#Screen is meant to be from limbo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thoughtfulfiction · 4 months ago

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Operation: Cover Me in Sonshine

Author’s Note: Making the Operations fics into a series!

Content warning: Pregnancy and natural delivery.

It’s still early. The quiet of the house feels almost surreal as you wake up. The air feels heavier somehow, like the morning itself is holding its breath. Sunlight creeps through the blinds in soft slants, barely brushing the edges of your room. You shift slightly, wincing as the weight of your belly tugs against your body. Your hand instinctively finds the curve of it, still firm, round, and impossibly stretched. You sigh softly, not really wanting to be awake because you can already feel how early in the day it still must be. The clock on your nightstand blinks, 5:55 AM.

Another morning.

You’ll be lucky if you ever sleep in past seven for the next few years. Right now, though, sleep seems like a distant luxury, one you haven’t had much of lately. Between the ache in your hips and the dull throb in your lower back, rest comes in fits and starts. Despite how exhausted you are, your mind refuses to quiet.

All you can think about—all anyone can think about, is that you’re still waiting. Three days have passed since your due date and yet, no contractions, no signs, no…nothing. Just this endless limbo, your body stuck in a frustrating stalled state that makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something big, yet unable to tip over.

You grab at the nightstand for your phone, squinting as the bright screen flares to life. A message from Joe waits at the top.

Hey babe, just headed out for a quick workout. I’ll be back by 10:30. If you need anything or feel like today’s the day, just let me know and I’ll come home sooner. Love you.

Your lips curve slightly, warmth blooming in your chest, but there’s something else there too, something closer to frustration. Not at him, but at…all of it. This waiting game. The feeling of being stuck while everyone around you carries on.

You knew he’d get up early. Even in the offseason, Joe clings to a routine, his quiet hours in the morning when the world feels calm and focused. And he’s earned that space. He’s been incredible these past few weeks, doting without hovering, most of the time. He’s always steady and patient no matter how restless you’ve been. Every evening, he asks if you’re okay, if you need anything, sometimes twice, oftentimes more. His time off has revolved around you, learning everything there is to know about newborns: the most effective swaddle methods, how long to keep him awake so he learns the difference between night and day as well as an effective nighttime feeding schedule.

He can take a few hours to himself, you think. He deserves that.

Your fingers hover over the screen before you type out a reply.

Thanks, babe. I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t overdo it.

You can practically hear him chuckling through the phone, that quiet, knowing laugh, because he never seems to believe he’s overdoing anything. His stubborn confidence is part of what makes him Joe, part of why you love him.

You exhale and try to shift again, but a deep ache flares in your back, deeper this time, like a dull knife twisting low in your spine, pulling things apart that are definitely meant to stay firmly attached. You groan softly and press your fingers into the sore spot, massaging circles to ease the tension. It’s not new at all. This ache has been creeping in more and more lately, but each time it sparks, a tiny flicker of hope stirs in your chest.

Maybe this is it…

But no. The pain fades, leaving you frustrated and no closer to labor than you were yesterday, or the day before that.

The clock now reads 6:37 AM.

You close your eyes, but the knot of restlessness remains. There’s a quiet pressure building, not painful exactly, but heavy and constant, like your body is gathering itself for something important. You know it’s coming, but when?

You shift again, one hand on your belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your skin. The tiny human you've spent all this time carefully creating is still tucked inside, still waiting.

“Take your time,” you murmur softly, your voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “Just, maybe not too much longer? Please?”

You set the phone down and settle back into the blankets, trying to relax your shoulders. It’s been hard, lately. Waiting. It’s been a whole year of preparation, appointments, baby names, and finally, the moment feels so close, but not quite here yet.

The minutes tick by, slow and steady, but for now, you’re here, in this quiet space, waiting for the little one to arrive. Just a little longer.

You put the phone down, letting Joe’s text sink in as you try to shake off the dull ache in your bones. The unfortunate familiar pangs of discomfort from indigestion and constipation seem to be intensifying. Lately, it feels like the world’s most inconvenient ailment has decided to settle in just as you’re waiting for the baby to make its grand entrance. Of course, it’s also the one thing you didn’t expect to be this uncomfortable—being overdue should’ve been enough of a challenge without the constant bloating and awkward, painful pressure in your stomach.

You inhale deeply, trying to remind yourself it’s just the digestive struggles. The weight of the baby pressing against your insides, your body’s final stretch before it does its job. It’s annoying. Embarrassing, even.

It feels like every part of your body is letting you down. Your stomach bloats up at the smallest meal, your back aches with every step, and now, it’s like your own body is holding the baby hostage in there. And let’s not even get started on the hormone-driven emotional rollercoaster.

But, you have to admit, some of it feels comical, even in its discomfort. You’ve read enough pregnancy blogs to know that half the battle is dealing with things no one tells you about—like the indignity of trying to figure out which position on the couch will ease your gas without making you explode in a fit of awkwardness.

With a sigh, you slowly swing your legs off the bed, careful not to rush the movement. The pressure in your midsection seems to ease up slightly as you stand, though it’s still there, a little tight and definitely at max capacity. You gingerly make your way downstairs, holding onto the railing for balance, feeling the full weight of your baby drastically shifting your equilibrium. As you move, the cramping feels more like an intense knot in your gut, and you know it’s time to make your way to the exercise ball.

You head straight for the water bottle, taking a long sip, feeling the cool liquid trickle down your throat and easing the dryness that’s taken over. You don’t think it’ll help regulate whatever is going on, but hydration seems like a decent place to start.

After a few seconds, you make your way over to the corner of the living room where the exercise ball sits, your faithful companion during these last few weeks. You lower yourself slowly onto it, wincing a little as the baby shifts, and take a deep breath as you roll your hips in slow circles. The gentle movement is supposed to relieve the pressure, and although you’re skeptical, you focus on the slight relief it brings.

It’s just one of those things, isn’t it? One of the million little things people never tell you about pregnancy. How one day you’ll have to tell your husband you haven’t gone to the bathroom in days and you’re on the verge of praying about it. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, even if the situation is mildly uncomfortable. But that’s pregnancy—endlessly humbling, unpredictable, and sometimes…a little bit ridiculous.

You rest your hands on your belly, feeling the baby moving around, and for a moment, the cramping fades into something more tolerable. Maybe this won’t last much longer. Maybe the baby’s just waiting for you to stop worrying about the pain, stop stressing, before finally making his move.

Until then, you’ll continue rolling on this exercise ball, a little horrified at what your body is or isn’t doing, a little tired, but still hopeful that you’ll stop having to ask for help tying your shoes and getting off the couch soon and very soon.

By the time Morgan shows up at 8 AM, you’re curled up on the couch, tucked into a corner with a throw blanket draped over your legs. The dull ache in your lower belly hasn’t really let up, and the pressure feels like someone’s wedged a brick just above your hips. You’re trying to focus on Abbott Elementary, but even your favorite sitcom isn’t helping much. The laughter from the TV feels distant, like background noise to the uncomfortable churning inside you.

Morgan’s familiar voice calls from the kitchen.

“Morning! How’re you feeling?”

You force a smile and crane your neck toward him. He’s already setting his bags on the counter, moving with the kind of ease that comes from routine. He’s been Joe’s private chef long enough to know exactly where everything is—knives, spices, meal prep containers, all without a second thought.

“I’m good,” you answer, even though you’re very much not.

He pauses, wiping his hands on a towel. “You want me to whip something up for you? Eggs? Oatmeal?” He gestures toward the fridge. “I can make that quinoa bowl you liked last week?”

You grimace at the thought. The idea of food, anything warm, rich, or even remotely flavorful, almost make you gag. You press a hand to your belly, your palm tracing flat circles to the front tryin to sooth that backed up sensation, still feeling painfully full despite barely eating since last night.

“No thanks,” you mutter. “I feel like if I eat anything, I’ll actually combust.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push. He’s seen you in various stages of pregnancy discomfort, the bloody noses, random crying fits over commercials, even that one time you cursed Joe’s sneakers for “squeaking too loud.” He knows better than to argue with you, especially this late in the game.

“Alright,” he says easily. “But if you change your mind, let me know and I can you something small and easy on the stomach.”

You mumble your thanks and sink deeper into the couch, moving around more easily now that the back pain has dissipated just enough to focus on what's really causing issues. Another cramp bubbles low in your belly, a little dull and you instinctively close your eyes, breathing through it. It’s really nothing. Just more of this stubborn indigestion that won’t quit.

Morgan, meanwhile, quietly moves around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and portioning out Joe’s post-workout meals. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way. He’s trying to be subtle but it’s very noticeable. He can tell you’re uncomfortable and even though you said you were good, he still feels like he should do something to help.

There's something about your silence, the way you’ve barely talked or how you keep pressing your hand to your stomach just nags at him.

He steps away from the counter and pulls out his phone. After a moment of hesitation, he types out a text to Joe:

Hey man, just FYI, Y/N isn’t feeling great. Says it’s indigestion, but she looks a little off. Doesn’t want to eat. Not trying to overstep, but figured you’d want to know.

