#and even though she was my worst nightmare when i needed her most
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10nest · 2 years ago
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kind of an unpopular take but
damn i love my mom so much
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nana-gumi · 9 months ago
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devoted f.toji
pairings: fushiguro toji x fem! reader
cw: heavy angst, arranged marriage, illness, inaccurate descriptions of heart disease (just did some research lol), megumi is 5 years old, mentions of abuse, some kissing, mentions of pregnancy, drinking, toji is giving mixed signals, suggestive themes, lots of cursing, happy ending. wc: 18k
a/n: this was a filo au that i posted on tiktok, but due to problems posting on tiktok, the story wasn't finished and now here it is with an ending!! sorry for the long wait my tiktok readers 🥹 i'm sorry if the ending did not meet your expectations :') will post the angst ending soon
despite the years his past wife died, he still couldn't move on. it's up for the fate to decide if you could change him.
happy ending | alternate angst ending
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being an outcast in your family is the worst. you were forced to marry someone who's like you.
toji fushiguro, an outcast in his family and both of you were forced to marry each other. you've heard rumors about him. mostly bad ones. his father's company is famous after all.
toji have a son from his deceased wife. the time you met his son, megumi, you thought the kid will hate you but it was the opposite. he welcomed you, even told you that he was happy he finally has a mother.
you and toji never really interacted with each other that much, only if needed, like family gatherings or when megumi is around. who would want to show a kid that you're not interested with each other, right? but when it's just the two of you, both were completely a stranger to each other. there were times were you wanted to start a conversation because sleeping in one bed was awkward especially when there's no conversation at all.
you did start a conversation at some point but toji's presence was intimidating enough to shut you up. as time passes by, you're getting used to his presence. he seemed to be scowling at all times but you noticed that, that's just how he is. you continued to interact with him until you and him finally got comfortable with each other, where good morning and good nights were exchanged. but then you've grown attached to the man, especially his son.
when you asked toji why his last name is fushiguro, he told you that it was his deceased wife's last name. toji still refused to bring back his last name which is supposed to be zenin. he told you that his family once forced him to use zenin again but toji simply ignored them. even though toji was an outcast, none of his family couldn't argue with him so he kept the last name fushiguro while you stick with your own last name.
being an outcast, you didn't feel any love from your family and the simple things toji showed you made you feel loved. that night he let you borrow his jacket when it started to snow unexpectedly, those times where he makes extra coffee for you, he would even let you hug him if you have nightmares and most of all, he defends you from your family.
that's what you loved, no– love about him. but you wonder, does toji feel the same? and the answer was already obvious. toji only accepted the marriage because he doesn't have a choice. they will remove him from the business his family owns and he doesn't want that because he needs money for his son, megumi. he promised his deceased wife that he'll take care of megumi after all.
and you adore toji for that. sometimes you think, will toji cherish you the same way he does with his deceased wife? even if his wife died many years ago, he still have the love he has for her, as if she's still around to feel it.
-
you were currently laying on the couch as you hug yourself for warmth. it wasn't an argument with toji, but you just want to be left alone for now. the words "i love you" accidentally slipped out of your mouth, and you didn't mind if toji doesn't reply and you just hoped he didn't reply to it at all.
"i love you, toji." you whispered, enough for him to hear and his eyes looked guilty as he looked away from you.
"you shouldn't." toji replied. "you'll just hurt yourself."
"i know."
"you know we're married only in papers, we already decided to be just friends." you already know that, but you couldn't just hold back anymore, and of course he would say that. toji thinks no one could replace the love his deceased wife showed and gave him. she was there at his lowest point, she comforted him, told him the words he doesn't know he deserves to hear and toji just couldn't open his heart to love someone, at least not anymore. his wife was enough, megumi addressing you as his mother is enough, even a part of toji doesn't want it.
you glanced at the ring he's caressing on his finger. it should be the ring you placed on his finger on the wedding day but instead, it was the promise ring his wife had gave him. your heart couldn't ache anymore. you're so used at the empty feeling that it doesn't hurt you anymore.
"i'm sorry.." you mumbled as you excused yourself, deciding to just sleep on the couch. there you've grown to realize that being attached with toji fushiguro was the biggest mistake you'll ever done but you'll never regret.
-
you woke up with a shuffling beside you. you opened your eyes and saw megumi with his small blanket on his hand as he frowned at you.
"mama, it's cold." megumi said as he hurriedly draped his blanket above you.
"it's fine, megumi." you smiled at him as megumi tucked his small body on your arms.
"mama, did papa make you cry?" megumi asked and you pinched his nose as you disagree with his question.
"no megumi, mama fell asleep here while watching." you said.
"okay, i love you mama." megumi said and it has been minutes since he said those words and you were still silent that it made megumi look up at you.
"mama, i love you." he repeated with a hushed tone.
"i―" it was as if you choked on something as you embraced the child. "i love my baby too." you muttered.
after that conversation with toji, everything feels weird as if it's reminding you of your place, that you were forced to marry toji to strengthen your family's bond with the zenin's.
"papa loves you too." megumi mumbled and you just hoped it was true.
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toji's mother suddenly visited that day without a notice and toji wasn't around. his family doesn't really hate you but there's always a weird atmosphere around when you're close with them. just when his mother asked where toji was, he suddenly came back from work.
you knew he went here in rush, and the way he wrapped his arms around you as his lips came in contact with your forehead made your heart flutter. but you reminded yourself that it was only for a show. his mother smiled at the scene as toji sat beside you on the dining table.
"what brings you here, ma." toji asked in an annoyed tone.
"i just wanted to visit my grandson." you excused yourself a bit as you made your way towards the kitchen to make them something to eat and drink, and when you came back, the question you and toji were avoiding got asked by his mother.
"when do you plan on having another child?" she asked.
"no plans yet, we're to busy to have another child running around. megumi is enough."
"it's been a year since you're both married. why not give it a try?"
"ma―" you cut toji off before he could say something harsh to his mother.
"we did try it, ma, but it didn't really work so we decided to just wait for the right time." you answered, lied for toji and his mother seemed to buy it.
"ok.. but i am getting old, toji. we need to see a female granchild too." she said before excusing herself to go to her grandson who was playing. toji huffed at her mother's response as he stood up from the chair.
"i am sorry about that, toji." you said because as much as possible, you wanted to avoid answering that question too. toji sighed as he left the kitchen to get changed and when he went back to the living room, his mother was about to leave.
finally. he thought.
"just give it a try." toji's mother told you as she went inside her car.
"why'd she go here without informing me." toji muttered as megumi sat between you and him on the couch, showing the chocolate his grandmother gave him.
"i was surprised too."
"that's fine, thank you for covering up for me." he said as he stood up from the couch and took the chocolate on megumi's hand while carrying him. megumi whined in surprise as his father carried him like a sack of rice as you slowly followed behind.
"papa!" he exclaimed, kicking and punching but it was no use.
"come on, we don't want mama to get mad for eating to much sweets at night." toji said. he wasn't talking about you, you know that.
he placed megumi down beside the refrigerator as he placed the chocolate inside.
"too much sweet is not good for you." toji said as he carried megumi once again.
-
you just finished washing the dishes as you walked past megumi's room, and their muffled voices made you eavesdrop at their conversation, and you maybe you just didn't.
"megumi, why are you being so stubborn? you don't want mama to get mad right?"
"mama doesn't get mad at me!" megumi yelled as you smile a bit at his words.
"megumi, did you already forget your real mama, hm? she'll be sad in heaven. you want that?" toji said and his words was like a needle that was continuously poking at your chest.
"huh? but mama is here." megumi said, pointing at the door.
"look, (name) is just a replacement for your mama, but your real mama? she loves you, her love for you couldn't be replaced by someone."
"even (name)?" megumi said, and the way he addressed you by your name, you admit hurts. you took a deep breath as you felt a sharp pain in your chest. but that's fine, you're already used to it.
"yes, now go and sleep okay?"
"okay."
-
megumi started acting awkwardly towards you the next day, he was trying his best to avoid your gaze, maybe even you. he would stutter through his words between calling your name or 'mama'.
"bye bye, (name).." megumi looks away at you as he held toji's hand.
"bye bye." you replied as you forced a smile and megumi looked back once at the front door as they finally left the house.
-
"papa, i don't want to see mama sad." megumi said as toji placed his seatbelt. megumi might be a kid but he can clearly understood human emotions. when he called you by your name earlier, he saw how your smile disappeared but then you covered it up by a forced smile, and you just let him call you by your name.
"she's not sad-"
"yes she is."
"you don't understand, megumi." toji said and megumi only kept quiet because he knew arguing with his father is useless.
-
megumi jolted awake. he fell asleep after being in school the whole day as he searched for your presence. he had a dream, a really bad one and he found you in your and his father's room, talking to someone in your phone. megumi heard a sob coming out of you. you said something that megumi couldn't quite hear as you finally ended the call. he watched as you wiped your tears with your palms and took a deep breath. megumi silently close the door as he went back to the living room, sitting patiently as you appeared on his view.
"oh, megumi. how was your sleep?" you asked as you kneeled infront of the boy. megumi observed your eyes, they were a bit red.
"it's fine, mama." you were taken aback. he's calling you mama again. you smiled as you cupped his chubby cheeks.
"are you hungry?" you asked and he nods as you guided him on his feet. he didn't let go of your hand.
"mama, i love you. you're my one and only mama." you felt megumi's small hands squeeze your big ones, as if he's reassuring you of something.
"i love you too, my one and only baby. now let's go and prepare dinner!" megumi noticed that your mood shifted, and he was proud of himself that he was the one who brought a smile on your face.
-
it's unusual for you to wake up with toji's arms around you. you knew toji didn't do it on purpose, he was drunk last night and you just want to indulge the moment, even just for a minute or even seconds. you felt toji moved and you immediately stood up from the bed.
why do you feel guilty? it's not like you and toji were cheating on his wife. but that's how you felt. toji was still sleeping as you sighed, placing the blanket above him as you went out of the room.
"good morning, mama!" megumi greeted as he closed his ipad off.
"morning, 'gumi. what do you want for breakfast?"
"anything you cook!" he answered as he sat on the kitchen stool, watching you prepare the ingredients you needed.
"pancakes or rice?"
"rice!"
"okay." you laughed at his energetic response.
"mama can we buy art materials later? my teacher said we'll do arts on monday."
"sure, let's go out after we eat."
-
toji heard you and megumi talking as he arrived the living room. and just as he was about to enter the kitchen, your body bumped on his chest.
"oh, i was about to wake you up. breakfast is ready." you said, about to went back to the table but toji held your arm to stop you for a moment. he placed his other hand behind his head as he looks away.
"did i said something weird? last night." he asked as you look at him for a moment before you shake your head left to right. toji sighed in relief as he let go of your arm, both of you sitting on the kitchen stool. you look at toji, and he looks at you, but you couldn't meet his eyes as you smiled at megumi and place the food on his plate.
-
you just finished brushing your teeth as you were disturbed with a loud thud outside the bathroom.
"toji? are you there?" you called.
it was as if your soul went out of your body for a second, toji appeared infront of you. a curse slipped out of your mouth as toji's weight fell on you.
this was your first time seeing toji drunk, even your first time encountering a drunk person and you really don't know what to do so you tried your best to pull him with you in the room since he was so heavy.
once you opened the door of your room, you and toji fell on the ground. does his wife encountered this event a lot of times? if so what did she do?
toji was whispering something. you couldn't quite hear him as you placed your ear close to his mouth, the smell of alcohol getting stronger than it was and he was apologizing. you were confused as you move away from him.
"toji, i can't carry you anymore." you said, trying to wake him up as toji's eyes slightly opened.
"my wife." he whispered, you don't know if that certain beat in your heart was because he called you his wife or maybe because he mistook you of his wife.
and the next words he uttered is what you didn't expect as he suddenly placed his hand on your cheek and you were completely frozen in your spot as he continued to speak.
toji's hand finally slipped from your face as his head fell on your shoulder and you sit there, processing the words he said just a minute ago
he didn't mistook you as if wife, he indeed called you his wife and it warmed your heart.
"mama?" you were out of your thoughts when you felt megumi's hand above yours. "are you okay?" he asked as you look at him and then at toji.
"i'm fine, what was it again?" you asked, facing megumi as he smiled at you.
"papa will go with us later!" he said.
"oh? is that so?" you said as you look at toji, waiting for his answer.
he laughs at your reaction.
"looks like you don't want to?" he joked.
"it's not like that! it's always just me and megumi, since you're always busy.." you responded.
"yeah, today's a day off." you cursed internally. you have an appointment to the doctor today, you thought taking megumi with you would be fine, but toji? what reason should you tell him? you couldn't possibly say that you have a family meeting. no, you don't even have someone you can call a family, except for this two. plus toji would be updated if there's a family gathering.
maybe you'll ask the doctor to move appointments.
-
"are you sure? though i'm not sure when my schedule's gonna be clear again, (name)."
"it's fine choso, i can wait, just update me."
"sorry about that, i'm busy these days plus yuuji's been wanting attention too."
"is that so?" you said as you smile. "i want to meet him soon! looks like he's a good kid."
"soon, i'll bring him to the hospital with me."
"okay, see you next time then?"
"yeah. and (name), don't stress yourself too much, it's bad for the heart." you smiled at his words.
"of course, thank you. bye."
"who's choso?" startled by the voice, you immediately hid your phone behind you.
he was eavesdropping.
toji raised his eyebrow at your reaction as he opened his cabinet.
"a friend of mine."
"really? didn't know you have a friend." toji said in a voice you couldn't recognize, it was as if he's mocking you. you scoffed at him, deciding to just ignore his words.
you were about to leave the room but toji's voice stopped you.
"if you're starting to date someone, don't inform megumi about it. or he'll be sad." he said, mumbling the last sentence as you left. did toji really thought you were dating someone even if you're married already?
sure everything is one-sided, but you just don't have it in you to date someone, not when toji already has your heart, your everything. even if he doesn't know it. but you think it's better for toji to assume that choso is something in your life than choso just being an appointed doctor.
-
toji was too drunk when he got home and he think he just saw his deceased wife, but when he approached the person, it turned out to be you.
toji noticed that he was at the bathroom and felt your hands on his arms as you place it on your shoulder. he felt drinking that day, he wanted to forget everything or maybe when his wife appeared on his dream last night, the words he told her. he didn't want to wake up that night.
toji already forgot her face, her voice, how her hands felt on his. he already promised that they will meet again. in next life or in another universe. it doesn't matter where, as long as he could meet his wife again. but his wife told him in his dreams that he should move on, and he couldn't just do that.
toji did saw your efforts. he saw how you care for him, especially megumi. but he couldn't just stop himself from comparing you to his wife on his mind. no one could ever replace his wife. toji squinted his eyes, he saw you trying to pick him up.
"toji, i can't carry you anymore." but your words was a blur to him.
toji's hand twitched and moved on its own as he sat up from the floor.
"i'm sorry, i can't." he muttered as he placed his rough hand on your cheek, observing your eyes as he leaned his forehead on yours. "i can't love no more. i can't love you the same way. i'm sorry."
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toji was the man of your dreams.
he might not know it but toji saved your life, he saved you from the hands of your greedy parents.
"i can't love you the same way, i'm sorry." the way he said those words were filled with guilt.
sometimes you put yourself on his place. if you were the one that has a past lover who died, of course it'll be hard to move on, especially when that person made you feel love and gave you the world.
toji was miserable back then, not until he met her. she fixed him. just like you and toji, you met him and he fixed you. the only difference was they loved each other. she loved him and he loved her, while you love him but he was stuck in the past.
there were times where you watch him sleep, not in a bad way, but just want to admire him where you whisper your love for him. he won't hear it of course. his dreams must be more entertaining than the words you're whispering to him.
toji's words that night made an impact to you. everything he does for you, you started viewing it as him just doing it for kindness and not for love. maybe toji just doesn't want to hurt you further because he knew how badly your family treated you back then. you were on the same page after all.
now you realized that maybe it was bound to happen, that being married with toji is enough, being a mother figure to megumi was enough. he already did enough for you, for taking you away from your hell life. you'll just pay him back by doing what you should for him and megumi.
you'll just love him silently. you'll bury your feelings deep inside your heart that only you, yourself knew. maybe wait for him to finally acknowledge you. but you knew it wouldn't happen this time around.
for now, you'll just watch him love someone who wasn't even around anymore.
-
toji was showing you a picture of his past wife because you asked him to see her. she looked a lot like megumi, but a female version. now you know why toji fell in love with her. even in the picture, it was already obvious that his wife was kind and a loving person. but you're kind and a loving person too, aren't you? the universe is so unfair.
"this is when she was 7 months pregnant." toji said as he pointed a specific picture. you smiled at his words as you continue to listen to him. but toji suddenly went silent all of the sudden and closed the album as he cleared his throat.
"why, did you want to see it?" he asked as he placed the album back inside his drawer.
"just curious, she looked a lot like megumi." you said as you lean your head on your knees, facing him. "how did you meet her?"
"it was an arranged marriage too." he said. "i wasn't really favored with it but i don't have a choice." toji smiled. how can a person like her make him smile like this when you can't? "she was simple, i suddenly fell in love with her." toji said with adoration in his voice as he looked at you.
you sighed as you lay flat on the bed and started stretching your arms.
"ah, i wonder if someone would love me that way too." you sighed as you turned your back on him.
"you will, but that couldn't be me." he said straightforwardly as if reminding you that you couldn't change his mind anymore and it made you curl yourself on the sheets.
"are you and that choso dating?" toji asked as you turn to face him. he was leaning his back on the headboard with a laptop on his lap.
"no? why'd you assume we're dating?"
"you've been going out a lot these days, i just thought."
"are you okay with that?" you asked.
"of course." and he didn't even hesitate which hurt you more. "i mean, maybe he's the one you're looking for?" toji said as he closed the laptop, the surroundings being engulfed with darkness, the bright moon outside being the only source of light.
but you're already here. you wanted to say those words but you already knew what he'll respond to it. toji lay flat on the bed as he placed his arms behind his head while you were still facing him.
"not gonna answer my question?"
"oh? what was it again?"
"i said maybe choso is the one you're looking for."
"toji-"
"i just want what's best for you, y/n. you know, i can't really.."
"toji, i already know that. choso is just a friend, nothing more, nothing less." you said followed by a sigh. "at least just let me be by your side." you whispered, hoping that he heard even just a bit of it.
"if you insist, but i already warned you." toji said.
"i know.." toji was just beside you, but he's far within your reach. has it always been like this? every night, you and toji always ends the day with a conversation, same question with the same answers and toji will end up with his back facing you. every night, you couldn't sleep. only whispering those three words to him hoping and praying that he'll hear it and say it back.
every i love you's that was whispered were left hanging on the air. sometimes it was tiring, thinking of the words toji said that maybe he wasn't really for you and you weren't the one for him.
"good night." you mumbled.
"good night." he replied and everything was dark.
i love you, toji.
those words you utter to yourself every single day and night, hoping that he'll say it back, maybe just once, and it might heal the void inside your heart. but not a single day he said it back.
-
toji felt guilty but he shouldn't be feeling this way. you were just married on papers and already agreed that being friends was enough. yet he couldn't help but watch as you curl yourself, as if seeking for a comfort he knew he couldn't give you. he apologized on his mind, he couldn't say it out loud because he knew how it would hurt you more, so he just stayed silent.
toji switched off the lights as he lay comfortably to the side with your back facing him. he doesn't know how long he's been closing his eyes but sleep just couldn't take over him.
"i love you, toji."
he froze on his spot and his body tensed as he heard you whispered those words. he then felt your fingers caress the scar on his lips.
"i'm sorry if you ever feel guilty for not returning my love for you. but always know that i understand you." you whispered and your touch disappeared on his skin as he felt your warmth get close to him. "i'll keep waiting, maybe someday.." minutes passed, toji was still waiting for you to say something but you were already silent.
he opened his one eye and the first thing he saw was your back, there were a space between you and him.
is it always this far? are you always this far from him? toji doesn't know. he tried to reach for you but he stopped himself. and then again, another apology had slipped on his mind. he couldn't say it back, not when he swore to only say those words to the person he loves.
toji finally closed his eyes as the sleepiness take over his body. he knew that the one for you, who'll cherish you, love you like how you deserve it will eventually come and toji was already certain that it wasn't him.
it was really true that first love never dies now that you've experienced it and toji was enough proof. you couldn't stop loving him the way he couldn't stop loving his past wife. how can you even wish someone to just die when they're already dead? it was weird but were you too cruel for that?
you just hope that someday, toji will look at you the way you've always been wanting and craving. you'll wait, even if your and his hair turns white or even if you only have enough time to live.
-
"just this once?" you whispered as toji held your cold hands as he placed it on his cheek.
toji closed his eyes as he placed your hand back on the bed, hospital bed.
"i'm really sorry.." he whispered back and it was enough for you to hear it.
a small laugh left your lips. it's so hard even to laugh now.
"that's fine, at least thank you for being here."
"i'll say it if you want."
"don't say something you don't mean, toji." you smiled at him.
"yeah, i guess so."
-
you sit up from the bed as you wake up. it was just dream, but it felt to real for it to be a dream.
you couldn't help but cry as you cover your mouth as you felt a hand on your back.
"what's wrong? another nightmare?" toji asked. even in your dreams, in your death bed, toji still didn't love you. even in your deathbed, toji still couldn't love you the way you wanted it. maybe it was sign that toji doesn't have to know your condition.
he doesn't need to know.
"it's nothing, let's go back to sleep?"
-
you went out again. toji heard you talking to someone on the phone, he guessed it was choso. he didn't mean to follow you but he still did.
toji ended up following you on a hospital and he was confused. are you sick? toji asked himself, but you always looked fine.
he anxiously tap his finger on the steering as he waited for you on his car and it took you more than 30 minutes to finally come out of the hospital again.
why does that doctor have to send you out? even placing his hand on your back.
toji watched you enter your car. he waited for you to leave before going out of his car to enter inside the hospital.
he was hesitant as he finally arrived the front desk.
he cleared his throat as he faced the lady infront.
"is there a patient named (name)?"
"(name)?" the nurse repeated as she looked down the lists but your name wasn't there. "i'm so sorry but there is no patient named y/n here."
"ah, mr. fushiguro. did (name) send you here?" toji turned around at the voice and he was met with the same doctor he saw outside the hospital. toji's eyebrow furrowed as he fully faced him. "i'm choso by the way, y/n's doctor. i guess she already told you?"
-
"mama?" you heard as you enter the front door.
megumi approached you as he embraced you.
"did you just woke up?" you asked as both of you went back to the living room.
"a while ago.."
"where's your papa?"
"i woke up when he left."
"he left? but he said it's his day off today." you mumbled as you recalled his words. "anyway, what do you want for breakfast, gumi?"
-
as toji entered the house, yours and megumi's muffled voice can be heard at the front door. it looked like you and megumi is having fun. toji finally entered the kitchen and saw you with megumi baking a cupcake.
"papa!" megumi exclaimed as he jumped down the stool to approach his father, the icing on megumi's clothes being transferred to toji's clean ones.
"welcome back, toji. where have you been?" you asked and it suddenly smelled like cigarettes.
she looks fine. toji thought, but he was trying to stare at you as if it'll reveal something.
"toji?" you called him with concern as he snapped out of his thoughts.
"just went out. who's that for?"
"mama said she wants to try baking!" megumi answered.
"is that so?" toji said as megumi hummed in response.
toji looked at you once again, but his stare was making you uncomfortable. there's something weird about the way he looks at you and it was scaring you.
"i'll rest for a bit." toji said as he left the kitchen.
"mama, did you and papa fight?" megumi asked as he approached you.
"no megumi, he's just tired." you smiled down at megumi to reassure him and he warmly returned your smile.
toji didn't left the room that day.
you lay down beside him, still minding the space with both of your backs facing each other.
you heard shuffling behind you but you paid no mind to it. and when you turned your body to the other side, you were surprised to come face to face with toji.
"hey." you started as you slightly move back to create more space. "are you not hungry? there's still left over from the kitchen.
"i'm fine." toji replied with a low voice as you nod at his words.
"good night, toji." you said as you went back to face the other side again.
you were waiting for his reply but minute passed, he was still silent so you took a deep breath and sighed while closing your eyes. but the moment you closed your eyes, you felt him move close to you. he tucked his arms below your body and then the other above you as he easily pulled you close to him.
"good night." he replied as you look up at him with shock. did he just initiate a physical touch? he's not drunk, right?
"mhm." you simply replied, still surprised. toji didn't move away after that, he stayed still and so were you.
"are you drunk?" you asked that made toji open his eyes.
"i'm not. why asking?"
"well, it's- is this okay with you?" you asked and your voice was too small that toji almost didn't catch it.
you were out of words. it was weird for toji to act this way, especially when he's not even drunk. does he need something from you?
it hurts to think that he's only being affectionate because he needs something from you. either way, you'll still do what he'll ask you because you love him.
"are you not comfortable with it?" the way you immediately stopped him when he was about to remove his arms around you was a desperate move, but you didn't want to lose this chance because it might not happen again.
"no, i like it.. it's just, we've never done this before, shouldn't you be the one who's uncomfortable with this? i mean-"
"shh, let's just stay like this." toji murmured as he pulled you a little more close to him. his warm breath fanning on your neck.
you smiled but if felt like something was missing. you felt complete but at the same time you're not. you placed your hands on top of toji's that was around you as you give it a light squeeze.
"toji." you called his name in a whispered tone as you heard him hummed in response. "i'm not her, toji."
you didn't know why you even said those words. toji was hugging you but there were possibilities of him thinking his wife on you. because why would he suddenly do this if not for that?
as those words left your mouth, the warm presence that was comforting you suddenly disappeared. you weren't even surprised when he did that, just a tiny bit of ache in your heart.
heh, i knew it. but it's fine, i still loved it. you thought to yourself as you ended up curling your own body again, seeking for the comfort that was there just a while ago.
maybe someday, toji will hug you again, but that time, you hope he'll do it as him thinking of you, not while thinking of his deceased wife.
-
"i'm choso by the way, (name)'s doctor. i guess she already told you?"
"hah?" toji rasped in confusion as he looked at choso. so this was choso and he's a doctor.
not bad. toji thought.
"then why are you here, mr. fushiguro? your wife left just 5 minutes ago."
"i know." toji replied.
choso raised his eyebrow at the man in front of him.
"do you perhaps need something from me?" choso couldn't help but ask because the way toji looked at him was different.
"yes, i want to talk to you."
both of them ended outside the hospital where there were no people around.
-
toji slammed his hand on the wall, slightly embarrassed as he watch the doctor laugh in front of him.
"what's funny." toji rasped.
"sorry, sorry-" choso replied as he pants, he never had a good laugh these days. "mr. fushiguro, are you assuming that your wife is having an affair with me?"
"i didn't mean it that way, i was just asking if you and (name) have something."
"mr. fushiguro, ms. (name) is just my patient, i'm sorry if it came off that way." choso said as he leaned his back on the wall. "plus i know my boundaries, i wouldn't go with a married woman, y'know." toji calmed his body as he leaned his back on the wall like choso did.
"she's always talking to you on the phone, that's why i assumed."
"(name) told me a lot about you."
"i'm hoping it's the good ones."
"not even once your wife badmouthed you, mister." choso replied as he offered toji a cigarette to which he declined.
"she's not sick, is she?" toji asked.
"mhm, your wife was diagnosed with arrhythmia."
"arrhythmia?" toji faced choso at his words.
"her heartbeat is irregular, mr.fushiguro. are you not taking a good care of your wife?" choso tried to joke him but he didn't expect toji to stay silent. "well, i hope she's not lying when she said she doesn't smoke and drink?"
"no, she doesn't." toji said.
"anxiety or any emotional distress can cause this. are you perhaps having a lot of fight? her condition has been like this for a long time now."
"no, we don't fight." toji said "is it harming her that much?" toji asked
"for now, it's not. but if she doesn't take a good care of herself, it may lead to a heart failure."
"how to avoid this?" choso looked at toji in disbelief. did you seriously kept it a secret to your husband?
-
"toji." you called him as he was about to leave the house. "i'm sorry about last night." you said.
you frowned as you heard the front door close. toji was ignoring you. you felt guilty for saying those words last night but you just couldn't hold back anymore. it was hurting you. why would you say that when toji only wanted to be close with you?
you sighed in defeat as you turn around, continuing the dishes you were doing.
you knew how toji hated it when it's about his wife, yet you still brought it up.
-
"toji!" you scolded.
it was yet another night where he came home drunk, you're almost starting to get used of this scenario.
"i said don't touch me!" he yelled back as you stumbled back a bit from the force of his push.
you were getting scared. not even once toji had yelled at you, this was the first time. was the words you said really did have an impact to him? now you feel more guilty than you were. you were scared that toji would start looking at you the way your family did.
only because of the stupid words you said.
"toji." you said in a more calmer tone as you guide him on his feet.
"let go." he mumbled.
"i will. let's go to the room first, okay?" you sighed in relief when toji did what you said without saying anything.
"mama.." toji's voice must've woke megumi up as he look at you with concerned eyes.
toji shrugged his shoulders to remove your hand on his shoulders as he kneeled infront of megumi.
"megumi, mama's not here anymore." toji said.
you were taken aback but megumi was more surprised than you were that he started crying.
he was pushing toji away from him as he cry.
"i hate you!" megumi yelled as he finally free himself from toji and hugged your leg.
"it's okay, 'gumi. go back to sleep." you said as you kneeled on megumi's level while he cried in your shirt.
toji stood up by himself as he entered your shared bedroom, closing the door with a force as you flinch in surprise.
"mama." megumi cried.
"it's fine now, he's just tired."
"you say that a lot of times." megumi said as he wiped his tears. "let's sleep together, mama." you look at your room door as you nod at megumi.
maybe toji needs to have his time alone for now.
-
you were humming a lullaby as you sing megumi to sleep.
you already sang the lullaby 3 times already and just like you, megumi couldn't sleep at all. he knew you were crying but he decided to not talk to you.
megumi pretended to be asleep as you finally stopped humming.
he heard you took a deep breath as you pulled his small body close to you.
"night night, 'gumi." he heard you whispered as he felt the dip on his bed beside him disappear.
megumi squinted his eyes and saw you walking out of his room as the door finally closed leaving him inside his now dark room.
megumi sat up from his bed as he silently followed you.
he was tiptoeing as he followed you to the kitchen.
you were sitting there, a glass of water between your hands as you stare at nothing.
you were too drained as you wiped the remaining tears your eyes could release.
megumi was lost in his thoughts and didn't hear you walking on his way, but before you could caught him, he showed himself to you.
"megumi?" you called him, slightly surprised at his presence. "what's wrong?"
"um water, mama." he said as he noticed you smile a bit before giving him a glass of water.
-
"all good?" you asked as megumi tucked you and himself on the blanket as he hug you. he nods in response as he sighed in content.
"mama, i will tell papa tomorrow to say sorry." he said.
"it's fine, 'gumi. he's just tired and mama understands." you said as you brushed megumi's hair with your fingers.
"okay, i love you mama."
"i love you too, now go back to sleep you have school tomorrow."
-
when megumi woke up the next morning, you were still sleeping beside him. he kissed your tear stained cheek as he went out to start his day.
he found his father on the kitchen counter, holding his head with his hand.
toji noticed megumi's presence as he immediately approached his son.
"where's your mama?" toji asked as he placed his hands on megumi's shoulders.
megumi noticed that his father was restless, but he deserved it for yelling at you last night.
"say sorry to mama, papa." megumi said.
"ha? where's she?"
"in my room. mama was crying because of you!" megumi yelled, he almost wanted to cry as he recalled your unreadable expression last night. "i saw mama drink so many medicine, papa." megumi muttered.
toji massaged his temples as he made his way to megumi's room with megumi following behind.
toji slowly opened the door and sighed in relief as he finally saw you.
megumi's small blanket couldn't even cover your whole body as toji approached you and gently carried you to the bed, transferring you to your shared room.
"let's not wake up mama for now." toji said as he pats megumi's head. "i'll drive you to school."
-
"papa." megumi called as he fixed the seatbelt of the front seat. toji hummed in response as he waited for the street lights to turn green. "do you hate mama?" megumi was hesitant at his question.
"no." toji responded plainly.
"but you always make mama cry." megumi mumbled. "you always say that she's not my mama and it's hurting her. i always see mama cry, i just stay quiet." toji ignored his son as he started driving.
-
toji went back home after sending megumi to school and you were still sleeping.
he sat on the bed as he tried to recall anything that has happened last night but he couldn't remember anything.
he felt you moved as he look at you. you were finally awake.
you saw him as you sit up from the bed.
"good morning." you greeted as you rubbed your eyes.
toji was waiting for you to say something about last night but you didn't and instead smiled at him as you stretched your body.
"megumi!" you exclaimed as you realized that you were supposed to send him to school.
"i already drove him to school."
"ah really? thank you." you said as you finally relaxed your body. "then, what do you want for breakfast?"
-
has it been always like this? toji asked himself as he watched you prepare breakfast.
is it always like this the next day when he came home every night he's drunk?
you were all smile but this was the first time toji noticed that it was forced. is it really always like this?
toji wasn't the one to get nervous but when he recalled the nights he came home drunk, he couldn't recall anything.
he must've said or did something hurtful to you that you do not wish to tell him the next morning.
megumi was always a witness to it but you always tell him to stay quiet.
"i'll go out later." you said as he snapped out of his thoughts.
"okay. want me to accompany you?" toji noticed the way you immediately declined his request and there, he exactly knew where you're headed.
toji watched you drink the hot chocolate in your mug.
"(name)." he called.
"mh?"
"i'm sorry. if i ever did something last night."
not just last night, every time he comes home drunk, toji would say something hurtful and you were even convinced that he means some of it.
the first time he came home drunk, he told you he couldn't love you the way you love him and that was fine for you. but second time he came home drunk, he said the words i love you, but it wasn't for you. he said i love you but not your name in it. the third night he came home drunk, he compared you to his wife saying that you couldn't replace the role of being megumi's mother and you know that.
megumi was there and he cried with you saying that he loves you and don't listen to what his father said to you. but then it happened again. he watch his father get mad at everything, including you, his mother who just wanted to help him get to bed. he knew his father wasn't in his right mind because he was drunk. he cried with you again that night.
megumi got used to seeing you hiding your sobs from him. he already saw you cry silently or sometimes you just sit there to stare at nothing. megumi once caught you breathing heavily on the bathroom and there was a blood on the sink. you told him that it was nothing and megumi was just a kid, of course he would believe you that it was just nothing.
but as megumi continues to grow, he's starting to think that his father hates you. he started observing the two of you and there was nothing wrong with your relationship, except when his father is drunk. don't get megumi wrong, he still loves her real mother but you were the one who raised him. he haven't seen his mother once, only in pictures.
"(name)?" you snapped out of your thoughts as you looked from your plate to toji.
"i said i'm sorry." he said.
"it's fine, you were drunk."
"so i did said something, huh." toji cursed under his breath as he heard you laugh.
"don't worry, it's not that deep."
it was. but remembering it will only hurt you more.
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you've been having nightmares these days and you don't know if it's a sign for something. every dream you had was weird. there were times where toji would appear in your dreams. sometimes he hates you and sometimes, he loves you that you don't even want to wake up anymore.
you were currently sitting inside a hospital room as choso stood meters away from you.
"are you even taking a rest like i told you to?"
"yes."
"then why is your condition getting worse?" choso's words made you look at him, he was writing something on a paper.
"really?"
"really. (name), i am telling you this now, you'll suffer the consequences if you don't listen to me."
"but i do take rest."
"taking rest isn't enough, you should avoid your heart from getting tired. have you experienced panic attack these past few weeks?"
"n-no."
"you're lying."
"i'm not."
"your husband's worried, you know." you don't know why choso words made your heart clench, but you just hope his words were true.
"really?" you said as if you weren't convinced. choso looks at you and back at the paper as he sighed.
"i'll add another medicine, make sure to take it on time."
"why do we have to do these things?" you said as choso looked up from the paper to you.
"what do you mean?" choso asked as he raised his eyebrow at you.
"i mean, isn't better to just wait until it's over?" choso got silent, clearly surprised at the words you said. you noticed his reaction as you released a nervous laugh. "what am i even saying.." you said as you laughed at yourself.
"are you even hearing yourself?"
"i know what i said, choso. but don't worry, i was just joking."
"not a funny one. you just don't know it (name) but your husband's really worried."
"if you think your words would calm me, it's not working."
"huh?" you stood up from the seat before choso could say something.
"i guess we're already done here?" you said as choso nods.
"(name). take a proper rest."
-
you fell asleep the moment you got home and when you went downstairs, it was messy.
the television was on full volume and megumi was nowhere to be seen. toji was on the kitchen sleeping, there was a consumed bottle of liquor beside him.
"toji." you shake him to wake him up but it didn't work at first try so you did it again.
he was awake all of the sudden as he look around the kitchen. toji was drunk again as you thought of the things that happens every night he came home drunk. you hope he would just stay silent and wouldn't say anything anymore.
"let's get you to bed." you said as you helped him stand up but before you and toji reached the room, you fell on the floor as you entered the room. and the scene was so familiar to you.
"(name)." he called as you snapped out of the memory. "(nameee)." he called again.
"i'm here." you said.
"you're here?" he said as he touched your face as if he doesn't believe you. "you're really here." he said as he smiled and embraced you.
and you, you were taken aback, but you just let him.
"why did you leave me?" he said.
there he goes again.
"hey, look at me." he said as he held your cheeks with his thumb and pointer finger.
why does looking at him hurts.
"don't ever think that i don't love you, okay? i'm so grateful that you're here.." you were waiting for it. for him to call his wife's name but you didn't expect that he'll say yours. "if i started loving you, are you going to stay?" he said and you were speechless. "i'm sick of people leaving me." he mumbled as he embraced you. "i don't want you to leave. i promise, i'll love you like how you want it. i'll do it, i'll move on from her but in exchange, don't ever leave, okay? we'll heal you, you'll be fine."
what was he even talking about? it's not like your leaving or something, right?
you sighed, brushing off his words as you placed him on the bed.
"don't force yourself to love someone, toji. go to sleep, i'll look for megumi."
-
you were about to leave the house as you heard sobs coming from the house. and when you followed the sound, you were surprised to see megumi who tucked himself at a kitchen cabinet.
"mama!" he said as he embraced you.
"megumi, what are you doing inside the cabinet?"
"i'm hiding." he frowned as you wiped his tears.
"from who?" you said with a soft voice to calm him.
"mama.." megumi mumbled as his voice slightly cracked. "papa said you'll leave us."
"he said that?" you said as you kneeled into his level and he nods at your question. "he's lying." you said as megumi sighed in relief and embraced you once again.
"papa said you'll leave just like my real mama." megumi pulled away from the hug as he saw your surprised expression. "it's not true, right? mama."
your forced a smile as you pinched megumi's cheeks.
"of course, mama won't leave. never."
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"toji, can you drive megumi to school today?" you muttered as you saw toji who was about to leave the room.
"what was that?" toji asked as he closed the door once again and approached you. you sit up from the bed and your vision started to spin.
"bring megumi to school." you said followed with a small cough.
"yeah sure." he hesitantly said.
"thanks." you mumbled as you lay back down on the bed.
"you okay?" toji asked as you felt him sit on the bed.
"i'm fine, must be a fever." you said but toji wasn't convinced and placed the back of his palm on your forehead to your neck and you were burning. toji was about to say something but he felt your cold hands on his.
"i'm fine, don't worry." you assured him with a smile as you let go of his hand and faced the other side. you were burning but your hands were too cold.
"i'll be back." toji said, immediately leaving the room as you heard the doorknob clicked.
-
toji was back after sending megumi to school. megumi insisted on seeing you before leaving but if he found out you're sick, toji knew megumi wouldn't want to go to school anymore. you weren't in the room when toji entered.
he started looking for you around the house and the kitchen was the last place he expected to see you. he sighed in relief when he saw you sleeping on the table with a glass of water in your right hand. toji's eybrows furrowed as he silently approached you. he can hear your soft snores as he went closer and closer.
"(name)?" he said in a whispered tone and you woke up within a second as you look around.
"oh?" was the only word you let out as you felt toji's hands on your shoulders. "i fell asleep."
"what are you doing here?" he said as you tried to stand up but you failed. you don't have the energy even to stand up.
"i got thirsty but i got tired before i even drink water." you said as you finally drink the glass of water.
"you should see a doctor." toji suggested.
