you let it go you put it back. This may all be too much. “I joined around the same time as my sister. She’s an Avenger too. We dated for a while. Me and You. Wne on the run. Got married after. Found the girls.”

“Sounds like a bad movie,” Natasha quops and you snort.

“It does but what can you do?” You shake your head. “For what it’s worth I love you, Natasha.” You try to gauge her facial expression. She’s always been so good at hiding it. “You love me too. Even if you don’t remember. I hope that with time you’ll allow me to show you.”

The conversation ends there. Natasha doesn’t bother looking at you. She sits with her thoughts. She’d rather be anywhere but here. You know her well enough to understand she’ll probably try to break out of here in the middle of the night. Under different circumstances, you’d let her. For the first time in a long time, you feel as if you’re looking at a stranger.

A few days go by, and Natasha doesn’t attempt to escape, but you also don’t make any progress with her. She’s very distrusting of everyone around her/ Especially you. The only time she seems remotely happy is when the girls are around. They bring sunshine to her day and you wouldn't deprive her of that. For the sake of the girls, she pretends to like you. A part of you believes she’s not pretending. She’s trying and that's all you can ask. You rarely leave her side. She takes note of that.

You finally reach a stump when she needs to shower. Natasha isn’t modest. She’s not shy about her body or anything like that. However, you do have to admit being naked and vulnerable isn’t something either of you is going to be able to work with. The nurse offers to help give her a sponge bath and you both practically gag at that.

“Can we use a shower chair?” You offer and it’s accepted.

“You’ll help?” Natasha trusts you more than the nurse apparently. You give her an enthusiastic yes. You help her stand, taking slow and steady steps toward the bathroom, where you turn the shower on. Your arms stay wrapped around her waist as you bend to turn the knob. You try to ignore how good it feels for her to lean on you. You turn back to her, noting the apprehension on her face, as you realize something.

“I have to undress you.” You shuffle from foot to foot. Natasha gives an imperceptible nod. You start with her shirt, keeping your gaze on her face, as you gently lift her arms high enough to slip them out of the sleeves. She’s not wearing a bra and though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before you are aware of how she feels about this entire thing. Next are her pants and panties. You toss them to the other side of the room. You have better ones for her. You look over to the shower, when you look down at your own clothes. You could leave your tank top and bra on and your underwear. You have to climb in with her. “I have to, um, take my-”

“Just do it,” Natasha looks away. She’s more embarrassed that you have to bathe her. You make quick work of stripping before you both step into the shower. She leans against you, her back to your chest, as she breathes hashyl. You sit her down in the chair, kneeling and not quite caring about the steaming water against your back, as you begin to wash her. You start with her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. She keeps her eyes on your face the entire time. You don’t bat an eye when you spread her legs just slightly to clean her there. She gasps though she doesn’t move.

You realize quickly how you messed up.

“Sorry, I should have asked first,” You move your hands to her thighs. You shake your head at yourself.

“It’s fine,” She mutters. Though you can tell it’s anything but. You continue washing her with much more gentleness than before. When you’re done, you step out of the way to rinse her off. Natasha closes her eyes at the warm water hitting her chest. She enjoys the feeling of being clean. When you turn off the water you feel a bit better about everything. You don’t notice her eyes on your backside or the way she watches you as you reach for the towels. You’re half-naked and cold so you try to move quickly. You help her back into the room, dressing her with patience and love, as she lies into the bed again. She doesn’t take her eyes off of you even when you’re getting dressed yourself.

“Why are you doing this for me?” Natasha breaks the silence. You look over from the spot where you’re drying your hair.

It’s simple really. “Because I love you,” You answer before turning back to finish dressing.

You love her with everything in you.

A few days later, Natasha is discharged from the hospital. You'v ordered a few things to be delivered to your house to make her transition better. You pull around to the front of the hospital to the rental your insurance provided for you. You don’t feel particularly anxious until you’re driving away. It’s almost the exact same setup. Except you’re sporting a forehead scar that will fade and Natasha is suffering broken ribs. You hold your breath the entire time, your hands grip the steering wheel harder than necessary, and you’re more cautious the entire way home.

Natasha doesn’t recognize the brownstone or the neighborhood. It’s all unfamiliar to her as she waits for you to park the car. Which you do with ease. Unit #137. That’s your home. Your neighbor, Martha, is outside of her home watering her plants. She greets you as you help Natasha out of her car.

“Oh, you’re home.” Martha smiles. Natasha offers her a wave and a smile but nothing more. “Let me know when the girls are home so I can take them to the nursing home with me next time.” She makes you promise. Martha takes the girls to the nursing home every Wednesday to visit her husband. They love the girls and so does everyone else in the home.

“Will do,” You say before helping Natasha up the stairs. You drop your bags by the front door. She eyes everything. It’s all decorated in varying shades of black and white. There are a few pops of color. Children’s shoes and toys lining the foyer. There’s a nice bench and hook where everything is hung up. Pictures are lining the walls. A grand staircase leads to the second floor. “I know you must be tired. The stairs might be a bit much but I can carry you.”

“You’re going to carry me?” Natasha questions.

You raise your shoulder before dropping it. “The next best thing is the couch and I figured you would want privacy. Our bedroom is the first one.”

“Do we have other rooms?” Natasha looks up the stairs and you feel dumb for thinking she’d want to sleep in the same room as you.

“We do,” You nod. “I can take you to one of them.”

“Okay,” She prepares herself for you to pick her up and you do so with ease. You don’t have superhuman abilities but she doesn’t see you using your powers to take her up the stairs. You don’t strain or even grunt one time. You walk steadily up the stairs, turning to your left, to carry Natasha into the guest room.

“I have to grab your nursing pillow,” You tell her as you help her onto the bed. You rush to your bedroom to grab it. “It’s for if you need to cough or anything like that.” You pass it to her. You stand there for a few seconds longer. “I am ordering takeout tonight. I would cook but it’s been a long few days.”

“When will the girls be here?” Natasha asks.

“Tomorrow,” You clasp your hands together. “Steve is bringing them tomorrow.”

She nods at that. She looks as if she wants to be alone.

“I will be up here for a bit if you need me.” You say awkwardly before stepping outside of the bedroom. You close the door behind you. On the other side, Natasha finally lets a tear fall.

How could she forget all of this?

next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha x you #natasha romanov #natsxaddiction

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