He stares at the message for a second longer before hitting send. Then he goes back to his chopping, keeping one ear tuned toward the living room…just in case.

Joe’s phone buzzes on the bench beside him just as he’s about to start his next set. He’s been pushing himself this morning, faster reps, heavier weight, trying to clear his mind. And maybe to get a few intense sessions going before the baby comes and he's too sleep deprived to put 300lbs on the bar for leg day. The further away they get to the due date, the harder it’s been for him to focus. Every morning feels like a guessing game. Will today be the day? And it’s been weighing on him more than he'd ever care to admit.

He grabs his phone, swiping away a layer of sweat on his forehead with his other hand. Seeing Morgan’s name on the screen makes his stomach tighten.

Joe doesn’t even think twice after reading the text, he’s already tapping the call button.

You pick up on the second ring, sounding tired but still calm.

“Hey,” you greet softly.

“Hey,” Joe says, his voice low with concern. “Morgan said you’re not feeling too hot?”

You let out a small sigh. “Yeah…just uncomfortable. Same stuff I’ve been dealing with, stomach feels a little dodgy, like I’m too full even though I barely ate. It’s nothing worse than what I’ve felt the last few weeks, though. I promise.”

Joe leans forward on the bench, still breathing a little hard from his workout. “You sure? I can be home in fifteen. Maybe even less than that if you need me.”

“No, no,” you insist. “Seriously, I’m fine. Take your time.”

But then you hesitate and Joe hears it.

“…Actually,” you add awkwardly, “Can you um…can you ask your assistant to grab me some prune juice? And those Olly constipation gummies?”

There’s a brief silence.

“Prune juice?” Joe echoes, biting back a grin.

“Don’t,” you warn immediately, your voice sharp with embarrassment. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Joe can’t help himself, a quiet chuckle slips out, and you groan.

“I hate this,” you mutter. “I’m literally begging you to send someone to buy me prune juice. I might die of humiliation before this baby even comes out.”

“Hey,” Joe soothes, his voice warm now, teasing forgotten. “Don’t even worry about it. You’re carrying our baby. If you need prune juice, gummies, or whatever else, I’ll make it happen.”

“You better,” you grumble, but there’s a small smile in your voice. “You did this to me.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I’ll text her now,” Joe promises. “And I’ll finish up fast, just in case.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Love you.”

You sigh, wanting to actually be swallowed by the couch, “love you too.”

As Joe hangs up, he’s already pulling up his assistant’s number, typing out the most ridiculous grocery request he’s ever had to send.

Hey, can you grab some prune juice and Olly constipation gummies and drop them off at the house? Don’t ask. Just trust me.

He pauses, smirks, and adds:

Maybe get some peonies too. The biggest bouquet they have. Just in case.

He sends the message, then grabs his towel and heads for the his last few sets. He’s not taking his time after all.

Joe steps through the front door less than 30 minutes after his call, tossing his keys onto the counter. The first thing he sees is the half-empty cup of prune juice and the opened bottle of laxative gummies sitting beside it. He frowns, setting his gym bag down.

“Where is she?” he asks Morgan, who’s finishing up in the kitchen.

Morgan just jerks his thumb toward the stairs. “Up there. Been a while.”

Joe mutters a quick thanks and heads for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His heart’s racing, not from panic, exactly, but from that anxious feeling that’s been simmering under his skin all morning. He stops at the bathroom door and knocks gently.

“Babe?” His voice is soft but concerned.

“I need a minute,” you groan from the other side of the door.

Joe’s hand rests flat against the wood. “You okay?”

“No,” you huff miserably. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Joe’s chest tightens. “Aw, c’mon,” he says gently, trying to keep things light. “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I’m not,” you snap. “I am trapped in here, sweating like I just ran a marathon, and I’m pretty sure if I push any harder I’m gonna launch this baby straight into the toilet.”

Joe winces. “That doesn’t sound great.”

“Yeah.”

He pauses, unsure how to fix this. “Do you want me to call the doctor?” he asks carefully.

“No! God no.” you say quickly. “This is already horrible enough. I don’t need the entire city knowing my body is massively betraying me right now.”

Joe stifles a laugh but instantly regrets it. This isn’t funny, you’re uncomfortable, exhausted, and miserable, and here he is, helpless on the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I just…I hate that you’re feeling like this.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then you sigh, voice softer now.

“I really need this baby out of my body,” you murmur, frustration and exhaustion bleeding through your words.

Joe leans his head against the door. “I know, babe.” His voice is low and steady now. “But you’re doing amazing, okay? Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says firmly. “Look, you’ve made it this far. You’re tough as hell. This whole prune juice situation? Just a bump in the road.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Doesn't exactly feel like it. I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

“Well…” Joe grins. “Look on the bright side, if this baby does show up today, we’ll have one heck of a story to tell at their wedding.”

Your groan echoes through the door, but this time there’s a hint of a smile behind it.

“I’m serious!” Joe teases. “We’ll be like, ‘Oh yeah, your mom went into labor right after she chugged prune juice and I gave her a pep talk while she sat in the bathroom for 45 minutes.’”

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, but you’re laughing now, really laughing, and Joe feels like that’s a win.

“And yet you chose me,” he says softly.

“And I've been contemplating all of my life decisions ever since,” you answer, still stuck in the bathroom, still uncomfortable, but maybe feeling just a little bit better.

The bathroom door creaks open, and you step out looking thoroughly defeated. Your face a little damp from sweating, and your features riddled with exhaustion.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks carefully.

You shake your head with a tired sigh. “Nothing.”

Joe frowns. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “I drank prune juice, ate those stupid gummies, and sat in there forever just hoping something would happen. Now I'm just worn out.”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile, but he knows better than to push his luck.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he says gently. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

You don’t argue. Your body feels heavy, your stomach taut, not from cramps, just…pressure. Like your baby’s taking up every possible inch inside you and still isn’t satisfied. You crawl into bed with a quiet groan, tugging the blankets up over you.

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing a fresh shirt and some shorts.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”

You mumble something in response, something sleepy and unintelligible. Your eyes are already closing as he heads to the bathroom.

When he comes back a few minutes later, his hair still damp, Joe’s wearing one of his old workout shirts and a pair of loose shorts. He tosses his towel in the laundry basket and moves quietly to your side of the bed.

You’re half-asleep, curled on your side, breathing slow and steady. He sits beside you, shifting carefully so the mattress barely dips. His hand finds your back, fingers pressing into the curve of your spine, tracing soft circles in the exact spots he knows help you relax.

After a moment, his hand drifts lower, resting on the hard, round curve of your belly. His palm molds to it, and his brow furrows slightly.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Does this hurt?”

Your eyes barely crack open. “Not really,” you murmur. “Just feels…overstuffed. Like he’s running out of room.”

Joe hums thoughtfully, his thumb absently stroking over the stretched fabric of your shirt. He can feel the tension beneath his hand. Your stomach’s so compact, like a drum. His fingers press a little firmer, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel for movement.

And then, right beneath his palm, the baby moves, slow and heavy, like he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“Wow,” Joe breathes with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, he’s definitely running out of space.”

You smile sleepily, your hand sliding over his, locking your fingers together on your belly. “Feels like he’s trying to punch his way out at this point.”

“Well,” Joe grins, “I’d prefer that over prune juice doing the job.”

You snort, barely opening one eye to shoot him a look. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m too tired.”

“Alright, alright,” he whispers, pressing one more kiss to your cheek. “Get some rest.”

You’re out cold in minutes, your breathing soft and even. Joe shifts carefully, reaching for his iPad on the nightstand. He pulls up a documentary, something about space exploration. It’s the kind of background noise that won’t steal too much of his attention and settles in beside you.

He doesn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone right now. Something about the way you’ve been moving, tired, off and just not quite yourself keeps him rooted to the spot. So he stays, one arm still resting protectively across your belly, just in case.

Just in case today’s the day.

Joe barely stirs when you shift out of bed a little over an hour later. He feels the dip in the mattress, hears the quiet shuffle of your feet as you head to the bathroom, but he doesn’t think much of it. Finally, he figures, letting his eyes drift back to his iPad. The prune juice and gummies must’ve kicked in.

But then he hears it, the familiar, awful sound of you gagging, followed by the unmistakable heave of you being sick.

He’s out of bed in an instant, the iPad forgotten on the sheets.

“Hey, hey,” Joe calls as he reaches the bathroom, his voice rising with concern. The door’s cracked open, and he pushes it the rest of the way.

You’re kneeling in front of the toilet, one hand gripping the side of it for balance. Your whole body shudders as another wave hits, and Joe feels his stomach twist.

“Aw, babe…” He kneels beside you immediately, one hand steadying your back. His other hand reaches for a hair tie from the counter, carefully pulling your hair away from your face.

You’re gasping for air, eyes watery and face pale. “I’m…I’m fine,” you choke out between breaths, but Joe’s not convinced.