"i'm finee." you said as you let toji guide you back to the room.
slowly, you sit from the bed as toji helped you to lay down. he placed a blanket above your body and went straight to the bathroom inside the room. he went back with a wet towel and a bucket of water as he started wiping your face with it.
"thank you." you whispered, even your throat was hurting. toji didn't respond as he continued on his task and after that, toji took another towel and placed it above your head.
"toji." you called as he stopped at the door he just opened.
'can you stay please?'
how badly you wanted to ask him to stay with you, but the dreams you had before started replaying in your mind. maybe you shouldn't. "it's nothing." you said as you pulled the blanket above your chin.
toji seemed to notice your distress as he silently closed the door and approached you again.
"i will be back. i'll just buy you food." he said as you covered your whole body with the blanket.
"okay." you said and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling.
do you have to be sick for toji to look out for you? maybe being sick is not that bad after all.
toji came back after five minutes, it's not that you're counting though, you were just bored.
"where did you go?" you asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"i'll just order, what do you want- i mean, you can't eat anything for now, let's just order a soup." toji looked at you as he heard you laugh at his words.
"there's no need, toji. it's not that hard to cook a soup." you said as you sit up from the bed, only for toji to push you back down on the bed as you let him place the blanket above you.
"don't be stubborn."
"toji, don't tell me you can't cook a soup." you said.
"it's not like that, okay? i just-" he paused for a moment before turning his back on you. "you seemed like you want a some company, that's why i am here." he said.
speechless, that's how you describe yourself now.
"is that so?" you said as you watch him scratch his head.
"i'll do this on my own way, okay?"
"okay. but let me, i know exactly where to order a good soup."
-
"this looks plain as hell." toji said as he opened the soup you ordered.
"but it's delicious, and why are you complaining?" you said as you raised your eyebrow at him. "i'm the one who's gonna eat it, not you!" you exclaimed as toji huffed in response.
toji started pouring the soup on a bowl before placing a chair beside the bed. and for a moment, you look at him and he looks at you.
"it's fine, i can do it myself." you said, trying to reach the bowl on his hand but he moved it slightly away from your reach. he hesitated for a moment before taking the spoon on his finger.
"ahh." he instructed.
"toji, this is embarrassing." you muttered as you move away from the spoon.
"how are you gonna get better if you're being stubborn?"
"just let me!!"
"tch, let me handle this." he said as you, again, tried to take the spoon from him but it was useless so you did what he said as he slowly placed the spoon with soup in your mouth.
it was quiet as toji continues to feed you, until it's the last spoon of the soup, you suddenly let out a cough as the soup dripped from the corner of your mouth and to the duvet.
"oh." you mumbled as toji reached out for the tissues. "sorry." you mumbled as you started to wipe the soup on the blanket and then the corner of your mouth. "we have to change blankets, i guess."
it was too sudden that you didn't have time to process everything when toji leaned close to you. you can feel his hot breath on your cheek as he pressed his lips on the corner of your lips, with him tasting the soup he just fed you.
you were sure you were losing your breath as he pulled away as if nothing happened.
"ah, sorry." he said as if he just didn't kiss you. he started to gather the paper bag of the soup earlier and took the blanket on your hands. "i'll get a new one." he said as he finally left the room.
-
why is he acting so normal when you're there sitting on the bed, trying to calm your speeding heart at the moments earlier.
you cursed under your breath as you hide your face with your palms.
why are you even embarrassed when kissing is normal to a married couple? it was normal but it was unusual for toji to act like that, you haven't even hold hands with him but a kiss? that's way more unexpected.
-
toji gently closed the door of the room as he leaned his weight on it.
"fuck." he muttered as he clutched the blanket on his hand.
seeing you wipe the soup on the blanket with that smile on your face urge toji to do that. he himself didn't expect it too. he cursed once again before proceeding to the task in hand.
-
you were startled when the door opens.
it was toji carrying a new blanket.
"i'll pick up megumi soon." he said.
"what about your work?"
"i took a day off." you hoped he did because you were sick. "you can't be left alone." he said as if he just read your mind.
"oh. thank you."
"not a problem. make sure to do the same when i got sick too." he joked, but it didn't fail to put a smile on your face.
"of course, i would love too! but i'm not saying that i want you to get sick!"
-
"mama!" you can hear megumi's voice from afar as he finally entered your room, throwing his lunchbox bag somewhere as he approached you.
"megumi, don't get to close." you said.
"mama! are you okay?"
"megumi, stop yelling." toji said as he entered the room, picking up megumi's lunchbox bag he threw minutes ago.
"you said mama is not sick!"
"megumi, don't yell at your papa." you said as megumi finally faced you, his face turning into a frown as he faced his father once again.
"i'm sorry, papa." he muttered.
toji was impressed that you could make megumi easily obey you. a thing he couldn't do when megumi was 3 years old.
"come on, change into your home clothes." toji said as he carried megumi like a sack of rice.
"i'll be back, mama!" he said before he and toji disappeared from your view and toji came back after a minute before closing the door with a sigh.
"come and rest." you said as you pat the empty space beside you.
toji sat beside you as the surroundings became quiet. he cleared his throat as he took the plushie megumi bought you and squeezed it.
"i'm sorry." he said.
"why?" you said, completely confused at the apology he just uttered.
"earlier. i didn't mean it."
oh.
"w-well, it's fine." you said as you conceal your stutter with a cough. "it's not like i'm complaining.."
"ha?"
"i mean- don't get the wrong idea!" you said, trying to find the right words. do you say it's okay, i liked it? or it's okay, i enjoyed it? "but.. did you regret it?" you asked, and the tension suddenly became heavy.
he was quiet and must be thinking about it.
"i did-" he paused, and that small pause sure made you nervous. "not?.." toji said in a questioning manner. you felt nervous and relieved at the same time.
"what about you?" he asked and you were more than confident at your answer.
"no. if i'm being honest, i really.. liked it." the last sentence were whispered.
"was that your first kiss?" he asked and you only hummed in response. it was true that toji was your first kiss, even if it was just a peck, his lips still touched yours.
you felt toji shift on the bed as he faced you.
"come closer." he said and you hesitated for a bit as you finally faced him and crawled a bit closer to him.
you were looking anywhere but his eyes as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. and then he's leaning close again.
"tell me to stop and i will." he mumbled, forcing you to look in his dark blue eyes.
"toji, are you sure about this?" you mumbled as you clutched your pajamas under the blanket. "don't do something you'll regret, toji."
he cuts you off by finally kissing you and it wasn't just a peck like you expected it.
he continued and deepened the kiss, until you're laying on the bed and when he finally pulled away, his hands was between your head as you clutch his clothes on his shoulders.
"toji-"
"shh.. i do not regret any of it."
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"i need to confine you for 15 days, so i could monitor you properly."
"but i am resting!"
"yes you are, but it's not enough. it's better if it's being observed that you're taking a rest."
"is there another way?" you said as you clutch your phone in your hand. "i actually don't know how to tell my husband." you said as choso looked at you.
"but i already called him. he said he's on his way here."
"huh, what do you mean?" you said, completely surprised that it made you stand up from the chair. "he doesn't even know that i am sick." you said. "choso, i told you to keep it a secret right?"
"i'm sorry, he accused us of having an affair. i needed to." and then there was a knock on the door, and you knew who exactly it is. toji entered the room and you look away from him.
"take a sit, mr. fushiguro." choso said as he instructed him to sit beside you. you weren't looking at him but you can feel toji's burning gaze at you. choso left the room for a moment and being alone with toji became suffocating right now.
you suddenly felt his hand above yours. you thought he would judge or even get mad at you but you but he didn't.
"we'll talk later, okay?" he said as choso finally came back.
-
"15 days? if that's enough. as long as you treat my wife." toji said. he's doing all the talking while you sit there in silence and.. he really did call you his wife.
toji thanked choso after that as he held your hand and pulled you with him. you gave choso a last glance, a glance as if he just betrayed you and he was looking at you with his apologetic gaze, and there, you and toji left the hospital.
"when did you found out?" you asked.
"a few weeks ago. i followed you." toji said as the signal lights turned red and there was a faint sound of music in the background. "why didn't you tell me?" he asked and you hesitated for a moment as you sit up straight on the front seat.
"choso said it wasn't that life threatening, that's why i thought i don't have to tell anyone." you were mumbling that toji almost didn't understand your words.
"not life threatening but now you need to be confined for 15 days?" toji said and you went silent. "do you not trust me?" he suddenly asked and you immediately disagreed at his words.
"no!" you said. "sorry, i just don't want to be a burden and.. i thought you wouldn't care." you said, whispering the last sentence as you wait for his response. and he didn't respond anymore, until both of you reached the house.
"toji, i'm really sorry." you said and he finally looked at you.
"we're in this together, why would you think i wouldn't care?" he asked and you frowned.
"i'm sorry toji. i just didn't have enough courage to tell you because.. it's because of your wife."
"my wife?" he scoffed, raising his eyebrow as you nod.
"i don't know how to tell you because all you could think of is your wife!" you were frantic as you explain, trying not to say the wrong words because it might trigger him in some way as your emotions get the best of you. "i thought you wouldn't care because i'm not her." you said as you look down on the ground, trying to hold the tears that was eager to come out.
"but i do care, this is not about her. this is about you."
"you don't understand it, toji." you said.
"then i apologize if i came of that way, that you thought i wouldn't care because all i think of is my wife." toji said, emphasizing the words with sarcasm. "but you're my wife too, my wife now." he said, the sarcasm dropping on his voice.
"but i'm not the presence you've been wanting for, i know my place, toji. you reminded me a lot of times already." you said.
when did talking about your illness turned into fighting over his deceased wife?
toji sighed at your response and you took a step back when he stepped forward.
"i'm sorry, i want to be alone for now." you mumbled as you went to your shared room.
you and him were fine just last night? what happened now? it was all because of your stubbornness. it was obvious that toji was worried and cares for you but you're pushing him away.
you couldn't help it, you aren't used at him caring for you. you're mistaking his kindness into something, that maybe he's saying all of it out of pity or guilt.
that's right, now you realized why toji was weird the past few weeks. it's because he already found out and he just didn't tell you.
-
toji forced the door open with a key and he saw you sitting at the edge of the bed. you didn't even notice him until he sat beside you.
"i'm sorry." you said at the same time.
"sorry, i involved her again." you said as you felt toji's hand at your back.
"i didn't know you felt that way." he said.
"it's okay. i know how hard it is to move on from someone." you said as you held his free hand. "this will be the last time, toji." you said.
"what do you mean?" he asked.
"i'm not dying." you said with a laugh. "what i mean is this will be the last time i'll involve her. i finally realized it, toji. that no matter what i do, i still couldn't do anything for you to love me the way i love you." toji was about to say something but you cut him off. "but it's fine! like you said, we're married only in papers. i think i'm getting it now."
he was silent and you felt his touch disappear on your back.
"i just want to sort everything out before i stay in the hospital for 15 days." you mumbled as you sighed deeply. "sooo, friends then?" you said, the same exact words he told you before you two got married by force. but you saying it hit something in him, it made his chest ache.
he felt your hand take his and shake it, as if both of you just had an agreement. you didn't even wait for his reply as you finally sit up from the bed and started packing some clothes you'll be needing and he could only watch.
-
"don't worry, it'll only be 15 days. mr. fushiguro can still visit everyday but only around 10 AM to 5 PM." choso said as he glanced at your way.
"choso, did you know there was a theory that being hospitalized will only worsen your state. what if that happens to me?" you said.
"that's a lie, you're here not to worsen your state but to heal you."
"but what if? you know, everything is unexpected."
"why'd you even ask?"
"i don't know. i guess i'm ready?" you said and choso was looking at you with his judging expression. "just kidding." you said as you laugh.
"think of the people who cares for you. be strong for them because they're waiting for you to come home." choso said and megumi was the only person you could think of.
"my son." you said with a smile.
"yes, megumi's waiting for you so stop with your negative thoughts."
"ok, i will."
-
"mama!" your mood shifted as you heard megumi and he finally entered the room.
he was on his school uniform as he approached you, his upper body leaning on the bed as he tried to reach for you. you leaned close to him as megumi's small hands held you by your cheeks.
"mama, why are you here?" he asked as he frowned.
"mama needs to stay here for now but don't worry."
"why?"
"megumi, don't ask too many questions." toji said.
"it's fine." you said.
toji was watching you and his son interact.
megumi was still mad at him but megumi just didn't show you. toji mentally slapped himself as he recalled the happenings yesterday.
it was megumi frantically looking for you around the house.
-
megumi was running around the house as he call for you.
"where's mama?" he asked toji as he pants.
"she'll be staying at the hospital for now." toji said.
"why? is mama sick?" megumi said as he approached his father who's ignoring his question. "papa!"
"megumi, you won't understand. and yes mama is sick. now stop asking."
"why is mama sick!" megumi yelled, asking questions, eager to know the answers.
"she needs her heart to be healed. there, now go to your room megumi, you have school tomorrow."
"heart?" megumi muttered as he forced himself on his father's sight as toji sighed. "it's all your fault!" megumi yelled and toji ignored him. "you always make mama cry! now her heart is sad because of you! you always get mad at mama when you come home drunk!"
"what did you say?" toji said as he held megumi by his shoulders.
"i hate you! i wish it's you in the hospital not mama!" megumi said before he could even realize his words as toji let go of megumi. toji sat back on the couch and megumi ran out of the living room.
megumi cried to his sleep as he craved for your presence.
-
megumi was laying on top of you as you lull him to sleep.
"say sorry to your papa later, okay?" you said as megumi sniffed before nodding.
toji went to buy foods outside as megumi told you everything he said last night.
"it's not your papa's fault why i am here. remember that."
"mama get home soon, okay?"
"of course." you said as you pinch his nose. "stop crying now."
after some minutes, toji finally came back as you and megumi ate the food he bought.
-
megumi sat at the back seat as he hug his knees.
"i'm sorry, papa." he mumbled. "mama told me what i said is bad. i'm sorry." toji kept quiet as he drives.
he carried megumi who fell asleep at the back seat to his room, giving him a kiss on the forehead before leaving.
toji thought megumi was right, that maybe it was better that it was him in the hospital and not you. he didn't want to lose anyone anymore and toji hoped that he isn't too late.
he was blaming himself.
he already considered himself as a curse, because if he started to love someone, something bad will happen to them. worst is they disappear from his life.
is it a right choice to finally love you?
maybe not.
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first week of your stay in hospital wasn't that boring as you thought it would be.
toji would visit you at the starting hours and will bring megumi from school at the last hour, though megumi always sleep on top of you since he wanted to be close to you.
toji would sit there in silence as you hum megumi a lullaby he once heard his son humming while doing his assignments.
toji knew megumi were attached to you but he didn't knew he's that attached to the point that megumi always cry every night, looking for you and will end up sleeping beside toji occupying the space you usually lay at.
"mama, i counted and it's 8." megumi said as he sat on the hospital bed beside you.
"that's right, 7 days more and mama can go home."
"but 7 days is too long." megumi said as he frowned.
"it's not if you stop focusing on it."
"okay, i will not!" you and megumi laughed at the same time and he kneeled towards you as he started wiping your under eyes with his thumb.
"mama, are you sleeping enough?" megumi asked.
"i am. it's just so boring here when i'm alone." you said as megumi embraced you.
"don't worry, mama. i will pray so you can go back home."
"thank you, 'gumi."
"mama." megumi whispered after a minute of silence as you hummed in response.
"papa is not sleeping well." megumi said as he look around as if someone was there to listen but it was just you and him since toji left when someone called him.
"why?" you asked.
"papa misses you, mama."
"he does?" you said as megumi frantically nods.
"he said it to me!" megumi exclaimed excitedly.
-
megumi was sitting on the kitchen stool as he stared at the cereal on the table.
he hates cereal, he loves the food you cook for him but since you weren't around, he needed to eat it for now.
"stop crying megumi. she'll be back soon." toji said as he drink his black coffee.
megumi wiped his tears as he sniffed.
"i miss mama." megumi mumbled followed by another sniff and toji sighed as he sat beside his son.
"i miss mama too but don't worry, okay? let's have faith and be strong for her too."
"okay. but papa if mama is back you better not make her heart sad again." megumi said as he waited for his father's response and minutes passed, he noticed his father was spacing out. "papa?"
"oh?" toji snapped out of his thoughts as he smiled at megumi. "of course."
-
"bye bye mama." megumi said as he look away from you and you knew he was holding his tears back.
"come here." you said as he slowly approached you. "don't cry, you'll be back tomorrow, right?" megumi nods as he wiped his eyes with his sleeves. "bye bye." you said as you kissed his forehead before he went back beside toji as he held toji's hand.
you made an eye contact with toji "see you?" you said and he only nod in response.
why are you expecting something when you and toji already settled everything as friends.
toji looked at you for the last time before he and megumi left the room, leaving you alone again.
what are you even expecting? it's not like he would do something.
you just hope that he did something though. maybe a kiss on your forehead? or just a simple words of affirmation, but nevermind.
you sighed as you hug your knees, you should stop thinking about something that'll hurt your own feelings, you didn't want to worsen your state more, do you?
as if it was a coincidence, choso entered the room with papers in his hand.
"hi." you greeted as choso entered the room.
"how are you feeling?"
"nice, i guess?"
"good job, there's a lot of progress." he said.
"wow really?!" you said excitedly.
"yes, you don't have to stay for another 7 days. did your husband left already?"
"they just left."
"call them back so you could finally go home with them."
-
"mama, do you hate papa?" megumi suddenly asked as he looked up at you, both of you laying on the couch with book in your hand.
"why are you asking that question? of course i don't."
"really? but why do you and papa always fight?"
"we aren't fighting, megumi. that nights you saw him getting mad was because he wasn't in his right mind and he was drunk."
"oh, okay." megumi said as he lay down back on your chest as you started playing with his hair again.
"i love your papa so much, 'gumi. more than i love myself." you whispered as you smile.
-
toji is currently helping you with the laundry since he couldn't force you enough to take a rest.
"take a rest." toji said for the nth time as you wait for the laundry to finish.
"i'll just finish this." you said.
toji sighed, another attempt to force you failed and he could only wait for you.
he was getting impatient as he stand just at the door. he couldn't leave you alone, he's worried something might happen if he lose sight of you.
the same lullaby you're humming for megumi can be heard at the background as he watch you attentively.
but a sudden gasp left your mouth, your humming getting interrupted as you felt him hug you from behind.
"just take a rest." toji said.
"i'm almost finished." you said, an unexplainable feeling stirring in your system. it was as if you're uncomfortable at the physical touch he just initiated.
weren't you craving for his touch? now that he did it, why are you complaining?
"come on. i'll finish that. listen to your doctor, will you?" toji said as he held you by the wrist and pulled you going to the room.
"do you know what you'll do?"
"yeah, i do the laundry before." he said.
"okay, let me know if you're done."
-
you've met toji before, back when you were in middle school. maybe he doesn't remember you but you remember him.
that time when someone was making fun of you, he involved himself and protected you. it wasn't really a fight, it was just him pushing them away that made them run away from the scene.
"thank you." you mumbled and when he looked back at you, you noticed a band aid on the side of his mouth that was already red in color. he only looked at you as he walked away. but before he could get away, you held him by his hand. he made an irritated expression that scared you for a moment as you stutter through your words.
"i have a band aid here." you said as you look at each pocket of your clothes until you found it in your hoodie. toji was watching with an unimpressed look as he stand awkwardly. he hissed in pain when you removed the band aid from his lip and replaced it with a new one.
"there." you said. he didn't even thanked you as he left and when toji saw his reflection on a random store, the design of the band aid was really, embarrassing.. a hello kitty design.
-
you were at the middle of college when your parents told you to stop. they had arranged a marriage for you that you didn't even want. you didn't want to stop college, you wanted to be free but they wouldn't let you. when you met your soon to be husband, you thought he was familiar but couldn't place your finger with. you were sure that you saw this man somewhere, you just couldn't recall where.
the scar on the side of his mouth made you curious as you stare at it and it suddenly made toji self-conscious.
"ah this scar?" he said as your eyes shifted from his scar to his eyes. you were on your first 'date' with toji. the one both of your parents said to get to know each other more.
"i got this from abuse." he said straightforwardly as you laugh nervously.
"um.. did it hurt?" you asked.
"no." he said as he placed his hand near his scar and as if something slapped you mentally, toji's current position reminded you of someone. that kid from the playground, the one who defended you from the bullies, the one that you gave the band aid you just bought because you accidentally scraped your knee, but you gave it to him. toji noticed you genuinely smile at him followed with a wholehearted laugh.
"what's wrong?" he asked and you only shake your head in response.
what a coincidence. who would've thought that the kid you kept on searching for, the reason why you stayed at the playground for who knows how long, hoping to see him again was being married to you? what an unexpected turn of your life.
-
getting to know each other means getting to know everything in your life. personal or not. it was as if that 'date' made your heart full and ended up being broken in the end. toji was the kid you've been looking for, for a long time now but then he suddenly told you that he was already married and they had a son together.
he clarified that he only accepted the marriage because he didn't have a choice. he told you he just didn't want to disobey his parents and megumi just need a presence of a mother.
"being friends will do." he said as you hesitantly nod.
-
you didn't even know why you suddenly remembered the past.
"(name), where did you put-" the words died in toji's throat as he opens the door, only to find you standing at one of his drawers, a folder in your hand as you continue to stare at the paper.
the folder was immediately snatched at your hands as toji placed it back on his drawer.
"that's–" you gasped.
"no, listen–" toji mentally cursed himself. he forgot to throw the divorce papers he requested back when it's the first month of your relationship. he forgot to throw it when he was cleaning his drawers the day you were at the hospital
you looked at him, and he hated that look in your face as another curse left his mind. what should he say? how should he explain it.
"well, if that's what you want."
"no." toji said as he moved close to you but your instinct told you to step back and you did. "that was, that wasn't.." he was stuttering through his words as he heard you sigh.
your heart was aching but you have to ease the pain. you didn't want to go back to the hospital again.
"it's fine, toji. you don't have to explain." you said as you sit at the edge of the bed.
"that was before. first month of us being married." toji explained and the small shift of your mood got unnoticed by him.
"is that so?" you said, looking up at him. "maybe i did something you didn't like to ask for divorce papers, huh." you chuckled as you recalled the first month of your marriage. it was megumi finally addressing you as his mother.
toji admitted that day that he didn't want megumi calling you 'mama' but he didn't want to wipe the genuine smile on his son's face so he just let him call you his mother.
"i'm sorry." he said followed by a strong curse.
"why?"
"fuck, i'm sorry. i didn't- that was before. i don't want a divorce now." toji said and the ache in your chest suddenly disappeared as you gave him a teasing grin.
"why? don't tell me mr. fushiguro is finally starting to love me." you joked and it was clearly just a joke, but the tension suddenly changed. he wasn't laughing at your words but was looking straight in your eyes with something in it.
"i'm just joking.." you said as toji finally looked away from you. he couldn't stop cursing mentally. he was lost in his thoughts and didn't feel you moving close to him and when you were about to place a hand on his shoulder, to simply get his attention, he suddenly held you by the wrist.
"toji, what's wrong?" you asked. he started gripping your wrist tightly and both of you were interrupted by the knock on the door.
"papa! lala wants to talk to you on the telephone!" megumi yelled as you look at the door but when you look back at toji, he suddenly leaned close to you, giving your lips a peck, as if it was to reassure you and suddenly he was at the door.
you were frozen in your spot as you watch him close the door, your hand flying to your lips and caress it and instead of an ache, your heart was beating with happiness.
-
it was one of those nights where toji couldn't sleep again. it happens when something is bugging his mind. he was staring at the ceiling with a deadpanned expression and your shifting caught his attention. both of you were surprised when both met each other's eyes.
it suddenly became awkward.
toji sat up from the bed as he leaned his back on the headboard. you stayed at your position as you stare at the ceiling. there are questions that wanted to be answered, but you think staying quiet would be the best option for now.
toji side glanced your figure, and there were space enough for another person to fit. has it always been like this? now toji is sure that it has been always like this.
toji doesn't know what to do as he continuously stare at you until you finally look at him. (his gaze was burning holes into you.)
there, you sat up from the bed too, doing what he did as you cleared your throat to ease some of the awkwardness that was around.
"can't sleep?" he asked.
"yeah, what about you?"
"can't sleep." you chuckled at his response as you bend your knees close to your chest. why is it starting to get cold?
"about the divorce-"
"i already told you that it was before.. i have no intention in pushing the divorce."
"why?" you asked and toji thinks he doesn't even know why. you were itching to know the reason when toji could've pushed through the divorce long ago.
"why? don't tell me mr. fushiguro is finally starting to love me." you recalled those words you said last morning and to your side, it was clearly just a joke so you removed that as one of the reasons why.
"was it because you found out i was sick?"
"no." he felt embarrassed on how quick he disagreed with your question. "i mean-"
"hm, what could be the reason.." you mumbled as if you're talking to yourself and toji couldn't help but observe you.
"it's best if we sleep for now." toji said as you hummed in response and started tucking yourself at the duvet, facing the wall. you weren't even surprised when you felt him pull you close to his chest. it was as if you're expecting him to do that. and he really did and there, you faced him as you wrapped your arms around his figure with your face hiding on his chest. toji inhaled your shampoo as he sighed in satisfaction.
"will this help you to sleep?" you asked as you look up at him. toji looked down at you with that stupid smirk on his face.
"i could ask you the same question." he said as he chuckled when you went back to hide your face on his chest.
"it will." you whispered but toji surely heared it clearly.
"then that goes the same for me."
-
"mama loves to cuddle." megumi said as he looked at toji's plain expression. megumi copied his father's expression after looking away from him, continuing the assignment he was doing.
"that's all?" toji said as megumi scoffed at him.
"you asked me what mama likes the most!" megumi argued as he fully face his father. "that's the most, mama loves cuddles!"
"okay okay, stop yelling." toji said when he heard your footsteps approaching them.
"good morning, mama!" megumi greeted as he ran towards you to hug you.
"good morning, megumi." you said, looking at toji as you nod at him.
"morning." he said as megumi pulled you on the table at the living room, showing his little drawing to you and toji.
"what's that?" you asked as megumi smiled.
"this is mama," megumi said as he pointed at you. "this is papa and this is 'gumi."
oh. it was a family drawing. your heart started beating through your ears as you look at megumi.
"my teacher said our assignment is to draw a family!" megumi exclaimed excitedly as he faced you and toji.
family? could you even consider yourself as one of their family? megumi could've drawn his real mother, why did he have to-
your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a hand on your back. you looked back and saw toji looking at you, it was different, the way his eyes calmed you. you awkwardly smiled at him as he pulled you close to his side while placing his other hand on megumi's shoulder.
"what's this?" toji asked as he pointed at a drawing which is color white and black.
"it's my dream dog! i want white and black." megumi said. your heart was racing as you feel the warmth of toji's palm on your side.
"why is mama carrying a stick?" toji asked as megumi huffed.
"so she can beat you when you hurt her again." megumi said as you laugh, finally joining in their conversation.
"that's cruel, megumi. i couldn't hurt your papa." you didn't even feel when toji already removed his hand on your side as he watch you and megumi, a smile making its way on his face.
-
"there.." you said as you dropped the pencil at the table.
"wow!" megumi exclaimed as you revealed some changes in his drawing.
"what are you holding, mama?" megumi asked.
"roses, mama loves roses." you said as you pat megumi's head.
"oh okay! then 'gumi loves roses too." megumi said as he grinned at you.
"but there are many types of roses." you said as you fixed megumi's disheveled shirt.
"really? what's your favorite among them, mama? megumi asked.
"the purple one!" you said as megumi nods at you.
"why not red, mama? red is famous one right?"
"yes, but i love purple more. because it means love at first sight." you said as you bump megumi's nose with your pointer finger.
you watch him look to the side as you follow his line of sight. he was looking at his father. you forgot that toji was even there as you look away with embarrassment. clearing his throat, toji stood up from the couch as he brushed his hair with his fingers.
"i'm gonna prepare for work." he said before leaving as megumi watch his father disappeared from his sight.
"mama, is papa your love at first sight?" megumi asked when his father wasn't around anymore. you smiled as you recalled the very first day you laid your eyes on him.
"he is." you said with admiration in your tone. "did you know i met your papa when he was a kid?" you said.
"really? what's he like?!" megumi asked with excitement as he leaned close to you.
"hm, he's still the same.. but he saved me from bullies." you said as megumi kept quiet, wanting to know more. "i scraped my knee but i gave my band aid to him because his lips were bleeding."
"is that why papa have a scar?"
"i guess?" you said as you ruffled megumi's hair. "it's just a secret between us, okay?" you whispered as megumi nods at you.
unbeknownst to you, he heard everything you told megumi as he recalled that day where he first got the scar on his lip, that hello kitty band aid. so it was you, huh.
-
toji left after eating breakfast and it was past lunch when you heard a knock on your front door.
but you weren't expecting visitors, who could it be?
you were surprised when you're met with, no one. but there was a bouquet of purple roses on your doorsteps.
you picked it up as you read the note.
'this is for you, i hope you like it.'
you bit your bottom lip to suppress the smile but it couldn't be helped.
you inhaled the scent of the roses as you finally went inside the house.
-
"thank you for the roses, toji." night finally approached as toji looked up from his laptop and to you.
"what roses?" he asked as you look at him in disbelief.
"that- you, weren't you the one-" toji suddenly laughed as he closed his laptop.
"i'm just kidding." he said as you glared at him.
"not funny!" you said, almost embarrassed when you stammered with your words just a minute ago.
"did you like it?" toji asked as he started preparing the duvet.
as if it was already planned, you move close to him as he finally covered both of your bodies with the duvet. "i love it."
toji's arms automatically made its way to wrap securely around you.
"how's your check up with choso?" toji asked as he switched off the lamp.
"he recommended me another medicine."
"huh? why? i thought you're getting better?" toji asked as you silently laugh at him.
"yes i am, it was just a vitamin, i mean."
"ah, is that so?"
"mhm."
"sleepy already?" toji asked in a teasing tone and you only further hide your face on his chest. "goodnight." he mumbled.
"i love you, toji." you mumbled against his chest. "you can say it back when you're ready." you said as you look up at him and toji lightly smiled at you.
"i'm almost there.." he mumbled.
"i can still wait.." you said as you looked at him with glint in your eyes. toji let you kiss him on the lips before you went back on hiding your face. he chuckled as he pulled you closer with his hand behind your head.
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it was a random night, a random song that was being played on the radio can be heard as you sit down on the couch of the living room. the lights were all closed, the street light outside being the only source of light inside your home.
toji wasn't home yet and megumi is already sleeping in his room.
your head almost fell on the couch when the click of the door woke you up.
toji sighed as he closed the door.
"i'm home." he muttered, but didn't expect to see you approaching him in the dark.
"welcome back." you greeted as you took his bag on his hand, guiding him on the living room.
"have you eaten?" you asked.
"ye-"
"let's eat together, i'm hungry!" you exclaimed as you held him by his hand, guiding him to the kitchen. well maybe eating dinner for the second time wouldn't hurt. toji thought.
"megumi?" he asked.
"already sleeping." you replied with an almost sleepy voice as toji sighed.
"you didn't have to wait for me." he said as he stand beside your almost sleeping form. "let's get you to bed." toji said and carried you in a bridal style.
"toji.. let's sleep." you said as he unbuttoned his almost tight polo.
"yeah, i'll just changed my clothes."
"hurryy."
"did you drink?" toji asked as he lied beside you.
"no."
"why are you being clingy?" he asked.
"miss you." you mumbled, wrapping your arms on his figure. "did you miss me?" you asked and toji couldn't help but smell you.
you didn't even smell like alcohol.
"i'm not drunk, i'm just sleepy." you said as if you just read his mind.
"alright."
"you didn't answer me yet."
"i did." he said as you squealed in happiness.
"okay, good night. i love you." you mumbled.
toji gaze softened as he pulled you close to his chest.
"good night." i love you too.
-
it was late at night again and toji was still not home. megumi was sent back home by a school bus last afternoon.
you haven't eaten yet. you were waiting for toji so both of you could eat dinner at the same time again and the door clicked as you stood up from the couch.
"i'm home." toji mumbled.
"welcome back!" you exclaimed.
if yesterday you were sleepy, today you have a lot of energy. you took the bag from toji's hand as you walked ahead, only to be pulled back when toji held your wrist, placing a kiss on your forehead as he loosened his tie.
it sure caught you off guard as toji walked past you as if nothing happened.
"well, have you eaten?" you asked, almost stuttering.
"yes." he responded and you mentally frowned.
"okayy." you said as you help him remove his blazer.
"what about you?" he asked, but before you could answer, your stomach growling did it for you. embarrassing.
"well, i guess eating dinner for the second time wouldn't hurt, right?" he said.
-
"hi, welcome back.." you slowly said as you took toji's bag in your hand.
"i'm home." he muttered, walking past you but suddenly he went back and give your forehead a kiss before removing his watch.
"bad day?" you asked, helping him remove his blazer.
"yeah, i think i couldn't eat dinner with you tonight." he said with a frown.
"it's fine! you go and rest." you said, giving him a smile of reassurance.
toji frowned once again when you made your way to the kitchen. you were humming a song but you were stopped when you saw toji sitting at his usual spot. you blinked twice at him as he sighed.
"well, i got hungry." he said, not looking at your way.
"okay! i'll re-heat some more then." you exclaimed with a smile and toji couldn't help but mirror it.
"thank you for the food."
-
another bad day.
you noticed it the moment toji entered the house with a slumped shoulders.
"welcome back." you greeted, doing the same routine.
"i'm home." he responded, hooking an arm around you before placing a kiss on your.. lips? "what's dinner for today?" he asked as he started unbuttoning his polo. "(name)? what's wrong?" he asked.
"w-well, i made your favorite." you stammered as you made your way infront of him, helping him remove his blazer.
toji made his way first at the kitchen, taking a mug from the cabinet and it caught your attention.
"coffee?" you asked as he nods and suddenly, you placed a hand on his back.
"take a seat. i'll make you one." you said.
"i can do it myself."
"just let me take care of this, okay? you're tired from work." you said, turning on your back to make him a black coffee when you suddenly felt his weight behind you.
"thank you." he mumbled before going back to sit and it made you proud of yourself.
-
"welcom-" you were cut off when toji harshly kissed you, his hand flying at the back of your head as he pushed you, until your body collided with a wall. "toji-" you mumbled through his kisses as you pat his shoulder. "can't breathe!" you said as he finally pulled away, with him leaning his forehead on yours as both of you catch your breaths.
"bad day again?" you asked but he only clicked his tongue, continuing his task on you, the food you made being forgotten as he carried you and made his way on the bedroom, and also not forgetting to lock the door.
-
thank goodness it was saturday today.
your whole body was aching and toji was out of sight as you sat up from the bed.
"mama?" megumi's voice can be heard at the door as he knocked three times before opening, only to see you on the ground. "mama!" megumi exclaimed as he approached you. "papa help!" megumi yelled as he struggled to help you stand up.
"megumi look out for the food in the kitchen." toji said as megumi followed what he was instructed.
"it hurts." you said as toji easily carried you, placing you back on the bed.
"guess i went rough last night." he mocked.
"shut up!"
-
"i'm home." toji said as he entered the house. you smiled as you approached him.
"not a bad day anymore?" you joked as he laughed, hooking a hand around you as he placed a kiss on your lips. you were used to it now.
"yeah." he replied as both of you did the usual routine.
after the dinner, you were quiet. it was unusual for you to be silent.
"toji-"
"what's wrong?" he asked, cutting you off. the night you both shared was 2 weeks ago, you were supposed to have your period 2 days ago but none came.
"i'm late." you said, starting to get stressed. "i'm scared, what if i ended up being pregnant-"
"then that's good. megumi will have a playmate. is it not?"
"but-"
"it's okay." he said, taking your hand on his and you were surprised when he removed the wedding ring on your finger, placing a new one. "wear this from now on." he said, placing a new ring with a rare design on it.
"thank you.. i love it but, why?"
"i want to get married again." he said, looking straight in your eyes.
"but we're already married." you said as you frowned.
"but for real this time." he said with a smile. "you know, before, i wasn't-" he paused, he couldn't say it but you already understood what he was saying.
"i understand." you said as you laughed.
"will you marry me again?" he asked and you couldn't contain the big smile that was on your face.
"i would love too!" you said as you embraced him, with him spinning you around.
"i love you (name).. thank you for staying with me and megumi. thank you for not giving up on us.. on me." he said and you couldn't help but tear up.
finally. it's finally happening.
"i love you too." you responded with a shaky voice as he wiped your tears with his thumb before finally connecting his lips with yours.
it was worth all the wait.
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ceesimz · 3 months ago
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Wallflower
Autistic Reader x Barça Femení
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The main story can be found here, this is just a small one shot I had the idea for :)
Birthdays. What a massive inconvenience.
Actually, scratch that. You enjoyed other people's birthdays, just not your own. In fact, it was your worst nightmare. One of the most dreaded days of the year.
Having all of the attention on you? Having gifts and envelopes and surprises forced your way? People singing to you? God, it made you sick to your stomach just thinking about it.
Not to sound ungrateful, of course. The idea that people liked you enough to make a fuss of you did spark something in your heart, but it was too much. In the nicest way possible, it was utterly overwhelming, and often at some point during the day, there would be tears. Possibly a shutdown too, or  even a meltdown of some kind. 
All in all, it was a terrifying experience no matter how you spent it.
Now double that, triple it again, multiply it by ten, and that's how it felt waking up on your first birthday at Barcelona. 
For the whole month so far, you had near enough begged Ingrid to make sure the team doesn't do anything excessive. You needed the day to be as normal as possible, just so you could get through it. And to be fair to her, with a sad smile, she had promised that your wishes would be met. 
So waking up alone to an empty flat on the dreaded day was both calming and uncomfortable. You'd asked for it, obviously, so had to get over it. You showered, got dressed into your training gear, and sat down on the sofa whilst waiting for Ingrid to arrive. Again, it was just like any other day. If you ignored the way your phone vibrated every few minutes, that is. And the stomach-churning anxiety that only increased as time went on.
There was a knock on the door and, expecting it to be Ingrid, you shouted for her to come in. Except, it wasn't her. Though you couldn't really be too disgruntled by the surprise guest.
“Good morning, cariño. Can I come in?” Alexia peered around the door cautiously, smiling hopefully over at you. 
With a solemn nod, she quickly stepped in and closed the door behind her. In her arms was a bouquet containing some of the flowers you had gawked at way back when on your first date with her. That was a few weeks ago now, and being in the early stages of a relationship did have its difficulties, but only due to the adjustment of it. Everything else was, well, perfect. Alexia was perfect. 
But having her, your girlfriend, show up unannounced on your birthday wasn't the worst thing in the world, you supposed.
“Is it okay that I'm here?” She asked nervously, pausing a few feet away from you.
“It is.” You smiled shyly up at her, standing so you could greet her properly. 
In an instant, there was a cheesy grin on her face, and she placed the flowers down gently on your coffee table before lifting you off the ground into a tight hug.
“Happy birthday, mi amor.” She whispered before scattering light kisses from your neck, up to your cheek, down along your jaw, and reaching her final destination, sealing her greeting with a soft kiss to your lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Stressed. Anxious.” You laughed nervously, leaning into her hand when she puts you down and cups your cheek.
“That’s okay. I… I haven’t made you feel worse by showing up, right? I can go if you would prefer.” With a silent shake of your head, you wrapped your arms back around her and buried your face in her shoulder. She smiled and happily complied, keeping you close to her. “Then I will stay.”
“I’m really glad you came.” You stated, slightly muffled by the material of her jumper. “Thank you.”
“No, no need to thank me. It is my girlfriend's birthday, and I will always show up for her if she lets me.” 
She voiced her determination to love you, even though those three words hadn't been said aloud by either of you yet. You were sure of it; the warmth you got in your chest was the first time an all-consuming feeling didn't feel quite so terrifying. It was at first, the initial realisation was something that kept you up at night for a few days, until one morning it clicked and all that was left was serenity and security in your feelings. Telling her such was an entirely different challenge.
After her latest admission, it took everything in you to keep those words inside rather than spilling straight out.
“Will you drive me to training?” You asked, seemingly out of nowhere. But, with so much running through your mind, so much weighing on you today, it was easier to stick to the simpler things rather than focus on all the stuff that’s overwhelming in that moment. The day still felt like a mountainous obstacle to get over, hence your need for simplicity and slight dissociative nature. 