“Yeah, no offense, but you don’t look fine,” he says softly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You rest your forehead against your arm on the toilet seat, completely drained. “I think I just overdid it with the prune juice.”

“Or the gummies,” Joe adds with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Or both,” you mutter. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Hey,” Joe says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “None of that. You’re growing a whole human. If anyone’s allowed to have a rough day, it’s you.”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Yeah, well… my ‘rough day’ feels like a disaster movie at this point.”

Joe reaches over, grabbing a washcloth and running it under cool water. He kneels again, gently pressing it to the back of your neck.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.” You sigh, closing your eyes as the cool cloth eases some of the heat in your face.

Joe’s quiet for a moment, but his hand never stops moving slow circles on your back, steady and calming. Then, carefully, he asks, “You sure this is just the prune juice?”

You hesitate. “I think so?” you say, but there’s doubt in your voice now. “I mean…I’ve felt weird all day. Maybe this is just my body trying to reset or something. I actually feel a little better.”

Joe’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he leans down and kisses your temple, his hand still resting warm and steady against your back.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you back to bed. But if this gets worse…I’m calling the doctor and it's not really up for discussion after that.”

For once, you don’t fight him.

“Deal,” you mumble, too tired to argue.

Joe keeps a steady arm wrapped around you as he helps you back to bed, moving slow and careful like you might break. You’re shaky and exhausted, and each step feels heavier than the last.

“Almost there,” he murmurs as you reach the edge of the mattress.

But just as you’re about to sit down, that sick, awful feeling rolls through you again and twisting your stomach into knots.

“Wait,” you choke out, one hand flying to your mouth. “I’m gonna—”

You barely make it back to the bathroom before you’re on your knees again, heaving into the toilet. Joe’s right behind you, one hand supporting your waist, the other protecting your hair.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, his voice calm even though his heart’s racing. “I’ve got you.”

But then just as you’re catching your breath, something shifts inside you. A low, unsettling pressure that feels nothing like the cramping and indigestion you’ve battled all day. For a split second, you think you’ve just lost control of your bladder—but then warmth rushes down your legs, soaking your pajama pants and pooling rapidly on the tile floor beneath you.

Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “Joe…”

He’s already looking down, eyes wide as they flick from your stunned face to the growing puddle on the floor.

“Is that…?” he starts, but you nod before he can finish.

“My water just broke.” Your voice is a shaky mix of shock, disbelief, and maybe even a little relief.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Joe exhales a stunned breath and lets out a soft laugh. The kind that sounds part amazed, part terrified.

“Well…that explains a lot.”

You laugh too, breathless, disbelieving and suddenly the day’s chaos makes sense. The weird pressure, the nausea, the miserable discomfort…your body wasn’t betraying you. It was getting ready.

“Okay,” Joe says, snapping back into focus. “I’m gonna grab your hospital bag, and call Dr. Chen.” He presses a quick kiss to your damp forehead. “We’re having a baby today.”

“Today,” you echo, still trying to wrap your head around it.

The worst day of your life? Maybe not. Maybe it’s just the start of the best one yet.

“Babe, I really think you should just wait until we get there,” Joe says, his voice tight with worry as you pull a towel from the rack.

“Joe,” you groan, stepping carefully out of your soaked pajama pants. “I just threw up, my water broke, and I’m—I don’t even know what else is happening down there. But it’s gross. And I need a shower. Desperately, I'm literally not going anywhere like this.”

He exhales through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to argue. “I get that, but the hospital’s—”

“I just need twenty minutes,” you interrupt, your voice softer now. You press a hand to your belly, feeling a lot lighter now, mentally trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this will only get worse from here. And then you'll be a parent for the rest of your life, there's no going back now. “The next time I walk into this bathroom, there’s gonna be a baby in my arms. That’s…that’s insane. I just need a minute to...breathe.”

Joe’s face softens instantly. His shoulders relax, and he steps forward, cupping your face in his hands.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “I guess you can take a few.”

You nod, suddenly feeling a lump rise in your throat. This is happening. It’s really happening.

Joe presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back. “I'm gonna grab you some clothes but I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” he promises.

You step into the shower, letting the warm water wash over you. For the first time all day, your muscles seem to unclench. The spray rinses away the sweat, the nausea, and thankfully, the sticky amniotic fluid that had left you feeling miserable.

Your mind drifts as you stand beneath the stream, one hand resting protectively on your stomach. The idea that this is the last time you’ll shower before becoming a mom is overwhelming. Exciting, terrifying, surreal. All of it is swirling together until you can’t tell where one feeling ends and the next begins.

You take a deep breath, letting the steam calm you.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you whisper, your fingers tracing slow circles over your belly. “We’re doing this.”

When you finally turn off the water and step out, Joe’s still waiting. Your hospital bag is by the door, a fresh pair of clothes is folded neatly on the bed. He looks up, smiling softly when he sees you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

You nod, drying your face with the towel. “Yeah…a lot better.”

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, steam curling behind you as Joe looks up from his spot by the bed.

“Perfect timing,” he says, standing and grabbing the clothes he set out. “I brought your comfy leggings and that big sweatshirt you like.”

“You’re the best,” you murmur, taking the pile of clothes from him.

You get dressed slowly, feeling calmer now that you’re clean and in fresh clothes. Joe’s already crouched down by the door, untying your sneakers so they’re easy to slip on.

“Alright,” he says, patting one of them. “Let’s get these on and—”

Suddenly, a deep, pulling feeling grabs at your abdomen like someone’s cinching a belt around your waist.

You freeze, one hand flying to your belly as your breath hitches.

“Whoa—hey,” Joe says, instantly alert. “You okay?”

You press your eyes shut, breathing through the wave that comes and goes thankfully much faster than you thought it would. “I think…I think that was a contraction.”

Joe’s eyes go wide. “Do you? Alright, like you're good now? 1-10?”

“I think so. That was like a four. Wasn't bad,” you mumble out, slowly moving to sit.

Joe’s already moving, one hand on your arm to steady you as you lower yourself carefully onto the edge of the bed.

“Alright, just breathe,” he says, his voice calm but focused. “You’re good. We’re good.”

He grabs one of your sneakers and kneels in front of you.

“Okay,” he mutters, sliding the shoe onto your foot and tying it quickly. “Nice and easy.”

You’re still catching your breath when he grabs the second shoe, his fingers working fast but gentle.

“You good?” he asks again, glancing up.

You nod, still feeling shaky but relieved the pain has passed. “Yeah…this is just. Crazy.”

Joe gives your knee a reassuring squeeze. “Hey,” he says, grinning as he grabs the hospital bag. “I know you’re feeling a lot right now…but this is kind of exciting, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Terrifying, but yeah…exciting.”

“We’ve got this,” Joe promises, his hand sliding into yours.

And somehow, as you walk together toward the stairs your body still aching, your nerves buzzing, you can't help but smile at the fact that you get to do this with your best friend.

Joe steps closer, his hand sliding to your waist. “Good,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head. “Because I’m pretty sure our kid’s on a mission to meet us ASAP.”

You smile, a genuine one that takes over your entire being and for the first time all day, you feel ready.

You and Joe make your way downstairs, his arm still firmly around your waist as he helps you down each step. Your heart’s racing now, the nerves mixing with a strange kind of excitement. The contraction has passed, but the tension in your body still lingers, reminding you that things are really happening.

As you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by the smell of something delicious—a mix of fresh herbs and sizzling veggies. Morgan’s in the kitchen, expertly preparing lunch as always, his back to you both.

He turns when he hears you walking down the final step, his eyes landing on your focused face and Joe’s tense, wide-eyed expression. His brow furrows instantly, and without missing a beat, he sets down the knife he’s holding.

“You guys heading to the hospital?” Morgan asks, his voice even but his gaze quickly scanning you for any signs of distress.

Joe doesn’t even try to hide the mix of anxiety and excitement in his voice. “Yeah…we’re on our way. Her water broke.”

Morgan doesn’t flinch, but his lips press into a thin line, his eyes flicking between you and Joe. “Alright,” he says, nodding. “Do you need me to do anything, or are you guys good?”

You shake your head. “We’ve got it. Just, uh, just wanted to let you know.”

Joe’s still holding your hand, but now his grip tightens just slightly as if grounding you both in the chaos of the moment. “You know, Morgan, I really wish you could come with us for moral support,” Joe says with a tired grin.

Morgan gives a wry smile, though there’s no humor in his eyes. “I think you guys have that covered. I’ll hold down the fort here.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it catches in your throat. “Thanks, Morgan…you really don’t know how much we appreciate everything.”

Morgan smiles, giving you a quick, understanding nod. “Don’t mention it. Just get to that hospital and have that baby, alright? And hurry up and bring home so I can finally know his name.”

Joe gives him a thumbs up as he helps you toward the door, your heart pounding as you walk toward the car. But the truth is, it’s finally happening. The baby’s on the way, and it's full speed ahead.

Joe’s hands are steady as he helps you into the passenger seat of the car, making sure you’re comfortable despite the cramping pressure is increasing in intensity by the minute, it seems. He leans in one last time to check the car seat, his fingers lightly brushing over the straps as he double-checks everything. His heart races, it’s almost too much to wrap his mind around.

The next time he sits in this car, his son will be in that seat.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and calm as he looks over at you, already buckling himself into the driver’s seat.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath but feeling a little more grounded now. “Yeah, let's do this.”

Joe gives you a small, reassuring smile before pulling out his phone. He presses a few buttons, his thumb hovering over the call button as he looks over at you.

“You texted your mom earlier, right?" You nod. "I’m gonna call my parents,” he says softly, his eyes focused on the screen but his attention still split between you and the road. "I know my mom probably already has a bag packed to stay with us for a few days."

You give him a small nod, squeezing his hand once before he presses the call button.

It rings twice before his mom picks up.

“Joe? Is everything okay?” her voice is full of excitement and anticipation like she already knows what he’s about to say.

“Hey, Mom,” he says quickly, trying to keep his voice light but failing to hide the excitement underneath. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just wanted to let you know, we’re on our way to the hospital. Y/N’s water broke.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before she responds, her voice almost breathless. “Oh my God! Oh, Joe, that’s amazing! You’re going to be a dad! A real dad!”

Joe laughs, his nerves finally starting to settle at the sound of her voice. “I know, Mom. It’s happening, right now.”

“Okay, okay, we’re on our way. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She’s clearly already getting ready to leave, but she pauses. “Tell that sweet girl we love her and we’re so excited.”

“I will, Mom. Love you.”

As he hangs up, he slips the phone into the cupholder and lets out a slow breath.

“Everyone should now be on their way,” Joe says, his hand gently squeezing yours. “It’s happening, babe. Our little guy is on the move.”

You smile softly, your fingers curling around his as you look out the window, knowing that the next chapter of your lives is about to begin and you’re ready.

You rest your head back against the seat, feeling the dull ache in your lower belly starting to build again. With one hand on your stomach, you fumble for your phone with the other.

“Who are you calling?” Joe asks, his eyes flicking between you and the road.

“Nikki,” you mutter, already scrolling for her name. “She’ll kill me if I don’t tell her.”

The phone rings twice before she picks up.

“Hey! What’s up?” Nikki’s voice is bright and casual, like she’s got no idea you’re in the middle of the most intense moment of your life.

“Hi,” you breathe, wincing as the ache sharpens. “Sooo…we’re heading to the hospital. Baby time.”

“OH MY GOD!” Nikki practically shrieks. “I’m grabbing my stuff right now. What do you need? Snacks? Chargers? Comfort items? A playlist? Should I bring my—”

Your hand clenches tightly around the phone as the contraction surges, fiery and all-consuming. Without thinking, your other hand shoots out and grips Joe’s thigh. Hard.

“Ahhh—oh, hang on, hang on—” you groan into the phone, squeezing Joe’s leg your own personal stress ball.

Joe’s eyes widen for a second before his hand finds yours. He presses his palm over your knuckles, grounding you as he speaks softly.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe…I’ve got you. We’re almost there. About ten minutes out.”

The pain peaks, sharp and relentless, before finally fading enough for you to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you gasp into the phone, blinking back tears as you rub his thigh, apologizing again. “That was a bad one.”

“Don’t apologize!” Nikki cries. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there, I swear.”

“Okay…just hurry,” you say weakly before hanging up.

But before you can even set the phone down, another contraction slams into you. This one much stronger and faster.

“Oh no, no, no, no—” you gasp, both hands now cupping your belly.

“Babe?” Joe’s voice sharpens, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other reaching for you again.

“Joe, just—” you gasp, your voice thin and desperate. “Just run the light.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. His foot taps the gas, and the car surges forward through the red light. Horns blare from both directions, but Joe doesn’t care. His knuckles are white on the wheel, his gaze laser-focused on the road ahead.

Joe’s arm is weighed down by the hospital bag, your overnight duffel, and a smaller tote crammed with last-minute items but still, he keeps his left hand free, reaching out for you as the elevator doors slide closed.

“Here,” he says softly, offering his hand.

You shake your head quickly, barely able to speak as another contraction tears through you. Instead, you grip the elevator railing with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around the cold metal like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Wow,” you grit out, your forehead dropping forward to rest against your arm. Your breathing stutters, short and sharp as you try to focus on anything but the pressure building inside you. Now that you were out of the car you could feel the shift, he was making his way down and you felt like you had could close your legs even if you wanted to.

Joe’s face tightens with concern, but he doesn’t force anything. He steps closer instead, hovering beside you, helplessly watching you fight through it.

“It’s happening so fast,” you choke out, your voice strained and shaky. “I didn’t think it would…feel like this yet.”

Joe shifts the bags higher on his shoulder and presses his palm against the small of your back, rubbing slow, firm circles.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “But you’re doing so good. Just keep breathing. I’m right here.”

Another contraction swells, more forceful than the last, and your breath falters. You grip the railing even harder, your knuckles turning white as a sharp, stretching pressure radiates low in your belly and deep into your back.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, your knees threatening to buckle as you circled your hips. "I feel like I need to squat or something."

Joe’s hand freezes for a second before he quickly presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Okay, okay…we’re almost there,” he reassures you, glancing anxiously at the glowing floor numbers above the door. “Just hang on a little longer.”

The elevator feels like it’s crawling. Each second drags, and by the time the doors finally slide open, you’re trembling, overwhelmed, breathless, and bracing for whatever’s coming next.

Joe doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the bags, then steps right back to your side, curling his arm around you as you take one shaky step forward.

“You’re almost there,” he says again, his voice softer now. “We’re so close, babe…you’re almost there.”

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Just hang on, baby.”

You clench your teeth, breathing through the pain as best you can, your fingers still locked tightly with his.

“We’re almost there,” Joe repeats, glancing at you again. “I swear we’re almost there.”

The moment you step into the hospital room, you barely register Nikki and your mom standing by the bed. They’re both mid-laugh, probably swapping nervous jokes to ease the tension. But their smiles vanish when they see you.

“Oh honey,” your mom gasps, stepping forward.

“You okay?” Nikki chimes in, wide-eyed.

You barely manage a quick, shaky hug with each of them before muttering, “I need to pee. And I need my pants off right now.”

Without waiting for a response, you shuffle straight to the bathroom, tugging your leggings down as you go. The pressure is unbearable, like your body is trying to turn itself inside out.

Joe follows you to the door but stops just outside, lingering anxiously.

“You got it?” he calls softly.

“Yeah just give me a second,” you manage through gritted teeth, gripping the bathroom counter as another contraction swells.

A knock at the main door draws Joe’s attention. The midwife steps inside—calm and confident, like she’s seen this a thousand times before.

“I hear we’ve got a baby in a hurry,” she says with a warm smile.

Joe steps aside as she sets her bag down. “She’s in the bathroom,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Contractions went from nothing to…everything in no time.”

The midwife grabs a pair of gloves. “I’ll check her as soon as she’s ready,” she says, her tone soothing yet no-nonsense.

The next contraction slams into you right there in the bathroom, stealing your breath. You brace both hands on the counter, bowing your head as you ride it out.

“Fuck me, oh my God—” you whimper, feeling the pressure deepen.

Joe’s voice comes from just outside the door. “Babe? Want me to come in?”

“N-no,” you stammer. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The moment the contraction eases, you stumble out of the bathroom, your shirt a little damp with sweat. Your mom and Nikki both look startled, but the midwife steps in like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Let’s get you on the bed,” she says gently. “I’d like to check you. Sounds like things are moving fast.”

You don’t argue. You’re too exhausted, too overwhelmed to care about modesty anymore. Joe helps you to the bed, his strong hands guiding you as you climb up and awkwardly lie back.

The midwife works quickly, gloved fingers checking your progress. You barely notice her calm smile until she looks up at you.

“Well,” she says brightly, “you’re at about eight centimeters. So you're either already in transition or it's coming soon.”

Joe’s eyes widen. “Eight? Already?”

“Oh my God,” Nikki whispers, grabbing your mom’s arm.

“That’s amazing,” your mom says, her voice shaky with emotion.

You don’t feel amazing. You feel like your body’s on fire, like you’re splitting in two or you’re going to explode.

“I don't think I can do this,” you murmur, your voice thin and ragged.

Joe steps closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yes, you can,” he says firmly, his hand curling around yours. “You’re doing it right now.”

“And you’re so close,” the nurse adds, her voice warm and steady. “Your body’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to.”

The room feels like organized chaos. Voices murmuring, hands adjusting, your body shifting from one position to the next as you desperately try to find some relief.

Your mom is behind you now, her legs stretched out as you lean back against her, the cool fabric of her shirt pressed against your sweaty back. The exercise ball in your lap is your only comfort, something to cling to as you rock back and forth, focusing on the rhythm instead of the relentless waves of pressure.