“Of course. Have Mapi and Ingrid been yet?” Alexia said, watching as you pulled away and slumped down onto the sofa again, your legs pressed up against your chest and your arms folding around them. You shook your head no, to which she nodded and collected the flowers again to put them in a vase.
“Thank you for the flowers, Ale.” You mumbled, resting your chin on your knee whilst watching her and fidgeting with the TV remote. She smiled over at you from the kitchen before turning back to the bouquet, spreading some of the flowers out a little and leaving them on the kitchen counter. 
Another thing about your birthday, though it had only developed once you got into your teenage years, was that receiving gifts from people caused a lot of anxiety. When the dust settled, the sentiment behind each gift one was something you treasured. But getting them and opening them was an event you worried about much more than the average person- was your reaction what they wanted? Did you thank them enough? Did you come across as rude and ungrateful? There was just too much to think about.
With Alexia, you didn’t have to stress about any of those things. She was great at reading you by now, she knew what version she would get and when. And yet, her adoration still never faltered. You had come to know her just as well as she knew you, so you were sure she had gotten you other presents than just a bouquet of flowers (though they were more than enough for you) and that she was just waiting for the right time to give you her proper gifts. That, you were grateful for. 
“De nada, amor.” Alexia murmured as she sat down beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Instantly, you curled into her side, smiling when her lips pressed against your temple in a soft kiss. “Training will be okay, you know. I understand it is the unknown that makes you anxious, but once you have a ball at your feet, it will all calm down. Try to remind yourself that, okay?”
“I just hate the anticipation, the waiting. Want to get it over and done with.” You sighed, relishing in the comfort Alexia provides just by being beside you.
“I know. Time isn’t kind.” Alexia whispered, taking one of your hands with her free one and squeezing it. “You wanna skip breakfast at training?”
You raised your head quickly at her question, not even knowing that idea was a possibility.
“People won’t be mad if I do? That I won’t be there?” You checked, because if you could get away with doing such a thing, it’d get rid of a mighty chunk of your worries.
Being seated in the canteen with everyone at Barcelona on the one day dedicated to you was terrifying really. There would be expectations, possible celebrations, and the eyes of everyone would surely be on you. They meant well, you knew that of course, but that unfortunately didn’t make it any less frightening. Breakfast was a social event, for some hell-sent reason, whereas training was a professional setting, it was work. Avoiding it altogether would be a dream, except you know the mass disappointment it’d cause. And everybody knows how that ends.
“No one would be mad, cariño. They would understand.” Alexia physically felt the tension leave you under her hands at that, your body deflating as you let out a breath of relief. You moved to wrap your arms around Alexia’s torso then, and leaned up to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you, Ale. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You said, punctuated with yet more kisses.
All those weeks ago, Alexia had been right. Having someone by your side did make a lot of things so much easier. It was like night and day. You recognised the difference in yourself since you had met her, and you never knew it was possible for you to grow like this. With the move from Germany to Spain, you were well aware that there would be some changes for you, but the unknown came into play again. Would those changes be progression or regression? Evidently, and to your relief, it was progression. Your dream of thriving here was fast on its way to becoming true.
“Feliz cumpleaños, preciosa!” A certain Spaniard bellowed the second she opened your door, giving you and Alexia slight heart attacks.
“Mapi, dios mío! Why!?” Alexia groaned, you giggling beside her as you could hear her heart racing at the jumpscare so kindly given by the shorter woman.
“I warned her, she did not listen.” Ingrid sighed with feigned annoyance, but the second she looked over at you, there was a beaming smile on her face. “Come here, søster!”
Sheepishly, you unwound yourself from Alexia’s hold and walked over to Ingrid, laughing when she squished your cheeks together and kissed your forehead before embracing you tightly.
“Happy birthday!” Ingrid squealed, grunting when her girlfriend’s gangly arms flung around you both. Mapi squeezed you both together before looking over at Alexia who was watching the interaction fondly, still seated on the sofa.
“Ale, come join.” Mapi demanded, only for her to shake her head and wave the defender off. Mapi wasn’t having it though. She left the hug for a moment and grabbed her friend by the wrist to drag her over, before manually moving Alexia’s arms to wrap around the three of you. “Stop being a party pooper, Alexia. Get that grumpy look off your face, we know you are enjoying this.”
“Yeah, Ale.” You looked to your side at her with a teasing smile, the love radiating off of the both of you when your eyes met. Ingrid could feel it, Mapi could feel it. You were possibly the only two in the world opting out of acknowledging it.
After the impromptu group hug, Ingrid went over to the bag she had brought and unpacked a load of your favourite pastries. You knew she was making them for you, but in your anxious daze of the morning so far you’d entirely forgotten about them. The way your face lit up at the sight was enough for Ingrid’s day to be made and for Alexia’s heart to run wild in her chest. All four of you sat down at the dining table to share them since Ingrid had made enough for everybody, and like always you mostly stayed quiet and let the other three carry the conversation. You’d drop in every now and then, but most of the time you just liked to listen. They all knew that by now and were more than happy to keep the chat flowing, until it was time to leave for training.
Having Alexia drive you there had its advantages and disadvantages, and you were well versed with them by now. Being a passenger meant you were free to get caught up in your thoughts, which could either go really well or really bad. Meanwhile, being the driver meant you had to focus on the road, forcing the doubts to be silent. Yet, sometimes not having the chance to mentally work through what was stressing you out only made the situation worse.
In this instance, you had no time for overthinking when Alexia was emphatically singing along to any song that played on the radio, keeping you entertained and distracted for pretty much the whole journey.
It was a completely different story once you arrived though.
Alexia near enough had to lead you through the building and into the locker room, her hand on your back as a comforting reminder. Thankfully you managed to get there without bumping into anyone since the pair of you were some of the first to arrive. The only teammates you had seen so far were Ona, Aitana, and Jana, but they hadn’t seen you. Alexia had laughed when you ducked behind her dramatically, using her as a cover to stay hidden as they walked ahead of you both. They took a left turn to go to the canteen, whilst you headed in the other direction. 
You sat down at your cubby and slumped back against the wall, body sagging with relief. Alexia smiled softly and took her seat a few down the line, and the pair of you both booted up in comfortable silence. 
Being captain of the team, the midfielder obviously had the authority to get her team to listen to her. Without making much of a deal out of it, herself and Ingrid had discreetly gone around the team to ensure there were no surprises or big occasions prepared without your knowledge. Instead, they were taking a much more low-key approach that they hoped would convey just how overjoyed they were to have you on their team.
She sat not too far from you with the knowledge of what the surprise was, and she was probably the most excited out of the lot for you to receive it. It was nothing big, in fact most of the team worried it was too little, but having known you for so long Ingrid had reassured them there wasn’t really anything you would appreciate more than the gesture they had in mind. Some of the members you were slightly closer with had decided on small gifts of their own they would give to you in their own time, but for today, they would stick with their collective plan and hope for the best. 
“You ready for me to beat you at free-kicks?” Alexia grinned once she was ready, standing as she tied her hair back into her usual updo.
“I’ve beat you the last two times we’ve done this, I wouldn’t get too cocky.” You smirked, squirming when she squeezed your sides as you walked past her. “Plus, it’s my birthday.”
“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that card. I’m definitely going to win now.”
For just over half an hour, you got invested in a free-kick contest with none other than La Reina herself. It had become somewhat of a tradition now, to the point where you had even made a points system for it. The further out you went, or the harder the angle, the more points you scored. A few months back, after Alexia had caught you once again avoiding breakfast, she had suggested the pair of you practise free-kicks after she had missed one in the game before that day. It quickly became a thing for you both, getting so competitive with each other and scoring goal after goal in the secluded morning sessions together, that a points system just had to be introduced after two draws in a row. Neither of you had looked back since. Those moments together, with a ball at your feet and the quiet company of the other, had become something you both looked forward to. 
Unfortunately, Alexia beat you this time, by just one point. One. And she was gloating like she’d gotten another Ballon d’Or.
“I told you, cariño. Just because it is your day doesn’t mean I will go easy on you.” She shrugged arrogantly, wandering back over to where you stood with your arms crossed petulantly over your chest. She grinned at the unimpressed look on your face, raising a hand to poke at the corner of your mouth. “Smile, amor!”
With a scoff, you swatted her hand away and turned to walk over to where your drink lay on the sidelines. Not a second later, you heard her jogging after you before two arms wound around your waist and a chin rested on your shoulder.
“You know I should have won that. You put me off.” You grumbled, referring to the moment she had crept up behind you and made a weird noise right by your ear just as you stepped off to take the kick.
“No no no, there was just a bug on your shoulder. I had to protect my girlfriend.” She said, grunting when you lightly jabbed your elbow back into her stomach.
“Protect me from what? A tiny fly? You are the only irritating little bug I need saving from.” You argued. As you picked up your own bottle, you got Alexia’s too, only you dropped it purposely when she went to take it from you. “What comes around, goes around, Alexia.”
Alexia wasn’t quick enough to come up with her own payback before the rest of the team started filing out for the actual training session. First came Esmee on her own, who, at the sight of you, immediately lit up and came over. Quietly, without making too much of a fuss, she wished you a happy birthday before hugging you. She was just as shy as you sometimes, so she left it at that. Ultimately though, being on a team of people that mostly came from affectionate countries, they all couldn’t resist. Funnily enough, you didn’t hate it. The hugs, the well wishes, the toothy grins sent your way, the cheek kisses and pats on the back were welcomed. It wasn’t overbearing, or too much, it made you feel… loved. And appreciated.
For the first time in your career, it didn't feel entirely fake either. Not that your other teams didn’t shower you in their gratitude, but it always felt like there was a barrier between you and them. Like you weren’t fully with them. You knew exactly why it felt like that, but not an ounce of you was prepared to solve it. This time around, that blockade wasn’t there. They knew you, not a facade, and still they willingly conveyed their feelings towards you. Quickly you were learning that this was the right way to live. Not like you had in the past, where you weren’t even half of your true self.
Living unapologetically as yourself was freeing. You couldn’t go back if you tried.
As always, you loved training. It was equal parts light-hearted and competitive, the perfect combination. Everybody was playing well, feeling well, and it was evident on everyone’s face. Not a moment passed without everybody smiling or laughing. Even during the gruelling seven-a-side game at the end. During a brief reprieve from the tight match where you were stood on the sidelines, watching on, it gave a moment of clarity. You did belong here. 
“Has Ale given you your presents yet?” Aitana joined you with a smile on her face, but you looked down at her in confusion. “Ah, I see. She hasn’t. Well, take it from me, they are really cool. You will love them.”
“What are they?” You tried to get it out of her, but obviously she wasn’t letting up that easily.
“You will see! I am not spoiling it.” She laughed. “Tell me when she has, I have to talk about them with you.”
“How do you know what they are?” You wondered, only for her to shrug slyly.
“You just have to find out. Go on! You’re being called back in.” She shooed you away, smiling again when you shake your head at her antics.
The game didn’t go on for much longer before the end of training was called. On the way in, you were watching Pina and Vicky spray each other with the remainders of their drinks, laughing when one of them accidentally sprayed Marta. Before you knew it, all of the ‘class clowns’ were chasing the team around with the ice cold liquids, and you found yourself at the centre of it. Apparently, turning 27 meant getting doused in sports drinks, because by the time you were back in the locker room, your shirt was mostly damp.
Alexia had stuck to the back of the group with Patri who had unusually opted out of joining in, though it wasn’t something you picked up on. The two were talking calmly as if there wasn’t a full blown water fight ahead of them, but Alexia knew Patri was itching to join in. What caused her to stay out of it though was very important to her. 
“Hey.” She came over to you in the locker room with a spare towel for you to somewhat dry yourself off with, another item hidden behind her back. “I have something else for you.”
You could tell everybody in the room was fighting to keep their eyes averted, but their curiosity got the better of them. After all, it was a small token of appreciation from everybody.
“Oh, okay. Sure, what is it?” You forced a smile, but below the surface, Ingrid and Alexia could tell there were alarm bells going off in your mind.
“Well it is your birthday, and though you said you don’t want to make a big deal of it, we couldn’t let it go under the radar. This is just something small from all of us.” Patri revealed an envelope in her hand and held it out for you. Your name was written on the front, as well as a huge smiley face.
“You don’t have to open it now, in front of everyone, don’t worry. Look at it in your own time, that’s more than okay.” The midfielder smiled her bright smile at you, squeezing your shoulder before heading back to her cubby. 
It was then that Alexia came over, standing beside you when you turned back to your space.
“Was that alright?” Alexia murmured quietly. Everybody else was back to doing their own thing now, giving you two the privacy you probably needed.
“Yes, just unexpected.” You said, eyes still staring at the yellow envelope.
“I know. Like Patri said, you don’t have to open it now. You can look at it whenever, it’s fine. Okay?” She checked, smiling in relief when you looked up at her and nodded.
“Did you do this?” You wondered. Instantly, there was a redness to her cheeks that couldn’t be blamed on the weather or the training session beforehand.
“I may have played a part in it. But it was the other guys’ idea. I just approved it.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You showering?”
“Yep. When I get out, I’ll look at it.”
You liked taking your time in the shower post-workout, whether that be training or a game or even just a 5k jog. By the time you got out, most of the team had left. It was just Alexia sat there on her own, scrolling through her phone whilst she waited for you. One of her legs was bouncing up and down, and you weren’t sure if that was a sign of anything or not.
“Ale?” You got her attention as you dropped your towel and training kit down into your locker, now dressed in comfy sweats and a t-shirt.
“Mhm?”
“I’m going to open the envelope now.” You stated shyly. She tried to disguise the excitement on her face, but she didn’t do a great job. It didn’t really help your nerves, but there were worse audiences to do it in front of.
“Absolutely, go for it.”
Shaking hands tore open the paper, revealing a birthday card. What was in it, though, made it much more than just a card.
On both pages inside were personal messages from every member of the team. From Cata, to Irene, to Salma, and even Alexia. From the first one you read, there were tears in your eyes. Alexia could read you well, but she wasn’t perfect yet.
“Amor? Are you not happy?” She asked nervously, coming over to you. You shook your head, only worrying her further, before burying your face in her chest. “I’m so sorry you don’t like it. I’m so so sorry. I-”
“No, I love it. I really, really love it.” 
Every message was personal, not just a generic one. Whether it contained an inside joke or a compliment, you couldn’t have imagined they thought these things about you. They weren’t saying things for the sake of a congratulatory message, or just to come across as kind, they were deeply meaningful and thought-out. From Mapi’s teasing message that was filled with love, to Frido’s reminder of the car park fiasco and how she signed it as ‘cupid’, to Aitana’s that relayed the memory of your first goal, signifying it wasn’t just a special moment for you but for her too. 
You were left speechless. All you could do was read it again and again and again, something you know you’d be doing for the rest of your life. You’d get it framed if it was socially acceptable. 
The idea, no, the fact that these people, Ballon d’Or winners, World Cup winners, Euros winners, the people you held at such a high regard like this. It was almost unimaginable, if it wasn’t written right in front of your eyes. If the months beforehand hadn’t shown you how important it was to be vulnerable and open and honest, this gesture sealed that decision and was all the proof you needed that everything that had led you to this moment, the good and the awful, was undoubtedly worth it. 
You were part of a record breaking team, sure, but it was the people in it that made your personal dreams come true.
“I wrote my message last so that nobody saw me being soft.” Alexia admitted, making you giggle as you read hers. “So you are okay with it?”
“Okay with it? Alexia, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” You said, placing the card down and embracing her tightly. “Thank you. I need to thank everyone, but thank you.” 
“I’m glad.” She whispered. “There was one issue on my behalf though.” 
“What?” You wondered, leaning back and looking up at her with a frown.
“I was too scared to write how I truly felt.” Well fuck, if that didn’t make your heart drop and your stomach churn.
“Ale, what do you mean?” You said quietly, taking a step back from her. She chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her neck.
“I… wanted to write that I love you in it, but I didn’t want to ruin the card.” 
It took a few moments for your mind to settle at that proclamation, but eventually it did. It left Alexia stood there, looking terrified though.
Your first thought, once the commotion had settled in your mind, was that you were utterly in love with her too. You kind of thought you’d known that the day she took care of you when you collapsed in training. Your second thought was, why would that ruin the card?
“Ale, you’re such a dork.” You laughed. Okay, maybe not the best reaction. “You must know that I love you too, right?”
“You do?” Alexia asked in a childlike wonder, as if all her wildest dreams were coming true. “You sure?”
“I feel like I should be the one asking you that.” You said. Any further doubts that began to creep in were immediately cut off when she cradled your face and kissed you. Just like you did to her during your first kiss.
“I love you, cariño, and I will not have you worrying otherwise. I really love you.” Alexia breathed out, as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders.
“I really love you, too.” You stated shyly, gazing up into the eyes you'd come to love, only to see sincerity and mirth swirling in the hazel of her orbs. She wasn't kidding, this wasn't some evil birthday prank, she actually was in love with you.
It certainly wasn't a gift you were expecting, but it topped them all indefinitely. Frankly, it was hard to process. Hard to comprehend. How someone of her stature could love a person like you. But, seemingly so, it would have to be something you came to terms with. Because she was stood before you, professing exactly how she felt, and when she gave such a brave show like that, it'd be cruel to reject her.
Except, there was one question you had.
“Was that the gift that Aitana mentioned?” 
“What? No!” Alexia tutted, rolling her eyes affectionately as you grinned. “Your actual gifts are in the boot of my car, in the cardboard box I told you was full of old Barça kits.”
That wasn't a total lie. In the aforementioned box, there were old kits in there, but they weren't all Barça ones. They were real, match-worn shirts from not only Alexia's collection she'd made over the years, but from Aitana's, and Mapi’s, and a few of Alexia's ex-teammates turned good friends. They ranged from international jerseys, like the USWNT jersey with Christen Press' name and number, as well as one of Christine Sinclair's Canada shirts. Not to mention the array of club kits. There were loads of them, god knows how valuable they all were, but you adored every single one. Your personal favourite was Alexia's old Barça shirt from her first season in 2012, one of your favourite designs from Barcelona as a whole.
The fact that Alexia had listened to your stories of when you were younger where you were crazy for any kind of memorabilia, even going as far as asking her friends for their shirts, was a notion you couldn't begin to understand. To be loved is to be heard, and Alexia had taken that phrase and ran with it. You gazed at each shirt, having laid them out across your bed to send a video to Ingrid (and Aitana, of course), but for a while you just stared at them. 
Alexia stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, a proud smile on her face. She knew she had done a good job, but seeing you geek out like you were over them was so endearing, she couldn't help but fall further in love. It was her mission to show you a life of joy and compassion, and in her professional opinion, she'd made a damn good start.
Her love for you was woven through the fabric of the jerseys she had gifted. Your approval of that fact was shown in the way you barely let her out of your hold for the rest of the evening, even as you slept that night. 
The be all and end all of everything was written into the bonds formed with people in the world, and yours with Alexia was enough reason to wake up everyday with a smile on your face and contentment in your heart. The essence of your existence was not limited to the three words of your medical diagnosis, but rather the three words that were whispered in your ear the moment you opened your eyes in the morning and the moment you closed them at night.
Maybe birthdays didn’t have to be so bad after all.
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eternally-racing · 10 months ago
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keep her safe | lando norris
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pairing: dad! lando x wife! reader (+ their teenage daughter!)
genre: fluff & angst-ish
warnings: racing crash, reader/lando's kid is in the hospital, some swearing
wc: 1.4k
summary: Nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching your daughter's first crash in formula 3.
note: this fic can be read as part of the racer girl series or as a stand alone as well!
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Lando always hated pulling the “I’m a celebrity” card when you two were out in public. He's never wanted the special treatment that companies wanted to give him before, but the minute he sees his daughter crash in her first Formula 3 race, he’s trying to pull out every trump card he has to get his way into the medical tent. 
“That’s my fucking daughter in there, you can’t keep her from me! This is absolutely insane! I’m Lando fucking Norris, don’t you know who I am?”  Lando is yelling and yelling and you hold him back by the wrist because otherwise you think he might actually charge at the door to try and get through it. 
He more than anyone here knows what a bad crash looks like, and from the minute he saw your daughter, Piper, go into the barriers he knew that it was a rough one. There’s cameras swarming around you both but he doesn’t care (It’s not like he was a PR team’s dream when he was a driver himself). That’s his little girl in there and she’s hurt. There’s now a full commotion in front of the medical area and Lando admits defeat as he sinks back into the wall behind him and crumbles to the floor with you following suit. 
“She’s afraid of needles, Y/N.” Lando says no louder than a whisper towards the shut doors “Who’s gonna tell them that she’s afraid of needles if I’m not there?”
You know that if she’s in a state where they’re not letting you see her and she’s being transferred to the hospital that she likely has already gotten a lot of needles and wasn’t conscious enough to feel them, but you keep that information to yourself once you see the worried look on Lando’s face. This exact moment is something you two had worried about ever since your little girl first stepped in a kart, and somehow it was worse than you had ever imagined it would be.
By the time you and Lando make it to the hospital it feels like hours have gone by, even though in reality it hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes. Lando’s never been more grateful for his success when a nurse recognizes him and immediately guides you both in the direction of Piper’s room. He’s not sure he would’ve been able to make it through a conversation right now anyways. 
The scene inside is every parent’s worst nightmare. There are lines going in and out of Piper’s arms and bags of fluid are hung next to her bed; there are too many machines beeping and showing numbers and graphs that you just can’t understand. You feel Lando’s knees buckle beside yours and you keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady. You both need each other right now, there’s no doubt about that. 
When Piper cries out for her daddy from the hospital bed it brings a fresh set of tears to your eyes. You can’t remember the last time Piper actually called Lando daddy, it had been “dad” for the most part or “Mr.Norris�� if she felt like being cheeky, but hearing those words from her mouth brought you right back to when she was a little girl, your little girl. 
Lando rushes to her side and has both hands caressing her face. He knows that she’s been checked over by the doctors, but he needs to see for himself that she’s really okay. He presses his forehead against hers as they cry together. You’ll never fully understand what Piper’s just been through, but the man standing in front of her does all too well. 
You hang back a bit to talk to the doctors, who try to give you a comprehensive update on her status, but as soon as you hear the words “she’s fine and on track to make a complete recovery” you zone out as you finally let out the breath that it feels like you’ve been holding this whole time. You’re about to go rejoin your family once you hear the next words out of your daughter’s mouth.
“I’m sorry dad, I know this meant a lot to you.” Piper sighs as she pulls the hospital sheets up to her chin.  “Did I at least make it around a lap? Am I the youngest ever female formula 3 driver to complete a lap in a grand prix?” 
This is when Lando has to face the music - he got so excited about his daughter dreaming of Formula 1 that he may have pushed her a little too far if his daughter is more worried about beating records than she is about her own health. Lando tries to calm his own breathing as he grabs both of Piper’s hands to lay on his own to get her full attention. He wants to make sure she fully understands what he’s about to say.
“You’re always going to be my little girl, Pipes. Racing or not, I am always proud of you. I never want you to feel like you have to impress me.” Lando doesn’t even answer Piper’s question about the record because frankly he has no idea. He’s never once cared about awards and prizes and all of the fancy shit. All he’s ever wanted is for her to be happy, and he tells her exactly that. 
Piper stops crying long before Lando does, and you’re amazed by the maturity your daughter shows as she starts wiping the tears from your husband’s eyes. You all just need a little family cuddle so you do exactly that, and take a moment to appreciate the lives that the three of you have and how precious that is. The sentimental moment is only broken by your daughter, who says that she has a little request for the two of you. 
“Do you think you can ask the doctors if they can give me the good stuff that you got back in Vegas all those years ago, dad?”  
Moments like this remind you that Piper is her father’s daughter and it earns a laugh from you both. 
“Not a chance, kid, but good try.” 
For the first time in what feels like years, the 3 of you sleep in one bed together. It’s one teeny tiny hospital bed made for a teenager, so you both wake up with extremely sore backs but very full hearts. Piper’s the first to fall asleep, understandably spent from the day she’s been through, but you notice Lando’s eyes never leave her, as if he’s worried she’ll disappear if he looks away. You reach over to grab his hand, you get it. Call it parental instinct, but that feeling of anxiety after something bad happens to your child is just something you can’t push away, and you want him to know that you’re here for him. You both wordlessly take turns watching over Piper throughout the night, holding her hand through blood draws and med deliveries. 
 Lando spends all day and night at Piper’s side while she’s recovering, and it’s only when you and your daughter tell him that he smells absolutely horrendous and needs to go shower do you finally get him to take a beat for himself. He still calls 3 times on the drive home from the hospital alone to check how Piper’s doing, and you have to threaten to not pick up the next time he calls before he finally takes a bit of a break. So often it feels like children drift away from their parents in their teenage years, but Piper’s recovery has given you both the opportunity to spend some much needed time with her as she grows up. 
The minute Piper is cleared by the medical team she’s instantly back in the simulator. She’s a little daredevil like her daddy after all. Lando of course asks over and over again if she’s doing this for herself and not him, the fear of making the same mistakes as earlier weighing heavy on his mind. Your daughter is nothing if not honest, so she tells him about how she loves the sport itself but also loves the way she’s able to connect to her dad through it. Lando makes her pinky promise that she’ll let her know if she ever changes her mind on the subject, and lucky for you both, she never does.
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author's note: this was based on a lovely request from a reader! if you have any requests feel free to drop them in my ask box :) If you liked this piece and haven't read racer girl yet, give it a read because I'm sure you'll love that one too!
Until next time! - Em <;3
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munsonsmixtapes · 5 months ago
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Paint Me
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Benedict Bridgerton x fem!inexperienced!American!reader
summary: An unfortunate funeral causes you and Benedict come face to face and he is your surprising shoulder to lean on. And after a secret moment in the garden, you become closer than ever before.
word count: 4k
taglist: @syraxnyra @turtle-cant-communicate @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @intothesoul
part one part two part four part five part six part seven
February 13, 1817
There was a knock on your door after you had gotten home from the gallery. You had embarrassed yourself enough when you had insulted Benedict's painting and weren't in the mood to speak to anyone, especially not who you knew was on the other side of the door.
You had already felt like a disappointment to your father and you didn't need to hear him tell you as such. But he entered the room anyway and sat on the edge of your bed next to you. He went to wrap his arm around you, but you pulled away, moving closer to the other side.
"I am afraid that I have not been there for you when you needed me most," he went to reach for your hand, but you pulled it away, fully turning your back to him.
"I am afraid that is true and I do not wish to speak to you at this moment."
"Bunny," he went to use his beloved nickname for you which caused you to stand from the bed, turning to face with a kind of anger you didn't even know was possible.
"You do not deserve to call me that. I understand that you are my father, but you were also my best friend. So where have you been?" You asked, your voice getting louder. "Where have you been when your wife, my mother betrayed me? If you love me as much as you claim to, then why have you never defended me when you saw the two of them treating me so horribly? I know why. It is because you are nothing but a coward and I do not wish to speak to you any longer."
With that, your father left the room, leaving you alone again. All of your anger was getting the best of you, everything that had happened throughout your whole life, weighing on you. You went under your bed where you hid away your art supplies and began to sketch, the pressure of your hand pressing the charcoal to the page, causing it to break, both it and the tears that were falling from your eyes, ruining the picture completely.
It seemed that not even your form of therapy was working. The one thing that made you feel better in fact did not. As your anger reached its peak, you threw everything across the room in a loud clatter and changed into your nightgown, getting into your bed, pulling the covers over you and crying until sleep claimed you.
But your sleep did not bring you any rest whatsoever, the only thing happening behind your eyes was your father. You saw his carriage crashing into a tree, the ship he was on going down, him falling off his horse, all leading to his demise.
The guilt was eating at you for the way you spoke to him. Even though everyone was asleep, you couldn’t sleep any longer without apologize for the way you spoke to your father. Whether he accepted it or not didn’t matter. You just needed him to know that you didn’t mean a single word.
You snuck out of your room with every intention of heading to your parents’ room at the end of the hall only to your mother sobbing in the foyer. She was on her hands and knees while Lilith held onto her, rubbing her back while he cried tears of her own.
You approached them, looking around for your father only to not see him, and you expected the worst. It seemed that all of your nightmares were in fact not that, but premonitions.
You felt lightheaded, your vision going hazy as your sister told you what had happened. Augustus had gone for a late night horse ride and had experienced a heart attack, causing him to fall off and pass away right there because there had been no one had been around to give him the proper care nor get him to a hospital.
It was all your fault. Or at least, that was what you were telling yourself. He did, however, die in one of the ways you had dreamed about, so you supposed that you had spoken it into existence.
The next few days, the house was quiet, neither you nor your mother or sister uttering a single word, nothing feeling quite right to say as far as the loss was concerned. The funeral was the next week and the three of you stood together, weeping over your father’s grave.
You were approached by Kate and Anthony who pulled you into a group hug as your cried into their shoulders and they held you for as long as you liked. When you pulled away, you saw Benedict standing behind them, his eyes already on you. For once, the flirty look in his eyes was replaced with a look of sorrow. 
For a second, all of your dislike for him dissipated as he pulled you into his arms, his hands rubbing up and down your back as he whispered nothing but nice things into your ear as you cried into his shoulder. 
Kate and Anthony turned away to give you a private moment and whispered to each other about what was possibly going on between the two of you. Kate thought it was sweet, but Anthony was ready to nip it right in the bud. There was no way that he was letting his brother anywhere near you, not even in a friendly way as  Benedict was unable to be friends with women. He only bedded them and there was absolutely no way that could happen. 
You pulled away from Benedict and he was quick to wipe your tears. You hadn’t seen him that soft and gentle since you had moved back to England and you were happy to have your old Benedict back, even if it was just for a moment. 
Benedict didn’t know what had come over him. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing you so heartbroken broke his own heart. When he saw you sobbing when he got to the graveyard, he swore that he could actually hear his heart crack. Usually, he would only comfort a woman going through a loss for the sole reason of getting her into bed, but this time, that wasn’t even a thought. He just wanted to make sure that you were okay. 
He didn’t leave your side the entire day as everyone followed your family to your house to enjoy a meal together in your father’s honor. He kept his distance out of respect, but he wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and let you stay there as long as you wanted. He knew how close you were to your father and just how much it had crushed you to lose him. 
As day turned to night, you could feel your cold shoulder towards Benedict start to thaw. You were beginning to think that maybe you were being too hard on him when he had genuinely been trying to right his wrongs with what he had done to you almost a decade ago. You didn’t think that you should have let it hurt you for so long and that the grudge you were holding against him was really only hurting you in the end.
February 20, 1817
As a way to see your artwork, Lady Danbury had one of her friends host another gallery. You had told her that it wasn’t at all necessary, but of course, she didn’t listen to you. She assured you that everyone would love whatever you decided to submit and that they would all be lining up to purchase commissions from you.
You, however, thought it was a bold claim. Sure, you wanted people to see your work, but now you were nervous that none of them were going to appreciate it the way that you did. It was all very personal and you weren't sure that you wanted it hung for everyone to see.
Despite that, you still submitted your most personal piece. A painting of your father that was your own way of honoring him. A way to forgive him for all he had done to you and to let go of all of the guilt you felt for what had happened to him. It was the best form of therapy you could have ever asked for and easily your best work to date.
Benedict's piece had been coming along great as well. For once, he wasn't thinking about every single brush stroke and just went along with it, letting the brush guide him. He was going off of memory since he didn't have a proper photo of his subject, but he thought it was turning out rather well considering.
Instead of going to the studio, he decided to work in the garden, the sunlight being the best thing to point out all his imperfections if there were any. He was not going to have a repeat of what had happened last time. It was far too embarrassing.
"Ah, there you are, brother," Eloise spoke as she approached him.
"Here I am," he replied and was quick to stand in front of the painting so she couldn't see it, but it was too late. She had already seen it. She pushed him out of the way and let out a gasp as the painting before her.
"It that-"
"No," Benedict cut her off, trying to block her view of it again, a shade of pink apparent on his cheeks. Eloise just laughed and pushed him out of the way again, careful not to knock over the easel.
"It is!" She gasped. "It's the l/n girl that Kate and Anthony have befriended!"
"It is not." He didn't know why he was denying it. All the proof was right there.
"You cannot deny it. It seems that you have befriended her as well." Eloise could see the way that her brother looked at you and it seemed like he was attracted to you. She hadn't had many interactions with you, but according to Kate, you seemed like someone who keep Benedict humble and ground him.
"She doesn't like me, Eloise," he shook his head as dipped his brush into a shade that was the color of your skin tone and did some shading where he thought it would look nice.
"Why not? Did you hurt her, because Anthony will certainly-" Oh, Benedict knew exactly what Anthony would do.
"I did," Benedict nodded. "Eight years ago. When her family lived down the road, we painted a lot together in the study while Francesca played the piano, but one night-"
"What did you do, Benedict?" Eloise wasn't sure he wasn't going to say, but what she did know was that she wasn't going to like it.
"She told me-she told me that she loved." Her eyes widened at that and she wasn't surprised that she didn't know that fact because you would have been too scared to admit it to anyone and Benedict just felt horrible about the whole thing and didn't want to revisit it.
"And what did you say?" Considering the fact that you were ten and Benedict was twenty-one at the time, she could assume what had happened.
"The only thing I could. She was a child and I was certainly not interested in her and so I told her as much. Maybe a little too harshly and she ran."
"Benedict," Eloise gasped. So that was why you always paid almost attention to him. All of the dots were finally connecting. Now she was thinking that she liked you even more. That you were the first woman to not fall for her brother’s charms even though you were the exact one who should have. He definitely had a type.
"I know, and now she's here and beautiful and I'm afraid I've fucked it all up." Eloise was wondering what had gotten into him that he had such a defeatist attitude. He was never that way towards the women he was interested in even if they weren’t interested. In fact, that usually only motivated him even more.
"Maybe this might seem like a foreign concept to you, brother, but have you ever thought about apologizing like a normal person?" Benedict actually had thought about that, but he didn't think that was good enough, so that was why he had done the painting of you. He hoped that would help you see just how much he cared for you.
"I think it might be too late for that." He decided that his work was done and started to clean his brushes.
"It's never too late for an apology," she rested a hand on his shoulder and gave is a squeeze, leaving Benedict with much to think about.
February 21, 1817
You sat in the study with one of your books in your hand, but you couldn't focus on it. Your letter letting you know whether or not your artwork was accepted into the gallery was going to be there any second and you were terrified. There was a lot of riding on it and you were very afraid that they hadn't accepted it.
Kate and Anthony had insisted on being there when you got the good new and Kate clutched your hand as a servant entered the room with the envelopes on a silver platter and you reached for yours, feeling like time had stopped as you ripped into the envelope.
You read the first few words of the letter and let it drop to the floor, feeling your body go cold, collapsing into one of the chairs as you accepted defeat. They didn't want your piece. You should have known since they wouldn't have since you were a woman. They hadn't said as much, but you were able to read the lines.
Despite your sadness, you told the couple that you would join them at the gallery and felt horrible that Lady Danbury went through all that trouble for nothing. You didn't want to have to look her in the eyes, but the only worse thing was not going an accepting defeat. You were going to show everyone just how strong you were.
February 25, 1817
Practically everyone was already at the gallery when you had arrived and you felt dread come over you as you accepted that you were going to have no part in it. You had been rejected from many things like that before, so you weren't sure why it hurt so much.
Lady Danbury had approached immediately when you arrived and you really didn't feel like speaking with her but you plastered on your brightest smile, faking like you had interest in the conversation even though you would have much rather been in the study with your paints.
"Ah, there's the artist," she greeted. "You left last time before we were able to talk about your critique of the Bridgerton boy." Normally you would have felt guilty for something, but this time you couldn't have cared less. Benedict Bridgerton could have stood to be knocked down a few pegs and you were really enjoying being the one to do it.
"And I apologize for that. I was just letting my own issues take over." You were only apologizing because you felt like it, not because you meant it.
"No apologies necessary, dear. I loved it. I wish you would speak your mind more often. More people could benefit from hearing your thoughts. Especially ones like Mr. Bridgerton." Lady Danbury didn't mind Benedict, but often times she felt he had a big head and let his ego get in the way.
"I appreciate that, but unfortunately, I don't think that I'm up for it tonight."
"But what am I to think about the artwork without a lovely artist to give her opinions?" There was something odd about the interaction and you couldn't figure out what.
"You do flatter me, Lady Danbury. I suppose I wouldn't mind joining you."
So, you led her around the gallery and told her what you thought about the pieces, promising her to not hold back this time, suddenly not afraid to speak your mind. And Lady Danbury was loving every second of it, very entertained by the shy wallflower coming out of her shell.
She quite liked your company, amused by your little quips that you had come with on the spot. And she appreciated how you felt like you were able to be your true self around her, not the shy person she had met a few weeks ago. You were growing on her and easily becomg one of her favorite debutants of the season.
"Lady Danbury, who do you think your favorite artist is?" You asked as she got to the second to last piece. All this time you had been talking about the pieces in front of you, but you were curious as to what kind of art she liked since you thought a person's favorite artist said a lot about them.
"You." You were surprised to hear her say that considering that she hadn't even seen any of your work.
"Oh, that's very nice, but-"
"No, dear, it's you!" She cut you off and forced you to turn to the piece on the wall. You let out a gasp as your face stared back at you, feeling something very strange coming over you.
You stepped closer to the painting and turned this way and that, convinced that you were looking into a mirror, but you weren't. You could very clearly see the paint strokes when you got close enough. Who the artist was was a mystery. You had absolutely no idea who could have done it and wanted to know their identity and why you had been their subject.
You couldn't stop staring, wanting to reach out to touch it, but you knew you weren't allowed, even if it was your face on the canvas. It was amazing how well they were able to paint your features and you wondered what they had used for reference.
"I hope this isn't too amateur for you," a voice whispered in your ear and you felt a chill go down your spin as their hot breath hit the back of your neck.
You turned around only to be face to face with the seconds eldest Bridgerton brother. You eyed him, wondering why he would have done something like that and what he would have gotten out of it. That had to be the reason why he would have done it...right?
So many questions were swirling around your mind, your main one being how he was able to make the painting so accurate that it felt like you were looking into a mirror without having you sit for it.
"What is this, Benedict?" You pointed to the painting and he just chuckled. You didn't like how much you enjoyed making hearing the sound and wondering how you would have been able to hear it.
"It's you." He was smiling brightly and you wished he had done it more often. The look was just too pretty on him to hide away all the time. You wondered why he always seemed to always look so serious. In the many times you had seen him, he had only smiled when he was with Eloise.
"I'm aware of that...but why?"
"I think the better question is why not."
"How were you able to do it without me sitting for you to paint me?"
"I will answer all of your questions, but right now, we must see the final painting."
He offered you his arm and you grabbed onto it, letting him lead you through the rest of the gallery.
"But this was the last one." 
"Not quite,” he winked and stopped at the last piece, causing you to let out a loud gasp as your own painting was staring back at you. But it had been rejected. How did he get a hold of it and why was it there? The man was confusing you even more by the second. You were convinced that he had just been trying to get you to forgive him just so he could feel better about himself, but now you weren’t so sure. 
You felt tears well up in your eyes as you turned to him. No one had ever done anything that nice for you before. Something so selfless that they only did because they wanted to and not to make themself look good. Maybe he wasn’t the same Benedict that your remembered. Maybe he was finally turning over a new leaf.
Benedict wiped your tears away and even though it was entirely inappropriate, you threw yourself into his arms and he was quick to catch you, almost falling backwards because of how much force you had used to push yourself in his direction. You squeezed each other tight, avoiding the gasps of the people around you. Lady Danbury shooed them away to give the two of you some privacy as you both pulled away. 
Without a word, you pulled Benedict away from the gallery and you both discreetly made your way through the crowd to get outside for some much needed fresh air. You looked out into the garden and couldn’t help but feel like home there.There was something that was so comforting about it that made it seem like you belonged there. You could see yourself there with Benedict right by your side, the two of you facing each other with your own easels as you painted your own portraits of each other. 
You hadn’t thought about him in that way in a long time and wondered where that had come from. Maybe you were overcome with gratitude to him, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at his pretty lips, wondering what they felt like between yours. And how you could have taken the chance and it would not have been inappropriate.
Without a word, you grabbed him by his coat and pulled him down so that his face was only inches from yours. You pressed your lips to his with so much force that your teeth clinked together and you both were quick to pull away covering your mouths in pain. You couldn’t believe you had done that. That was exactly why you never acted impulsively. It always just ended in embarrassment. 