Nikki kneels at your side, her fingers digging into your hips, deep, firm pressure that somehow cuts through the worst of the pain.

“Right there,” you gasp between breaths. “Don’t stop. Stay right there.”

“I got you,” Nikki promises, her fingers tightening like a vise.

Joe hovers nearby, pacing like a caged animal. His eyes flick anxiously between you, your mom, and Nikki, like he’s looking for some way to help, some role to play that doesn’t involve just watching you hurt.

Finally, you glance up at him, chest heaving.

“Go grab some food,” you rasp.

Joe’s brow furrows. “What? No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Babe, seriously,” you plead. “You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re about to be up all night. Just go. I promise I’ll be okay for 20 minutes.”

Joe opens his mouth to argue when the door swings open and his mom, Robin, steps inside with a bag of food in her hands

“Perfect timing,” you breathe. You hadn’t bothered to check your phone since asking her to grab whatever Morgan was cooking for Joe to have with him.

Robin gives you a soft smile and crosses the room to her son.

“I stopped by the house,” she says, handing Joe the bag. “Morgan had it all packed up, ready to go.”

Joe stares down at the food, still hesitant. “I don’t know…”

You shift uncomfortably against the ball, another contraction creeping up your spine. “Joe… please,” you whisper, voice tight. “Just eat. I need you at 100%.”

His eyes soften, and finally, he steps back toward the chair in the corner, setting the bag down and opening the container.

“Thank you,” you say softly, reaching for his hand before he sits down. Your fingers squeeze his, a silent reminder that, even in the middle of all this, you’re still thinking about him.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love you so much,” he murmurs.

“Love you too,” you whisper back, just as another contraction swells, strong enough to steal your breath.

Nikki’s hands tighten on your hips again, grounding you.

“Deep breaths,” your mom murmurs, her arms wrapping around your shoulders, holding you close as you ride it out.

And across the room, Joe watches you, fork frozen halfway to his mouth, amazed at how he had no idea when he woke up this morning that this would be how the day would go.

You squeeze Nikki’s hand hard as another contraction hits, letting the exercise ball go, "I need to move, this isn't working."

“You’ve got this,” she whispers, helping you lay on your side in the bed.

The room is quieter now, the energy calmer. After hours of constant movement, noise, and coaching, it’s just you and Joe. The dim lighting makes everything feel softer, less overwhelming, but the pressure inside you is still unrelenting.

You’re perched on a birth stool, legs spread wide, elbows resting on your knees, letting out soft sounds of pain. It’s not glamorous, but it’s oddly the most comfortable you’ve felt in hours, something about the position giving your body a break from gravity’s pull.

Dignity is beyond out the window. Your sports bra is damp with sweat. The waistband of your shorts is folded low beneath your belly, your body radiating heat like a furnace.

Joe’s crouched in front of you, arms resting on his knees, watching you closely.

“You okay?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to break the calm.

You nod, rolling your shoulders back as you take a deep breath. “Weirdly…yeah. This is…kind of nice.”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Can’t say I pictured it going like this, but hey, whatever works.”

You huff a weak laugh, but it quickly turns into a low groan as another contraction tightens across your belly. You shift your hips instinctively, while closing your eyes, trying to ease the pressure. Joe reaches out, rubbing slow circles on your thigh.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice steady. “Do you wanna try the shower? Might help you cool off a little.”

You drag a hand over your face, skin warm and sticky. The thought of cool water washing over you sounds like heaven.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “That actually sounds really good.”

“Okay,” Joe says immediately, standing walking over to turn the shower on, adjusting the temperature just the way you like it.

By the time he turns back, you’re already trying to peel off your shorts with shaky hands. Joe steps in to help, easing them down your legs, his touch gentle and patient.

“Couple more steps,” he murmurs softly, holding onto to you like his life depends on it. Right now, it definitely does. He has to get you through this. And he’s going to, no matter what.

When the shower’s ready, he guides you inside, one arm curled protectively around your waist. The warm spray hits your skin, and you exhale a long, shaky breath, the first moment of relief you’ve felt in what feels like hours.

Joe steps just inside the shower, still in his t-shirt and shorts, bracing one hand against the wall to keep steady as he rubs slow circles across your back.

“That better?” he asks quietly.

You nod, your forehead pressing into his chest.

“So much better,” you murmur, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your skin.

For a few precious moments, it’s just you, Joe, and the sound of the water. Everything is quiet, calm, and still.

Joe grabs the showerhead with his left hand, adjusting the spray to a steady stream. With his right hand, he reaches out for you.

“Here,” he says gently. “Squeeze if you need to.”

You eye his hand warily, knowing full well what your grip’s capable of right now.

“I’m not crushing your throwing hand,” you say through a shaky breath. “I’m not about to have Bengals fans making wanted posters of me.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, then switches the showerhead to his right hand and holds out his left instead.

“Alright, fine,” he says with a small laugh. “This one’s expendable.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, gripping his left hand as the next contraction rolls in. You groan low in your throat, bending forward slightly as the pressure tightens across your belly and back.

“Okaaay, okay…breathe,” Joe soothes, running the cool stream of water down your spine. The relief isn’t perfect, but it’s enough to keep you from feeling like you’re drowning in the pain.

The next sound that leaves your mouth is somewhere between a moan and a wail, guttural, raw, and absolutely unflattering.

“Oh my God,” you pant afterward. “I sound like a dying cow.”

Joe leans in, pressing a kiss to the damp side of your head. “That’s great,” he murmurs, “I love cows.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too exhausted to manage anything more.

“I’m serious,” he continues, his thumb tracing slow circles across the back of your hand. “Strong, beautiful…and a little stubborn when they’re in a mood.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, even though you’re smiling.

“No, you don’t,” Joe says softly, running the cool water down your back again. “You’re doing amazing…and I’m so proud of you.”

Your fingers squeeze his hand, hard, as another contraction tears through you. Joe doesn’t flinch. He just holds on tighter, staying steady and solid beside you.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

The pressure in your lower back and pelvis suddenly shifts—deeper, sharper —and a new kind of discomfort blooms, making it impossible to stay seated.

“I can’t sit anymore,” you gasp, wincing as you shift your weight. “It’s too much. My butt hurts.”

Joe’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He slides an arm around your waist, steadying you as you rise shakily to your feet.

The second you’re upright, it’s like gravity grabs hold. A powerful downward pressure that takes your breath away. Before you can even think to stop it, your body bears down on its own, your muscles clenching and pushing without permission.

“Hahh! Okay…okay. Oh my god.” you cry, one hand shooting between your legs on instinct.

“What? What is it?” Joe’s voice is sharp now, his eyes scanning you in panic.

You wanted to answer but you couldn't talk. You couldn't do anything but focus inward and do exactly what your body was demanding, curling in on yourself, bending your knees slightly. The sounds you were making were different, less breathing and more deep sounds, guttural...primal. Joe freezes for half a second before snapping into action.

“Babe? Oh you’re…you’re pushing." He notes, like saying it out loud would make it less daunting. "Alright, okay just…hang on.” He carefully turns off the shower, wrapping one arm securely around you. “We need to make sure you’re at 10, babe. Can you try to hold on for a second? It's hard, I know, we just gotta make sure you're ready so you don't hurt yourself."

“I can’t stop,” you pant, rocking your hips desperately, trying to breathe through the overwhelming urge to bear down. One hand grips your stomach, the other braced between your legs like you can physically hold your son inside.

Joe’s grip tightens. “I know—I know,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. “Just…just try. I’m gonna get your mom or Nikki.”

You barely register him yelling as he helps you stagger out of the bathroom.

“Hey, I need someone to hit the call button. Right now.”

Your mom bursts into the bathroom just as you half-squat in the shower, your body pushing again with a force that steals your breath.

“I'm either shitting myself or he’s coming,” you choke out, tears springing to your eyes.

Your mom runs back to the bed and slams her hand on the call button, calling for immediate medical assistance. Joe is only focused on you, one hand bracing your back, the other gripping your hand as your fingers dig into his palm.

The reality of what’s happening hits Joe like a freight train, Kai isn’t just coming, he’s right there. His breathing stutters, but he forces himself to focus. You’re leaning heavily against him, your face twisted in pain, but you’re still fighting, still pushing.

“Just breathe,” he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re okay. You’re good. I’m right here.”

“I need…I need to move,” you gasp, your body desperate for a new position.

“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll take it slow,” he says, helping you shift onto your hands and knees. His arm stays braced beneath you, holding you steady as you adjust.

The moment your weight settles into place, another powerful contraction grips you, and you bear down hard, arching your back as you push. Your whole body shakes with the effort.

The nurse rushes in then with a few people trailing behind, her voice is calm but urgent. “Joe?” she says firmly, locking eyes with him as she kneels beside you. “I need you to stay right where you are, you’re doing great.”

Joe swallows hard and nods, his grip tightening on you as the she guides him.

“Okay, his head’s almost out,” the nurse says, motioning to one of the medical aids. She presses a cold compress into Joe’s hand. “Hold this here, help her stretch.”

Joe places the cool cloth against your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh at the relief it brings.

“When she pushes again, I want you to support him. Don’t pull, just let him come.”

Joe’s fingers tremble slightly, but he nods again. “I’ve got him,” he says, more certain this time.

Another contraction rips through you, and you cry out, pressing your forehead into Joe’s shoulder as your body bears down.

“There you go, baby,” Joe whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re doing so good…so good.”

Suddenly, the baby’s head slips free into Joe’s waiting hands—warm, damp, and shockingly real.

“Holy shit,” Joe gasps, his voice barely a whisper. “…his head’s out.”

“Check for a cord.” The nurse cuts in.

Joe swallows hard and gently runs his fingers around the baby’s head, careful and precise. “No cord,” he says, relief flooding his voice.

You’re shaking, exhausted and overwhelmed, but Joe’s voice cuts through the noise.

“You can do this,” he whispers against your temple, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

With the next contraction, you push hard, crying out as Kai’s shoulders slip free, followed by the rest of his tiny body. The midwife hands him a clean towel just in time to catch the warm, slippery weight of his baby boy, who enters the world with a rush of fluid and an angry, piercing cry.

“Oh my God,” Joe breathes, his voice breaking as he carefully lifts his son onto his back, cradling him in the fresh towel.

“He’s here,” Joe chokes out, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. “He’s here…and he’s so—oh my god. He’s actually here.”

Tears spill down your face as you reach back weakly, your fingertips brushing your son’s tiny hand.

“You did it,” Joe whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible.”

And as their son’s cries echo through the room, Joe can’t stop staring. His heart full, hand still steady on your back unbelievably overwhelmed by the sight of the strongest two people he’s ever known.

The sound of your baby’s first cry fills the room —loud, raw, and impossibly perfect. You let out a shaky breath, your body sagging with exhaustion and overwhelming relief.

“He’s here,” Joe whispers again, his voice breaking as he cradles your son’s tiny body in the towel. “Little man’s got some lungs on him.”

You chuckle softly, your fingertips brushing Kai’s damp hair. He’s warm and wriggling beneath Joe’s steady hands, his cries fierce and strong.

“Kai,” you rasp, barely able to get the word out through your tears. “Took you long enough sweet boy.”

Joe’s face crumples as he leans in closer, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing together tightly. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Both of you. So much.

Outside the bathroom door, Nikki and your mom, who had been frozen in terrified silence through those final moments, each let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” Nikki whispers, pressing a hand to her heart.

Your mom wipes her eyes, her breath catching. “He’s here,” she says softly, her voice full of awe.

Neither of you can believe there’s a baby in your arms. His cries soften the moment your skin meets his, his tiny fingers curling against you.

Joe leans in, his arm around both of you, his lips brushing your temple. “He’s perfect,” he whispers.

The nurses gently lift Kai from your chest, cradling him in a soft towel as they prepare to take him to be cleaned up. The rest of her team surrounds you immediately after, checking you over.

Joe’s eyes flicker between you and Kai, a mix of joy and worry crossing his face. “Do you need me here?” he asks, his voice full of concern. “I don’t want to leave you alone…”

You reach out, your hand still shaky from the delivery, but you manage to catch his. You smile softly, trying to ease his mind.

“I’m okay, Joe,” you whisper, your voice quiet but steady. “Go with him. He needs you, too.”

Joe’s eyes soften, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. He looks at Kai one last time before meeting your gaze, his heart torn. “But—”

“Joe,” you interrupt gently, “I’ll be fine. You go with him. He’s our son. You don’t want to miss a minute of that.”

A soft smile tugs at his lips, but there’s still hesitation in his eyes. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turns to the nurses, his eyes a little glossy.

“I’ll be right over there with my adult diaper on.”

One of the nurses smiles and nods in reassurance, carefully carrying Kai toward the warmer. Joe hesitates for a moment longer, then leans down to kiss your forehead.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you reply, your eyes locking with his. “Now go.”

Joe gives you one last lingering look before following the nurses toward the table, his steps slow as he watches his son being gently cleaned. His heart, still racing, finds some calm in the knowledge that his family is safe and sound.

Back by your side, the midwife helps you settle into bed, cleaning you up gently but efficiently. You take a deep breath, your body aching but content, watching as Joe gazes down at Kai from the other side of the room, his hands trembling with a kind of wonder as he meets their son for the first time.

And you know, no matter what, your world has just changed forever.

Kai is carefully swaddled in a soft, baby blue blanket, his tiny body snug and warm. The nurses hand him off to Joe, and the second he holds his son in his arms, Joe’s breath catches. His gaze softens, and a smile spreads across his face as he looks down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket.

He takes a long, stunned moment, unable to tear his eyes away from Kai. The baby’s icy blue eyes are still a little puffy, his features soft and delicate, but the resemblance is undeniable.

“Damn,” Joe breathes, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “He looks like me. He looks exactly like me.”

He turns toward you, still holding Kai carefully in his arms, and you can’t help but laugh softly at the sight.

“Well,” you tease, your voice still a little raspy from the delivery, “I guess my genes didn’t even try, huh?”

Joe chuckles, his eyes still glued to his son, as he gently walks over to you. “At least the hair is all yours,” he says with a smile, his tone full of pure love. “He’s perfect.”

He settles beside you on the bed, carefully placing Kai in your arms. As soon as you cradle him, Kai’s tiny hand instinctively grabs onto your finger, and your heart melts all over again.

Joe leans in, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers, “He’s ours.”

And in that moment, you know with every fiber of your being, everything you’ve ever dreamed of has just come true.

Nikki and your mom both take turns holding Kai, their faces glowing with pure joy as they marvel at him. Nikki, teary-eyed, gently rocks him in her arms, whispering softly to him as if already promising a lifetime of friendship and love. Your mom smiles warmly, brushing a finger along his cheek as she coos, “He’s perfect. Just like his parents.”

Joe watches them with a soft smile on his face, still in awe of how everything has fallen into place. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. It’s his mom.

He steps into the corner of the room, his voice already trembling with emotion as he answers.

“Hey, Mom,” Joe says, a grin spreading across his face. “Kai’s here.”

Robin’s voice comes through loud and clear, excited and full of joy. “Oh my god, Joe! He’s here!”

“Yeah,” Joe laughs, his heart soaring. “He’s perfect, Mom. He looks just like me.”

Robin lets out a soft chuckle, clearly overjoyed. “I can’t wait to meet him! We’re on our way. We’ll be there in about 10 minutes.”

Joe looks over at you, his heart full, and you give him a small nod, a smile lighting up your face despite the exhaustion still lingering in your body. You reach out for Kai again, holding him close as you breathe in the scent of his soft skin, overwhelmed by the love that fills the room.

“We’ll be waiting,” Joe says into the phone, his voice thick with emotion. “Can’t wait for you to meet him.”

He hangs up and turns back to the room, his eyes softening as he takes in the sight of his son being held by your mom and Nikki.

“They’ll be here soon,” Joe says quietly, walking back to your side. “But for now, it’s just us.”

You smile, your eyes locking with his. “Just us.”

And as you both sit there, wrapped in the warmth of your new family, you can’t help but feel that, no matter how much time passes, you’ll never forget this moment, when everything finally felt complete.

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens and Robin and Jimmy walk in, their eyes immediately locking on Kai, still peacefully nestled in your arms.

Joe’s parents stop in their tracks, both of them overcome with emotion. Robin’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she takes a step closer, her voice trembling.

“Oh my God honey…he’s beautiful,” Robin whispers, her voice full of awe.

Jimmy, usually reserved, can’t help but smile widely as he steps forward, his eyes twinkling with pride. “Look at him,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “He’s got your eyes, Joe.”

Joe, standing next to you, watches as his parents approach. His heart swells seeing the look on their faces, pure, unfiltered love. He gently takes Kai from your arms and cradles him against his chest, carefully walking over to his parents.

Robin reaches out first, her hands trembling as she gently holds Kai for the first time. She gazes down at him, tears spilling over as she whispers, “My baby boy now has his own baby boy.”

Joe watches, his own emotions thick in his throat as he stands beside his mom, who can barely hold herself together. Robin leans in, kissing Kai’s tiny forehead, her voice breaking as she says, “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

She looks up at Joe, her eyes full of love. “You’ve made me the happiest mom in the world.”

Joe smiles, his throat tight with emotion, but he manages to speak. “I just can’t believe he’s here. And he’s real.”

Jimmy, his voice soft, adds, “You’re a dad now, kid. It’s…it’s something else.”

Robin holds Kai a little longer, her tears falling freely now as she cradles him gently, overwhelmed by the fact that her son—her only child—has started a family of his own.

Joe watches, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, his heart swelling at the sight. “We’ve got a family now,” he says quietly, looking at you. “A real one.”