You just shook your head as you felt your cheeks heat up and turned back to enter the gallery. Benedict wasn’t going to let you get away this time, though. He lost you once and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. And this time, he was actually attracted to you and he was going to let you know just how beautiful he thought you were. 
He grabbed onto your arm just as you were going to open the door and turned you around to face him. His hazel eyes bored into yours as he grabbed onto your chin, lifting it as he bent down. He slotted his lips between yours and you tried to move along with him, mimicking his actions exactly even though you had absolutely not fucking clue what you were doing. 
Your hands moved to his face and pulled him closer to you so you had more access to his mouth, becoming addicted to the feeling of his lips on yours. You had only gotten a little taste, but already wanted to do that exact thing for the rest of your life. Benedict pulled away to let the both of you breathe, but quickly dove in for more as he grabbed onto your waist and pushed you against the pillar that was behind you. You let him lead, taking exactly what he wanted from you as you were pliant under his touch. 
He pushed your mouth open as he slid his tongue inside, letting it swirl around your own and a sound escaped your mouth that Benedict definitely needed to hear again. And the fact that what you were doing was considered wrong only made him love it more. He continued to kiss you like his life depended on it as his hand moved up to your breast, massaging it the best he could over your dress as you let out another moan, this one louder. You pulled away as you felt a weird sensation between your legs, a lot of wetness collecting there. You began to panic as you pushed Benedict away, embarrassed about what was happening. 
“I had a lovely time tonight, Mr. Bridgerton, but now I must go.” You curtsied and then rushed inside, gathering your dress in your hands as you did so. 
You made a beeline for the restroom and locked yourself inside it before grabbing the nearest towel-like fabric and pulled up your dress before wiping. You pulled the towel away not to find blood like you were expecting but found that whatever was between your legs was almost clear. You were convinced that there was something wrong with you, having never seen anything like that before. 
While you were panicking in the restroom, Benedict was pacing in the garden, debating running after you even though he was sure that you had already left. Had he made you uncomfortable? That must have been it because you looked so scared. He had taken advantage of you and now he was going to beat himself up over it. Not reciprocating your feelings when you were a child was one thing, but taking advantage of you was another and now he had ruined his chances with you because he was selfish. He didn’t think that another painting was going to fix it either. Perhaps it was time to finally let you go for good and let you find a man who was actually worthy enough. A man that was actually able to keep you.
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littlemarianah · 4 months ago
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Willow is the older sister and often sees things her brother doesn't.
Rye asks uncomfortable questions, which they parents seem to hesitate to answer. He always asks for help with his homework and doesn't seem to understand why when it comes to the history of Panem his father's face seems to darken. In fact, he doesn't even notice his father's voice crack as he reads the text in the book. But Peeta never refuses to help.
The subject of War always leads to The Games. Either its beginning or its end. And the games always lead to star-crossed lovers and the arrow that felled an entire arena. And worst of all, this goes back to the bombs that rained on the capital. But Rye never seems to connect this to the scars marked on his parents' bodies.
"Don't worry, Daddy. I'll help him." she says, sitting next to her brother at study time.
"Well, I can..." Peeta tries to say.
"No, you can leave it to me. You know, I was in fourth grade just two years ago so it's all still fresh in my head."
The boy tries to protest, but his older sister's incisive look made him shrink in his seat. She can be persuasive when she wants to.
When the two are finally alone in the kitchen, with their books spread out on the table, Willow whispers to Rye. "Stop asking Dad for help about this, okay?"
"this what?"
"story of Panem."
"Why?” The boy asks innocently and the girl snorts angrily.
No, she never asked for help with these things. The history book seemed to bother her mother so much that she didn't even take it out of her backpack. She heard Peeta and Katniss whispering through the walls, tense and tearful. Willow preferred to keep everything to herself. The doubts and questions, most of them were already answered anyway. With her mother's howls in the middle of the night, with her father's nervous attacks.
Willow opens the story book, leafs through it until she finds a picture. A girl. Impenetrable gaze, braid hanging down her neck, a bow in her hands. She looks at her brother, hoping that will make him understand.
"What?" he shrugs
"It's mama, silly."
"Mama?" The boy leans over the book and looks carefully. It doesn't look like his mother, It doesn't have her kind eyes, nor her sweet smile, and there are no scars whatsoever. The way he always recognized his mother, the funny designs on her skin, marks. But he recognizes one thing , the gray eyes that he sees in the mirror. "oh, it's mama."
"Of course it is, what are you doing in your story class?"
He shrugs again but the answer is sleeping.
"They don't like to talk about it." the girl says. "If you have any questions, ask me."
"Is it about The Hunger Games?" he now whispers, because even though he is a little naive, he can feel the weight of those words.
"Rye, try to understand something." she says, using her big sister tone. "Everything is about The Hunger Games."
Rye seems to understand. Because sometimes at night, he wakes up from a cruel nightmare and runs to his mother's bed. Next summer he turns 11 and the older kids at school keep saying that's the age they take you. And he knows his parents went, and so did Uncle Haymitch.
Their mom enters the kitchen and the photo of her young is covered by Willow with a heavy math book. But Katniss has eagle eyes and the Willows know that. "What is it?" Katniss asks.
"Homework." Willow say.
Katniss takes the history book from the table and admires her photo with an indecipherable expression. "And why were you hiding it?"
The girl doesn't know how to respond.
"Willow said not to bother you with it." the boy says.
Damn mama's boy, Willow thinks to herself. Her face burns red. "That's not what I said!" Willow directs her gaze to Karniss, her mother's bright eyes making her shiver. "I just... It's just fourth-grade nonsense. So I can help... He doesn't need to... talk to you about it. I already know everything. It's just... I did not want.."
Katniss leaves the history book on the table, leans over Willow and gives her a small kiss on the forehead. The girl is silent. "The two of you are going to put on your boots and we're going to go for a walk." Katniss says.
The boy is happy to be taken away from his homework early, but Willow seems apprehensive. On that rainy spring afternoon they cross the muddy road, past the wreckage of abandoned buildings and go to the meadow. The flowerbed, normally green, is gray today, due to the rain and fog. Katniss sits with them on a fallen log. And it begins.
First she tells them about a miner. With a beautiful voice and a huge heart. A great father and a great husband. Tell them how he was buried alive. And even though they both already knew this story this time it seems more detailed and harder to hear. Then Katniss tells them about a boy with a loaf of bread and a hungry girl, tells them about a streak of bad luck, tells them about an arena of blood, tells them about poisoned berries.
Rye is wide-eyed, clutching his mother's arms.
Katniss tells them about a revolution, about a war, about a mockingjay. Then about the bodies in the meadow, about his grandparents and his uncles who were gone, about their late Aunt Prim. And this is another one of the stories that they knew very well, but to be told like this without whispered words, without secrets, without anything beyond reality. It's new. Willow then also snuggles into her mother's arms, a bit tearful. Listening to Katniss tell about a girl with black hair and blue eyes and a boy with blond hair and gray eyes.
Then they go home, humming an old song.
If you want more content about toast babies Read my fanfic about them - Deep in the Meadow
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widowmaxff · 9 months ago
Note
Could you write another one with Wanda as a mother? Like Y/N is being kind’ve clingy and they have a lot of cuddles? <33
come back, be here
pairings: mom!wanda × daughter!reader (platonic)
warnings: separation anxiety, sad reader, mentions of nightmares and blood, reader crying, aunt!natasha × fem!reader (platonic)
a/n: tysm for your request, darlingg <33 i had to add natasha to a large part of this one shot because it was what would make the most sense for the idea i had, anyway i hope that doesnt bother you ;))
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The worst days for you were when your mother had to go on missions with the Avengers. You were obviously used to Wanda having to leave for these types of things, but it was still always a difficult time for you to say goodbye to her, even if the mission was short. And even a few times you tried to sneak into the Quinjet that would take the team to the mission location, but you were always discovered and had to deal with Tony Stark's lesson for having to be a very clingy teenager.
So, when your mother was called back for another mission you wanted to cry and fight so she wouldn't go, but you knew that even if you caused chaos she would still go. Wanda's work always demanded a lot of her time, and even though she couldn't give you enough attention, you somehow managed to be by her side and especially clinging to some part of her body. Wanda didn't complain most of the time because she knew how much you missed her on those days when she was away.
And at that very moment, since you couldn't hold onto any part of her, you clung to the pillow on her bed as you lay under her covers with her sweatshirt , patiently waiting for the Quinjet to arrive and you could finally hug her again. "Y/n you need to get out of that bed."
"No." You mutter to the annoying voice of Natasha Romanoff, your aunt, who was forced by Wanda to take care of you while she didn't get home from the mission.
"You're lucky I'm patient today. Get up." Natasha turns on the light in the room, making you groan due to the light in your eyes. She walks over to you and pulls the covers off your body, making you shrink even more. "My god, I really don't know how Wanda manages to deal with you every morning."
"I want my mama, not you."
"And you think I wanted to be here with you?" This fight and exchange of hatred between the two of you was obviously not true. Natasha was your favorite aunt and you were certainly her favorite too. "Get your stinky ass out of bed and go take a shower before your mother come here and I have to be lectured on how I can't take care of a child for even two days."
You grunt loudly again, followed by a snort, but you knew Natasha was right. Your mom would be arriving in a few hours and you were excited inside, even though on the outside it looked like you hadn't slept in a few days. Your sleep was constantly disturbed by bad thoughts that something could have happened to Wanda or by nightmares that made you cry softly in her bed. You didn't know if it was normal to have these types of things when your mother was only going to be away from home for two days, but you knew that you hated it and that you really missed Wanda by your side.
"I want her now." Natasha could fight with you and make you get out of bed, but when she heard your low, high-pitched voice due to the crying held in your throat, she knew it wasn't the best idea to argue with you.
Your aunt has always known that you are very close to Wanda, but it was strange for her to see a teenager crying because her mother was away from home for two days. Maybe she just didn't have a childhood with her mother and didn't know what this unparalleled longing you had was like. So, Natasha just let you release your emotions through your eyes while stroking your hair. And when you start sobbing from crying, as if there was almost no air in your lungs, Natasha starts to get even more worried. She wasn't the best person to comfort someone at that moment, so the first thing Natasha does is send a message to Wanda.
'Y/n needs you.' There wasn't much to say, because Wanda knew how you would probably be right now.
'I'll be there in five.'
Wanda spent the two days thinking about how you would be out of her presence and after receiving this message from Natasha she knew that you were not well. Her heart always broke when she saw you begging her not to go on missions, looking like you might faint if she did. So, she demanded that the Quinjet go to the Compound as quickly as possible and no one questioned why, since Wanda seemed worried enough that all the agents in that place knew that the reason would be you.
And in less than five minutes the Quinjet landed, Wanda not waiting a minute to run towards her room, knowing you would be there. She opens the door and the first thing she sees is Natasha standing there looking at you, she didn't know what to do and it could be comical if it weren't worrying. Your aunt looks at Wanda with a guilty look for not helping you with what you needed, but she still thanked the gods that your mother arrived so quickly.
"Thanks for taking care of her, Nat."
Wanda approaches you, seeing that your body was shaking and your eyes couldn't stop falling tears. Even though it was barely possible to hear any sound coming out of you, it was clear that you were worse than anyone could imagine. Your mother gets under the covers with you and doesn't take long to wrap her arms around your body, squeezing tightly so you can feel enough to get back to what was happening around you. It didn't take long for you to recognize the caress that was being made from your back to your head. "Mama?"
"Shh, it's Mama, my love." She spoke softly to calm you down even more, feeling you cling even tighter to her.
"I missed you so much." You managed to speak before burying your face in her neck, the smell of her making you stop shaking and even if you were wearing her hoodie, the smell would always be stronger on her body.
"I know. It's okay now." Wanda kisses your forehead, feeling your muscles relax in her body quickly making the tears finally stop coming from your eyes. "Can you tell me why you were crying, sweetheart?" Your mother knew it was because of her. Countless times this kind of thing had happened to you, and countless of them were due to Wanda going on a mission, or just leaving the Compound to go somewhere for a few hours.
"Missed you so much and then- and then I was scared that something would happen to you and you wouldn't come back h-home." Your breathing started to get faster again, making Wanda press you against her body again.
"Hey, it's okay. Mama's here now, yeah? I'll always come back to you." A sob leaves your body as you nod your head up and down in agreement with what she said. "You seem very tired, my love. Have you been sleeping?"
"I can't sleep without you. I wake up every time because of nightmares." You could feel every one of those nightmares in your skin in which you saw your mother die in front of you. The blood looked so real that the smell almost reached your nose.
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry this was happening to you. But, Mama's going to take some time off from missions now, okay? You don't need to cry anymore." When Wanda finished speaking, you finally looked at her and stared into her green eyes. She managed to get a better view of your face with large dark circles under your eyes, confirming what she had asked you.
"Really?"
"Yeah, now you're really going to get sick of me." You laugh at her speech, making her smile as she hears the sound she loved most again. You even thought about considering what she said, but you knew it was impossible to get sick of your mother, your best friend.
"I think you're the one who's going to get sick of me, that's for sure." Wanda laughs along with you this time, making the atmosphere in the place no longer tense like it was when she first arrived in the room.
A comfortable silence settles between the two of you. You place your head on her neck again, feeling your eyes start to get heavy. Even though you wanted to fall asleep in your mother's tight arms, you were still afraid that when you woke up she wouldn't be there anymore, so you fought that they wouldn't close at any moment. But Wanda realized this quickly when she noticed your breathing starting to calm down and after a few seconds it became faster again.
"You can sleep, darling. Mama won't leave here for a second, and I'll be here when you wake up." When you heard the words come sweetly out of her mouth, you finally allowed yourself to fully relax knowing that now you were finally safe in your mother's arms.
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calummss · 1 year ago
Text
Orange, White and Dark Rosé | Rebekah Mikaelson
masterlist
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summary: with cancer slowly eating you alive, you come back to school to see a beautiful girl that has started to make you question everything you thought you knew
pairing: fem! reader x rebekah mikaelson
words: 3.9k
a/n: for my girl kissers!! <33 also i believe this is my longest fic yet… NOT PROOFREAD
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You’ve had the worst few months of your life. What started out as a simple cough became more painful throughout the weeks. Each cough as though your lungs were torn from your chest, no air to keep you breathing. Night sweats became drowning; difficulty swallowing became not eating at all.
‘You have pleural mesothelioma, Miss Blanchard.’ The words the doctor uttered still so freshly imprinted on your mind. He continued moving his lips but nothing but inaudible muffles penetrated your ears as the sound of your own heartbeat filled your empty void.
Several nights after your diagnosis you woke up. The air drained from your lungs as fluid started to build up between your lungs and chest wall. The sensation of drowning without water in sight. It was a nightmare. Your body turning on you, ready to take you away despite the care you took to look after it.
Following those events you were pulled out of school, your parents worried sick as their daughter was at risk for involuntary death any minute of any day. The feeling of loneliness only increasing as you spent most days alone in your room; on the chair at your therapist's office; or the dining table chair, eyes piercing through you as you tried to make conversation about anything else but your cancer.
‘Do you need help cutting the chicken?’, ‘Need more water?’, ‘Leave the dishes, sweetheart. Your dad and I’ll get to them.’
Your cancer not only took your life but your maturity, letting people treat you like a damsel in distress, needing help with everything when you wish you could just forget everything bad for one day and live as normally as you could, one day at a time.
‘I’m going back to school,’ you said, placing your cutlery down on the dinner mat, staring onto your plate as you could hear the chewing of rubbery green beans stop.
Your mother grabbed her glass of wine, clearing her throat and washing it down all at once. Your father stared at your mother as she tried to find words that reflected her wish to protect you and to keep you as comfortable as possible.
‘I’m sorry, darling, you said you wanted to go back to school?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I ask what brought this sudden request.’ She neatly folded her ageing hands underneath her chin, her eyes resting on you as your father’s eyes jumped from frame to frame, unsure what to say.
‘I just want to live as normal as possible,’ you let out a sigh, ‘I miss my friends, I miss having to do stuff, I miss…I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ you chuckled, feeling heat rush through your face. ‘I miss homework. School assignments, presentations, stuff I hated before but made me normal. A normal girl living a boring life. I’m missing my chance at a full life just because of this cancer I’m sure will rob me even further as time passes. I need to be able to feel like I belong somewhere despite…all this.’
Their eyes stayed focused on you, soft eyebrows trying to interpret what you needed the most in a time where everything slowly started to deteriorate.
‘Have you thought about what your school life would be like now, Y/n?’ Your father engulfed your hands, his thumb rubbing circles as he often did. ‘You would need to carry around an oxygen tank in case of an emergency. You complained every day that the school day was hard and now it will be three times that of before. I understand where you're coming from but I need you to know what decision you are making…Your mother and I only want what’s best for you and if that is going back to school so be it. But we will have to make sure you are okay at all times.’
‘I really do want to go back…’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine,’ your mother took your other free hand. ‘You can go back to school. But promise us that when things get hard that you will tell us and may have to take a step back from school again.’
‘I promise.’ You smiled at them, squeezing their hands tight. ‘I will accept my limits when they come.’
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The very next week you stood back on the familiar ground of Mystic Falls High; home to the timberwolves. The bell you dreaded every morning , rather wanting to exchange gossip with Elena and Caroline. However that particular morning you have never felt more excited to walk through the halls. Hallways you haven’t seen in a few months. Faces of fellow students.
Walking through the door you noticed a heap of pitiful glances, welcome backs, get well soons and prayers. It wasn't unusual for everyone to know what had happened to you, Mystic Falls was a small town after all. Their words of condolences were sweet. You cherished them. But when you live on limited time, burned out hope and terminal cancer with a survival rate of 9.6%, it was hard to pretend like you would get better when their words could easily be uttered to a person that simply caught the common cold. Nothing could fix you. The only thing you had were fifteen months to make sure to drain every last drop of experiences life has to offer. No prayers, no words of the world could help—only medicine could. And even that was a shot in the dark. Caroline had offered her vampire blood to you on more than one occasion, but you were convinced that it wouldn’t help so you declined it over and over again, continuing to deny the chance at a normal life that you craved more than anything.
Heading towards your locker, you placed your emergency oxygen tank inside, the dust of month’s absences piling on old books you had left behind the day the cough became too unbearable.
Closing the door you made your way to your first class of the day; history taught by Mr. Saltzman. Bracing yourself to walk into a room full of eyes, you noticed that the classroom was empty for the exception of a girl. She was beautiful. The type of beautiful you would see beyond your day, wondering whether or not you would see them again. She had light hair, almost as white as her skin that bore freckles across the apples of her cheeks and nose that stuck between pages of a book that let her long black lashes show. Full lips pursed, knitted eyebrows framing her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ you felt rude for interrupting her obvious devotion to studying. ‘Is this history with Mr. Saltzman?’
‘Yes.’ She answered boorishly, eyes stuck on the pages, rushing her words as she paid no attention to you.
‘Where is everyone?’ God you were embarrassed to disrupt her again.
‘How would I know?’ She sighed, finally looking up. Her blue eyes locking with yours as you appreciated her beauty, wishing you looked like her. To be so flawless.
‘Oh, I’m sorry—I just—ehm, it’s kind of my first day back in a few months and the lack of students is making me doubt if I am in fact in the right room…’
‘No, this is the correct room,’ she stopped looking at her notes, her crystal eyes glued to your face as you continued to study her details. ‘So you went here before then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you stop?’
‘Got sick.’ You pressed your lips together, sliding your hands into the back pockets of your jeans that clung to your thighs.
‘What sickness?’ She asked with a genuine look of interest, almost as if it were her first time encountering a sick person. Lucky her.
‘Cancer.’
‘Ohh,’ she puckered up her lips, squinting at you, her words confusingly sounding concerned and uninterested. ‘That sucks.’
‘Yeah,’ you breathed, the continuous standing started to make itself known as your shoulders started to feel lighter. ‘It sucks.’
‘Well you are free to sit next to me. I don’t tend to be liked by most.’ Her pearly teeth peaked between dark roseish lips. ‘I’m Rebekah by the way,’
‘Y/n,’ you smiled back. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Walking over to sit down next to her, the sudden sound of familiar voices washed over you as Caroline and Elena came through the entrance, their eyes widening as soon as they saw you standing back in the classroom that had felt your absence the past months.
‘Y/n, oh my god!’ They almost shouted in union as they sprinted to hug you tight, their arms merging into your back as you reunited with your friends. No hospital visits or phone calls, just friends seeing each other in school like you always have.
‘Come sit with us!’ Caroline dragged you towards the front of the room, your eyes turning back to Rebekah who had observed your encounter with the girls, her eyes smiling back at you, her spark diminished as you parted from her.
In your next class you saw Rebekah again.
Again sitting alone at the dissecting table and when you made up your mind to sit next to her, Rebekah noticing your upcoming footsteps, Elena and Caroline barged through the door like they had before. Pulling you towards the opposite end of where she was sitting, her seat staying vacant as her eyes continued to find you throughout the lesson.
‘Rebekah, wait!’ You called after her, the last sound of the bell signalling the end of the school day.
Rebekah turned around, her blonde hair framing her face. Strands of hair blowing across her face, caught amongst her lashes. The sun reflecting on her skin.
‘About your offer to sit next to you,’ you lifted your arm to block the blazing sun. ‘I would like it if you held that spot for me tomorrow. If you still want me to sit next to you…’
‘Sure, it’s not like it’ll be occupied anytime soon. It’s yours to take.’
‘Okay then…’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n, okay?’
‘Sure, yeah totally,’ you cleared your throat as you mentally prepared for the criticism you were about to hold above your head. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Rebekah gave you a last smile, ‘Bye.’
‘Bye,’ you whispered, her feet already taking off towards the other side of your way home, leaving behind a manipulative smell of vanilla and macadamia nut, that you swore was the nicest fragrance you had smelled in a long time.
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The next day you came walking back through the class again, finding Rebekah by herself at her assigned spot, her hand swiftly moving across her page.
‘Good morning, Y/n.’ She greeted, her eyes never leaving her paper.
‘How could you tell it was me?’
‘I smelled your strawberry perfume before you even entered the room,’ she finally lifted her head to reveal her face.
‘Do you like it?’ What is wrong with me?????
‘I do.’ Nevermind.
‘You don’t mind if I keep my word, right?’ You eyes up the chair next to her, waiting for her response, silently hoping that no one would barge in to seat you away from her.
‘Feel free to use all the space you need.’
You chuckled, letting your feet carry you to the table next to her, her familiar scent back in your memory as you took out your school supplies, feeling her gaze on you.
‘So,’ you turned your head to her body already turned towards you. ‘Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before?’
‘Yeah, I am. I moved here a couple of weeks ago. My brother has been here for a month now and I wanted a change of scenery.’ She let out a breath. ‘There’s only so much of New Orleans you can take.’
‘New Orleans? That is very different from Mystic Falls…’ You raised your eyebrows with a grin, your armpit resting over the back of the chair, legs crossed, turned towards her. ‘Do you like it here?’
‘So far I do…’ Rebekah glanced at you, a shimmer of light swimming amongst her pale eyes.
‘That’s good…’ You stared back because it was the only thing you could do.
Her hand reached for your hair, taking a strand of it and twirling it around her index finger, gently laying the curls heated with her body temperature on your shoulder, ‘You have really nice hair.’
‘Thank you,’ you felt a rush of heat make its way to your cheeks, your stomach starting to feel queasy as you let her words repeat in your mind. ‘I love your— well actually everything about you is really beautiful.’
‘You are too kind.’
‘I wouldn’t lie.’
‘I know you’re not.’
‘Good…’ Your eyes couldn’t part from her, her face burned into the back of your mind, still wanting to stare at her as long as you could. Her smile bringing warmth to you.
‘I wouldn’t lie either,’ she repeated.
‘Good.’
The teacher came in, disturbing the awful long eye contact, both cleared by loud coughs, Rebekah and your eyes settling to the front of the class; no more looks being exchanged for the rest of the lesson, though you fought the urge to catch a glimpse.
‘Do you have anything planned today?’ Rebekah and you walk out of the building, the school day coming to an end as grey clouds started to gather above you.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Would you like to come over to mine?’ She turned her face to you. ‘We could watch a movie, bake something, I don’t know. Do something typical for a teenage girl.’
Typical for a teenage girl. Normalcy. She treated you normally. Never once mentioning the fact you were sick or if you were okay with it. She treated you like an equal.
‘I would love to.’ You replied, feeling glad that a person could forget about everything shitty in your life and talk to you like you were just like them.
Rebekah drove you to her home, finding out that she had a rather large heep in possession. The kind of car you’d take to the beach on an early summer morning; running towards the cold water as sand stuck to your naked skin. Rebekah was a good driver, unlike your father that made you glad that you had health insurance…
Seemingly arriving at her house, a big mansion greeted you. Surrounded by trees, a long driveway leading to the mansion’s entrance.
‘This is your house?’ You asked, eyes glued onto the building, imagini how many room it must’ve had. How many square feet it covered.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s so nice.’
‘I know,’ she chuckled, unbuckling her seatbelt. ‘I have to admit that my brother does have great taste when it comes to architecture. Suppose it’s his only good trait.
‘You have a brother?’
‘Too many…’
You let out a laugh, you too unbuckled your seatbelt to step out of her car, feeling so small as you walked towards the door. The interior of the house was just as beautiful. Simple yet classy Rebekah threw her keys onto one of the dressers that stood by the door and told you to follow her, your head turning left and right, mesmerised by everything you took in.
‘Rebekah.’ You suddenly heard a male voice call from behind you. He had a nice accent just like she did.
‘What, Nik?’ She didn’t sound too happy to see him.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’
‘This is Y/n from school. Don’t eat her, she has cancer.’
You listened to her with a quizzical look on your face, looking at her as she mirrored your expression.
‘What?’ She asked.
‘Vampire?’ You asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Hmm,’
‘You don’t seem surprised…’
‘I have lived in Mystic Falls all my life,’ you let out a jestful breath. ‘Nothing surprises me anymore.’
‘Well,’ his voice made you turn your back on Rebekah, his tone full of pride and confidence, ‘welcome to my humble abode.’
‘Humble is a great word to describe all of this,’ you grinned, looking at the room once more. ‘But it is really nice. You have good taste.’
‘I know I do. Best get going then,’ he pointed towards Rebekah whose facial expressions couldn’t have made it clearer that she wanted to get away from him.
‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’
You paced towards Rebekah who told you to follow her, different hallways leading towards a really nice kitchen.
She grabbed all the ingredients that you thought was going to make a cake and watched as her eyes crinkled, so focused on finding everything that you needed.
‘Are we making a cake?’
‘We are,’ she snuck a quick grin, her head pack in the cabinet searching for a baking tin.
‘What type of cake?’
‘Well,’ she resurfaced, placing the tin on the counter, her cheeks lightly flushed. ‘I kind of asked Elena what your favourite cake was and she said your favourite was a lemon cake, so we are going to make that. Unless she lied…’
‘No, no,’ you tried hiding a grin, fingers picking at your palm. ‘It is my favourite.’
‘Good.’ Rebekah exclaimed, almost throwing the flour at you. ‘You'll do dry and I’ll do the wets.’
Continuing to make the cake, Rebekah was whisking the cake batter enthusiastically, dancing along to Stacy’s Mom that blasted through the stereo. Carelessly throwing her limbs up and down, swaying her head with the biggest grin you had ever seen…She was so beautiful
‘Oh,’ Rebekah gasped, your mouth widening in shocked as wet drops of batter landed on your face, Rebekah accidentally swinging the wrong arm to the rhythm.
You let out a giggle, trying to swipe away the batter but it was no ise. Every stroke just spreading it more evenly across your face. ‘Shit.’
‘Here I got it,’ she set aside the bowl and came closer, placing her thumb on your cheek, getting the batter on her finger, her eyes momentarily longing on you. She retracted her thumb and licked off the excess, eyes never breaking contact.
You stared at her for what felt like forever, captivated by her face; her eyes, her lips, all whispering to you that you should come closer. You leaned in, your heart beating so powerfully you ought to stop, exhaustion that came with the sickness. But you didn’t. Neither did she. Her breath ricocheted off your cheeks, her glimmering eyes infatuating yours as you could feel your lips take the lead but before your skins touched, a loud opening of the door made you jump back, looking back at what had caused you to separate.
‘What do you want, Elijah?’ Rebekah asked forcefully, the older man’s eyes glimpsing at both you and her
‘Do I need to want something walking around in my house?’
You observed the two, their banter making it clear that he too must be one of the ‘too many’ brothers she had talked about.
Feeling queasy, you quickly said goodbye to Rebekah and Elijah, telling them you weren’t feeling too well, a perk when being the teenager with cancer. Everyone at all times will believe it.
You had to get away from Rebekah. She was clouding your mind and falling for a girl wasn’t supposed to happen. You’ve been with a guy or two and those feelings you felt when you were around them, you recognised as the image of her resurrected itself in your mind. You liked her, but you couldn’t like her. At least not right now.
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‘I’m home!’ You called into the house, the smell of grilled eel filtering through the air: your favourite.
‘We’re in the kitchen!’
You placed your backpack next to the stairs, ready to take them to your room once you were done with dinner. Entering the kitchen you saw your mother plate the last of the cut up eel pieces onto the plate, placing it on the table with some salads and rice. Your father stood by the kitchen aisle making some mocktails from his newly purchased mocktail cookbook thing you got him recently.
After dinner you went up to your room, putting the oxygen tube on your face as today’s exhaustion came running to you. Thinking back on the moments that increased your heartbeat.
‘Honey, are you okay?’ You heard your father’s footsteps approaching your room, leaning against the door frame.
‘Yeah,’ you nodded, glancing at your oxygen tank. ‘Hard day. Have to catch my breath. Literally.’
He chuckled, coming in to hug you. ‘Just make sure to tell us once you’ve reached your limit, okay? I know you like to act tough and pretend that you can still keep up but you need to have a reality check. You’re not the same as before and that’s okay. No one is trying to put you in a box. You just need to accept that certain limits cannot be reached anymore…’
‘Yeah I know, dad. I know. It’s just hard having to turn my back on my past life.
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The next few weeks Rebekah and you pretended like the moment back at her house didn’t happen. Continuing to sit next to each other in class, meeting at each other’s houses or going out in town.
It was easier ignoring the moment than trying to talk about it because if you were being honest, what would you even say? You liked her as a friend. Nothing more. You’ve known her for less than a month so how could your heart possibly flutter at the thought of her touch on your skin.
Then you were invited to the Mikaelson ball, a card delivered to your doorstep. On the back Rebekah’s writing said, to meet her there to clear stuff up.
So when Friday came, you managed to find a dress and head towards the mansion you had previously entered before. Only this time you were hooked to oxygen after a water build up episode that caused your lungs to fill with water.
Arriving at the mansion you were greeted by servants who took your coat, without looking, wanting to grab your tank thinking it was luggage. ‘I’ll be needing this…’
‘Hi.’
You turned around, already knowing whose soft voice it belonged to.
‘Hi.’
‘You look gorgeous.’ She awed in amazement.
‘You too.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ you noticed her lingering stare on your tank. ‘Lungs filled with water. Nothing crazy.’
‘We need to talk. I’m sorry.’
‘No I’m sorry.’ You said.
‘For what.?’
Compelled in the moment you pulled the last of your confidence together and stepped closer to Rebekah, who looked unsure of what you were about to do. ‘For this.’ You placed your lips on Rebekah’s, gently kissing her lips as a thousand thoughts filled your mind, all screaming to stop, but you didn’t want to.
Rebekah’s hand found your face as she deepened the kiss,careful not to tangle the oxygen tube.
You’ve never felt this way before. You thought Rebekah was just the type of pretty you wanted to be, not knowing that she was just someone you wanted to be with. And with dying time there wasn’t another person you would rather kiss other than her.
The start of a short love story; the dead and dying.
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ultrone · 7 months ago
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hii !! i love ur work so much, how about reader taking care of pregnant shauna in the wilderness
lets pretend that her baby made it :(
𓂃  ⊹ reader being the wilderness dad that stepped up 🗣️💪🏻
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while pregnant…
you often found yourself walking on eggshells around shauna cuz of her mood swings, especially when she was hungry, which was pretty much almost every day 😭 if u wanted to stay out of trouble, the only acceptable responses to any of her requests were either "yes, baby" or nodding silently.
and if you happened to get into an argument, your best bet was to either shut the fuck up or just roll your eyes, unless you wanted her to be passive-aggressive towards you for the entire day.
although even if she got mad at you, her corny ass would always end up snuggling into you at night, holding you tightly before falling asleep. sometimes she’d “angrily” turn her back to you for the first ten minutes, but then she’d grab one of your arms and place it around her waist, wanting you to cuddle her lmaooo
after finding out she was pregnant, you began marking down the weeks with a sharp rock on the walls of the attic to keep track of her pregnancy.
around the sixth month, you began assisting her with skinning the animals and cutting the meat. initially, you didn't enjoy the task, but you didn't want her to become even more tired than she already was. therefore, you asked her to show you how to do it, and once she did, you took over the chore to ease her burden.
you'd also make sure to cut her food portions a little bigger while making yours smaller. of course, you didn't tell her this cuz you knew she'd get mad at you for nearly starving yourself at her expense, even though she needed it the most.
whenever she was stressed or exhausted, she loved it when you’d let her sit between your legs, her back against your chest, while you massaged her scalp as she closed her eyes.
during your free time, you’d spend hours sewing beanies and tiny socks for the baby using fabric from some of your jackets and cotton shirts, as you knew he was likely to be born during the winter.
as her belly gradually started to grow, you began talking to it, hoping the baby would recognize your voice once he was born.
you approached shauna's belly, softly caressing it on the sides with your hands. "shippy, if you can hear me, kick your mom for me," you said with a faux serious expression, only to receive a punch on the shoulder. "ow!" you exclaimed, rubbing your shoulder with a pout on your face.
after giving birth…
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you hated to admit it given the circumstances, but you were excited af 😭 as soon as the baby was born, you’d take care of him as if he was your biological son.
even though shauna loved her baby and wanted to spend all day with him, she was actually relieved that you were so obsessed with him too. your preoccupation gave her some much-needed time to herself or simply to rest throughout the day.
you also knew that hungry shauna and restless shauna = everyone’s worst nightmare 😭 so, if necessary, you’d let her sleep if the baby started crying at night, rocking him to sleep on your own.
it became a common occurrence for her to wake up in the morning and see you fast asleep next to her, with the baby tightly cradled in your arms, his tiny head resting against your chest.
you'd often offer to take care of him. in fact, you wouldn't even offer—you'd just literally take the baby from shauna’s arms at random and play with him, rubbing his belly or nuzzling your nose against his face. his response would often be giggling or slapping your face with his little hands.
“ow! stop poking my eye!” you exclaimed, pretending to be stern but unable to hide the smile on your face. the baby just looked at you with wide, innocent eyes, his tiny hand still hovering near your face. “you think that’s funny, huh?” you asked as you tickled his belly, causing him to burst into a fit of giggles. shauna watched from a distance, a soft smile on her face as she watched the two of you bond.
when his teeth started to grow, you carved several animal-shaped figures from unused pieces of wood that were too small to be used for the bonfire. after thoroughly washing them in the lake, you would then give them to the baby for him to chew on.
although he’d usually prefer to chew on your fingers and hands.
⟢ 🍼
"babe, our little shippy seems to have inherited some interesting traits from his mom," you began, a mischievous twinkle in your eye as you watched the baby gnawing on your hand.
shauna glanced at you, curiosity piqued. "oh? which ones?"
you chuckled, gently pulling your hand away from the baby’s mouth. "i made all these cute little wooden animals for him to chew on, but he seems to prefer biting me instead."
shauna laughed, a light blush dusting her cheeks as she saw you pointing at a freshly given hickey she had left on your skin last night while tai was spending time with the baby.
"well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, i suppose," she retorted with a grin on her face.
"it didn’t, it actually fell a bit too close if you ask me," you started, "van was playing with him yesterday and out of nowhere he bit her nose so hard it left a mark. i literally had to drag little shippy away from her face because he wouldn’t let go."
shauna chuckled at your story, shaking her head in amusement. she then looked at the baby, her voice filled with affection. "good job, sweetie," she cooed at him while pinching his cheeks, causing you to roll your eyes at her.
you then turned to the baby as well, your voice softening. "but we should probably start teaching you some manners, shouldn’t we? biting people and leaving marks on them isn’t very nice," you said while side-eyeing your girlfriend.
she then looked back at you, a mischievous grin on her face. "although, i can't say i mind leaving a few more marks on you," she teased, giving you a kiss on the neck.
with a blush on your face, you quickly covered your son's eyes with your hand. "shauna, there's a baby in the room," you complained in a playful tone. "ow!" you exclaimed, pulling your hand away from his face as you felt his little growing teeth bite forcefully.
shauna couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “well, he’s just learning from the best,” she said, giving your hand a sympathetic rub where the baby had bitten you.
she leaned in to give you a quick peck on the cheek. “and just so you know,” she added with a playful smirk, “i think he’s already showing signs of being as stubborn as you.”
feigning shock, you retorted, “shauna, you’re setting a bad example for our son,” earning another round of laughter from her. the baby, oblivious to your banter and the clear discomfort on your face from the previous bite, simply continued to stubbornly chew on your hand, his tiny teeth leaving their mark.
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note : thank youuuu, it means a lot <33 i hope u like the hcs
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spid3namy · 1 year ago
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— AUGUST
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pairing : e!42 miles x mixed!female reader
summary : rumors spread like wildfire around school, everyone knew everyone's business. who knew the only rumor about you and your boyfriend would be true...?
contains : angst, cheating, song inspired (obviously), they are mid to late teens, miles lowkey stupid asf, implied lying (kind of), might have some incorrect spanish, cussing, not proof read
divider creds : saradika
word count : 2031
notes : lowkey, i only wrote this cus i literally love this song and figured why not write angst. this is my way of being productive while also being lazy asf LMAO. i probably might start a taglist for people who wanna be tagged when i post new things but we’ll see. anyways, i hope you enjoy the story <3
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“Will you call when you're back at school...?”
Summer vacation.
For some, it was a great way to get away from school. To hang out with friends, to spend time with family. Others, it was nothing but a cruel and long three and a half months. 
For you, it was supposed to be a great three and a half months!
Until you found out that you were being shipped away to your grandparents house to spend time with them. Sure, you loved your grandparents but they were just.. so old. Summer was supposed to be the time when you hung out with your best friends!
And most importantly, your boyfriend! But no. 
Before you knew it, you had been packed up and sent on a flight all the way up to the shitty state of Washington. And that’s cruelly how you spent your summer vacation. Being around old people for a long three and a half months literally sucked.
September 18.
The day school started was a nightmare.
Rumors spread around like wild-fire at Visions Academy. Well, you knew that much. Especially with all the rumors that happened last year about the girl that had gotten pregnant. Of course, that rumor had been a lie. But everyone knew about it in the spam of like 20 minutes.
“Y/N! Have you heard yet?”
Your best friend, Juno, is the first one to come up to you the moment you walk through the doors. She was always so pretty when she came to school. If you all didn’t have to wear uniforms, she’d probably be the hottest girl in school with those fire ass fits you knew she owned.
“Heard what exactly?”
“Okay, so I’m guessing you haven’t heard then.”
You look at the girl and raise an eyebrow, brushing your braids behind your shoulder to flow down your back. What the hell was she on about now? Juno was your best friend, yes, but she was too into the gossip the school had going on. Most times, you couldn’t even believe the words she said. 
“Well, are ya gonna tell me?”
Juno stared at you for a few moments before she shrugged, figuring that if you really wanted to know then she would tell you. Even if she knew it was gonna hurt you, it was best if you found out from her and not some random stranger who probably would tell it in the worst way possible.
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
“Uh.. okay? I promise.”
Juno let out a breath and gripped the strap of her tote bag tightly before she spoke in a mess of jumbled up words. “Okay so basically, I heard from Dorothea who heard it from Suki who heard it from Rose who heard it from Verity who heard it from Betty who heard it from Venus, herself, that she and Miles had a little fling over the summer.”
You blink as you watch Juno suck in a huge intake of air. She was acting as though she had been waiting a long time to gain some type of air in her lungs. 
You soon burst out into laughter and shook your head, holding your stomach as you laughed. Juno watched you with confusion clear on your face; she clearly didn’t understand what the hell was funny. 