On a bright sunny day in May, Kai Joseph Burrow entered the world, all 10lbs 3oz of him.

And as the room fills with quiet, overwhelming emotion, you realize just how much love surrounds you, how deeply your family has grown, and how everything, no matter how difficult or challenging it’s been? It’s all led to this perfect moment.

Life would never be the same. And after today? You can’t wait to get this next chapter started.

#Joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic #nfl imagine

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bookyeom · 1 year ago

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whatever you say, baby - chs

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 1.1k warnings: none? the slightest bit suggestive at the end but like... it's nothing author's note: part two to this fic! i would recommend reading both for it to make sense :)

You haven’t seen Vernon in four days.

You haven’t seen him since he kissed you — and he’d kissed you a lot.

You’d barely managed to finish the movie without making out on his couch like teenagers. And when it was over, he hadn’t asked you to stay — but he’d kissed you again by his front door.

You’d texted when you’d gotten home safe, as he’d requested. Then you’d woken up the next day to a ‘good morning :)’ text, which was swiftly followed by ‘today is so busy I might die’. And then the two of you had just… moved on.

He sends a Shrek meme and then disappears for hours; you laugh react or send a meme in return. He sends you a picture of a “gnarly” squirrel he sees on campus; you send him a picture of a shitty doodle you drew during one of your lectures. Neither of you brings up what happened. You know he’s got a project due at the end of the week, so you don’t push when his texts are few and far between. Even though you so desperately want to.

Is he thinking about it as much as you are? You can’t get the feeling of his lips out of your mind, and it’s driving you crazy. You want to kiss him again, want to run your fingers through his hair again, want to feel his hands on your waist again.

But you remain in limbo. You don’t ask for an explanation — he doesn’t offer one. And you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it.

Vernonie [8:34pm]: INCOMING VIDEOCALL

Your eyes widen when your screen lights up. You quickly straighten from where you’d been lounging on your couch, tucking your hair behind your ears and hoping for the best. He knows what you look like, you remind yourself, but that doesn’t help the nerves when you finally accept the call.

“Hey, stranger.”

He looks cute, and it makes you sick.

“Hey,” you reply, and you can feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason. All he’s done is say hello, but you haven’t seen his face in four days, and the last time you saw him you were —

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you say, and then you can’t help but blurt out, “You’ve been busy.” It comes out accusatory, and you regret it immediately.

Vernon looks surprised, and you watch as his eyebrows raise. “Yeah, I had that big project to finish, remember?”

You nod, avoiding eye contact through the screen. “Right.”

He’s quiet again before he says teasingly, “If you missed me you can just say so.”

You know it’s an attempt to lighten the mood, but it hits so deep all of a sudden that you think you might cry. Did he not miss you, too?

You know it’s a cheap move, but you absolutely cannot look at him when he tells you that the kissing had meant nothing, that it was all a mistake. That you’re better off as friends.

“Hey,” he says when you shift your phone so that your face is just out of sight. You can practically hear his pout. “Come back.”

“I’m just gonna go,” you say weakly, and you can see in your peripheral vision the way Vernon sits up straight.

“Hey, no. Wait. Please come back? Let me say something.”

You bite your lip as the tears well up. It takes you a minute, but you manage to take a breath and set your phone back upright to look at him.

“Y/N,” he says gently, and you can see his soft smile through the screen. “Bro.”

You can’t help but smile a bit at that, and he takes that as a sign to continue.

“Did you think I was avoiding you?”

You shrug.

“You think I kissed you and then avoided you on purpose?”

Your heart stutters over itself a bit as he says the words out loud. When he puts it like that, you suppose it sounds a bit silly. Because it’s Vernon, and he would never be so cruel. You shrug again, but you still can’t find it in you to speak.

“Kissing you is probably all I've thought about for the better part of the last few months,” he continues, and your eyes widen. “I wasn't deliberately avoiding you, I just... I was busy, that part’s true, but it seemed like a good time to give you some space anyway because I know you get into your head sometimes, so I thought that would give you some time to process…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair before he adds, quieter, “You know. In case you…”

“In case I what?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a few minutes, and you can practically see the way Vernon’s shoulders relax at the sound of your voice again.

He pauses, and then he says softly, “In case you regret it.”

Your eyes widen. “You think I regret it?”

“Do you?”

You shake your head, a bit dizzy as you return, “Do you?”

Vernon’s lip curls up at the side. “No, Y/N. I don’t.”

You’re processing, and he’s quiet as he lets you. He doesn’t regret it. He wanted to kiss you. He…

It’s silent for another moment and then you say, voice small, “But you didn’t ask me to stay.”

“Baby,” he says, and your eyes widen. “That’s definitely not because I didn’t want you to. Like I said, I was giving you space.”

“Baby?”

Vernon freezes. “Shit, sorry. Fuck—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, and he relaxes a little.

“Yeah?” He breathes, and you nod. A smile spreads across your lips, warmth spreading through you as it really, truly dawns on you — Vernon likes you back.

“Yeah,” you affirm. “I think I much prefer that to bro.”

“Yeah?” He says again, and you smile. You’re just realizing now that he seems nervous too, and it makes you feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside.

“Mhm.”

You stare at one another through the screen. Vernon’s grin spreads the longer you do, and even though you know your cheeks are flushed, you don’t stop the staring contest. He narrows his eyes, and you let out a giggle.

“So…”

“So,” he repeats, and you watch as he adjusts to lie down on his couch. “I finished my project.”

That was not where you thought this conversation was headed. “Oh yeah? Good job, bro.”

Vernon raises his eyebrows at the name, and you flush again.

“It’s habit,” you whine, and he puts on an exaggerated frown.

“That’s fine,” he sighs dramatically, “I was going to say that I can hang out with you now that my project is done, but I can see I’m the only romantic one here, bro.”

You gasp. “I can be romantic!”

Vernon grins, and you immediately know you’ve taken his bait as he teases, “Really?”

“I can!” You insist, and he just smiles even wider.

“Want me to come over so you can show me just how romantic you can be, baby?”

Read part three here!

TAGLIST: @tae-bebe @wheeboo @waldau @iluvseokmin @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @minisugakoobies @wqnwoos @gyuminusone @christinewithluv @darkypooo @lvlystars @bewoyewo

#vernon x reader #chsfic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #vernon fluff #vernon angst #vernon imagine #seventeen imagine #seventeen imagines #my writing

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simplygojo · 1 month ago

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Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Ten

author's note ⸺ hey GANG I hope ur all doing well! Tysm for all the messages I actually LOVEEE yapping with u so pls don’t stop…also I have posted the dates of the upcoming chapters on the series master list if you’re interested hehe >.< pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, smoking mentioned(weed + cigs), reader is being spontaneous... taglist at end, 4.2k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

You hadn’t meant to ignore him. Not really. But somehow, two days had passed without a response.

Monday night, you’d fallen asleep embarrassingly early—half-dressed and on top of the covers, one arm still crooked over your eyes.

And Tuesday…Tuesday was one of those days that just swallowed you whole and drained your social battery. Work was nonstop, your inbox a mess, and you’d ended up meeting your parents for dinner because they happened to be in town.

Since moving out to the city after graduating, you’d often felt caught between places—never exactly out of place, but never fully settled either.

It was like living in a space that was both familiar and somehow off, a quiet dissonance you couldn’t quite name.

You missed home, sure, but when you visited, it didn’t feel quite the same anymore. The last while, that feeling of being “home” seemed just out of reach to you.

Nevertheless, you had a good night with your parents. The night ended with wine, too much laughter, a weirdly long hug from your mother, and a slow walk back to your place in shoes that weren’t built for walking.

By the time you’d made it upstairs, peeled off your clothes, and washed your face, it was already too late—and you didn’t want to open the message again.

Didn’t want to see his name glowing up at you like that.

Not when you didn’t know what to say. Not when the weight of not saying anything had grown legs and learned to sit in your chest like it paid rent.

And now it was Wednesday.

You stepped out of the mirror-lined elevator, one hand trailing down the front of your coat as the doors sighed shut behind you.

The hallway greeted you with its usual hush, carpet soft beneath your shoes, the scent of fresh coffee already curling in the air. It was an ordinary morning, in theory.

Your cubicle looked the same as always—chair slightly askew, two pens missing from your holder, a yellow sticky note curling at the edge like it couldn’t be bothered to stay attached. You dropped your bag onto the floor, shrugged off your coat, and sank into the chair with a sigh that came from somewhere deep.

And then you pulled out your phone.

Enough was enough. You were so over the weird limbo of waiting to text him back. So over tiptoeing around a conversation that already had one foot in the door.

You knew exactly what to send him.

Without letting yourself overthink it, you opened Spotify. Thumb steady now, you scrolled down until you found it—the playlist. That playlist. The one you’d made in a different version of your life, with soft evenings and quiet corners baked into every track.

You tapped the three dots.

Selected Share.

Copied link.