Once you had slowly started to calm down, you wiped an imaginary tear from your eye and shook your head, looking at the female. 
“Whew, thanks Jun, I really needed a laugh today.”
“I’m being serious, Y/N. I totally think it’s true too!”
“That’s ridiculous, Miles would never do anything like that. Me and he are locked in.”
Juno stares at you before she shrugged; the two of you started your descent down the hallway to where your shared first class was. 
“‘M just sayin’ what I heard. Only Miles would really know what happened. Just hope he doesn’t lie to you.”
You snort and roll your eyes playfully, nudging her with your shoulder and looking over at her. “He would never lie to me.”
“Whatever you say, Y/N. But just remember: men ain’t shit”
“Tha.. thank you for that, Juno. But you’re not really the greatest person to say that. Especially since you’re biased as hell.”
“What? I am not biased!” 
“Yes you are”
Juno rolled her eyes as the two of you walked into the classroom. Anatomy, the board read.
Great, seeing bodies and stuff at 8 in the morning was gonna be so fun. And it was a block class. How fun.
Lunch. Possibly the only good thing about being at this stupid school. You and Juno stand in line together, looking at all the options of food you can pick out. It’s not much. Pizza, nachos, salads, and hot dogs. Barf. 
You let out a sigh and grabbed a plate that had a pretty decent sized slice of pizza. Juno looks over at you and makes a face before she reaches over to grab a salad. The two of you quickly scan your school ids to pay for the food before you walk over to a table where Miles had been sitting. He had been there alone for a while now. 
He was fortunate enough to have his own food.
Juno sits in front of you two before she nudges her head over to the male who was too busy drawing in his stupid sketchbook to even notice that you were even there. You give a look before you sit down next to your boyfriend, peering over his shoulder a little to see what he was doing.
“Whatcha drawin’?”
“You.”
The answer was so flat, so blunt. It caused your cheeks to heat up when you realized that he was, in fact, drawing you. Miles had always been so good at drawing. It was one of his many talents. 
“You two make me sick.”
“You’re just jealous, Jun. It’s not our fault that your mystery girl doesn’t know you exist.”
Juno lets out a dramatic cry and puts her head down when you mention the girl she had a crush on since 8th grade. It was a little cute that she’s liked her for so long. Yet, she has never even attempted to make a move on her.
“I just wish Leni would notice me.”
“Just talk to her, it ain’t that hard.” That earned Miles a glare despite the fact that he didn’t even really see it. Not like he really cared. He was just speaking the truth.
“Not everyone is brave enough for that, Miles.”
“Jus’ quit being a fuckin’ pussy and talk to her.”
Juno glared at him more and started to stand up. You shake your head quickly to get her to sit down. You already knew where this was headed and you really didn’t want the two of them to get into a huge argument. Not again. Not this school year.
Juno lets out a noise of frustration before she sits back down, her hand gripping the fork in her hands tightly. 
“At least, I didn’t cheat on my girlfriend.”
That seemed to gain his attention. Miles looked up from his sketchbook and quickly put his pencil down, looking at her with a look that could only be described as anger.
“Where the hell did you hear that from?”
“Miles..”
“Callarse la boca”
You look offended by his words but you don’t have time to dwell on it before Miles speaks again, his voice clear with annoyance.
“Where did you hear that from, Juno? Huh?!”
“Dorothea told me.”
Miles takes a deep breath at that, his nostrils flaring slightly as he lets out a deep and heavy exhale. He was screwed because now you knew about it. And he knew how you were going to act now that you knew. 
“Why are you gettin’ so upset, babe? It’s not like it’s true, right?”
Miles looks over at you and sighs, his shoulders tensing up as he clears his throat awkwardly. Guess it was time to be honest now. 
“Mi vida, listen... it-”
You blink and stare at you, anger slowly starting to fill up your body. You don’t even let him get another word out before you raise your hand and slap him. The feeling caused his face to sting, his face turned to the side from the impact. He lets out a slow breath and nods to himself; he knew he deserved it. 
“Fuck you, Morales.”
And with those harsh words spat, you get up and walk away from him. Juno and Miles both watch as you leave before Juno looks over at him, shaking her head and letting out a sigh.
“You fucked up man.”
“No, really? Thanks for the news flash, sherlock.”
“Don’t get smart with me, boy.”
Miles glares at the girl as she gets up and goes after you. God, he was so fucking stupid!
It’s been a week since you last spoke to Miles. You have been avoiding him at school and even went as far as changing seats in the classes you shared with him. You did everything in your power to try and be as far away from him as possible. Miles didn’t seem to let that affect him.
Even if you were far away from him, he would still do his very hardest to talk to you. To explain what happened between him and Venus over the summer. But of course, you didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen to a word he said. It would be nothing but a lie.
Juno was right; men ain’t shit.
It was almost sickening to think that your once loyal and sweet boyfriend would turn out to be a dirty, rotten cheater! And to think it only took one summer for him to change. That was so fucked up man. You hated how easily you had allowed yourself to be betrayed. 
How could someone be so sweet one minute then betray you the first chance they got? It really made no sense to you. 
A knock on your bedroom door was enough to pull yourself from your thoughts. Your head snapped up just as the door opened to reveal Juno, a sheepish smile on her face as she practically jumped on you.
“What are you doin’ here, Jun?”
“I was summoned by your father.”
You let out a snort and roll your eyes, moving over slightly to give her more room to sit on the bed. It was sweet how she wanted to comfort you but you already knew it wasn’t going to work. You were too hurt to ever feel better after just a few visits but you appreciate the effort.
“Should I beat his ass?”
“No.. it’s fine, Jun. I don’t really care, ya know? I already got over it!”
“Mhm. and is that why you’re still avoiding him?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Juno lets out a chuckle and moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder gently and pulling you closer for a side hug. It was the best thing she could think of doing right now. 
“Ya know.. He’s stupid for doing that to you. He don’t know what he’s missing.”
And that did it. Before you knew it, you had burst out into tears. Juno rubbed the side of your arm gently and allowed you to cry on her shoulder, soaking her shirt with your tears. She knew you probably needed this right now.
“I fuckin’ hate him, Jun.”
“I know, Y/N.”
“I wish I never met him!”
“I know, Y/N”
The two of you stay like that for an hour. Maybe longer. Who knew? It didn’t matter anyway. Juno was too busy trying to comfort you while you bawled your eyes out. It hurt so fucking much. 
All the trust that you had put into Miles was now gone. 
And it was all his fault. 
Seeing him everyday at school hurt worse than any pain imaginable. But at least you had Juno by your side, you knew she would never hurt you. She was your best friend. She was different than him.
You wish you had never fallen in love with Miles Morales.
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thesweetnessofspring · 4 months ago
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Can you do a deep analysis of the last paragraph of MJ, before the epilogue? 😭 I can grasp the gist of it, but I feel like it's not all right
Bro you really want this? Deep dive analysis into possibly the most analyzed passage in the whole series? All right. Let's go. First, the whole passage:
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Now let's break it up.
Peeta and I grow back together.
I think there are two ways to take this sentence, really they both apply. The first is "Peeta and I grow back together" as in, they become as they were before the hijacking, which was in sync and in love. The second is "Peeta and I grow back together" as in, they both heal from the horrors they've had to face and as they do this together, side by side, each one having the other's backs. There's a reason why Everlarkers are so obsessed with this line, it's spawned a whole subtype of fanfiction. Grow back together, like the meadow that grew back from the bombs of the Capitol.
There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children.
Suzanne's father was a veteran of the Vietnam War. I could have sworn I read an interview where she mentioned her father having nightmares, though I can't find it now. However in her picture book The Year of the Jungle, Suzanne notes some PTSD symptoms her father had, including spacing out and being back in the jungle. Here we see Katniss and Peeta both have intrusive symptoms of PTSD, similar to what Suzanne's father had. These are struggles that they continue to deal with because of the way the world used and traumatized them.
But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips.
Following Katniss referencing her nightmares, we get this information, that Peeta first holds Katniss after these nightmares. At some point in time, he's welcomed back into her bed as he was during the Victory Tour and Quarter Quell. Then, at some point following this, his lips comfort her, implying that after nightmares he kisses her.
Katniss and Peeta are familiar with kissing one another, though all but one in canon up to this point has been in front of an audience. Yet we see the difference in how Katniss kissed Peeta in the first book, where it was more calculated for the camera, and how it is in Catching Fire where even in the Quell, they kiss each other without a second thought about it, how naturally it flows into their interactions. Here, Katniss implies that same ease and natural path from holding to kissing. Peeta's lips become a comfort to her after she sees her worst fears play out in her nightmares.
On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.
There are two instances in canon that Katniss was able to fully immerse herself in kissing Peeta without worrying about the Games or Gale. The first is following Peeta getting the medicine in the first Games. Right before the kiss, Katniss says, "...the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread." The second is, of course, the iconic beach scene, where she says, "I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. 'I do,' I say. 'I need you.'"
We don't know what led up to this particular night, but from the two instances before, it was likely a great emotional connection. Perhaps it was even Katniss realizing that even if she had the two suitors in front of her, it would have been Peeta she'd have chosen in the end. And this emotional connection is what prompts that "hunger that overtook [her] on the beach."
This is how Katniss describes that "hunger" in CF: "The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind." This description is about Katniss's first canon experience with sexual attraction. The kissing only makes her "need greater" and the only comparable experience she has is "hunger." A hunger for "more." More what? They're already kissing and they become "wrapped up" in each other. It stands to reason, then, that her body is asking for further sexual stimulation. There is the emotional connection, with Katniss realizing the depth of her grief if Peeta dies and she lives, in connection to her sexual desire.
And here we also have another favorite of the Everlark community: "this would have happened anyway." Perhaps anticipating the response from "Team Gale" that Peeta won by forfeit, Collins and Katniss are clarifying that no, Katniss would have actively chosen Peeta. That "anyway" tells so much. It's not "if Gale had come back to District 12 but I still saw him responsible for my sister's death." It's anyway. No matter what condition or events, Katniss would have grown back together with Peeta, would have brought him back into her bed, would have felt aroused by him and chosen him as her life partner.
That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself.
Up to this point, Gale really only has two associations with fire: first when he and Katniss are at the lake and she's describing Snow's threats as he cooks them food. And last, the bombs that killed Prim. Here we see the dual nature of Gale's fire. One is homey and nurturing, the other destructive. Gale is both. There was a time when his fire helped keep Katniss's going, and she did to his. Katniss says it here, she has "plenty of fire" herself. Only Gale's fire is not limited to the hearth. When given the chance, the wind picks up his fire and flamed it outside of the hearth and into brush of "rage and hatred." He thought he was defending himself and other vulnerable people. But fire is difficult to control once it begins to burn and Gale lost control of his when he shared his plans with Beetee and Coin. And even in smaller instances, when Gale's fire fought Katniss's fire, they simply burned out. On a personal level, their similarities are what drew them apart from each other.
In comparison, Peeta is described as being a "whiz" at fires, even lighting up damp wood. Following Prim's death, Katniss says she has "no fire." Gale's fire burnt out hers. Yet we see here that Katniss says she "has plenty of fire" herself. Who stoked her fire back to life but the boy she grew back together with? The one who could rouse her from mental anguish and hopelessness, and also soothe her when her anger was roused up? Gale's fire puts her out. Peeta's hand steadies her flame.
What I need is a dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
Here I am going to go on a bit of a nerd-out on the dandelion here. In some variations of the Theseus and the Minotaur story (which THG is loosely inspired by), Hecate feeds Theseus dandelions for 30 days before his encounter with the Minotaur to give him strength. In others, he ate a dandelion salad after killing the Minotaur. The Minotaur is Crete's version of The Hunger Games, and Theseus ends it by killing the Minotaur.
Katniss first associates dandelions with Peeta after catching his eye the day following the evening when he threw bread to her and he had a bruised cheek. This dandelion gave her hope and is one she associates with Peeta from the beginning of the story. This dandelion gave Katniss strength to keep fighting and providing for her family, the first Minotaur the Capitol puts up against its people, their hunger and poverty. Then on the way to the 74th Games, Katniss has determined that Peeta's kindness is a play of his and she throws out his father's cookies to be rid of any kindness from the Mellarks, but they land "in a patch of dandelions by the track. I only see the image for a moment, because the train is off again, but it's enough. Enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the school yard years ago." This dandelion then reminds her of the ways she braved the wood alone at first, how she made trades, took what her father had taught her and applied it. And this reminder lingers with her on her journey for the ultimate fight of her life (so far), the Hunger Games. She is once again fed by the dandelions on her way to face her Minotaur.
Through the Games, Katniss loses her free will, her privacy, and any remaining peace she had left. This of course launches into the whole of the series where she's deafened, manipulated, publicized, flaunted, scarred, terrorized, sees others killed and kills other. By the end of Mockingjay, she's "a badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister." Katniss has faced "destruction" on a personal, familial, and community level due to the wings staples on her and the fire others lit and she has little left at the end.
And yet, even when she so badly wants to die, when Peeta tells her he can't let go, she holds on. She holds on until "spring's in the air" and her dandelion in the spring, Peeta, returns. While the dandelions of his kindness fed her after her father's death and before the Hunger Games, here he is nourishing her again after the war. Reminding her of the goodness that there still is in life, "no matter how bad our losses." And for both Katniss and Peeta, they've had really, really bad losses.
And here it is: dandelions to Katniss are not just a pretty flower, or a symbol of wealth as the rose is to Snow. Dandelions are food. They are nourishment. Dandelions can even be medicine. They grow everywhere and can be found everywhere, bright little suns that can offer so much. Peeta is that to her as well. He nourishes her, strengthens her, is her medicine, and the only person she consummates a romantic and sexual relationship with and fulfills the "hunger" that is "an entirely new kind" to her. He gives her life in every way that is possible and gives her a rebirth, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."
"So after" we can canonically take as whatever came after she felt hunger (aka sexual desire). It's difficult to interpret it other than that this is when they consummated their relationship, in the very least engaging in some sexual act beyond kissing. Because Katniss says that Peeta's arms and eventually his lips helped her through her nightmares, and this is more than that. It is enough to stand apart and prompt Peeta to clarify his greatest question in the series, about whether or not Katniss loves him.
"Real or not real" was a game Katniss and Peeta have been playing since the beginning. Was Peeta really that kind? Did Katniss actually have feelings for Peeta, even when both knew it had started as an act? What is their relationship if the Capitol is making them play at being a happy couple? Although the hijacking made Peeta question his entire life, even without the hijacking, this is surely something he would have had to ask anyway, and only more so after the hijacking.
Finally having taken time to grieve, to come back to life, to grow back with a partner she trusts, Katniss can confirm to him that yes, she loves him. The final word answering one of the earliest questions in the series: who does Katniss love romantically, if anyone? And the answer, that has been there since his name first appeared: Peeta Mellark.
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eoieopda · 8 months ago
Text
FORCE QUIT // EPISODE III: SPIDER
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somebody has to make sure you make it through the firefight alive.
pairing: lee minho x reader | series masterlist (3/4) | prev. episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — mutually-pining fuck buddies. ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst word count: 23.5k rating: 18+ — minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode: above + combat leader!minho, disabled!hacker!reader, pov switches, time skips, loss of limb due to injury (not depicted, minimally described), ref. to hospitalization + recovery, sunshine/storm cloud dynamic, minho is kind of a dick, depictions of combat violence, minor character death(s), unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab and uses she/her pronouns; has a prosthetic/cybernetic leg; wears minho’s shirt at one point. ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review a/n 1: this part required a lot more external resources than anything else i’ve written, so i’ve kind of… footnoted? what i used. see the note at the end of the fic for the list! a/n 2: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!
Yours is the Black Screen’s worst kept secret.
The irony of that isn’t lost on you. Professionally, your most marketable skill is your ability to lower others’ defenses; to build and break walls as needed to take what you want for keeps. With finesse few can imitate, you vault over boundaries. Unfortunately for you, you don’t personally have any of those.
You’ve always been this way — no poker face, no affinity for bluffing, no discernible self-preservation instinct — and just the same, you’ve always wished you weren’t.
Time and again, your cards are on the table the second they’re dealt. If that alone wasn’t shitty gameplay, you and that relentless optimism of yours raise the stakes, double down. There’s no hesitating before you go all in; and there’s no surprise when you lose it all, either. Nothing you’ve ever felt has shocked anyone because they saw it coming in the previous turn.
Like Seungmin, for example, who won’t stop rolling his eyes at you from the other side of the room.
“If I took a shot every time you looked up at the door…” He sighs, gesturing from your corner of the Hub to its entrance, “I’d have died of alcohol poisoning six times over by now.”
The grimace you don’t want to concede can’t be hidden, so you rein your gaze in and direct it back at the screen in front of you. You don’t absorb any of the information flickering in front of you, however, because Seungmin has a point. Any second you haven’t spent staring wistfully out of the room is wasted on glancing at the clock. 
It’s close to nine o’clock now, which means your not-so-secret distraction is due any minute.
That reminds me…
You check again, wondering how many minutes have passed since you last looked, only to learn that it’s been less than one. That’s when the reflex takes over. Without your permission, your eyes wander from the glowing, green digits on the wall to the door — just in case.
No dice.
Damn it.
In a feeble attempt to cover your chronic — terminal — hopefulness, you try to refocus on your work. All it takes is a few seconds of staring before your eyes glaze over again. That disinterest isn’t reflected in your rigid posture, though. Your brain may be a flat tire, but your body is a bow drawn back, ready to fire.
Anticipation is a hell of a drug, isn’t it?
Seungmin crosses his arms. From the corner of your eye, you can see the knowing look he shoots you. He may not speak his favorite words, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hear them, loud and clear.
Told you so.
“It’s kind of funny, actually,” he says instead. 
You know better than to be thrown off by his trademark, flat affect. This is the most amused you’ve seen the weaponsmith in weeks. The corner of his mouth even twitches slightly; it might be the closest he’s ever been to smiling. “He only steps foot in here when you do.”
With all the heat you can muster, you aim to warn him — to puff out your chest a little, just this once — but it just sounds like a whine. “Seungmin…”
As if on cue, light footsteps sound off from down the hallway, shifting closer with every muffled step and cutting your would-be bickering off in the process.
Even with Seungmin’s judgment focused elsewhere, you continue to pretend that the glaring, blue light in front of your face has garnered any amount of your attention. It doesn’t. It hasn’t and won’t, so long as you can feel the seconds tick by in your chest.
He snorts. “Like clockwork.”
Damn it.
For being as light on his feet as he is, Minho tends to drag them more, the longer the day lasts. You never point that out to him; he doesn’t need to know that you’ve noticed. That fact sits among the million others you try to keep to yourself, just like your ability to identify him by gait alone.
Besides, you think, he’d never listen if you begged him to slow down, even if it’s just for a night. Rest doesn’t feature on the short list of things Minho wants from you. Come to think of it, neither does advice or concern for his well-being.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” Seungmin sings out when the shuffling stops short. “You lost, hyung?”
The way your head snaps up has nothing to do with Seungmin’s mocking tone and everything to do with the flutter in your chest. You’d attempt to keep that a secret, too, but then Minho walks in, and it’s game set. 
He’s fatal with his tattered, grey t-shirt half-tucked into ripped, black denim; and you have to clench your jaw to keep it from dropping. Before your dry throat can choke you, you clear it, swallowing down the thought that Minho and his jagged edges are the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.
It gets easier to get a fucking grip on yourself when Seungmin starts needling again: “No, seriously, are you lost? What are you doing here?”
Dark, cat eyes flick to you, then back to their target. Deadly, you think, just like the rest of him.
“Wishing you weren’t,” Minho responds without missing a beat. 
As usual, his tone is carefully balanced between bored and annoyed. You suspect that’s purposeful. A tactic. It leaves listeners in the dark about his feelings, so they have to guess whether or not they should run.
Nine times out of ten, they guess wrong.
This time, Minho deigns to give a hint. It’s quick enough that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been staring. Thankfully, his target sees the microscopic flex of his eyebrow, too. 
All that bark leaves Seungmin in a hurry, no bite to follow. With his tail between his legs and his palms raised in defeat, he skirts around Minho before slipping wordlessly out the door. 
You frown slightly as you watch him flee, although you sure as shit won’t mind his absence.
“Seungmin’s harmless,” you remind Minho quietly, although you don’t know why you bother. He’s never felt threatened in his life, as far as you can tell. You don’t necessarily hate it when he flexes that fact in front of you, but that doesn’t mean he should. “You don’t need to scare him off.”
Minho crosses his arms and tilts his head in a way that makes you only the slightest bit insane. “I’m not scary,” he rebuts matter-of-factly, as if that’ll make it true.
You make the mistake of looking him in the eye then. Like it always does in moments like this, heat immediately rushes to your face like a backdraft.
Like he always does, Minho senses the spike in temperature. To crank it higher, he meanders his way across the room to you, eyes glittering impishly all the while. Your heart thuds harder with each footfall. Stupidly, you wonder if he can sense that, too.
“In fact, I’m offended,” he corrects you as he closes in.
His palms press down against the opposite side of your desk once he reaches it. This close, you can read the mischief scribbled all over his face, which only serves to tear you in two — equal parts fucked up by his assertiveness and the rare playfulness that only comes in flashes, only with you.
Minho looms over you now, his hardened stare softening just slightly. Whispering through what almost looks like a pout, he adds, “And you’re mean.”
For a second, you think that the hand inching its way across the tabletop is seeking yours. Anticipation makes your fingers twitch. Try as you might, you can’t think of a single fucking thing you want more than to slip them between his. 
Proving once again that you’ll never read him right, Minho’s hand darts out to your side instead. You watch in slow-motion as he snags the bag of honey twists from its resting spot near your left forearm, which is nowhere near fast enough to catch him before he pulls away. Useless, your empty hand drops back onto your desk. 
You stare longingly at the stolen packet, so dejected that you really could cry, and mumble, “It took so much effort to get those.”
“It shouldn’t have,” Minho counters with a shrug.
He isn’t wrong, and you hate that.
The Black Screen’s demolition expert, Lee Jihoon, is as hard to crack as the shit he blows to pieces. His footlocker full of snacks — a rarity, given the whole everything going on in the world — is even more impenetrable. Charming your way through his stony exterior had been your only option to gain access. It took months, as well as unrelenting friendliness administered in small, persistent doses.
Just like —
Minho wouldn’t have wasted his time with flattery or nuance. He never needs to open his mouth to get what he’s after because his presence — from his stance to his intense, vaguely violent gaze — does all the talking for him. All he would’ve needed to do is blink in Jihoon’s direction, then he would’ve walked out of there with the older man’s treasure trove and the jacket off his back.
Having just been robbed blind yourself, you keep your mouth shut about that.
Shrugging once again, Minho throws down the gauntlet: “Finish your shit quickly, and I might decide to share them with you.”
How thoughtful.
If he’s expecting a verbal response, he won’t get one, you decide. The most you give is a disgruntled sigh. Dying star that you are, you collapse in on yourself, sinking deeper into your chair until you wind up as a half-crumpled heap on the desk below your monitors. It’s a perfect picture of abject failure, making this the only thing you’ve gotten right all day.
You don’t expect Minho to ask after your current state, so you’re not disappointed when he doesn’t. Or, at least, you will yourself not to be. In reality, your bated breath is held for a second or two before you remember who you’re dealing with. 
He does speak, though, which surprises you. Your first guess would’ve been that he’d give a hard pass on your dramatics and wander back out the door while your face was buried in your arms.
“Spider,” he sighs, and his tone is so gentle that it shocks the hell out of you. Intimate, almost, even if it is just a caricature. “Call it a night.”
More curious than cautious, you lift your head enough to blink up at him. Between his eyebrows, there’s a small crease that you don’t see often enough to competently translate. You stare at the tension there for a beat longer than you mean to before your gaze drifts downward to meet his.
See? Beautiful.
The second Minho sees your eyebrows raise slightly in question, a switch flips. He shuts the light off, irons out his expression. Whatever softness you found there is gone as quickly as it came.
He clears his throat, then huffs, “Come on.”
You frown and gesture to the screen ahead, pointing out the program you’ve spent all goddamn day working on to no avail. The silent protest doesn’t work on Minho. His stare only becomes more expectant the longer he levels it at you.
“Seriously. Fuck it.”
Having chosen the hill you plan to die on, you envision roots tying your unmoving body to the floor beneath you. Your frown deepens. No, you think emphatically, as if making your internal monologue shout will make him listen.
Minho tries again. “It’ll be here to ruin your day tomorrow.”
You don’t budge, and it pulls an exasperated noise out of him. Curling his right hand into a loose fist, he taps the knuckle of his index finger lightly against your elbow, like the contact will force your mental task list to shut down. 
“I’m bored.”
You know exactly what that means.
“Come up to the roof with me.”
Strike that.
“The roof?” You peep, hardened expression smashed to bits before you can blink.
Minho looks a little too pleased by your sudden concession. He even makes one of his own, chuckling slightly before he rolls his eyes and elaborates, “It’s nice out.”
It’s nice out, so you want to fuck me… on the roof?
The hand at your elbow pulls away and re-routes towards the back pocket of his jeans. When it returns to the space between you, there’s a dented, silver flask glinting in his grip. He shakes it, arches one eyebrow, and tops it all off with a wolfish grin that makes your stomach flip. 
“Stolen whisky tastes best in restricted areas, I hear.”
He nods his head towards the door, beckoning you to give in, and you’re on your feet without needing the invitation to be repeated. 
The sudden movement after sitting for so long means that your body isn’t as enthusiastic as your brain. A sharp pinch pulls a slight gasp out of you. That’s the extent of your own reaction, but Minho isn’t used to this the way you are. Alert eyes flick down to where your residual limb slots into your manufactured one, then back up to search your face. 
Once again, he asks without saying a word. You answer with a wave of your hand, “All good.”
Minho’s concern doesn’t immediately dissipate. To prove that you meant what you said, you snatch the packet of honey twists out of his unsuspecting hand and circle around the desk until you’re face to face. 
“If I’m on my ass for too long, my leg forgets how to leg,” you explain, grinning more out of triumph than reassurance. Then, you dangle your reclaimed prize from your fingertips because you are nothing if not a little shit. “I’m not a doctor, but I think science says that food helps.”
“Science says?” Minho snorts. 
You nod authoritatively, then you turn to the spare folding chair near your work station. Your jacket waits for you there, carefully folded on the cracked, plastic-coated cushion. Shrugging it on, you shove the honey twists in your right pocket and tease, “Sure does.”
The corner of his mouth tugs slightly upwards, and you swear there’s an affectionate smile threatening to break loose.
It doesn’t.
Instead, after pushing off his palms, Minho stands fully upright, nods his head towards the door a second time, and starts making his way towards it. You follow because you always do, biting back your lips to keep your giddiness to yourself.
As the pair of you exit and head down the hallway in comfortable quiet, you note his proximity to you. It’s always the same; he’s always close by but never near enough to touch. The edge of his shirt sleeve brushes against your arm, although his skin never does. 
You stopped wondering about that a long time ago, unwilling to figure out if this is a tactic, too.
Halfway to the nearest stairwell, Jeongin appears in a doorway. The room he emerges from used to be an office for the human resources department, back when the factory was operational — back when employers bothered with pretending to give a shit. 
Now, the room’s function lands somewhere between a bar and a bedroom. The latter only comes into play when the former makes staggering upstairs to the residential area too much of a hassle. From what you can see over the younger man’s shoulder, that’ll likely be the case tonight.
Jeongin gives you a cursory smile before directing his full attention to the man keeping cursory distance at your side.
None of it makes sense to you, all this effort spent to hide intentions. Maybe, you think, that’s why you’re so fucking terrible at it.
“Hey, hyung!” Jeongin chirps as the pair of you approach. He lifts his hand to wave, but it just looks like he’s shaking the deck of cards in his hand at Minho. “Do you want to —”
Without slowing down, Minho cuts him off mid-ask and at the knees. “No.”
And then his finger slips into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you along beside him as he keeps up the pace. You’re gone before you can see Jeongin’s face fall, but you’re sure it does. 
Yours would.
When you reach the stairs, Minho matches your careful pace, albeit much less awkwardly. For as life-saving as the chunk of metal and carbon fiber on your right side has been, there’s at least one problem it hasn’t solved: going up steps is a bitch. 
To compensate for your less dynamic knee, your left leg takes stairs two at a time so you can simply step straight up with your right. And even though you’re a bit out of breath from the extra effort, you open your mouth to comment on what you just witnessed.
Minho stops you before you can start. Shooting you a look you know far too well, he sighs, “Don’t.”
You’re as good a faker as you are a listener.
“He’s just trying to —”
He releases his grip on your belt loop. It’s the only reason you realize he’d still been holding on. Stopping at the landing, Minho turns to look back at you. “Can’t think of anything I want to do less than sit next to someone and have to hear about their fucking day.”
Eyebrows raised, you stare up at him. This time, you don’t say a word, letting your expression speak for you.
“With the ever-present risk that I’ll be murdered by the state tomorrow, forgive me if I’m not wasting today by listening to shit I don’t care about.”
There it is, you think.
The combat leader’s insistence that his life will only end one way: too soon and bloody.
That unexploded ordnance drops heavy between you. You step over it, joining him on the landing, and you don’t look back. Just at Minho, who watches you carefully for a reaction; whose tension leaves his muscles when the slight, upward curve of your mouth says, I understand.
Together, you climb the remaining flight until you reach the thick, steel door leading out to the roof. It’s barely functional, like the vast majority of the factory, and can’t shut all the way. With more force than is even remotely necessary, he kicks it fully open. The thick, rubber tread of his boot thuds against the metal. It’s quickly drowned out by the strangled squeak of its hinges.
You’re at least slightly thankful that those hinges don’t explode into a cloud of rust.
On his way to the ledge, Minho grabs two empty buckets from the pile of discarded odds-and-ends near the doorway. The rest of the pile — mainly two-by-four planks too busted to rehab and similarly spent range targets — threatens to collapse without its foundation, but neither of you stops to fix it. He leads, and you follow, ultimately coming to a stop near the ledge.
“So?” 
His insufficient question is underscored by the two buckets landing mouth-down on the concrete with twin thunks.
You’re still blinking through your confusion when he unceremoniously drops himself on the furthest bucket and when he stretches out his leg to tap the remaining one with the side of his boot. Coincidentally, you’re still waiting for the rest of his inquiry when you sit — much more gently — next to him. This time, it’s you who moves, nudging your chrome knee against his flesh-and-bone.
Minho finally takes the hint and continues, pulling out his flask as he does. “How was your day?”
The whiplash makes your neck ache.
Remind me again about the last thing you said to me.
After taking a swig without incident, he passes the flask to you. You take your sip — small, cautious — and immediately let out some clownish, choking noise when the strong notes of wooden barrel hit your taste buds.
“Oh, that’s —” You cough, nose scrunching. Whisky-laced breath slips out of your teeth in the form of a hiss. “Absolutely wretched, I fear.”
For the first time all night, Minho’s mask cracks, and a full-fledged laugh tumbles out of his mouth, high and clear as it cuts through the otherwise dead air.
“It’s not,” he counters. Without taking his eyes off your pout, he lifts a hand to catch the flask that you toss at him. “You’re just childish.”
In recompense, you swat his arm. 
He lets you.
“Shut up.” Your distinctly childish comeback is breathy because, like always, your laughter isn’t something you can successfully hide. “Am not.”
Another swig, no further incidents.
“Think you need to be demoted. Maybe I should start calling you baby instead of Spider.”
The violent flutter in your chest doesn’t seem to care that what it heard isn’t at all what he meant. For now, you let it happen. You focus instead on his creased eyes and barely-crooked smile; drink them in as quickly as you can, knowing that your window is closing.
As rare as it is, levity looks perfect on him.
While your laughter ebbs, the wind kicks up slightly, bringing a chill with it. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you watch browned leaves spin in pirouettes near your feet. Their presence here is surprising, given how devastating the War was to the ecosystem, but it’s welcomed. It’s a reminder sorely needed: nothing’s ever truly fucked beyond repair.
Minho pipes up suddenly, “You never answered me, you know.” And even though his voice is low, it startles you.
He’s too busy fiddling with the cap of his flask to see it when you turn your head to look quizzically at him. He probably missed the way you jolted just then, too, which is fine by you. Your goldfish brain is still trying to recall what he asked that went without a reply.
When you remain quiet, he supplies, “Your day.” 
As it turns out, you’re just as stunned by his question the second time he poses it. Part of you wants to remind him that he could be murdered by the state tomorrow, just in case he wants to reclaim his wasted time. The rest watches as his absentminded fidgeting stops, and his head lifts to look at you — not impatiently, not sardonically, but with the tiniest bit of insecurity scribbled into his slightly furrowed brow.
Oh.
Now, you’re frozen into silence for an entirely different, entirely devastating reason: he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t genuinely want to know.
A self-effacing laugh serves as a smokescreen for how fucking flustered that realization makes you. 
“Well, I had plans to go phishing, but they fell through.”
“Beach advisory?” He feigns a frown, making your lips curve upwards at the corners. “Those hypocrites at Thanotech really need to stop dumping their shit into the reservoir.”
At this, you laugh outright. 
This is the Minho that no one but you could pick out of a lineup: the one that will take a bit and run with it, who lets his guard down and catches you off yours. This one may not be yours — you know he isn’t, not really — but at times like this, when it’s just the two of you alone, it feels like he is.
“I’ll make sure to tell them you said so.” You pat his thigh, which tenses slightly in the second your palm rests on it. Redirecting your thoughts from where they’re headed, you pull your hand back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “I really think they’ll listen if they know Lee Minho’s the one asking.”
His eyes roll in response, but the amused smirk he wears doesn’t dissipate. It’s still there when he slowly leans closer, making your breath hitch. His hand shifts closer, too, and your pulse hammers harder with every millimeter that’s cast aside.
There’s an old saying about where the shame should fall when a person gets fooled twice. You practically feel it collide with your thick skull when, for the second time, Minho turns the tables. He nearly turns your pocket inside out in the process, hand snatching the yet-untouched packet of honey crisps before you even know what’s happening.
Just like last time, you put up no fight when he settles back into his own makeshift chair with a smug glint in his eyes. A forlorn sigh is covered by the racket of plastic ripping, followed soon after by a faint crunch.
“Speaking of bait,” he snickers once he’s swallowed. “What are you dangling?”
You really want to hate him for that segue, along with all the rest of his committed atrocities, but you can’t. So, you offer up the only thing you still have: 
Technobabble.
“The plan is to sneak in a program to mine data. So long as nobody interrupts me —” You pause to shoot him a pointed look. “— I’ll finish coding it tomorrow and fire it off at some grunt in Ulsan’s fiscal department using a cloned, corporate email account.”
“You think they’ll fall for it?” Minho asks, curiosity piqued.
You flash a grin. “I know they will. Nothing spooks a low-level employee quite like an overdue, mandatory, cybersecurity compliance attestation.”
If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he looks almost proud when he hears about the form of your Trojan horse. It’s certainly what you feel blooming in your chest, especially when you pluck the crisp from between his unsuspecting fingers and pop it into your own mouth.
“Once the program installs, it’ll start reaping what they have access to,” you explain. “I’m sure it’ll be limited at the start, quarterly budget reports and such.” 
You shrug dismissively, then look down at your hands. There’s no way this is interesting to someone that isn’t you, but he asked, and you’re answering, and you can’t seem to stop talking. 
“But those point me in the direction of invoices and their line items, which gets me to payment accounts, recipients, and other shit they don’t want me to know. It’s a paper trail leading to a paper trail, honestly, but it’s —”
“— how you weave a web.”
It stops your brain in its tracks, leaves your would-be sentence to peter out. You can’t remember the last time anyone followed where your explanations led, let alone saw the importance of all the tiny, tedious steps you take. All the intricacies of your carefully plotted architecture.
With you stalled out, Minho finishes that thought where he left off. “Strand by strand.”
“Yeah,” you exhale, warmth creeping from your chest to your cheeks. “Strand by strand.”
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You sit on that bucket on the roof for however long it takes for your ass to go numb, and then you sit some more. Hours, maybe a day or two — irrelevant, as far as you’re concerned. You have Minho next to you and a burgeoning sunrise ahead; and you’ll bask in the glow you’ve found there for as much time as you can.
Minho, it seems, has other plans.
He sighs and flattens his palms against his knees before standing, causing the bucket he’d been occupying to scrape against the concrete. The noise is what gets your attention, not the movement. You turn to look up at him. Your disappointment is more than likely broadcasted all over your face.
“Stay with me,” you whine before you can stop yourself.
Needy isn’t normally a word you’d use to describe yourself; you’re far from it. Now, though… In this moment, it might be written in blaring red letters on your forehead, judging by the extremely brief flash of surprise you see in front of you. It’s gone as quickly as it came. The twinge of embarrassment you feel sticks around to keep you warm.
Minho is quiet for a beat, like he’s got something to consider. Whatever he decides on, it makes his head tilt to the side. A devilish look takes over his features, washing from his narrowed eyes to his tilted lips. All mischief, he counters, “Fuck me.”
Why do those things have to be mutually exclusive?
You don’t voice your question out loud, even though you kind of want to scream it, because he holds his hand out to help you up, and instant gratification together feels so much better than waiting through a delay alone. So, you take his hand, just like he knew you would, and you follow. 
Back to the door, back down to the second level of the factory, back to your room in an otherwise unoccupied wing, until the door is shut softly behind you.
Every single one of your rendezvous has been different from the last. The time, location, everything varies, not unlike the version of himself that Minho lets you see. Even though the steps change completely from tryst to tryst, they still feel like they’ve been choreographed and rehearsed ahead of time.
For example, he’s never caged you against a wall and pinned your wrists one-handed above your head before, but your body reacts as if this is the sole position it was made to occupy in life.
His teeth nip at the side of your neck, and your head falls back instinctively. You don’t give a shit about the muted thump of your skull against the brick, but Minho seems to. 
“Watch yourself,” he murmurs, lips fluttering against your throat. Despite the muted volume, his tone carries an authority to it that makes even your chrome knee weak. “If you wind up with a concussion, I’m not explaining it to Doc.”
You gasp when his tongue flicks out to soothe the sting his teeth leave behind. Beyond desperate, you push up on your toes to bring yourself closer to his mouth. It’s further out of reach than you remember — it shouldn’t be. Barely a week has gone by since he last had you like this. 
Embarrassingly breathless already, you ask, “Have you gotten taller? What have they been feeding you?”
His knee comes forward slowly to nudge yours apart. You make room, letting his thigh press into the gap created. If his left hand wasn’t keeping you stretched up to your full height, you’d be riding that thigh by now.
“You know what I eat.”
Your eyes roll back. You’re not sure if that’s a reaction to his line or the way he clenches his thigh, shifting it further into the space between your spread legs. Either way, that taut muscle is only millimeters away from your cunt now; the low hum that rumbles from his chest says that he can feel the heat rolling off you in waves.
You want so badly to be able to touch him, cling to him, scratch your nails across his scalp and pull him in by his hair. You want him to touch you — really touch you — not just to tease you the way he is, threatening to mark you up with his mouth without following through. 
If you try to tug your arms down, will he let you?
Part of you hopes that he doesn’t. 
At least, not without consequences.
Minho can tell how fucking restless you are. You’re not surprised; you vibrate with want at a frequency he’s always been attuned to. Speaking any of it out loud would be redundant, so you save your breath. His fans warmth over the shell of your ear, pulling the hammer back: “What’s the matter, Spider? You don’t like being the one in the trap?”
You can’t help but tremble at that.
“Fine,” he tuts, finger on the trigger.
Your eyes widen in anticipation when his hand drops its hold on your wrists; and your arms fold slowly back down when he retracts. There’s a muted ache in your muscles from the strain they’d been put under. You can’t say that you mind.
His hands move next to his belt buckle, deft fingers making quick work of the metal before the two pieces dangle on either side of his zipper. That’s the image burned into your brain when he leans in close enough to kiss you. He doesn’t kiss you — he never does — but he finally fires at point blank range:
“Turn around.”
Bang!
It’s so unexpected that you don’t register it as real at first. Neither does Minho, whose demanding gaze stays glued to you. The noise comes again, louder than the first, and you hear the cry that comes with it through the door.
“Spider, are you there?”
Hyunjin.
It’s his voice, you know, but it doesn’t sound right at all. The air of self-assuredness he usually carries is long gone. Whatever’s replaced it sounds completely unlike him in a way that makes your stomach turn.
Minho puts distance between your bodies in the time it takes Hyunjin to push open the door. You notice that he forgot to address his belt buckle, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. The youngest among you is too visibly shaken to see it as he stumbles inside with red-rimmed eyes.
Oh, fuck.
Panicked, you shoot a quick glance at Minho, hoping he’ll see your alarm and know what to do with it. His eyes are locked onto Hyunjin, who comes to a stop in front of you; Minho’s expression is the definition of illegible.
Your hand lifts instinctively to Hyunjin’s shoulder. Apparently, that reassuring touch is all it takes to break the dam; to break him down into sobs.
“Hey!” You gasp, knitting your arms around his frame and hauling him towards you. His face slots into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, allowing his hyperventilated breaths to hit your skin directly. “Hey, it’s —”
You know better than to lie and say it’s okay. 
Minho may be fearless, but it’s Hyunjin that’s the least flappable in the entire group by a long shot. If you were to search back through the last decade, you wouldn’t be able to find a single moment where he seemed annoyed or anxious, let alone fucking devastated to the degree he currently is.
This is the farthest from okay things could possibly be.
You can’t tell if it’s heartbreak, nausea, or both that swells when you fill your fists with the back of his jacket and hold on tight.
From his spot two meters away, Minho cuts to the chase. “What happened to you?”
Hyunjin can’t answer, not at first. 
Maybe, you think, saying whatever it is out loud will confirm the reality of the situation. You don’t push him. Instead, you stop holding him long enough to pull him over to the far corner of your makeshift bedroom, where he drops down to sit on the mattress held off the floor by two wooden pallets. Despite his wiry frame, the force of his collapse makes the wood clatter against the concrete floor below.
When you take a spot beside him, it’s much less quickly, no more graceful. Hyunjin doesn’t mind the hand you place on his shoulder to keep yourself steady. If he hears the click at your manufactured joint over the sound of his own barely-regulated breathing, he doesn’t say so.
Still standing where he was left — where he left you, more like — Minho’s narrowed eyes hone in again on Hyunjin. The expression on his face is just as unreadable as before, and he still won’t look at you.
As much as that bothers you, your own feelings are never your first priority. You turn your head to look from Minho to Hyunjin, whose hands grip the black denim of his jeans like a lifeline. When the latter finally does speak, the explanation hemorrhages out of him, spilling and flooding until there isn’t much air left in the room to breathe.
Three things in particular hit you like a train:
The Bliss Beta is infinitely more insidious than you could’ve imagined — even for Ulsan — and its mass rollout is closer than you ever would’ve guessed.
You now have the data you need to find the servers running the Beta, which means there’s a chance that the way things currently are is the worst they’ll get.
There’s a guillotine blade looming over the Professor’s neck, and it’s your hand on the rope, obligated to let go. It’s your scale that’s tasked with weighing lives.
Nausea, you realize, almost too late.
You grab hold of the wastebasket near the foot of your mattress and squeeze your eyes shut while your honey twists leave you in a hurry.
He loves her.
He loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and there are fifty-one-million faceless reasons why he can’t have her. You feel the weighted stares of every single one of them on you when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, silver datashard. It’s thin, flat with sharp edges, but it’s a bullet if you’ve ever seen one.
When Hyunjin places it in your hand, your fingers don’t close around it. You can’t even look at it without feeling faint; your body won’t accept the weight of it in your palm. You avert your eyes, praying that your object permanence disappears along with it. 
And then that reflex kicks in again, craving some semblance of safety.
Minho is already watching you intently when you turn your head his way. The relief you feel is immediate, and you don’t have the energy left to pretend that’s not the case.
You love him.
You love him, you love him, you love him, and this goddamn horror show you’re living through feels survivable while he’s around, even if it isn’t. 
Maybe, you think, if you live to see the end, his presence will help you hate yourself less for the things you’re about to do to get there. That’s been the case so far, anyway. You’ve got a decade’s worth of scorched bridges behind you, and the ash on your face has never made him see you any differently.
Hyunjin clears his throat, dragging you back into the moment you don’t want to be a part of. 
“She said there’s multi-level encryption on this thing,” he mumbles, voice weak. His hand envelops yours and gently folds your fingers over your palm, as if he knows damn well you won’t do it yourself. “I don’t have to tell you this, but be careful, Spider. One move too many, and we’re all dead.”
You freeze; he stands, wiping invisible dirt from the front of his jeans. Nothing he attempts will make him feel clean, you know, but you don’t fault him for trying.
Before he can take a single step back towards your door, you reach out and grab his hand, preventing him from leaving.
“Keys,” you croak.
His eyebrows knit together.
“Cryptographic keys — characters. Numbers, usually.” You shake your head to realign your thoughts. It doesn’t do much; your explanation still comes out sputtering. “Each encryption is going to have a different algorithm altering its data, and it’ll be faster if I don’t have to write a separate program to try and find the strings I need.”
Judging by his face, the explanation makes sense, but he still looks as if he has no fucking idea what the answers might be.
For the first time in nearly an hour, Minho speaks. The suddenness of his participation makes both you and Hyunjin flinch.
“Dates,” he offers gruffly. “Ones that are significant to the two of you, maybe.”
The suggestion cracks against your skull like a baseball bat. 
Of all the things you could’ve expected him to say in the presence of someone other than you, something sentimental didn’t even come close to making the list. Hyunjin, it seems, is just as startled by this — by the appearance of your invisible friend, who’s spent ten years refusing to let this side of him be seen.
You make a note to ask Minho where this idea came from. If there are any dates he holds onto, with no one the wiser.
Hyunjin’s brow furrows for a moment while he thinks. Then, the light bulb behind his eyes flashes.
Eureka.
Dashing now towards the door, he calls out to you over his shoulder. “I’ll make you a list,” he promises breathlessly before he disappears altogether.
Without Hyunjin’s voice to fill it, the silence of your room roars in your ears. You need to shrug it off you, physically; move around so that you stop feeling like you’re being hydraulically pressed. 
In a wordless request for help, you hold your hand out to Minho. The jury’s still out as to what you want when he takes it: to drag him down to you, to be hauled to your feet, or to simply have it held. 
For the first time — possibly ever — he doesn’t take it.
Well-practiced hands drop to his belt buckle instead of reaching out to you. He re-fastens it quickly, and over the clink of metal, he grunts, “Stop looking at me like that.”
You blink rapidly when that sucker-punch statement hits you. “Looking at you like what, Minho?” You ask gently, as if your excess will make up for his lack.
“Like I’m your future.”
And just like that, he’s gone without another word or a backwards glance.
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Eleven days crawl by without you seeing or hearing from Minho. You struggle to keep count as they pass. You’re so preoccupied that there’s no real difference between them, leaving them all to bleed together. It doesn’t help that all ten nights so far have been more or less sleepless.
While you’d love to say that all your time awake has been productive, you’d be lying. Sure, you spend the vast majority of it with the bright light of your monitors boring into your retinas, but that doesn’t mean you’re actively engaging with the shit displayed there. Between your program and your spent brain, it’s your neural pathways that are most in need of re-writing.
“Goddammit,” you hiss when a shock jolts through your upper right thigh for the umpteenth time today alone. 
Halfway crazy from frustration, you glare down at your quad and see the remaining muscles there twitching violently. And even though it’s been over a year, your brain is still surprised to find that the source of your pain doesn’t exist at all.
That outburst from you certainly isn’t the first, yet it’s the one that catches Chan’s attention. Like you, he’s spent an unhealthy amount of his time in the Hub over the past week and a half, pouring over who knows what. It’s safe to assume that’s how he’d describe your work, too.
“Been especially bad lately, hasn’t it?” He asks, head popping up from behind a stack of files.
He probably doesn’t expect you to squeak out a laugh at the sight of him, but you can’t help yourself. 
“You look like a meerkat when you do that.” The frown you get in response only makes you giggle more, despite yourself. “Like an overworked, overtired, under-caffeinated meerkat.”
Chan works overtime to control his expression, steel himself. It doesn’t work. It never does, no matter how obnoxious you and your comrades are around him because at the end of the day, all he ever is, is fond.
He sighs as he sits up fully in his chair. “Spider.”
It’s funny, you think. He sounds just like your father when he takes that tone with you, although the name he uses is nowhere near the same.
“Talk to Doc.” Realizing he sounded more stern than he meant to, Chan’s mouth softens from a thin, straight line to a slight smile. He adds, “Please.”
And because you’re the best behaved of all his pseudo-children, you don’t put up a fight. You don’t roll your eyes the way Seungmin does, or do the exact opposite of what you’ve been told, like —
Don’t go there.
You just get up, ignoring the strong urge you feel to buckle at the knees and hit the floor, and push your chair back with the underside of your thighs. Chan sees the pained look on your face immediately and moves to stand up and help you. You wave him off.
“All good,” you lie through gritted teeth, bearing weight on your palm as you maneuver your way around your desk. 
Chan may not believe you, but he listens, nonetheless. While you guide yourself from your workstation on the far side of the room towards the door, you try very hard to ignore the thought that keeps ricocheting around your skull like a bullet, shredding whatever grey matter gets in its way.
There’s one person that line wouldn’t have worked on. 
It takes a considerable amount of time to hobble to Doc’s clinic, which is clear on the other side of the compound, but you eventually make it there without breaking too much of a sweat.
In a past life, the space was an employee locker room that featured shower stalls and toilets on one side, and numerous lockers and benches on the other. Jeongin tried his best, but the plumbing was fucked beyond repair; all the utilities were scrapped. Whatever useful parts remained were repurposed elsewhere, while the broken bits wound up in that pile of assorted garbage on the roof.
Don’t.
Due to the size of the space, there’d been a multi-day debate on what to use it for. In the end, the decision was made to give it new life as a makeshift field hospital because Minho was right. The tile and drainage system is ideal for —
Stop it.
When you push through the swinging, double doors and stagger inside, you learn that you’re not today’s only patient. On one of the cots up ahead, Doc’s nimble fingers work to stitch Scraps’ left eyebrow back together, while Felix paces in the background with his hands in his hair.
“I’m so —”
“Felix!” 
Scraps slaps her hands down onto her thigh. The sound echoes off the tile walls like a thunderclap, but she doesn’t flinch at the contact. Doc does, however. She freezes solid, needle-holder in hand.
If Doc is frustrated, she doesn’t show it. That bedside manner of hers is unparalleled. Her gentle voice sounds suspiciously like Chan’s when she pleads, “No violence until I’m done holding a needle near your eye.”
Scraps nods in acknowledgment, which only contributes to the panicked look on Doc’s face. You bite your lips to hold your laughter in as you amble closer and dump yourself onto a nearby cot.
“Seriously — stop apologizing,” Scraps calls over her shoulder. 
If it wasn’t for Doc’s gentle hold on her chin, you suspect that she’d turn her head to look at Felix outright. 
“I told you to raise the stakes, and you did. So, I owe you a gold star for being a good listener, I guess.”
The way he looks at her when she can’t even see him kind of makes you want to sob. That ache only grows when he puts his hands on either side of her head, leans down, and plants a kiss on her hair.
Meanwhile, Doc is muttering, “Please stop moving, please stop moving, please stop moving,” like those are the only words she knows. You feel as guilty as you do grateful; her distress is a sufficient distraction from your own.
“Done!” She chirps moments later. Relief washes over her in a heartbeat, releasing tension from every single muscle cell she has — like she’s successfully disarmed a bomb, rather than sutured a minor injury.
And even though she’s too polite to say it, you swear you can hear her thinking it:
Please leave now.
And they do. They fall into lockstep, with Scraps tucked under Felix’s arm and hers wrapped around his waist.
And you’re still staring at the door once it swings shut again, so lost in all your conflicting thoughts that Doc has to call your name twice to get your attention.
“You’re not due back in for another month or so.” She frowns. “What’s on your mind?”
As usual, you don’t know where to start. You don’t know how to turn the faucet on without overflowing the bathtub, either, so you just let it all pour out.
“Everything was fine — perfect, probably. Or the closest it’s going to get, I guess. Then — I don’t even know what happened, but he won’t fucking look at me now. Won’t talk to me, walks out of a room when I walk in, like he can’t even stand to ignore me in my presence.”
You suck in a breath through your teeth to make up for all the ones you skipped out on while you rambled on. 
Of course, that doesn’t mean you stop rambling.
“And I think it might be breaking my heart. I don’t know. I don’t — I don’t know what to do now. It’s very distracting,” you mutter, frowning. 
A laugh slips out to signal how uncomfortable you are with the sudden intentional vulnerability. It sounds more like the sort of hiccup that precedes a sob. 
“Stupid thing to fixate on when the world’s on fire, isn’t it?”
To say that Doc is taken aback would be an understatement. Her eyes go wide; her lips purse. She pauses for a moment before she ultimately whispers, “I meant your leg.”
You’d go dig your own grave out back if you could walk that far.
“Oh.”
Doc does you the favor of averting her eyes. She focuses instead on her lap, eyes widening without blinking, as if she’ll be able to see her way out of the conversation more easily that way.
Self-conscious now to the point of nausea, you play with the frayed edge of denim that lays over the end of your residual limb. You can’t help but wonder how many right-side pant legs you’ve chopped off over the last twelve months, and what those bits of fabric ended up being used for.
Maybe they’re in that pile on the roof.
“Is mirror therapy helping at all?”
You glance up at Doc. “Not as much as it used to,” you sigh. “I think my brain figured out I was trying to bamboozle it and threw another wall up. Those are all it has at this point — walls and holes.”
It’s quiet for a few moments. Now, you wonder if you’ve taken Doc out of her depth. You were her first — and thankfully remain her only — amputation. If anyone’s gonna stump her, it’s you.
You snicker at your own unspoken joke.
Get it?
“How much do you remember?” She asks, catching you off-guard. It was the fact that she asked you anything that surprised you, not the question itself, but she assumes she’s offended you. Quickly, she apologizes. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to talk about it.”
The truth is, the before and during are both incredibly vague. You know that you went with a small group to Ilsan, planning to fuck up one of WraithCo.’s supply lines, and that their ghouls caught wind of your plans. 
Beyond that, it’s anyone’s guess. The audio underscoring this montage in your mind is warped to all hell; the faces and voices are blurry, as if they’ve since been censored. Deleted, just like the lower two-thirds of your leg.
As for the after… All that comes to mind is pain, in one form or another.
Fighting off an infection, which left your waking hours in some fever-filled daze that only stopped when the various meds worked their magic and knocked you back unconscious.
Being bed-ridden for an eternity after that fever broke and the infection cleared, too exhausted and depressed to keep your eyes open. 
Aching all over as you forced your body to remember how to walk, too obsessed with your newfound crumb of independence to let anyone see you stumble.
Self-imposed isolation to hide the toll it’d all taken on you, and the frustration that came with knowing what you were doing but being unable to stop yourself.
“Nothing I wouldn’t mind forgetting,” you finally say.
Doc hums thoughtfully but offers nothing beyond a tiny frown. The part of you that wants to know why she’s asking is overrun by the part of you that fears what she’ll tell you; clearly, she’s similarly torn.
Add this to the list of things you’ll have to learn to live without.
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Time continues to both slip and crawl by. Days are gone before you can blink; nights encase you in cement, trap you in place. You know it’s not a coincidence. You’re only alone after dark.
Still, it’s not all bad. You’ve certainly been more productive lately, whether or not you truly want to be. That’s not a coincidence, either. You’re capable of accomplishing quite a bit when the only person you truly want to talk to has no interest in listening.
If he did want to listen, you might tell Minho that he was right about the keys to the encryption being linked to dates. You could thank him, if he’d hear you out. Maybe you’d finally summon up the courage to ask where the idea came from.
What if…?
These little hypotheticals of yours only get more painful, the longer you steep in them, and you’re no good at reining your mind in when it starts wandering. It runs off in the same direction every time it goes — back to the night you finished peeling back all the layers.
You know there’s no point in imagining the ways Minho would’ve distracted you then because he didn’t. He was nowhere to be found; and you cried alone in your room, overwhelmed by both the relief of having answers and the all-consuming guilt of knowing what — and who — it cost to get them.
A familiar, prickling feeling at the corners of your eyes pulls you back to the present. You tilt your head back and blink rapidly to keep the dam from breaking. Part of you is proud. This might be the first time you’ve ever managed to keep your feelings to yourself.
“My halmoni always said that holding back your sneezes like that takes a year off your life.”
With a jolt, you snap to attention. Your neck does the same, head falling back down so quickly that your teeth click painfully against one another. The surprise — and the inadvertent scowl it prompts — melts away when you register Jeongin in the doorway.
You frown, although you laugh a little. “That’s horrifying, kid.”
If Jeongin sees you swipe the back of your thumb over your cheekbones, he doesn’t say so. He simply ambles into the Hub and finds his usual spot at the far side of the central table. 
“She said the same thing about being under streetlights when they burn out,” he tuts, taking a seat. He blinks through thoughtful silence for a moment before re-focusing newly-widened eyes on you. “Now that I think about it, she did die young...”
You would’ve loved to hear that theory play out, but the opportunity flies out the door as soon as Hyunjin walks through it. The comment you want to make about his surprising punctuality is swallowed down just as quickly as it bubbles up. His expression tells you that he’s not up for much of anything, let alone teasing. With a cursory nod, he acknowledges that he is, at the very least, capable of noticing his surroundings.
Unfortunately, you’re not capable of looking at him — seeing the state of him — without your bleeding heart cracking right in half.
Chan serves as a sufficient distraction, thankfully. He enters shortly after Hyunjin with both Seungmin and Doc in tow. He ignores the former’s nagging about who knows what and ushers the latter to the chair next to the head of the table. He doesn’t sit, though you wouldn’t have expected him to; he never does. Instead, he stands at the back of his chair with his eyes flicking expectantly over to the door.
In the time it takes you to cross from your workstation to your usual folding chair, the guest list doubles. Holding up the wall in the corner, Jihoon stands with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. To his right, Scraps sits on a rare patch of free space on Chan’s desk, legs swinging idly as they dangle; and to his left, you spy the cat-eyed girl whose name you still haven’t learned. All you know about her is that she works under Hyunjin, and they’re so in-sync that people have taken to calling them siblings.
You see no similarities between them now, however. She has light left in her eyes.
Several others filter in as the minutes pass, most of whom you haven’t yet crossed paths with. Well, you might have. Your days all run together; your short-term memory isn’t firing on all cylinders. You don’t take the opportunity to register their faces now, though. Your eyes only linger for the second it takes to confirm who they aren’t.
Chan turns his head to you, earning your attention. “Where’s —?”
Doc shoots him a look that interrupts his question before he can finish it. She knows what he doesn’t, after all: You’re currently the worst person to turn to for information on Minho’s whereabouts, even though you used to be the first.
Behind you, a heavily-accented voice chimes in, “He’s with little Yongbokie on an errand. They should be back soon.”
You don’t have to turn around to know who’s speaking. Sierra, as she’s known within the collective, has the sort of presence you can feel, even when she can’t be seen. It’s still unclear to you how she wound up a world away from the island she grew up on, but you’re glad that she did, and that she’s on your side. If she wasn’t —
Well…
Suffice it to say, there’s a reason why this foreign mercenary is called what she is — two reasons, actually, according to her native language — and neither bodes well for enemies. Specifically, there’s a mountain of bodies behind her, all of them hacked to bits by those blades she’s so fond of. 
Yeah, you think. Definitely better to keep her close.
“Just start without them,” she snaps at Chan, eye roll evident in her tone. 
Despite outranking her, Chan can’t hide the uneasiness that comes with being addressed by Sierra directly. You watch him swallow the lump in his throat before he clears it fully. “Everyone, listen up,” he says with the sort of gentle authority only he’s capable of. 
You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. It’s such a stark contrast to the tone that goaded him to speak in the first place.
Still, a hush falls over the Hub immediately.
“I know some of you have heard whispers about this. I don’t necessarily trust that the rumors swirling are accurate —” 
Pointedly, Chan looks at Jeongin, who’s often the point in the relay where things go horribly wrong. The youngest never intends to pass on off-base gossip, but his attention span is about as poor as his audio processing. Jeongin ducks his head down; the tips of his ears go a dangerous shade of red.
“— so I’d like to make sure our record is straight.” Chan claps his hands, and as he rubs his palms together, he turns on his heel towards your side of the table. “Take it away, Spider,” he sings, beaming.
You turn your head quickly to the left and then to the right, searching for whoever the hell he’s truly cold-calling because it simply cannot be you. He knows better; he has to. For the decade you’ve worked together, you’ve hidden behind your screens because you don’t have the stomach for this leadership shit — especially not public speaking. It’s why you nominated him to run the show.
Eyebrows disappearing into your hairline, you stare incredulously back at him, silently begging him to pick the gauntlet back up.
Meanwhile, at least twenty pairs of eyes burn holes into you, like sun rays through a magnifying lens.
Fitting.
“Well,” you eventually manage to squeak out. “I — um… I spent the last month or so spelunking into confidential files relating to the — uhh — the Bliss Beta?”
It’s not a question. You don’t know why you made it sound like one.
Collapsing in on yourself, you knot your fingers on the table in front of you and stare down at your hands. “There’s a facility, it turns out, in — umm —”
“Is this going to take long? If it is, I can go and grab snacks.” Seungmin, from his spot across the table, smirks at you in such a way that you might — for the first time in your life — choose violence. 
That is, if his jokes at your expense didn’t have your nervous stomach churning even harder, sending bile up your throat.
That is, if a cold voice didn’t fly out of nowhere, primed to eviscerate Seungmin before you can even process your own reaction. 
“It’ll be a bit hard for you to chew after swallowing all your teeth, don’t you think?”
You hadn’t noticed Minho enter, but you find him easily now that he’s given himself away. He leans casually against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, leaving his tone as the only indication that he is, in fact, bothered. Everyone that had previously been standing near the door must’ve cleared a perimeter at some point — undoubtedly without being told to.
In response, Chan’s warning look is bifurcated, shot off to both men with equal, albeit subtle force. Seungmin’s face gives way to something apologetic. You can see it in his eyes that he thought he was being funny; that there’s no malice, only an inability to read a fucking room. To the contrary, Minho’s expression is pure venom, jaw set so tight that his teeth could crack.
He may have just interjected on your behalf, but he doesn’t look at you for more than a split second, as if he didn’t mean to concede even that much time.
And even though it feels illegal somehow, you keep your eyes fixed on him, as if you’ll catch another sliver of acknowledgement.
“In Cheongju,” you continue shakily. Your voice barely registers above a whisper, like you’re speaking to a single person, rather than a room full of them. “There’s a facility in Cheongju. All the servers currently associated with the Beta are operating out of there.”
Despite your anxiety, you manage to laugh. “They’re sitting ducks, really. Terrible planning from a security standpoint — either stupidity or arrogance.”
“Both,” Jihoon adds gruffly. If you’re not mistaken, he directs his next line at Seungmin. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
You know it wasn’t his intention, but you crack a tiny smile, nonetheless. “Comorbidities, aren’t they?” 
As soon as you say it out loud, your cheeks set to burning. You send a panicked glance to Doc and duck your head, like your fear of looking stupid isn’t on full display. “Please tell me I used that term correctly,” you mutter, feeling instant relief when she nods and a profound sense of comfort when she pats your still-clenched hands.
“So, what are we going to do about it?” Sierra cuts to the chase, as she often does. “Arson?”
Her eyes sparkle at the suggestion. You find yourself surprised that she’s offered something so tame. Only a week ago, her response to seeing a cockroach in the canteen was to shoot at it.
Not for nothing, you’re also surprised by how endearing you still find that little anecdote — but maybe you shouldn’t be. It’s not the first time you’ve developed a soft spot for someone so sharp.
Reflexively, you look over at Minho. You see his eyes flicker, like he’d averted them just in time to miss yours. It’s the only reason you have to believe that he’d been watching you, save for the inexplicable warmth you’d felt crawling up your neck.
You don’t know what to do with any of that.
“Destroying the servers would only be a bandage,” you sigh. “I want to fully eradicate the program itself, which means those servers need to remain intact — for now.”
“So, we do it like Daegu, then?” Felix suggests. Judging by his sudden participation, he’s overjoyed to have something to contribute to a conversation he wouldn’t normally follow. “We broke in and set up that…. thing for you, in that room that was like an…. air-conditioned microwave?”
You bite down on your lips to keep from laughing. It’s a miracle that he remembers the Thanotech raid at all with the concussion he sustained in the process. It’s even more incredible that he remembers the non-technical explanation you gave for the server room within that data center.
Shaking your head, you frown. “I need to be on-site for this one.”
“Absolutely not. Fuck no.”
Across the room, Minho now stands fully upright. His hands are no longer in his pockets; they hang at his sides, clenched tightly.
You can’t help the incredulous scoff you let out. Bold of him, you think, to write you off completely and then attempt to dictate where and when you get to exist. That slap in the face still stings, but you keep your tone as light as possible. 
“If something goes wrong, or if things have changed from the schematics I was able to access, I won’t be able to handle it remotely. I need to be there to troubleshoot.” And even though it goes without saying, you remind him anyway: “We’re not getting a second crack at this.”
“I know you don’t remember Ilsan, but I do,” Minho glowers, tone as dark as his eyes. The rest of the room falls into a charged silence; everyone is too tense to breathe, let alone speak. “I remember carrying three-quarters of your body out of Ilsan and spending weeks at your bedside.”
Just like that, the air in your lungs turns to cement. 
How do you admit to not knowing he was even there? 
And what the hell are you supposed to do with this information now that it’s reaching you for the first time — a year after the fact — in front of an audience? 
You try to start somewhere. “Minho —”
“No. I won’t do that again.” His voice is sharp when it cuts you off, but there’s a crack in the blade, so microscopic that you wonder if you’re imagining things. He clears his throat to try and keep himself even. “You don’t get to make that call.”
Here comes that prickling feeling again, causing tears to spring up at the corners of your eyes. You clench your jaw and try to wish them away.
It’s Chan that speaks next. “You’re right. Spider doesn’t get to make that call,” he concedes. Then, his expression turns to stone. “I do. She said there’s no way around it, so she’s going —”
Minho seeks to interrupt, but Chan raises his hand and stops him in his tracks. You want to argue, too, because you’re right here and don’t need to be spoken about, as if you’re not in the room. The leader plows through, unaffected.
“— and because you know what the stakes are, your only job is to keep her safe.”
If the anguished look on Minho’s face says anything, it’s that he wants nothing to do with the burden of keeping you — what’s left of you, rather — in one piece. 
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The briefing continues after his outburst, but Minho doesn’t hear a word of it. It all flows past him, waterlogged and warped, without sinking in. He finds it hard to give a shit about that fact, though. 
Clearly, his input doesn’t matter. Worse, the sole order that’s been made of him is fucking redundant. He can’t imagine that the rest of them would mean much, so what does it matter if he didn’t pay attention?
He’s halfway out the door by the time Chan wraps up. Dodging eye contact, Minho turns to leave outright, to disappear somewhere and lick his wounds. One last lash manages to hit him as he goes: 
When you cross the room, you’re not headed his way. No, your quick steps take you straight to Jihoon.
Minho knows that he has no right to feel this bitter. He should be grateful that his pushing you away is having the intended effect — that you might’ve found someone other than him to lean on — but the relief he’s been waiting to feel is nowhere to be found.
It never is.
The quick fixes he’s gotten of you in back rooms and shadows didn’t satiate him, either. Cutting you out completely has only proven to be more of the same ache.
Unwilling to watch the consequences of his own actions unfold, Minho turns sharply out of the doorway. Automatically, his feet carry him down the hall, up the stairs towards the roof. His brain might tell him otherwise if it wasn’t currently swimming, but his body acts on its own, seeking out the last place and time where he didn’t feel like this.
It’s a bad call, he realizes as he ascends.
He’ll never be able to recreate a scene with half the cast absent. The stage directions are fucked now. There’s no reason to take the steps one at a time now that he’s alone, but he still does. Without context, his motivations make no sense; and his hands don’t know what the hell to do without a belt loop hooked underneath one of his fingers. They twitch in the absence of denim. 
With every step, he repeats his only line:
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
And when he reaches that busted fucking door and kicks it with everything he has, no one looks at him with amused disapproval.
It’s all wrong.
Steel hits cement with a sickening clang that’s still ringing out as he stalks over to the ledge and drops himself down on a familiar, overturned bucket. Its counterpart sits unoccupied at his side. Minho can’t look at it, can’t get up to throw it off the fucking roof, can’t do anything except simmer in his rage because —
Your only job is to keep her safe.
He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and shouts into the void above, “Fuck!”
As if he needs to be told. 
As if he hasn’t been trying to do exactly that for all the years he’s known you, driving nails further into his own goddam coffin with every second spent in your web.
Elbows come to rest on his knees. His face falls, too, until it drops into his palms. No matter how hard he tries to control his breathing, it comes out through gritted teeth, seething.
The fucking audacity.
Even if Minho hasn’t given you a reason to know better, Chan should. He’s seen better, firsthand.
Every time Chan stopped by the clinic to check in on you, he found Minho already sitting next to your glorified cot, watching your sleeping form like a hawk for any sign of distress. 
Chan didn’t need to ask how your hair ended up in poorly-executed braids because the unskilled hands that made them were wringing themselves at your side. He never needed to ask why, either. When you finally stopped thrashing through nightmares, you didn’t wake up to find yourself tangled in inescapable knots.
Keep her safe.
That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? 
When his candle gets snuffed out — and he knows it will, can feel it in his bones that this is it — who’s going to keep you safe? 
Hyunjin doesn’t have the capacity — not anymore. Minho was there with you the night Hyunjin’s whole world exploded into pieces. You saw love, but Minho saw your future. He sees it every time he looks at Hyunjin, who’s still listless, still lingering on the periphery like a fucking ghost. Hyunjin will never be the same, and if Minho lets himself get any closer to you than he already has, you’ll wind up just as empty.
Then who?
Chan is too busy. Doc is just as preoccupied, and as kind as she is, she’s never understood you — not really. Felix and Scraps can barely manage themselves; you’ll fall through the cracks amidst their bullshit shenanigans. Neither Seungmin nor Jeongin can be trusted with anything —  or anyone — this important. They’re both fucking disasters in their own right, although Jeongin may eventually grow out of that. Changbin is too reclusive, and so is Jihoon; Jisung’s an anxious mess. Sierra is, at absolute minimum, insane.
And Minho may be the worst of them, but he tried his best for you. He’s still trying, even though that means keeping you as far away from him as possible.
“Fuck,” he repeats, albeit much less strongly.
That pathetic, choked-out word hits the air and dissipates quickly, leaving Minho alone in self-imposed exile. He stays there until sunrise, when the unoccupied bucket to his left becomes too visible to tolerate.
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The next time Minho steps foot in the Hub, it’s much less crowded than the last. In fact, for what might be the first time ever, he’s beaten everyone else in. It’s no wonder; his stomach has been churning for hours now, and it was useless to keep laying in a bed he couldn’t sleep in.
Because life is far from fair, you’re the second to arrive. He doesn’t have to see you enter to know it; definitely doesn’t need to look up to confirm that it was your deliberate, slightly uneven footfalls he heard coming up the hall. It’s a reflex, though. His gaze lifts just in time to meet yours.
“Oh,” you peep, eyes bright despite the dark circles below them. “Hi.”
You seem startled to find Minho here ahead of you. Warranted, he thinks. The sunshine you cast on him isn’t, but you don’t try to withhold it — or maybe you can’t. As much as he loves that about you, it confuses the shit out of him and scares him just as badly. You either didn’t get the memo when you chose this life, or you don’t feel the crushing weight of it yet: 
Sparks like yours can’t last forever.
His voice sounds like gravel after last night’s anxious reflux, but he echoes you, nonetheless, “Hi.”
And then Chan walks in. He stops short when he sees the two of you, eyes flicking from your face to Minho’s with barely-hidden intrigue. Somehow, he misses the daggers Minho shoots at him with eyes alone.
“I re-routed everyone else to the vans and told them to load their shit. You ready?” Chan poses the question to both of you, but his focus is fixed solely on you. It lingers for a moment, settles in somewhere between the lines. 
Minho doesn't know what’s going on, but he does know that he hates whatever it is.
You nod. Whether that’s in response to what was asked or what wasn’t, he can’t say. Your mouth sits in a tight, straight line. That, Minho can easily translate to feigned confidence. You’re not ready; you’re not good at bluffing, either. 
He sees his window in that bit of doubt and tries to leap through it. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
It doesn’t sound as firm as he wants it to. If you listen closely — and you always do — it probably sounds like he’s pleading, which feels both alien and illegal to Minho. He clears his throat. “We can do this without you, Spider. I’m serious. Tell me how to get you set up for remote access, and I’ll —”
“I don’t know how many more times I have to say this for you to understand: You can’t do this without me. You need me.”
Despite what you say, there’s no heat in the way you say it. It sounds like you’re pleading, too — scratching at the door to be let in. He knows you well enough to catch the subtext; to know that you’re not just talking about the job. But Minho can’t make his mouth move. Likewise, he can’t turn away.
Stop looking at her like she’s your future.
Chan doesn’t have time for the thousands of things going unsaid, so he interjects with an exasperated grunt, “Vans.” He points to the clock before gesturing between you and Minho. “Ten minutes, or you’re both walking to Cheongju.”
Neither of you moves once he clears the threshold and disappears again. Say something, he tells himself. Say anything.
He doesn’t.
“You didn’t sleep last night,” you muse, eyes narrowing slightly with concern. It’s not a question. There’s no uncertainty in the way you look at him, although that’s nothing new. “I read somewhere that peppermint gum helps with reflux.” 
You shrug, like it’s simply a fact you’re sharing. It’s not. It’s the millionth way you’ve found to say “I love you” without using those words.
Minho slips off the empty workstation desk he’s been sitting on, dusts off the back of his jeans once he’s back at his full height. With a nod of his head, he gestures to your workstation. “Take what you need,” he advises quietly.
When he moves towards the door, you move forward into the room. Your paths cross in the middle, but Minho keeps his distance, too aware of that magnetism of yours to take any risks now. Upon reaching the door, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder to call out your name. As if you were anticipating it, you look up from the desk drawer you’re combing through.
He freezes for a moment, although he doesn’t mean to. You might be the only person capable of catching him off-guard. Once his brain stops lagging, he says only half of what he wants to: “Don’t forget your mask.
Hurriedly, like you really would’ve forgotten, you pull open a drawer and fish out a black gaiter, which you then tuck into the zippered pocket of your jacket. Instantly, Minho’s posture gets a little less rigid. Not for nothing, yours does, too.
“Thanks,” you sigh. The corners of your mouth raise slightly. From what he’s been hearing lately, this might be the closest you’ve been to smiling in weeks. Your reaction stops when you notice the way he’s halfway out of the room. “No need to wait on me. I’ll meet you in the loading dock in a minute.”
Minho stalls, feet unwilling to move, until you go back to gathering items. He nods once, as if you’ll even see his acknowledgment, then slips off into the hallway without you.
The loading dock he’s headed for is on the opposite side of the factory, but his anxiousness propels him there in half the usual time. His team is loitering around the two vans when he reaches them: one unmarked, one branded, both stolen.
Felix grins from the hood of the primary vehicle, where he sits cross-legged. He slaps his hands on the white metal below and proudly states, “I told you it would work.”
“Let me guess.” Minho looks over at Scraps. “You were the one who hot-wired them.”
She glances apologetically at Felix, then turns back to Minho with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “He tried his best,” she sighs. “If we had all day, he probably would’ve succeeded.”
At this, Felix’s grin droops into a cartoonish frown. “What do you mean probably?”
Minho rolls his eyes. “Enough — and go put a hat on, or you’re getting a full balaclava.” He points to the mess of blue hair spilling onto Felix’s shoulders. “If your fashion statement gets us pinged on a security camera, I’ll kill you myself —”
A laugh rings out behind him. He turns on his heel to find Sierra snickering at Felix’s reddening cheeks, both tattooed hands covering her mouth as she does.
“— and you know better,” Minho snarks, pointing straight at her. “Gloves. Now.”
Scraps’ eyes are as wide as the moon when Minho swivels back towards her. She doesn’t give him the opportunity to say it; she’s already shoving her decorated arms into the sleeves of a plain, black jacket and zipping it up as high as it’ll go. He hears relief leave her in a quiet sigh when his focus finds who he’s truly been looking for.
A few meters away, Jeongin is buried so far under the hood of the secondary van that his feet barely touch the ground. With his target now acquired, Minho crosses to the neighboring bay.
“Well?” He demands, “Did you find them?”
The younger one startles at the sudden questioning; there’s a dull thud when he smacks his head on the underside of the hood.
Jeongin groans, “Aigo,” and carefully ducks his head until it clears the obstacle above him. His cheeks are pink and smattered with both dirt and grease — and the mess only gets worse when he mindlessly wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his semi-blackened hand. 
“Behind the radiator on this one.” Jeongin then thumbs over his shoulder to the van Felix sits on. “That one was attached to the undercarriage, near the fuel tank.”
With a grunt, Jeongin exhumes himself from the engine compartment and hops to his feet. It’s completely unnecessary, but he drops the tracker he just detached onto the concrete and smashes it under his steel-toed boot. 
“You won’t need the GPS blocker anymore, so make sure to turn it off,” he advises. And he clearly didn’t learn his lesson thirty seconds ago because he taps one of his temples, leaving a dirty fingerprint behind. “Otherwise, it’ll interfere with your comms.”
Jeongin then blinks up at Minho like he’s expecting a pat on the head. 
Over my dead body. 
Minho instead points at the shards of plastic littering the ground. Affect flat, he tells his junior to clean that shit up, which is the closest he will ever fucking get to you did good, kid. The second Minho steps away, Jeongin drops down to hurriedly scoop the broken bits into his palm.
While he waits on the rest of the group — namely you — to roll up, Minho busies himself with checking supplies. 
The unmarked van will carry the backup team to a rendezvous point half a kilometer away from the Ulsan facility, just in case. For this reason, it’ll also carry the big guns, which — like the vans themselves — were nicked from corpo rats. The seats inside were gutted immediately to clear out a cargo area. The trip sure as shit won’t be comfortable, but six people and a few ammo bags will fit inside without much issue. 
Most importantly, there’s enough room for Minho’s crown jewel: a goddamn, motherfucking anti-tank gun. He’s been dying to try it out since the WraithCo. raid that brought it into his possession, but he has a sinking feeling that he never will.
Moving on to the primary van, Minho notes the logo emblazoned on the side. This one was harder to steal than its counterpart, but you stressed the necessity, and he made it happen. Now, when the infiltration team drives up to the facility, it’ll be under the guise of the outsourced IT company that Ulsan uses for routine maintenance. 
According to the data you managed to reap, Ulsan’s made two glaring security errors, likely because they assume they’re infallible — not handling their own shit in-house, and scheduling their tech contractors to pop by on the same dates every month. Both details were barely footnoted in the reports; anyone but you wouldn’t have thought twice about them.
Something twinges in his chest when his thoughts start wandering in your direction, so Minho shakes his head to clear them. It doesn’t work. Instead, it seems to summon you. You step onto the loading dock a few seconds later.
You’ve changed since Minho left the Hub. The lapse in time makes sense now that his eyes sweep over your frame. The black jeans you’re wearing now aren’t chopped halfway up the right side. In order to conceal that highly recognizable part of you, you struggled through the significant extra time it takes to get your artificial foot through the openings — and he didn’t have to tell you to do any of this, unlike the rest of the team.
It’s been so long since you’ve been one of the boots of the ground that he underestimated you. Clearly, he shouldn’t have because you haven’t skipped a single detail. The treads of your boots have been filed down; but the platform sole remains intact, concealing the brand and size, as well as your true height. Specially-designed black gloves cover your hands, so you can utilize whatever touchscreens and keys you come across without leaving your trace behind. Likewise, the gaiter you grabbed at the last minute rests just below your chin, ready to cover your mouth and nose.
His breath catches in his throat when he sees the long-sleeved black top hanging loosely and hiding your figure. He wants to ask if you remember, but he doubts you do. You borrowed it from him so many years ago that it might as well be yours now.
To stop himself from staring, Minho starts to address the group. “Now that our guest of honor has shown up —”
“We still need Jihoon,” you interject with one finger raised, gently asking Minho to wait.
“What?” Minho can’t keep the confusion off his face, and he can’t wrap his head around this curveball you’ve thrown. Incredulously, he scoffs, “It’s a covert break-in.”
There isn’t a single reason he can think of to include the demolitions expert in something requiring finesse.
You don’t respond with words; your eyes flick to Chan, which is enough of a hint. The two of you are planning something — keeping him in the dark about something — but Minho can’t figure out what or why. The leader doesn’t provide much in the way of explanation. All he offers is, “We need a driver and an extra pair of eyes,” as if that’s the whole truth.
Whatever.
The second Jihoon finally walks through the door, Minho immediately starts his briefing.
The main team — including you, Chan, Felix, Sierra, Jihoon, and Minho himself — will head straight to the facility. The reinforcements — Scraps, Changbin, Eunjae, Sunwoo, Hongjoong, and some fucker from Texas known only as “Cowboy” — will wait just outside the property line with range weapons, ready to party with any gatecrashers.
On site, Felix and Sierra will take out security at the gate; only two men guard that post at any given time. Meanwhile, you’ll slip in and disable the remaining security measures: cameras, mainly, although the alarm system is your biggest priority. To get everyone inside, you’ve cloned the badge of a mid-level researcher who, like the Professor, has authorization beyond the front desk.
From there, the interior group will divide into watchdogs and infiltrators. Given the relatively small size of the building, it shouldn’t take long to get you to the control room, where you’ll take a crack at the main computer housing the Beta’s program. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be in and out within 30 minutes.
Nothing ever goes as planned, though. That Ilsan mission was simpler with significantly lower stakes, and it was a fucking nightmare. Minho can’t think about anything else when he crawls into the back of the van next to you.
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For over two hours, Minho has been sitting cross-legged on the floor of this godforsaken van. His brain, unlike his body, is wholly fucking incapable of staying still. No matter how hard he tries to ground himself, he can’t shake the chill running down his spine or the voice in his head. It just keeps repeating the same thought, over and over: 
This van will be missing passengers on the drive back.
“It’s your turn, Minho.”
His head snaps up. Instead of Atropos and her scissors, it’s Felix staring back at him, smiling curiously. Warmly. Minho’s pulse should ease up at the realization, but it doesn’t.
He clears his throat, although his voice still comes out jagged. “My turn?”
“He’s asking everyone what they’re going to do with their lives when this is all over,” you explain. Minho turns his head to look at you. For once, he can’t decipher the look on your face. You laugh when you squeeze his bent knee gently, adding, “Don't worry. I didn’t have an answer, either.”
But it’s not an answer that he lacks, it’s time.
Don’t you know that I’m already dead?
The van slows considerably, shifting from paved roads to gravel. Then, it stops entirely. Jihoon turns in his seat and squints through the holed, metal divider between the cabin and the back of the van. 
“Spider?” He calls out over his shoulder, and it’s no wonder he struggles to identify you. Everyone sitting in this unlit area is cloaked in black from head to toe. 
To help him out, you raise your hand and wave. Even if the dark gloves you’re wearing aren’t visible, your smile is. Your voice is just as bright when you chirp, “Over here!”
Minho sees Jihoon smile for the first time in all the years he’s known him. If he was anyone else, that flicker at the corner of his mouth wouldn’t count for shit; but Minho’s no stranger to steel or your uncanny ability to bend it. He knows your impact when he sees it.
“End of the line,” Jihoon reports. “The next time I stop, you’ll need to sneak out the side. I can see a camera positioned directly above the security vestibule, pointing downward from the left. The van will create a blind spot if you stay low to the ground.”
Now, Jihoon’s involvement is starting to make sense. He’s one of only four people who joined the Black Screen within the last year — after the Ilsan disaster, which led to the incorporation of masks into all field ops. Out of the entire organization, his face is one of the only ones that won’t tip off the guards.
Until the next news cycle, Minho thinks ruefully.
Once the driver is satisfied that the passengers are on the same page, he turns around and sets the van back into motion. Every dip in the uneven road below throws your shoulder against Minho’s; and every time you collide, he wants to wrap his arm around you to keep it from happening again. He doesn’t. Eventually, the opportunity disappears along with the faint crunch of gravel beneath the tires.
The brakes squeak slightly when the van stops a second time. Minho can’t hear the conversation Jihoon is making with the security staff from where he sits, just the slow-motion movements of you, Felix, and Sierra as the three of you inch the side door open and spill onto the driveway like molasses.
All Minho has left to do is wait — for you to come back or for shots to be fired. His pulse picks up when seconds slip by without either of those options playing out. 
It’s funny, he thinks as he pulls his rifle into his lap, that the thing bringing him comfort now is designed to take it away. His thumb hovers over the selective fire switch, flexing in anticipation. Any second now, all his best laid plans will explode. 
It’s only a matter of time until —
“All clear,” comes your voice through static.
Minho flinches. In all the tense silence, he’d completely forgotten about the earpiece he’s wearing. The breath he’d unknowingly been holding leaves him in a hurry, taking the tension in his shoulders with it as he deflates.
“Meet us at the fire exit on the northeast side. I shut off the emergency alert system, too, so we shouldn’t have any issues getting into that stairwell.”
Jihoon is already pulling the van around by the time you finish speaking. In a matter of seconds, he pulls up to the door in question and shifts gears to park. 
You’re standing in the doorway when Minho’s feet hit the ground, eyes crinkling when you see him with a smile he can’t otherwise see. He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he addresses Sierra first. She’s got blood on her temple, and Minho can’t tell whose it is. 
“You didn’t make a mess, did you?” He asks, frowning slightly.
“This is business, not pleasure, so no.” She rolls her eyes. The sigh she lets out reeks of disappointment. “Wrung out their necks like chickens and shoved their bodies into cabinets.”
Glancing quickly at Minho, Felix figures out where his leader’s eyes are focused. “Not hers,” he clarifies, nodding to Sierra. With the back of his sleeve, he reaches over and gently wipes the blood from her face, like he’s cleaning gochujang off a child. “Didn’t leave a trace, though.”
That’s all Minho cares about, so he asks no further questions. Instead, he checks his watch before looking up to check on you. He doesn’t pose the question, but you answer him, regardless; and when you do, you accompany it with your thumb raised.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“All good!”
You then gesture with that thumb to the stairwell over your shoulder and ask, “Shall we?”, as if you’re inviting him to dance.
“You two —” Minho points to Felix and Sierra respectively, drawing their attention. “Station yourselves along the main hallway. If anyone so much as pokes their head out of a doorway, blow it the fuck off. No witnesses.”
Both nod in acknowledgment, but it’s not enough, not when your life is in his hands. He glares expectantly at them, waits in silence until they get the hint.
In tandem, they repeat, “No witnesses.”
Good enough.
Wordlessly, Minho waves his hand and sends them on their way to the second floor. He doesn’t budge until he sees the tops of their heads through the window, disappearing past the landing. Seconds later, Felix’s voice sounds off in Minho’s ear to advise him that the area is clear.
He turns back to the three people standing behind him to ensure they’re ready to move in. The second he sees the pistol in your grip, his stomach lurches so violently that he really might vomit on his boots. 
It’s categorically fucked — so fundamentally, intrinsically wrong — that you’re standing here now with lethal force in your hands. Over ten long years, you’ve never fired a single shot in combat; never stolen the light from someone’s eyes while you’re staring into them. Still, no matter how nauseous the image makes him, the irony of it all can’t be ignored. 
You only know how to shoot because he taught you.
“Let’s move out,” Chan says when Minho doesn’t.
Minho takes point with you close behind him. Behind you, Jihoon follows with an inexplicable duffle bag strapped to his shoulder. By now, Minho knows better than to question what’s going on here. He wouldn’t get an honest answer if he did; and Chan makes no excuses for it as he trails after Jihoon up the stairs.
At the top of the landing, you tap Minho’s shoulder, prompting him to stop. When you gesture up ahead, his eyes follow, gaze sweeping down the long corridor towards the southwest side of the building. Near the end of the hall, a pair of glass doors interrupts the path to the server room, which sits further down on an intersecting corridor. Somewhere between that server room and the bulletproof barrier in front of you is your target: the main computer running the show.
All the signage he can spot declares the area secure and for authorized personnel only. You’re neither safe nor sanctioned, but the badge you pull from inside the neck of your — his — shirt will let you pretend to be. 
Lim Namseok, it reads.
That poor bastard will probably be dead before sunrise for the things you’re about to do. Minho doesn’t have any higher hopes for himself, but he wonders whether or not you’ll be able to sleep when this is over.
No, he ultimately decides. You won’t.
You keep glancing down at that man’s photograph, swallowing hard like you’re choking down an apology. Committing those features to memory, as if you’re obligated to remember each one of the creases in his forehead.
It’s not a question of if that face will pop up in your nightmares but when.
Minho’s both unwilling and unable to let you keep torturing yourself, so he shifts his assault rifle to his non-dominant hand and reaches out to you. Neither of you says a word as he gently removes the badge from between your fingers and lets the lanyard unfurl. You watch the ID flutter downwards until it rests against your chest; his eyes don’t leave your face.
“Come on,” he says softly. “There are fifty-one-million Namseoks out there that still need their asses saved.”
You don’t want to laugh. Your furrowed eyebrows inform him that you’re trying very hard not to, like your half-hearted glare will override the muted chuckle that slips through your mask. His attempt at levity worked, though. You start moving again when he does.
On the way to the first set of security doors, the four of you pass both of your lookouts, who’ve taken up posts half and three-quarters’ way up the corridor, respectively. Not for nothing, both look bored by the lack of action.
When Felix sees Minho, he complains, “Why is it always unpaid fucks like us who have to work on weekends? Shouldn’t these goons be here to justify their salaries?”
He’s not wrong. This place is a fucking ghost town, and although the datashard you combed through said this would be the case, the emptiness still makes the hairs on the back of Minho’s neck stand up. Whether or not he can put his finger on it, something feels off.
“Wouldn’t mind a desk job,” Chan muses, more to himself than to the rest of the group.
Minho leans into the assumption that he wasn’t meant to hear it. If he was, he’d have no choice but to point out that Chan hardly leaves his fucking desk as it is. So, to keep the peace, he keeps his smart mouth shut.
When several more meters come and go, the four of you reach the security checkpoint. With the badge back in hand and nerves evident in your tone, you hold it to the scanner and mutter, “Here goes nothing.”
Nothing is precisely what you get. No sirens wail, no trap doors give way to swallow you all down. The glass panels simply part with a click before sliding outwards along their respective tracks. Your shoulders sag with relief, unlike Minho’s. He carries tension in every single one of his muscle cells; and he only grows more rigid with each passing second.
To keep his pulse down, Minho counts each step he takes towards the control room. It’s an exercise in futility, of course. He’s a goddamn mess, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.
16…17…18…
Present moment excluded, he can only think of one other in which he’s ever experienced fear. Real fear, that is; the kind that begs his limbs to lock. It’s no coincidence that he can barely function now. How could he, with the common denominator trailing behind him like a shadow?
19….20…21 —
Suddenly, you hiss, “Shit!”
By the time he wheels himself around, you’re frozen in place with your pistol aimed through a doorway that wasn’t open when he passed it. A woman in a lab coat stands there with her hand still on the handle, eyes doubling in size when they land on you. Immediately, the coffee mug in her hand drops, sending both liquid and shards of ceramic flying. Both of her hands are in the air before the pieces can settle at her feet.
You fire once, panicked, and strike her in the upper arm. It’s a shit job, one that’ll give her time to call for help before she bleeds out on the floor, so Minho’s instinct takes over.
“Turn around,” he tells you. 
You do. 
From her knees, the woman clutches her bicep and begs Minho to lower his weapon. She still wants to have kids someday, she tells him, sobbing. She’s too young to die.
Unaffected, Minho aims at the space between her brows. “Aren’t we all?”
Bang!
Her body drops to the floor like a bag of cement, lifeless. Although the shot still echoes, it’s otherwise dead silent until you whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Stepping to the side to look at you, Minho furrows his brows. “Don’t be. We can’t leave witnesses.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t do it right,” you clarify, voice wavering but louder than before. “You taught me better than that.”
For a minute, he forgets where he is; loses track of the two people standing on eggshells behind you both. There’s definitely still a corpse lying two meters away, but all he sees in his peripheral vision is proof: You may have chosen this life, but this life hasn’t chosen you.
Despite the bullets and the viscera making a mess of the tile nearby, you’re still the person he met a decade ago — someone with the instincts to do what’s needed but too much heart to be swallowed by them.
He hopes you never change.
“There may be more people that we haven’t accounted for.” Chan’s reminder forces three pairs of eyes to focus on him. He urges, “We need to get this done. Spider, where’s the control room?”
With his gun and without a word, Minho gestures to an office several doors down from where the group currently stands. In giant, black letters, it states, “CONTROL ROOM”. Your answer would be redundant at this point, so you don’t bother giving it. Moreover, Chan can fucking read.
“Oh,” is all the leader says before the group presses onward.
You swipe the badge again when you reach the control room. As was the case with the previous door, this one opens without any theatrics. All four of you slip inside before they close on their own, several moments later.
As soon as he steps foot inside, Jihoon whistles. “Damn.”
Damn is right.
The room feels even larger than the dimensions he saw on the blueprints; and with the forced air flowing from the overhead vent, it’s far less welcoming than Minho expected. Halfway between an operating theater and an airplane, the crisp whiteness of his surroundings seem both sterile and stale. He’d wash the feeling off himself if he could, but he can’t, so his skin continues to crawl.
Consuming the back half of the room, a U-shaped desk boasts multiple monitors, keyboards, and switches. Minho has no fucking clue what any of this equipment is supposed to do — he doesn’t give a shit, either — but he sees your eyes go wide with that childlike wonder he’s always been stupefied by.
Your hands twitch, likely from a desire to touch every surface they can find, so you hold them close to your chest while you look around. After studying all the options at your disposal, you take a seat behind the monitor at the left end of the desk.
Jihoon asks what everyone else is wondering: “Is the main computer not the one in the middle?”
Normally, this is the sort of thing you'd laugh at. You don’t, though; you barely seem to have heard it. Transfixed, you simply mumble something about that computer being hardwired to the server room. Minho doesn’t catch the rest of your explanation, but he hears the words “temperature control” and “ventilation” before concentration makes your voice peter out mid-sentence.
The next few minutes pass by without you noticing. Nobody speaks, nobody breathes too loudly for fear of interrupting your train of thought. That’s not to say it’s silent; far from it. Your rhythmic typing takes over the room, and the effect it has on Minho is borderline hypnotic.
A siren song, sort of.
In response to its call, Minho’s mind picks up and races from the room you’re in — back to the Hub, where this all started; to the countless hours he’s spent just like this, watching you work. As mundane as those moments might be in the grand scheme of things, they’re still his happiest.
Maybe he’d count this moment among them if the Sword of Damocles wasn’t swinging so blatantly overhead.
Out of nowhere, you slam your fist down on the desk, startling everyone else enough to flinch. It’s not just the noise that has Minho, Chan, and Jihoon on high alert; it’s the fact that none of them have ever seen you explode like this.
“Goddamn it!”
Immediately, Minho rushes over to where you’re sitting. His eyes dart from your face to the screen, then back again, finding no obvious answers for your distress. 
“What?” He demands, “What’s wrong?”
Eyes glued to the monitor, you continue to mutter, “No, no, no —“
“Spider, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on, so we can fix it.”
“They fucking —” You smack the desk again, like hitting something will knock your thoughts loose. “Fuck!”
For a second, you let the rage simmer. Then, the defeat you still haven’t articulated settles in. You slump down in your chair with your face in your hands, forcing your breathing to slow. 
“They must’ve added it after the Professor defected. I can’t — It wasn’t referenced anywhere on that datashard, Minho. There was nothing.” 
All your panic is funneled directly into the palms of your gloves, making it difficult to decipher what you’re saying. Minho leans closer just in time to hear you cry, “They built a failsafe.”
Minho is out of his fucking depth. In fact, he’s drowning. 
“A failsafe?” He asks, “What, like a back-up program?”
“No, as in, any attempts to delete or alter the program data will invalidate the study.” 
Based on your phrasing, Minho assumes you’re quoting something directly. Swallowing back the acid rising in his throat, he opens his mouth to ask you what the fuck that means. Before he can hurl his question out, you look up at him with abject hopelessness in your eyes; and suddenly, he can’t speak.
“All of their research subjects will be purged,” you spit.
On the other side of the desk, Chan and Jihoon exchange a look — a grim one, but not one of surprise. They’ve arrived at the conclusion before Minho can leap to it, and they’re still talking without saying a single goddamn thing out loud. 
Minho can’t take it anymore. He shouts, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“If Spider wipes the beta, everyone with that chip goes with it,” Chan sighs. He scrubs his hands over his face until it’s red. “If they don’t drop dead immediately, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that their brains will be permanently and irreparably fucked as a result.”
Now what?
Now what?
Minho’s legs grow less steady by the second. He presses his palm flush against the desktop to keep his knees from buckling. He knows damn well it won’t make a difference; his spinning head will bring him down if his body doesn’t. Everything — including the pulse hammering in his ears — is simultaneously too quiet and too loud.
What the fuck was this all for? The time, the energy, the lives everyone keeps sacrificing to this fucking cause — any of it. 
All of it. 
What’s the point of fighting this hard if Ulsan will always be ten steps ahead?
“Minho!”
His head snaps in your direction only to see that you weren’t the one calling his name. He blinks, confused. Who —?
“Minho, they’re coming! Lim Namseok — terminated yesterday. His badge — it flagged —” 
Scraps’ voice comes shrouded in gunfire. The weak connection makes it even harder to hear her; whatever isn’t exploding is crackling due to the distance. Each word fizzles at the end, as if lit by a fuse.
“— to get out —”
Hand flying to his left ear, Minho presses down the button at the center of his ear piece. “Who’s coming?” He barks, “Scraps, what the fuck is going on?”
When she doesn’t respond, someone else takes over.
“It’s the fucking retention team. A sniper took Eunjae out before any of us even saw them coming,” Hongjoong yells. “They’ve got a unit on the ground and one in the air. I’ll try to shoot the chopper down, but you need to get out of there now.”
“Hongjoong, do as much as you can to tear them up, but don’t push your luck. If you’re outnumbered, fall back before we lose anybody else. Do you copy?”
He doesn’t get a response.
Jihoon moves closer to the door to listen for any incoming footsteps. Hearing none, he growls, “Who the fuck called the boogeymen? Don’t they only deal with defectors?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Chan waves him off, “They’re here, and we need to be anywhere else.”
Despite what he just said, the leader doesn’t move; doesn’t budge a centimeter in any direction. Chan simply glances across the room at you, and when you stare back at him, it’s with the same, eerie calmness. Some quiet resignation that makes no fucking sense under the circumstances.
“If I can’t kill the program entirely, I can make it inoperable long enough for the existing chips to be removed,” you say, like you’ve already had this idea in your pocket. “Force quit, so to speak.”
You don’t elaborate, leaving Minho’s frustration to drive him halfway out of his goddamn mind. Worse, you ignore the way he’s staring so fucking desperately at you and address the person standing several meters behind him. 
“Jihoon, did you bring the party favors?”
In response, Jihoon slips the duffel bag off his shoulder and holds it out to you. Only then do you move. Chan follows behind as you cross towards the door; neither one of you says a thing when you pass Minho, who’s still cemented in place.
“What the fuck are you planning?” He demands, although his voice shakes. “What fucking secrets have you been keeping, and why?” 
Once you secure the duffle bag on your own shoulder, you finally bring yourself to look at him. Above your mask, your eyes soften. They crinkle at the corners, as if you’re smiling, but there are tears brimming at your lash line, threatening to fall.
Please don’t look at me like you don’t have a future.
“For what it’s worth,” you start. Then, you sniffle, breath hitching as you try to get the rest out. “You’ve always had my heart. All of it — every stupid piece.”
And with nothing more than a nod to Jihoon, you’re gone, running out the door with Chan towards the server room before Minho can say a single word to you; before he can even think of chasing after you. 
In the blink of an eye, biceps wrap around him like a vice, pinning his arms behind his back and gripping tighter with every kick he tries to use for leverage.
“Spider!” Minho yells.
He fights with all he has to break free of Jihoon’s hold, to throw one or both of them to the ground, to get to you, but the older man doesn’t bat an eye. As if Minho weighs nothing at all, Jihoon begins hauling him back down the hallway towards the fire exit.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he grunts as he thrashes. “Let me — go —” 
Jihoon doesn’t say a word, doesn’t waste a breath, doesn’t stop pulling. Whatever strength he has left in the reserves, it’s wielded against Minho, not on making apologies. 
Minho bucks again, throwing all the weight from his legs to his back. It does nothing apart from exhaust him, but he can’t stop. He’ll never stop. 
“Spider!”
Close to feral, his anguished shouts devolve to desperate, growling noises. “I swear to god, I’ll bury you for this, Lee —”
He digs his heels into the ground to slow the older man’s momentum. His knees could snap at the force with which he’s resisting. He doesn’t give a shit if they do; he’ll crawl to you if he has to.
“I’ll splatter your brains against the fucking wall when I get my hands on you,” Minho spits. “I’m your commanding fucking officer!”
The next time he kicks, someone grabs him by the ankles to help carry his restless body down the stairs. Felix, judging by that pathetic, apologetic look in his eyes. Minho resolves to kill him, too, when he gets his limbs back. He’ll burn the whole goddamn compound to the ground for standing in his way; for letting you do this.
It should be me.
You’re the best of them, and they’re letting you die. 
It should be me.
They’re going to stand here, watching while you —
A sob he wasn’t prepared for bursts out of his chest in the form of your real name. With it, his threats dissolve into pleas, so goddamn pitiful in comparison to the violent way he still flails.
“Please!” He cries, voice raw. Making himself louder doesn’t make him heard. Incapable of doing anything else, he begs, “Please don’t let her do this. She’s all I have — All I want — Goddamnit, please! I need to get her out of there —”
So useless.
“I have to get her out,” he sobs with one final burst of energy rattling through otherwise spent limbs. 
The arms and hands around him still don’t relent. Over and over, he repeats his only thought in rapid succession until his voice gives out: 
“I have to get her out.”
Two seconds before they drag his body over the threshold, the whole facility shakes, like the earth below has opened up to swallow it down. Even from the opposite side of the building, Minho can hear shattered glass hitting the ground like sheets of rain. With the heavy, black cloud swirling over the southwest section of roof, he might’ve believed in some storm.
He might have.
But now, Minho sees the flames licking at the sky above, and he no longer believes in anything.
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There are 244 kilometers between Cheongju and Changwon. By car, the distance flies by in fewer than three hours, assuming the expressways aren’t clogged with corporate commuters. All things considered, it’s not a trip that disrupts a person’s day. It’s straightforward, and above all, it’s easy.
What isn’t easy is crawling on your stomach underneath a blanket of smoke, only to drag half of someone else’s body weight with you down a flight of stairs.
There’s nothing straightforward about slipping through alleyways and ditches, trying to avoid nearby police blockades as they pop up; or attempting to conceal clothes that are singed in some places and actively smoking in others.
That distance does not fly by in three hours, even though the expressways aren’t clogged, because there’s disruption after disruption: 
Starting on foot, only to steal — and later dump — a car when the walk becomes unbearable. 
Wandering blindly without a working mobile, unable to access assistance or a map, and learning that your best guesses are wrong turns more often than not.
Avoiding phones in general due to the localized surge in cell surveillance, knowing even a coded message could wind up with you and any recipients dead.
Stopping repeatedly with burning lungs to check on someone in far worse shape than you, pretending not to hurt for their sake.
No, the estimates are all fucked. 
It takes twenty-one hours to travel the 244 kilometers between Cheongju and Changwon; and you feel the weight of every single one of them when you hobble through the front doors of the factory just to drop, exhausted, onto the floor.
News of your survival spreads like dandelion seeds throughout the compound. Within minutes, it seems, everyone you’ve ever made eye-contact with swings by the clinic to pat you on the back. 
One of them — Sierra, of all people — does you the greatest kindness of all: bringing you a change of clothes and then refusing to stick around for a chat. 
Half of them have never spoken to you before now, though you try not to hold that fact against them. 
Almost all of them throw the word “brave” around like it’s weightless. 
You know better.
What you did was useless in the grand scheme of things, and knowing that is heavy. Crushing, even, so much so that you find it hard to catch your breath. No, you’re sure, what you did was peak cowardice.
You need to get out of this clinic. You need all of these well-wishers to stop looking at you like some tragic hero. You need —
You push off the cot you’re occupying without giving it a second thought. The lightheadedness threatens to take you right back down again, but the feeling passes as quickly as it comes. You stay on your feet, even though you sway, by sheer force of will.
That’s it. There you go.
Doc gave you a once-over when you were first hauled in. Neither one of you truly felt like you were a priority. She may have been justifiably distracted, but in forming her expert opinion, she saw your bruised — not broken — body and declared you “good enough”. You take that glowing assessment at face value now and promptly discard the bit about “needing to stay for observation”.
Her primary concern is that you shouldn’t sleep with your concussion. Baseless, you think ruefully. You’ve been awake for two days and don’t see that changing any time soon.
Before you attempt to make a break for it, you glance at the far end of the clinic. There, a white screen stretches longways across most of the area for privacy, leaving two exits on either side. You don’t see the point of it; it doesn’t hide a thing. Two work lights shine so brightly from their spots by the wall that every movement in front of them is broadcasted on the thin, nylon divider.
As expected, the shadow puppet you’re looking for is still hovering around an unmoving mass in the center of the screen.
Chan.
He’s alive, even though he doesn’t look it. He’s talking, too, which is a marked improvement from the state he was in just a few hours ago. The morphine drip must be helping, you figure. Until now, he had a belt between his teeth to quell the pain, which would’ve kept him quiet.
Otherwise, there’s only one explanation for the corner he’s turned over the past few hours: The love of his life hasn’t left his side since he was carried into the clinic; and he knows she’s there. 
You’ve learned the hard way that both of those conditions must be met to make a difference. 
One without the other isn’t enough.
You can’t hear what they’re murmuring to each other, and you don’t want to. It’s theirs. Thankfully, their hushed tones give you the only confirmation you need: neither of your pseudo-parents will catch and scold you for leaving against medical advice. They’re oblivious; they’re fine; they have each other. You have —
Do you, though?
The person you want to see is coincidentally the only one in the entire compound that hasn’t come by seeking proof of life.
At first, you feared the worst; ripped your cuticles to shreds when the faces passing by weren’t his. No one mentioned his name or asked you if you’d seen him, as if there was no him left to see.
Then, you saw Jihoon walking around with his cheekbone stitched together. There’s some sick comfort in knowing that Minho at least lived long enough to beat his knuckles bloody. You’ve apologized to Jihoon three times now for the effect you caused, but he’s shrugged off every single one of them, like yesterday was just another day at the office.
Wasn’t it?
You creep out the door undetected and make your way to the nearest stairwell. The quiet throughout the halls in the factory isn’t comforting in the way it used to be. No part of the deeply familiar landscape is. 
It should be.
It’s the only real home you’ve ever known — one you thought for sure you’d never see again.
But every empty doorway you pass may as well have a body in it. You still see that woman and her unspent aspirations everywhere you look. You still hear the way she begged for her life before she lost it.
And when the stairs ahead finally come into view — ones you’ve taken a million times — they’re insurmountable. Your body aches automatically, like you’re still pulling Chan’s phantom weight out of the fire. That memory is muscle-deep now, you fear. There’s no getting rid of it.
At the landing, you force yourself forward. The siren song only you can hear is far stronger than the call of your own bed. It lures you around the corner whether or not you’re ready to follow it.
You aren’t, you realize as your steps continue automatically. The guilt threatens to eat you alive, and frankly, you’re prepared to let it. You deserve it. 
Somehow, despite your bullshit insanity and your numerous violations of trust, you still managed to skate through with a life left to live. Considering what you did, you figure it’s only fair that you pay this price — feel this fucking awful — for the rest of your unearned years.
Maybe. 
You don’t know. 
You’re in uncharted territory now because your plan didn’t include an after. 
As your footsteps draw closer to Minho’s room, it dawns on you that you don’t have a plan at all now. You don’t know what the fuck to say to him, let alone where to start. You wonder whether or not you should bother at all. 
If Minho knows you’re back at the compound, that means he made a choice not to find you. You have no right — none whatsoever — to take away his options a second time.
He’ll never forgive you, you tell yourself. If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.
Maybe.
You don’t know.
You can’t take those hypotheticals and draw conclusions because Minho has never — would never — put you in the position you stranded him in. He wouldn’t hijack a mission you created or exclude you from a half-baked, shittily-executed contingency plan. He’d never force a friend to make some destructive, deathbed promise; wouldn’t have you dragged out of blast radius, kicking and screaming and fighting and spitting, just to drop you in a front-row seat.
He’s the best of all of you, and you did your absolute worst to him.
It’s selfish, walking up to his door now. You know it is. Despite that, you can’t make your body stop moving now that it’s started; can’t keep that boulder from rolling down hill. One last look, you tell yourself. That’s all you need. 
Even if he never looks you in the eyes again, this can be enough.
You raise your hand and reach out to the scraped-up wood with your knuckles leading the way. They’re dirty, you note, caked with soot in every crease. They shouldn’t be. You scrubbed them raw to get the blood and plasma off your skin. It’s possible — likely, even — that your brain is fried beyond fixing, and that you’re imagining things.
Maybe.
You don’t know.
You don’t hear an answer when you finally bring yourself to knock. No, you correct yourself, that’s an answer in and of itself. Acting selfishly once again, you don’t heed that silent reply. You don’t knock again, either. Heart hammering against your ribs, you wrap your hand around the knob and twist.
Part of you wants to laugh. Of course, his is the only door in the whole fucking factory that doesn’t squeak horrifically on its hinges. His tolerance level for annoyance has always been low.
Inching your way over the threshold, you call out, “Minho?” 
And once again, you don’t hear a response.
Standing now inside his room, you don’t see him — not at first. He certainly doesn’t see you. His back leans against the window frame while he slumps on the ledge, presumably staring off in the opposite direction through the glass. His defeated posture is as telling as the position he’s in. 
The Minho you know never sits with his back to a door. It’s too big a risk and too broad a target; an invitation for a nasty surprise. He’s said it a thousand times: whoever kills him needs to look him in the eyes.
This is what it looks like when a person’s given up, you think. 
This is what you did.
Throat thick, you call his name again. This time around, it barely qualifies as a whisper; all your breath is caught up in that tangle in your chest. There’s no way he heard it because you barely did. Really, you should —
“Fuck off,” Minho growls without turning around. “I won’t tell you a third time.”
His words don’t carry the same venom they usually do in circumstances like this. He just sounds hollow, and it devastates you so completely to hear the emptiness that tears start falling without your permission. You don’t move from where you stand, too overwhelmed to process both ambulation and falling apart at the seams.
The lack of footsteps tips him off to your ongoing, unwanted presence.
“When will you people give up? ” After slamming his left fist against the window frame, he pushes himself abruptly off the ledge to his feet. “I don’t want your goddamn sympathy. All I’ve ever fucking wanted is —” 
He wheels around then, fists clenched and ready to swing. All the air in his lungs leaves him when he sees you standing there. The rest of that thought is strangled, and it drops lifeless on the floor.
“You.”
You can’t guess what comes next: screaming, blame, silence, violence. You don’t even know which of those things would be worst — just that he’s entitled to all of the above, and you’ve earned the lot.
What you end up with isn’t an outcome you ever would’ve anticipated. It’s him, his quivering mouth, and his exhausted, red-rimmed eyes taking several steps forward on shaky legs. It’s a desperate bid to close the distance, and a look built on so many conflicting emotions that you can’t even begin to take inventory.
At first, your hammering heart tells you to back away; that he may hate you enough to hurt you. 
But he doesn’t.
He falls to his knees in front of you when his legs ultimately give out. Boneless, he crumples forward onto his palms until his head hangs low between his arms. From where you’re standing, it almost looks like he’s praying. That is, until you notice the way his shoulders shake.
Of all the people you’ve met in your life, Minho is the only one who seemed to be incapable of crying. Nausea swells now that he proves you wrong. It feels like a violation to see him this way, especially knowing that you’re the reason for the state he’s in.
Through a clenched jaw, he begs for answers you didn’t anticipate needing to give: 
“I’m hallucinating, aren’t I? I’ve finally lost my fucking mind?”
Oh.
Without a second thought, you fall to your knees, too. Chrome and carbon fiber scrape against concrete as you scoot yourself closer, and you pray that your proximity will be proof enough that you’re here.
It’s not.
“I left you for dead, and now I’m seeing ghosts. Is that it?”
Heartbroken, you try your best to get through, “Minho, no.”
Tentatively, you reach out to touch his shoulder, thinking that you might be able to ground him, even if you can’t comfort him. Before your fingertips find him, he senses your movement and lifts his head. Your hands automatically reroute to claim either side of his face, fingers sliding into unkempt hair. To your surprise, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, Minho studies your features intently, like he’s ruling out translucence; like his sanity is on the line.
Maybe it is.
More desperately than you ever have before, you drink down the sight of him. Beautiful, you think, even like this. 
Now that you’re able to see his face in full, you find it tear-streaked. Somehow less alarmingly, his right temple is scraped to hell and back, while his left is black-and-blue. It’s a perfect portrait of the fist that struck him. The darkest shades of indigo demarcate where the knuckles dug in deepest; and the scabbed, scarlet lines on his other side illustrate the state of the ground he fell to.
Gravel.
You have to stop yourself from asking who hurt him. After all, it doesn’t fucking matter whose name he’d drop. You already know who’s to blame. 
Nevertheless, Minho sees the question in your eyes, and he tells you, “I tried to run in after you once the bomb went off. After the fire started.”
Of course he did. What did you expect?
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as if that’ll ever be enough. It doesn’t and won’t erase what you did, yet you repeat it anyway, “I’m so sorry.”
Opening your mouth was a mistake, you quickly realize. The dam breaks, and you can’t keep the words from spilling out. They all pile up, overlapping in time and urgency. 
Every word you say comes out in one breath; sputtered, as if your head has finally broken through the surface of rushing water. “I should’ve told you about the contingency plan, but I knew you’d try to take my place, and I couldn’t —”
“I couldn’t leave you there,” he swears, as if you left him with any other choice. “Even if I was too late to save you, I needed to bring you home.” 
Minho suddenly shifts, prompting your hands to fall from his face. To erase the distance he’s created, he sits back on his knees and pulls you into the space between them. You melt into his body when his arms wrap around you. Just as easily, you give in to the thousandth conflicting reason you’ve found to cry:
He’s never held you like this before.
With his cheek pressed to the side of your bowed head, you can feel his runaway tears. Though his voice wavers, his intentions are rock solid. “I fought like hell to get back to you. They had to knock me out just to get me into the fucking van. I didn’t want to leave you. I swear, I wouldn’t —”
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t stop the rollout,” you cry. “Keeping you in the dark was the only way to keep you safe.” You bury your face into the front of his shirt and repeat it even more emphatically, “Minho, I’m so fucking sorry.”
For a moment, he stays quiet. As curious as you are about his silence, you don’t pull away to look up at him. You think you’d rather actually die than sacrifice a single second of the closeness you walked through hell and back to find.
Eventually, without prompting, Minho does speak. His voice is so soft that his question hardly reaches you. “Why did you do it?”
You pause, unsure of which part of your explanation he wants repeated. If he’s truly asking you to start over from the top, you will. You’re prepared to rake yourself over those coals forever, but you doubt he has the time. 
“In the control room,” he explains when you don’t arrive at the point yourself. “You told me that you love me, and then you ran off to blow yourself up. Why did you leave without letting me respond?”
Once again, you’re thrown; so disoriented that you can’t find the starting line. There were several reasons for running out the way you did: fear that he’d stop you if he caught on too quickly, or that he’d follow before Jihoon could drag him to safety. More than anything, as you sheepishly admit, “I didn’t think you’d say it back.”
He goes silent again. His arms pull you even closer, though you didn’t think it was possible. 
“I think Medusa had it easy,” he confesses, sounding almost self-conscious for the first time in his life. 
Though you’re caught off-guard, you don’t interrupt him. 
He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “I think my curse has it all backwards. I turn to stone when people look at me, not the other way around.”
At this, you finally unearth your face from where it’s buried in his t-shirt. His body goes slightly slack without your frame to hold him up; the look on his face is just as deflated. 
Turning in your spot to face him, you frown, but you tell him the truth. “I’m not as good at reading you as I thought I was.”
“Say it again.” 
You blink.
Minho lifts his hand and cups your cheek. “Please,” he begs, thumb brushing over your skin. “Say it again, so I can get it right this time.”
You lean into his palm, allowing the warmth of it to radiate until you feel it everywhere — feel him everywhere. From there, as is always the case, the reflex takes over. “I love you. I think I always have.”
“I love you,” Minho echoes emphatically. “And unfortunately for you, I think I always will.”
It strikes like a pickaxe, sending cracks through a well-built wall. You swear you can hear the pieces of it falling. If you look closely, you can see the light as it rushes in.
There you are, you think. I knew you were in there somewhere.
He kisses you then, scrambling your brain so thoroughly that you almost forget it’s the first time he ever has. But he’s no stranger to you, and he proves it. Calloused hands maneuver you into his lap without resistance, without interruption, and lean arms snake around you as you straddle him, pinning you against his chest.
In an instant, you thread your fingers through his hair, hellbent on clinging to whatever parts of him you can get your hands on. That desperate grip of yours has always made him lose his mind; tonight isn’t any different. He groans into your mouth when you tug those strands now, proving that you’re no stranger, either.
His tongue flicks over your bottom lip, like he’s scratching at the door to be let in. You let him, let out some needy, mewling sound as he licks into your mouth to claim it.
Yours, you think. Yours, yours, yours.
When he unexpectedly pulls away from you, those little whines of yours only get louder. Kiss-bitten, Minho’s lips flatten into a thin line that indicates he’s fighting off a smile. 
“Spider, I know vulnerability is your thing,” he sighs. His left hand releases its hold on the bottom of your thigh. With it, he gestures to the other side of the room. “But did you mean to leave the door open for this?”
Whipping your head around, you confirm that you did not, in fact, close the door behind you. Heat rises to your face before you can stop it. No matter how thoroughly you rack your brain, you come up short. There’s no excuse— not even a bad one — for a cybersecurity expert being this abysmally accessible offline.
You’re in the middle of questioning your qualifications for the role you occupy when Minho gently pats the side of your leg, wordlessly asking you to leave his lap. With great difficulty and a dash of awkwardness, you do. Just as soon as you’re back on your feet, your body riots. All the exhaustion and soreness you’ve been ignoring screams for acknowledgement.
Minho must hear it. 
“Bed,” he murmurs, punctuating his instruction with a quick kiss to your temple.
Also a first, you note. 
Despite your long history of entanglements, you’ve never once ended up in his sheets. Your heart flutters involuntarily at the prospect; the fever-grade burning in your cheeks only gets worse. Thankfully, with his back now turned to you, Minho doesn’t see how eagerly you stagger towards the stolen bed frame in the corner. You hope he doesn’t hear the relieved moan you let out when you collapse in an aching heap on his mattress.
Across the room, the lock clicks. Footsteps follow so quietly that you would’ve missed them if you didn’t have his gait committed to memory. The person walking back to you looks unfamiliar, though — somehow. There’s no trademark sharpness at the edges now. There’s no want darkening his eyes, but something delicate that softens them.
It’s need, you realize when he comes to drape himself over you. It’s gentle, the way he compensates for your strained muscles and takes it upon himself to shed your clothes, layer by layer. And it’s trust, finally letting him see the way you exist on your own — with your artificial leg removed from the equation and set carefully off to the side.
After positioning himself between your thighs, Minho pauses. His forearms rest on either side of your head, caging you in against the pillow below. Time doesn’t seem to pass while he gazes down at you, and you certainly don’t mind the delay. Of all your moments, this one — here, with him —  is your happiest.
“In case it doesn’t go without saying,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “I forgive you for doing what you had to do.”
Blinking quickly doesn’t do much to dispel the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. You bite your bottom lip and nod to the extent that you can. “Thank you,” you whisper.
“Do me a favor, though?”
“Anything.”
“Kiss me,” he requests, and you do.
When your mouth is finally on his, he rolls his hips forward with deliberate precision, length sliding through your arousal until he enters you, groaning. He maintains that slow, careful pace; coaxes you open for him until the stretch melts from pain to pleasure.
Eloquent as ever, you mewl with your lips still pressed to his. It’s muffled, of course, but there’s no context to miss. “Oh, my god.”
Once you acclimate to his size, Minho could ramp up the intensity if he wanted to. He doesn’t. He takes his time, grinds against you so perfectly that you’d never dream of rushing through this. 
At this pace, every stroke hits deeper than the last; each languid drag of his cock along your walls converts more and more of your thoughts to static.
It’s such a change-up from every other time you’ve wound up underneath him. Part of you wishes that you could scrap all those trysts and pretend that this is your first. In a way, you suppose, it is. There’s a drastic difference between being fucked by Minho and being loved by him. For obvious reasons, you don’t plan on going back to the way it was before.
His length grazes your g-spot, pulling a whimper out of you. Dizzy from the sensation, you don’t notice the way your cunt clenches down on him until he curses under his breath.
“Shit,” he moans, “Wish you knew how perfect you feel wrapped around me. I swear, I’m not leaving this bed as long as you’re in it.”
Another stroke hits you exactly where you crave him most. 
“Please,” you gasp, back arching off the bed. He leans in to capitalize on the length of neck you’ve left exposed; the heat of his tongue on your flesh drives you absolutely insane. “R-right there, Minho. Please, I’m so close.”
Other people have described Minho as defiant, but you have to disagree. He does precisely what you beg of him, angling each thrust to get you gushing around him. And even after he has you shaking underneath him, he refuses to slack off.
The orgasm he pulls from you is so overwhelming that you feel it tingling in your scalp, resonating down your spine until every nerve in your body is a live wire. You’re still somewhere in the stratosphere when Minho unravels, twitching and spilling inside of you until he’s got nothing left to give.
Spent, he pulls out of your heat, maneuvers himself carefully around you, and collapses at your side to catch his breath.
His eyes are closed when you regain enough motor function to turn your head his way. Across his forehead, stray strands of black hair stick to a thin veil of sweat. The slow rise and fall of his chest says he’s halfway to sleep, and with how hypnotic you find it all, you’re nearly there yourself.
Just a few more minutes, you tell yourself. It’s too hard to look away from him. You’d never had the chance to see him this way before, and you know better now than to waste it. 
“Please don’t ever stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed.
Your quiet laughter doesn’t prompt him to look at you, but it does spark the hint of a smile. “Like what, Minho?”
“Like I’m your future.”
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while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.
series taglist:
@saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet @ldysmfrst @obeythemasters @moni-logue
stray kids permanent taglist:
@variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sourkimchi
multi permanent taglist:
@jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz, @/variety-is-the-joy-of-life
resources used
regarding prosthetic limbs: tiktok users @/bren_hucks @/footlessjo @/alex1leg @/bionickick; amputee coalition regarding hacking + world-building: gurps: cyberpunk guidebook by loyd blankenship
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lightlycareless · 4 months ago
Note
heyyyy:33 love reading your nao x reader headcanons, i am feeling bit angsty and been wondering how would naoya react if something goes wrong during yn's labor. like she starts screaming, trashing around and is in lots of pain.
Hello anon!!! You want angst??? WELL YOU GOT ANGST.
Actually it's not that much, but hey, it's not that nice either so... I hope it's to your enjoyment still!
warnings: pregnancy. going into labor. the fear of a baby dying. bleeding. naoya suffers. 🥺
related work: (sequel) (prequel)
Happy reading!
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Something going wrong when Y/N is in labor is hands down, Naoya’s worst nightmare. He might’ve prepared everything so to keep risks to the minimum, and yet, there are moments where that is all he thought about.
That, and the worse version of his fears: the two don’t make it.
He tries his best not to think about it, Ranta also tries his best to distract him as soon as anxiety etches his features. And you…
Well, you wish you could offer a viable solution, disappear so the sight of you doesn’t have him spiraling, yet remain close because he needs you and he’s your husband, for crying out loud! You don’t want to be away from him, not even for a second, while pregnant!
But… everything was proving too hard for you to deal with on your own, and stresses like these could only do harm to your pregnancy, alongside those awful thoughts that would cross your mind in the worst moments possible: the idea that maybe Naoya… maybe he didn’t want a family with you anymore.
However, the love both had for one another, for the mochi growing inside you, alongside the support of your family and friends, these obstacles were soon forgotten, replaced with the excitement of the fast approaching day of delivery, the moment you’ll finally be able to hold your baby, as well as see if they were a boy or a girl—not that it mattered, for they’d be unconditionally loved anyways.
Everything was carefully tended to, starting by ignoring the Zen’in’s insane request of having you deliver the baby at the estate, in less than prepared conditions and away from your family just because they wanted.
Nope, not happening. Instead, he arranged your stay at one of the best hospitals of Tokyo, a whole floor with dedicated personnel to solely attend to you; just to begin with.
Your family was naturally impressed by Naoya’s dedication to once again go to these lengths. And yet, he wasn’t doing anything they wouldn’t have done for you; in fact, they also gave their own suggestions to further ensure your safety!
«Well, at least we know she’ll be ok with Naoya…»
“I’m going to be fine.” You’d tell them, slightly overwhelmed by their worries. “Though I do think Naoya might’ve gone a bit over the top…”
“It’s only necessary.” Naoya interjects. “No one outside of the necessary people will disturb you, everything you need will be tended for, and you’ll also be in presence of your friends and family.”
“Friends…?” You repeat slowly, because at that point you only expected your family to be there, not your trusted staff, who were grinning at the prospect of accompanying you during one of the most important stages of your life! “Oh my god, you’re here!”
“What, thought you’d get rid of us just because you’re having a baby??” Haruko grins.
“I’m offended by how poorly you think of us.” Hitomi teases.
“I—I didn’t expect you guys to be here! I thought you’d be busy or—or something!” You chuckle. “I’m speechless!”
“Don’t be too speechless, we still have to make the most of the city before you’re admitted into the hospital! I personally have never been to Tokyo, so I’m planning on taking all the tours.” Mariya enthusiastically suggests.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, did you forget my wife is very much pregnant?” Naoya frowns, she laughs.
“We’re just joking, Naoya—what kind of godmother would I be if I didn’t care for her?”
And in this precise moment, you genuinely believed it couldn’t get any better than this. Surrounded by the people you loved; nothing could ruin this!
Unless your contractions were to begin a bit earlier than anticipated, followed by a numbing, stinging pain that made you freeze on your track, drop everything on the spot to tightly hold onto your stomach; a feeble attempt to stop whatever it was that had you such mortifying state… rushed to the hospital when blood soaked your garments, your and Naoya’s worst nightmare abruptly becoming real.
Without time to waste, you’re quickly checked into your designated room to be urgently attended by the doctor of his choosing, the supposedly best there is in all of Tokyo—no, Japan—who alongside his entourage began to urgently prepare everything for your procedure, for your symptoms were not expected neither wanted in a pregnancy.
But if that wasn’t anxious enough for your husband, your screams of gut-wrenching pain that only worsened as time went on were enough, were enough to get him spiraling.
“Help her!” Naoya demands, more than ready to rattle the doctor into action if needed.
“We can’t let you in if you’re going to disrupt the patient.” The doctor warns, further fueling your husband’s desperation. He’s just a mere second away from losing himself, just one more word and he’ll—
“Naoya, please, calm down—” Thankfully, your father was there to put a stop to his anger, a genuine sympathetic approach for he’s gone through his fair share of pregnancies—things like these don’t scare him that much, but they still worry him.
How could it not? The probability of losing his daughter, the youngest, his first grandchild too…! And just after loosing his wife as well…
It’s a pain he would never wish upon anyone. Certainly not on his distraught son-in-law….
So, what good is it to hire the best, if they’re not going to do their job?!
Naoya freezes upon hearing another heart-wrenching scream come out of you, heart dropping to his stomach as he hears you demand them to get the baby out, stop your suffering and just—help you!
He doesn’t want to hear more of this, he doesn’t want to see nor hear you suffering so, but he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to act nor what to say that could get you out of this awful predicament and back into safety, into the world where you and his child were ok and all this was nothing but an awful nightmare!
But the same moment he was debating what to do, your father already made his decision, walking past him and straight into your room, firmly determined to support his daughter through whatever destiny fate instilled on you—even if it meant death.
A sight that soon snapped Naoya out of his struggle, feeling like an absolute idiot for even hesitating! He’s been through life-or-death situations before, why is he suddenly cowering now, pitying himself?! When you need him the most?!
What poor excuse of a husband he was being; a despicable father compared to yours.
Once snapping out of his dark thought and gathering all of his courage, he steps into your room, heading straight to your side, opposite of your father and takes your hand, letting you hold it as tight as you needed—whatever the sacrifice he had to make to ensure your safety, he’d willingly oblige.
“Nao—Naoya—” you breathed, looking up to him. “It—It hurts!”
“She’s losing too much blood.” A nurse would note. “She’s still not dilated enough.”
“My baby—I don’t want my baby to die” you fret.
“She won’t.” Naoya reassures. “She won’t die, I swear—”
“We’ll have to induce her labor to help her dilate, and if that doesn’t work, then a c-section will have to do.” The doctor explains, hoping to get his permission.
“Anything.” Your husband pleads. “Anything to save my wife, my family, please!”
Because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you. Life would cease to matter at that point.
But thankfully his prayers were to be heard, and with the quick, highly prepared skills of medical staff, were you freed of all complications, ensuring not only your safety, but that of the baby as well, perfect just as the two envisioned her to be.
“Naoya, our baby.” You’d breathe, face lightening up when the nurse finally placed the small, chubby bundle you’ve been waiting to hold for 9 long months in your arms, holding her softly against your skin as you gushed. “Our baby is—”
“She’s a girl.” The doctor says. “A healthy girl.”
“A girl.” You cry, tears of happiness dampening your cheeks, struggling to believe what was before your eyes. “Naoya, we had a beautiful baby girl!”
There are no words to describe what Naoya feels at this very moment: to the sight of you lovingly holding onto your baby, the highest demonstration of love between the two, after so much suffering.
Though he could start with love at first sight, something he already believed existed, but when his eyes laid on his beautiful baby girl, he was completely sure of it now.
“She has your hair.” You comment on the small patch of black hair on the top of her head.
“And your nose.” He responds, gently poking it.
“Ha! How can you even know so? It looks like a regular nose to me.” You giggle—only to gasp a few seconds after being given the breathtaking sight of your baby slowly opening her eyes for the first time, a revelation that made your heart flutter. “Naoya—she… she has your eyes! Oh, my love, she looks just like you…”
Deep within him, Naoya always hoped the baby would look like you—with your big round eyes, your silky, soft hair, and adorable cheeks he always loved to tease. He thought she’d looked far better with your features than his own anyways, and wished would be that way.
But there was something about seeing you gush about her likeness that struck his heart with adoration, feeling appreciated and fiercely protective of the precious, tiny baby in your arms.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need to know the name of the baby before continuing” Another nurse said, and a wide smile spreads across your lips as you gently poke her cheek, already imagining the agony her father would put her through.
“Naomi.” You say, eyes intently focused on your daughter. “Zen’in Naomi.”
Named after her father, perhaps the only tradition you kept from the Zen’in, because there was nothing else you wanted more than for the world to know of the man that has made you so happy, the love of your life, either through your affection, or Naomi, your new family.
“A granddaughter, I have a granddaughter!!” Your father would proclaim, tears in his eyes as he accepts the baby from your arms, who was now wrapped in a soft pink blanket he got as a gift, with you proudly smiling at his excitement. “Oh, she’s beautiful Y/N!”
“Welcome to the family, little one!” Hinata grins, eager to take her niece into her arms as well, but patient enough to not do so until her turn. “You don’t know how happy we are to finally have you here!”
“Can’t wait to see you grow up and give your parents a run for their money.” Ren teases, you pout.
“My baby is going to be a nice, well-behaved girl.” You respond. “Unlike you guys…”
“Though she will be spoiled.” Naoya promises.
“Well, it can’t be spoiled if it’s what she deserves, right?” you say, he nods along. Your family fears the lengths you’d both go to do so; you and Naoya are already ruthless as it is…
But even then, they genuinely knew they had nothing to worry about—for as long as they were around, nothing bad would befall little Naomi.
As expected, the exhaustion of the past few hours finally caught up to you, at first making you yawn before your eyelids began to grow heavier and heavier; a sight that didn’t go unnoticed for too long, your father gathering everyone around for their departure.
“We’ll be outside if you need us.” Eiichi promises, carefully handing Naomi back to Naoya. “Rest, pumpkin, you deserve it.”
“Thanks, dad…” you yawn. “I feel like I could sleep for years.”
Eiichi chuckles, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead before moving onto Naoya, patting his shoulder.
“Congratulations, Naoya. You’ll be a great father.”
Naoya smiles, warmed by the words his father wasn’t there to give him, gladly accepting them in his heart as they promptly make their exit. Once alone, your husband places Naomi into the crib nearby, placing a kiss on her head and eventually making his way to you, to give you a kiss as well.
“You did amazingly, my love.” But as much as you wished to enjoy this moment, the agony of past experiences swiftly makes way to your mind.
“…I was scared, Naoya. So, so afraid that something would happen to me, or worse, our baby.” You tremble.
“I know, I know.” He coos, softly removing some unruly hair strands from your face as tears begin to pool in his eyes. “But it’s over, all that is gone—we have Naomi now.”
“I was afraid of leaving you behind.” You continue. “I… I didn’t want you to face all this by yourself. The thought of you having no one to rely on frightens me like you have no idea. At one point I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you—”
“That was my worst fear too. I loathed even thinking about the possibility of returning home without you.” The moment you notice the tears forming in his eyes, you quickly reach out for him—to the best of your ability anyways, much to his worry. “No, Y/N, you have to rest—”
“Thank you for being by my side.” You murmur, hugging him tightly. He returns the gesture soon after. “I’m so glad to have found someone like you, to be my husband, and now father of my daughter.”
“…What did I do to deserve you?”
“Well, you gave me an adorable baby girl, as of recent!” you sniffle through a giggle, making Naoya chuckle. “From there, all that I ever wanted, really. From food, clothes, even holidays…”
Naoya blushes, proud of his consistent commitment to you and the happiness it provided you. And yet, that was not to be the end of his fluster—not without your following words.
“But most importantly, your love.” You smile. “If anything, I should be wondering what I’ve done to deserve you…”
“Your mere existence is justifying enough for me.” He responds quickly, another tear sliding down his cheek, which you swipe soon after. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You kiss him. “And our new family.”
“I know some mothers feel the desire to have another child as soon as their baby is born, but after what happened, I think it’s best for now if we hold off that idea for a while. Don’t you agree?” You suddenly say.
“Yeah, couldn’t have said it any better. Though something tells me Naomi is going to be quite the handful to begin with…”
“Considering she looks just like you, I’d say you’re right.” you laugh, he rolls his eyes before kissing you once more.
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leannswritings · 11 months ago
Text
“See you Later”
Warnings : Smut
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Summary: After being trapped @ the greenhouse apartments, you find yourself reuniting with your boyfriend at the stadium
Pairing: Chanyoung x Fem!reader (?)
It’s been a while since you’ve last seen Chan-young, the sweet man you’ve grown to love over the past few years. Your boyfriend was known for being kind-hearted, so in this situation, you could only wonder if he was still alive, plenty of things flooded your brain as you were trapped at the green home apartments, and a simple sleepover turned into your worst nightmare.
“See you later” stuck to your mind like glue, traveling to the shelter gave you hope that his words would come true, and maybe you were overthinking and overwhelmed by the situation.
You find yourself traveling to the shelter alone after getting separated from the others during the mayhem in the passageway. The shelter seemed to be safe as it was cut off from the rest of the world, but your safety wasn’t what mattered anymore.
Days went past of you being in the shelter alone, giving you time to overhear the many things people talked about, many conversations with Chan as the topic. You once got so pissed at a girl named Ye-seul for how she talked about him that you may have hit her once..or a couple of times?
With him being such a huge topic, where is he at this point in time? I mean he’s got to be here? What other reason would he be brought up, I don’t think baseball is a huge topic right about now? The more you sit in the general area and question yourself it’s like you drew a circle and chanted his name by how quickly he’d had appeared. With many people gathered you thought you were maybe staring or thinking too hard, but no. You realized he was there, the real him.
His soft look that reminded you of stars, his shocked yet glad look. After most people dispersed from the general area, he walked over to you as if it’s been centuries since he’s last seen you, wrapping his arms around you and giving the tightest hug you've ever gotten, with all the overwhelming feelings In the last few weeks, you couldn’t help but tell him how much you’ve missed him.
Finally, you got to hear his voice.
“I told you, see you later”
Though it sounded sarcastic you knew he seriously meant it. Chan-young always took things to heart, even the littlest. Saying see you later is such a normal thing to say especially since we never knew this was going to happen, you were never superstitious but you couldn’t have been happier that he didn’t say bye instead.
You’ve never felt so fragile.
As days pass you begin to act like the couple you always were, with overwhelming upsetting feelings decreasing, you feel lust and other feelings growing. Hell, you thought you were going crazy, what type of person thinks about taking some guy in their uniform during an apocalypse? Or like sneaking into his room at night? Even at one point thinking how good he’d look as a dad. I mean you have to be some type of insane right?
“Hey? Are you ok? You keep staring off”
Chan-young of course notices you staring off into nothingness and not talking much while walking down the halls
“Is there anything you want to talk to me about? Is something bothering you?”
Usually, you could talk to him about all of your problems but right now? What else are you gonna say? “Lemme hit?” “I want you?” “Bend me over?” I mean how could you ask right now? Of course without realizing the more you thought on how to ask, one of your thoughts came out without realizing.
“I need you.”
He stops walking, which causes you to pay attention to your surroundings, realizing what you had said, you look around and thankfully no one is in the hall with you two.
“What?”
Hell. I mean you already said it. So you might as well get your thoughts out at this point, while no one was around at least.
“I need you, physically, I know this isn’t the right time but I mean hell, how could my thoughts not wander when I’m around you.”
You glance back over at Chan as he has this somewhat surprised look on his face, you can tell he is thinking hard as his face is turning more red by the second.
By this point, you were about to say hell with it and pretend you never said anything but before you could even think of saying never mind or walking away you found yourself against a wall and Chan’s lips crashing into yours, soon breaking away.
“Glad to know I’m not the only one thinking this”
Just as y’all were about to continue this session you could hear footsteps coming down the hall.
“Let's go, I don’t want anyone else to see what’s about to happen”
He grabs your hand and leads you down the hall, but all you can think about is him saying “What’s about to happen” I mean hell, how could not think about it, different scenarios played in your head as you walked which only got you even more excited.
Before you knew it you were in his room already on the bed, you couldn’t have been more excited in this moment. Chan-young’s face looked very different from what you were used to, his look being a nervous yet lustful look as he stood at the edge of the bed as if he couldn’t process what was happening was real, but hell you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Are you just gonna stand there and look pretty?”
You say quietly before grabbing his shirt pulling him into a kiss causing his body to lean forward and having both of his hands placed next to you on the bed. At one point you couldn’t hold back, both of you fought for dominance during this session, you licked the bottom of his lip asking for permission which he quickly gave you. His hand finally moves to your waist and then to your back so he can softly lay you onto your back while his free hand goes to your face. He uses his thumb to rub the side of your face as if he's in the middle of giving you comfort. Hell, guess even in this moment he can still be a sweetheart.
“You’re so gorgeous..”
He said after he pulled away from the sloppy make-out session. Looking at him he had this pleading face that you couldn’t seem to get enough of seeing how your body reacted, at this point you were ready to just overtake him. You slightly push against his chest signaling him to move from above you, of course, you weren't telling him to get off for Any pure reason or to call quits. You then stood up in front of him before putting your hands on his shoulders and guiding him to sit on the bed that you were previously on.
“Chan..let me lead, is that fine with you?”
Looking up at you with those same pleading eyes he nodded, that was all you needed before you found yourself placing your hand on his shoulder and lips on his neck, you were no different from a vampire at this point, trying to quickly unbutton his shirt with your free hand, in which he helped with. You could hear soft sounds coming from him, which only drove you to go further down, kissing his chest to his stomach, getting closer to his belt, you almost laughed to yourself when you saw how excited he was, you looked up to see him turning away due to embarrassment.
“Look at me, telling me what you want, if you don’t want to, I can stop here”
“No.., Please don’t stop.”
He looked down at you making direct eye contact, he looked as if he Almost teared up at the thought of you leaving him with no relief. Looking like that was enough for you. You unbuckled his belt before pulling down both layers that stood in your way, revealing him and all his glory, you’ve never been more pleased by just a sight. Using your spit and precum as lube, you wrapped your hand around him, giving him a few pumps before kissing and licking his tip which immediately got him to grip your hair. You try your hardest to take all of him in your mouth using your hand for what you can’t take, after getting used to him in your mouth you picked up your pace. Maybe it was the situation that made him so sensitive and needy as you’ve never seen him like this, he did not once push your head down, but gripping your hair with everything he had, he may have been fighting demons not to push you further, even in this situation he wants to make sure you comfortable.
“Can’t...I can’t anymore..”
With those words, you knew he was getting close which you couldn’t allow, not yet anyways. You took your mouth off of him, leaving him in a pleading state.
“My Love, Please..please don’t leave me like this..”
Such a pleading tone should be a sin for anyone but you to hear, you wanted to hear more, so you quickly remove your clothing with swiftness, seeing your body was like seeing the universe to Chan, it’s as if all his prayers and wishes at a fountain has been granted. You go to straddle him, placing your knees beside his sides, you slowly try to place yourself onto him, as he tries to help guide you by holding onto your hips.
“You’re a big boy now huh? Trying to not make me do all the work”
You say before plopping yourself fully onto him, causing him to let out a moan, his head falling onto your shoulders. You sat there for a little to get used to his length and shape, honestly, it didn’t take that long to get used to. The mix of wetness and how perfectly he fit inside you, your walls gripping onto him as if your life depended on it. One of Chan-young’s hands that he had placed at your hips had moved to your back so he could hold you closer during this moment, you thought it was cute, but that quickly left as that hand soon went back to your hips then to your clit rubbing it, his rough hands causing friction causes you to squirm, at this point you were sure he was more than ready for your moving, in which you took the hint to and started to go up and down. His grip on your hips, his cries and pleas, and the look in his eyes couldn’t have made you feel any more pleased.
“You’re so beautiful...Ma”
You felt yourself tighten around him because of his compliments, feeling a knot in your stomach, you knew you were close to your climax, due to his mumbling becoming more inconsistent and incoherent, hearing mixes of pet names like “princess” and “my love”, You try to Quicken your pace, but you find yourself getting tired from doing most of the work. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you even for a minute since you started, so he quickly noticed this and decided to use this as a moment to take some control, before you could even notice you were tossed further up the bed on your back, pissed that you lost that close feeling and most importantly him being inside of you.
“I'm sorry..,”
He found himself hovering over you, grabbing under your legs and moving them to wrap around his waist. His hand goes back to your Waist, while his left-hand goes to your face. Looking into your eyes even when In an attempt to take the lead he still looks helpless, looking for permission. His look couldn’t have seemed any more satisfying to you, at this point you couldn’t take it, it wasn’t just a want from him to be inside of you again it was a need. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, whimpering in his ear.
“You’re ok…you got it”
He didn’t know what was more attractive, the reassuring look on your face, how he could tell you were trying to hide your neediness, or you being verbal. He pushed himself into you, giving you this sense of euphoria. Something about this was different than when you straddled him, hell it was as if that was just a preview to this. At first, he went at a slow pace to make sure everything was okay with you, though you could tell he was on the verge of doing what he wanted. At that moment you moaned out his name begging him to pick up his pace, for someone who was calm and collected that all shattered when you saw how he looked above you. He immediately gave you compliance, he fastened his pace, thrusting in and out of you roughly.
His eyes still full of lustful helplessness, scanned up and down your body. Comments on how beautiful you looked, how grateful he is, and his pet names like Love and Princess continued coming out of his mouth. The knot in your stomach became more apparent, you could feel yourself getting closer. You couldn’t even be vocal by this point, you felt as if he fucked your brains out. All you could do was hit, grip, and scratch at his shoulders while moaning and mumbling.
“Close..I’m close..”
Chan-young finally said it took everything for him to say those words. You nodded in agreement, you noticed something way too late, but you couldn't care less as your reply went along the messy lines of.
“Inside..please just..”
You cut yourself off as you finally hit your climax, your back arching, hell your eyes almost rolled completely to the back of your head. He yet again picked up his pace after seeing this, hitting your sweet spot as you ride out your orgasm. He then shortly after followed you, covering your insides with the warmth of his cum. You both stayed in that spot for a few minutes trying to grasp back onto reality. He finally pulled out, leaving you lying there he went to grab something to clean you up somewhat.
“ I’m seriously grateful for you, I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re the only thing on my mind even in this hell, you make this world, my world so much better.”
He continued as he cleaned you. He was always one for comfort and sweetness, but this time it hit differently because of how the world is, every day is a struggle, yet both of you are worried about each other more than anything. While he got dressed, you sat there under the cover, holding it over your body, god if only you could see how messy you looked. The aftermath is a sight, and your crying a little due to overwhelming senses after he cleaned you up didn’t make it any better, so tear marks could be seen on your face.
Chan-young stood on the other side of the room to button up his shirt, and lawd he looked saur good, even from behind. All things were going well until you saw the door open.
“You’re on for watch - “
One of the other soldiers stood in the doorway staring at the current situation, you could only guess he had to be in a higher rank than Chan, but then you realized the ACTUAL situation that he walked into.
“Oh, uh. Yeah you’re on watch”
The soldier stared at Chan before closing the door. You two stare at each other for a hot minute. How are y’all supposed to process or explain that, at least he didn’t walk in earlier.
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(I'm going insane, trust)
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acewritesfics · 1 year ago
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Nothing Else Matters | Tommy Shelby
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader
Request: No.  
Warnings: Mentions of war. Not my favorite imagine that I've ever written. 
Word count: 800
TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST
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⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. YOU CAN FIND THE ORIGINAL POST STILL FLOATING AROUND ON TUMBLR SOMEWHERE. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.
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"Nothing else matters as long as we are together," Tommy speaks softly to Y/N as they slow dance to the classical tune that is playing through the gramophone in the corner of their living room. "You make me forget about everything and everyone but you." 
She shuts her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder. His arm around her waist pulls her closer to him as he sways to the rhythm of the music. His words make her heart skip a beat. Tommy hardly ever talked about his feelings. When he did, he was alone with her. 
Y/N was his longest and dearest friend before she became his wife. Tommy and Y/N have known each other since they were babies since their mothers were more like sisters than best friends. 
The two women became pregnant around the same time, with Tommy being born two months before Y/N. 
Even though Y/N's affections for the Birmingham mobster deepened throughout the years before Tommy was sent to war, their friendship never blossomed romantically until Tommy returned home when the war was over. She didn't confess her love to Tommy until he was ready to board the train that was taking him away from her and his family. She pleaded with him to return home because she couldn't bear to live without him. 
Throughout the war, the two exchanged letters between his visits home. Once his letters stopped closer to the end, she feared the worst. During his visits home she could see how much the war was changing him and the others. He wasn't the Tommy she'd grown up with but her love for him never wavered. 
She hugged Arthur and John after they hugged their aunt and sister, kissing their cheeks, delighted to have them home alive. Her heart ached for John, whose wife had died not long before his return. She had helped Polly and Ada take care of the kids and Finn, the youngest of the Shelby siblings. 
It wasn't until the most of the families had left the station that she spotted the Shelby brother, whom she had feared was lost. She was filled with emotion when she saw him standing there, bruised and broken but still alive. Her eyes welled up with tears as she ran towards the man she loves, his arms stretched out to greet her as she landed in his arms. Tommy kissed her before she could say anything, afraid that this was all a dream. 
The couple's relationship was not easy. Tommy was overcoming the trauma he had experienced while in France and readjusting back into society. Tommy frequently awoke believing he was still in the French trenches and that he was still being tortured all over again. He tried numerous times to convince Y/N to leave him, but the more he tried, the more she proved she would not leave him. The nights he spent with her, the nightmares, the memories, and the mental scars faded to the back of his mind. 
He realises in those moments just how much he loves her, how much he appreciates her, and how much he had been taking her for granted. It's always been her for Thomas Shelby. And for her, it's always been him. It took a war and years apart for him to realise it. 
"Tommy?" she asks, lifting her head from his shoulder to look into his magnificent icy blue eyes. 
He responds, looking intently into her eyes, "Yes, love?" 
"I need you to be safe tomorrow," she says, recalling his meeting at the horse races. She is aware that things with the Shelby Brothers hardly ever go as anticipated. "At the first sign of trouble, you get out of there." 
Her greatest fear throughout the war was Tommy not returning home. She still feels the same fear even though there is no longer a war. 
"I may come home a little banged up from time to time, but I always return home to you," He makes an attempt to soothe her worries. 
She moves away from him and says, "It's not only me you have to return home to, Thomas; I'm not raising our child without you." His gaze travels to her belly, to the small bump where his baby is growing. "And you still have to marry me. We can't be married if you're not here." 
"Everything will be alright," Tommy promises her as he brings her back into his arms. He places his hand on her tiny bump, "Now, instead of worrying about me, you worry about Tommy Jr. in there." 
He sways to the music once more as she puts her head back on his shoulder. "I'll always worry about you, Tommy, the both of you because I have no doubt this child will be his father's son." 
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alovesongtheywrote · 1 year ago
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Nightmare Academia | Spencer Reid x Reader
♥ Summary:  Have you ever seen the tiktok where that guy brings a typewriter to his class because his prof doesn't allow laptops? Yeah, it's that, but you are the source of the typewriters. In other words, you're Reid's worst nightmare. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]
♥ Warnings:  Descriptions of emotional vulnerability from a student to a professor, reminders that the world sucks and Gen-Z is fucked when it comes to housing. The reader is. Kind of Mean to Spencer, but I won't say he doesn't deserve it. Enemies to Lovers, but they're just Enemies right now.
♥ A/N: a couple things about this fic. 1) i have no clue when this takes place in the criminal minds timeline???? i just know reid took a some kind of leave from the bau, and this is what he's doing with it 2) reid isn't actually in this one that much. my bad. 3) i've got no clue what university these two teach at. i researched typewriters extensively for this, but i didn't bother googling universities.
♥ Word count:  2371
Series Masterlist
♥♥♥
“Alright, my little chilli babies, that’s about it for today. If you have any questions, office hours start now, and please remember there’s an exam next week. It makes me sad when you forget. Got it? Got it. Cool.”
Your students immediately began to stand and file out of the room. They left in groups. Some of them chatted amongst themselves softly, and some called out a farewell to you, but most of them were silent. One or two lingered behind to ask about the administration process of the PCL-R, but that was about it.
Except for this one girl.  
You were pretty sure her name was Opal. She sat near the back of the room in the second to last row. She got good grades and performed well on tests and projects- although she was a touch shy during the one presentation project you assigned during the semester.
Usually, Opal was one of the first to leave, practically running from the room, but today she just sat there, staring straight ahead. You watched her for a second, vaguely assuming that she had a question or something. She didn’t get up to ask, though. She just sat still, staring at her laptop.  You paid her no mind.  Sometimes your students just needed a second, and that was usually nothing to worry about.
You were just about to pack up your own things and head for your office when you heard a sob. You looked up again to see Opal just sobbing into her computer. You winced. A pang of sympathy hit you dead in the chest. University was just like that sometimes- and she wasn’t the first or last student to cry on campus.  
Shit, you cried on campus. Like, all the time. As a professor.  The previous Tuesday you thought about the two-headed calf poem too hard and you ended up sobbing in your office.  
You headed for the back of the room, leaning a hip against the back of the seat beside her. She didn’t seem to notice your presence. Her laptop screen was covered with detailed notes- it was honestly an impressive collection.  
You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow, “Everything okay over here?”
Opal gasped, looking up at you with wide eyes, “I-I’m- I-” she sobbed again, “I’m so sorrrrrry.”
“Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I’m crying in your classroom, and I’m so overwhelmed, and my next assignment is going to be late, and I’m so sorrrrry.”
The poor thing put her face in her hands and hunched over in her seat. You pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. University is stressful. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and crying can provide a cathartic release from that.”
“I- I know. It’s just so- so embarrassing.”
“Again, don’t worry about it. I literally cried in here last week.”
“R-really?”
“Mhmm. Now, if it helps, I can provide an extension on that assignment. Your feedback might be a little less in-depth, but that’s really nothing to worry about. Your work has always met a high standard.”
Her eyes somehow got even wider, “Are you- are you sure, professor?”
“Absolutely. It’s not a big deal- it might not fix your whole problem though,” you pulled your legs up onto the chair, sitting criss-cross facing your student, “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, the school provides free counselling services. They can help you feel less… whelmed.”  
Opal nodded, wiping her eyes, “It’s really just- just this one class I’m in. Our professor doesn’t allow laptops so I have to take notes by hand. But my- my writing is really messy, so then I have to figure out what I wrote, and-”
She was working herself back into a frenzy. You had to intervene. 
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Which prof is it, maybe we can ask about getting an accommodation made?”
“It’s-” she sobbed, “It’s Professor Reid.”
You froze. Opal continued to sob as a dark, heavy storm cloud rolled into your brain.  
“That fucking bastard,” you hissed, effectively shocking Opal out of her stupor.
“Wh-what?”
“This isn’t the first time he’s- okay, come on, follow me, we’re going to my office.”
Wordlessly, Opal put her things in her bag. You ran to your desk to do the same, snatching your keys and water bottle before heading out into the hallway. Opal followed diligently, but she struggled to keep up with your purposeful strides. Her face was still tear-stained, but now, instead of sorrow, her expression was the ultimate picture of confusion. When you reached your office, you swung the door open wide and ushered the girl inside.
In all honesty, you were quite proud of the space you had created. It was warmly lit, a necessary contrast from the harsh white lights of the hallway (you fucking hated those lights). The walls were decorated with your doctorates and neat little art pieces you found in various places. It was colourful and pleasant, and now was not the time to focus on your choice of decor because you were on a mission.
Opal remained near the door, watching as you rounded your desk and reached for something below it. With a slight groan of effort, you quickly emerged with your prize.
A vintage typewriter.
A heavy vintage typewriter.
You placed the thing down on your desk as delicately as you could. Opal stared at you in confusion as you beamed at the fine piece of machinery.
“Which room is his class in, I’ll have someone bring this to you.”
“Professor-?”
“You use it for one class, just one, and I guarantee he’ll let you use your laptop. Damn, technophobe.”
“I don’t know how to use a typewriter.”
You placed your hands on the desk, leaning forward on it, “Okay, come here then, I’ll show you.”
Opal timidly made her way towards you. You made sure to leave her lots of space as you ran through the tech tutorial. She picked up on it quickly, being the good student that she was. When you were done, you collapsed back in your chair, another bright smile on your face. Opal looked significantly less distraught, but still vaguely confused.
“Can I ask why you’re doing this for me? You- you didn’t even have to give me an extension. Why are you-?”
“Because you aren’t the first student to have this problem.”
It was true. This was the seventh sobbing-student-style complaint you’d had about him in as many months- and Reid had only been there for seven months.  You’d received emails, phone calls, and office hour meetings where desperate and devastated students would explain to you that they were falling behind. It broke your heart a little bit- and it pissed you right off.  
It was ironic that Doctor Reid had come straight here from the FBI- his technophobic nature was slowly but surely murdering your students, and now, you were going to murder him.
“Now about that extension, does five days sound good?”
Opal handed in the assignment two days into her extension. You smiled as you looked over her incredible paper. Your little scheme had worked. You hoped that Reid was pissed.
He was! Kind of. Not really.  It was a bit of a disappointment to be honest.
You had only known Doctor Spencer Reid for the seven months he’d been teaching alongside you, and boy howdy were you starting to hate his fucking guts. At first, everything was fine. He’d seemed sweet, and polite, and you were willing to overlook the whole FBI profiler thing to maintain the peace.
Then one of your students passed out during class.  
Thanks to his high expectations and fear of computers, there was a lot of shit for his students to cope with. The worst part was, you agreed with some of his policies- of course, you didn’t agree with the tech thing, that was stupid- but there was other stuff that you liked. He taught your students things that could help them improve- but at what cost.
Your formerly dim-eyed and sleepy students (let’s be real, they were never going to be bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed, they’re fucking college students) were now going through life in a state of anxiety that was not good for their long-term health. That was enough to make you hate Spencer Reid.  
And then one night, over a very full glass of wine you looked up his FBI career. You learned that the BAU used a private jet.
A private. Fucking. Jet.
They didn’t need to use the private jet. They could’ve used trains and it would’ve done the same thing. Shit, they didn’t even have to leave Quantico. They could’ve done their job from their main office. Most profilers do their job from their main office.  Instead, Reid’s team had dumped fucking jet fuel into the damn atmosphere because they fucking felt like it.  Not to mention just. FBI. Ew.
So, yeah. Fuck Reid’s three PhD’s, and fuck his ability to teach. You didn’t give a shit about any of that. You hated the man. You wanted to eat his heart in the main atrium, and given your way, you would.
Taking all that into consideration, it was only natural for the expression on your face to morph into one of absolute joy when Reid came to your office with the typewriter in his arms, and his tail between his legs.
“Doctor Reid,” your smile was a plastic thing, a false beauty with venom hiding beneath it, “What can I help you with.”
“Please stop sending that typewriter to my class.”
You opened your eyes a little wider, playing dumb just to fuck with him, “Typewriter? Whatever do you mean? I can’t imagine anyone in this century would even own a little antique typewriter like that thing there.”
“Little? That thing has to be over a hundred pounds- and it’s not antique, it’s-”
“It is literally thirty-three pounds.”
“Oh, okay,” he nodded. It was very clearly a ruse, “But how would you know that unless you own the typewriter?”
“I do a lot of research. That’s a 1960s Vintage Royal Empress Typewriter measuring about twelve inches in width and weighing thirty-three pounds and eight ounces. Y’know, now that you mention it, I’ve actually been in the market for a vintage typewriter.”
You put your elbows together on the desk and placed your face in your hands, “You wouldn’t know where I could get one would you?”
“Dr. (L/N), this is your typewriter.  Please stop sending it to my classes.”
“Hm, I guess it doesn’t pay tuition, that’s not fair to the other students,” you opened your laptop, “What class do you teach again? I’ll sign it up and pay the price in full.”
Doctor Reid let out the most exasperated sigh you had ever heard in your life- and that was impressive. You taught college kids.
“Why are you like this?” he mumbled.
“Pardon?”
“I said-” he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, “I said, ‘Why are you like this?’”
Your smile split your face from ear to ear. You emerged from behind your desk slowly, carefully, like a predator eyeing up its prey.
“Why am I like this, Dr. Reid? I’m like this because in the past seven months, I have had to deal with seven emotionally wrecked students, and what did they all have in common? Was it personal tragedies? The pure state of the world and everything in it? The knowledge that very few of the students at this school will be able to afford houses once they enter the working world?  No, Dr. Reid. The thing they had in common was you.”
“What are you implying?”
“Implying- what are you implying, he asks me,” you muttered, “I’m saying that your fear of computers is fucking over your students.”
“Studies have shown that handwritten notes-”
“No, no, stop. You don’t get to talk.  I’m talking now. Handwritten notes might be better for long-term memory retention, but not everyone writes as fast as you talk. Most of these kids don’t have time to switch their notes to a digital format! And that doesn’t account for shit getting lost, or students who get sick and miss class. Look, I get that computers might be scary for you, but in a climate where most of your students are full-time students, who take a mind-numbing amount of courses that cover incredibly difficult material, go home and struggle with the steaming pile of shit that is reality, and then head out for their part-time jobs- or, in some cases, their full-time jobs- you might want to have a degree of sympathy.”
Reid stared at you. He seemed unaffected. You wondered if that was because you were like, an entire foot shorter than him. You pulled up a chair and stood on it.
“Let your students use their laptops, or I swear to god, I will never stop sending the typewriter to class.  You will hear the incessant sound of keys clicking in your nightmares, got it?” 
He paused, his eyes darting across your face from your lips to your eyes and back.
“How old are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re standing on a chair like a child. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven. Now get out of my office.”
He did as you asked. You could see a small smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him. The sight of it made your blood boil, and there and then, you decided you were gonna keep sending the typewriter anyway because fuck that guy.
Still, over the next few months, you never heard another complaint about Spencer Reid and his technophobic habits. Your students went from extreme emotional agony to regular, day-to-day emotional agony. He’d stopped making them take notes by hand.
You were still gonna kill him just… maybe a little bit less.
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