Then you flicked over to your messages app. Suguru’s name was still there, second from the top, bolded. That last message staring back at you.

You pressed it open. Pasted the link into the text bar and pressed send.

You locked your phone without another thought and placed it face-down on your desk, like that might stop the ripple it sent through your chest.

Somewhere outside your cubicle, the printer sputtered to life. Phones rang. The world went on.

You had barely taken a sip of your coffee when your phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

The screen lit up with his name.

Geto: Wow. Another soul sliver, I see?

Geto: Now I’ve got something worthwhile to listen to while pretending to work. thanks

Your hand stayed still on the desk for a moment, fingers curled loosely around the mug. Heat pressed against your palm, but your attention didn’t move from the screen.

A small shift behind your ribs—tight, quiet.

The tiniest pull at one side of your mouth as your thumb lifted.

You: Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for it.

He was typing before your message even cleared the screen.

Geto: I wasn’t.

Geto: I’d accepted the silent treatment as my fate.

Geto: This is unexpected.

Your jaw moved slightly, a bite pressing down in the inside of your cheek. Not hard. Just enough.

You: Well…you're welcome for the emotional enrichment

Geto: Real generous of you…

Geto: I’ll take my time—can’t go burning through a whole soul-sliver at once.

Geto: Not every guy gets access like this, after all…

You let your phone rest on the desk for a beat, screen angled just enough that you could still see it. Across the room, someone dropped a stack of papers. The hum of the copy machine clicked on and off. A slice of laughter from the break room cut through, then faded.

Your thumb ran along the edge of the phone once, slow.

Then the last message arrived.

Geto: What are you doing after work?

There it was.

No punctuation. No build-up. Just weight, landing soft.

The tension that had held you upright all morning shifted. Not gone—but different now. Redistributed. Heavier in your hands. Lighter between your shoulders.

Your posture didn’t change, but something underneath it did.

Picking up the phone, you answered honestly.

You: Normally I’d say nothing.

You: But the last few days have been non-stop…I think I just need a night in.

You watched the bubble shift to “Delivered,” then locked the screen again, phone flat beside your keyboard.

A few minutes passed like that. No response.

You started working through your inbox—subject lines blending into each other, everything flagged as urgent when it wasn’t. Your fingers moved on autopilot, skimming, archiving, drafting. At some point you picked up your mug again, but the coffee had gone cold.

Your eyes drifted back to your phone more than once.

Maybe you’d read the tone wrong. Or maybe it didn’t mean anything to begin with.

You weren’t even sure why you were still thinking about it.

Then your screen lit up again.

Geto: Totally fair but

Geto: Any chance you want company anyway? You know I’m pretty quiet.

Geto: Thai food on me??

You didn’t answer right away.

There was a quiet kind of intention in the way he phrased it. No pressure, no expectation—just laid out with that offhand tone he always used.

But Suguru wasn’t someone who invited himself over. He valued his space, liked to get use out of it. So for him to invite himself over on a random Wednesday—easy, but deliberate—landed heavier than it looked.

Your eyes traced the words twice. A warmth stirred in your chest—not giddy, not flustered. Just steady. Like something settling into place.

You: Okay fine, only if you know a place that actually puts flavour in their khao soi…

Geto: Do you even have to ask…I’ll bring the good stuff

You: Okay. Door’s open after 7 :)

Geto: Noted. I’ll knock anyway

Geto: Feels rude not to

You set your phone down, but didn’t look away from it right away.

Somewhere beyond the fabric of your cubicle wall, your manager’s voice called out a reminder for the 10:30 client call—half-chipper, half-stressed. Another email dropped into your inbox a beat later, its notification blinking in the corner of your screen.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a washed-out glow across your desk, soft against the backs of your hands.

You dragged your chair in closer, fingers moving to the trackpad as you pulled up your briefing notes for the day. Line items. Status updates. A spreadsheet you'd updated three times this week already. Your cursor hovered, then moved with purpose.

The first few slides needed cleaning up.

A title needed shortening. Someone had left a comment in red that didn’t even make sense.

You got to work.

The rhythm came back slowly—scroll, revise, adjust spacing, add bullet points. Fingers tapping into a groove that didn’t ask for much thought. The shape of the day began to reassemble itself around you, familiar and structured. Your breathing levelled out.

But even in the middle of that—beneath the sharp clicks of your keyboard and the low hum of someone’s phone call two desks over—something still stirred just beneath your ribs.

You adjusted a chart. Added a footnote. Reworded a sentence that didn’t need fixing. Then glanced at the time.

Only 9:23.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and clicked into the next slide.

But it kept happening. Every few minutes, your eyes flicked back to the bottom-right corner of the screen.

9:33…9:41… 9:53…10:07…get a grip…

Your coffee had gone cold by then. You didn’t get up for a new one. Just sat there, staring at bullet points you couldn’t remember writing, watching the cursor blink on an empty line like it had something to say.

Your mind wouldn’t stay put.

It kept folding back to him—soft and uninvited. It felt like a damn fly that just won't stop landing on you.

His voice in your head again: dry, amused, a little too smooth for how offhanded he always pretended to be.

You could still hear the way he said things—slightly under his breath, like you weren’t always supposed to catch it.

That night on your balcony drifted into view. The smoke. The silence between sentences. The mug with the space cat.

The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking, but you were…Maybe he knew that and watched anyway, you didn't know.

He was quiet about it. Always had been. Not loud in the ways people usually tried to be with you.

No—he lingered.

And now, here he was again. Not even in the room, but still—lingering. Threaded into your morning like background static. Like something you’d left on by accident.

This is just like him—to hang around in your thoughts like this.

Unrushed. Comfortable. Like he had nowhere else to be.

You minimized the briefing deck, reopened your inbox.

There was still half a day ahead of you. A call to prep for. Notes to clean up. Three emails flagged “urgent” that clearly weren’t they never were.

But under all of it—beneath the noise and the deadlines and the digital clutter—one thing sat clear and steady:

He was coming over to your apartment.

And your stomach wouldn’t stop catching on that fact.

Not nerves. Not panic.

Just something sharper than anticipation. A weightless little knot at the center of your chest, tugging every so often. Quiet. Persistent.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The day had really turned around for you.

It started small—your inbox clearing faster than expected, the 10:30 call going smoothly, even the printer working on the first try.

And then, right before you left, your favourite coworker who wasn’t in for a few days handed you a loaf of fresh sourdough, wrapped in wax paper and still faintly warm.

“Made an extra,” she said. “Thought you could use it.”

You didn’t argue.

Now, riding the subway home, the bread sat tucked in your tote, rosemary and salt lingering faintly in the air.

You stood near the center pole, one hand curled around the metal, the other resting lightly on the strap of your bag. The car wasn’t crowded, but full enough that the space buzzed with soft movement—shoulders shifting, someone clearing their throat, the distant tinny bleed of someone’s music through their headphones.

The train rocked gently beneath your feet. Your weight adjusted with it, knees bending instinctively at each turn.

Your eyes moved without really seeing—past the ads, the streaked windows, the scrolling station names overhead.

Your phone was still in your pocket. No new messages. But it didn’t bother you this time. That quiet, steady feeling was still there—somewhere low in your stomach. Not jittery. Not uncertain. Just a kind of slow, warm anticipation.

You’d said yes. He was coming over.

And for the first time in a while, something about that felt simple.

Not easy, maybe. But uncomplicated. No second-guessing. Just something waiting at the end of the day.

The train slowed. You looked up.

Two more stops.

And then the walk home.

And then him.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The lock clicked shut behind you, soft and familiar, and you let your keys drop into the bowl by the door with a sound that always marked the end of the day. Your apartment greeted you the way it always did—dim, quiet, a little cool from the window you’d cracked that morning for air.

You moved automatically. Shoes off. Coat shrugged down your arms. Work bag unshouldered and dropped by the couch, its usual resting place like muscle memory. But before you even made it that far, you stopped in the kitchen and unzipped your tote.

The loaf came out last—wax paper warm against your fingers, scent of rosemary and salt unfurling like it had been waiting.

You stood there a moment, hand still resting beside it.

Then you sighed, turned toward the hallway.

Your reflection caught you off guard as you passed the mirror.

Nothing major—just the slight smudge at the outer edge of your eyeliner, the way your foundation had begun to settle around your nose. Your lipstick, barely there now. A long day’s worth of wear.

You paused.

Most nights, you’d wash your face the second you got home. Hair up, makeup off, cleanser and cool water with a clean, blank feeling afterward.

But tonight…you hesitated.

Suguru was coming over.

And that meant something. Even if it wasn’t a thing, exactly. Even if you weren’t calling it anything. Even if the whole thing was wrapped in casual words and nonchalance and Thai food.

Still. He was coming over.

Your fingers lingered near your temple. Not to fix anything. Just thinking.

It would be easy to leave it on. Just in case. Just to keep that tiny layer of armour. Lip balm, a little colour, a softened line around the eye—something to catch the low kitchen light a certain way.

You stared at yourself a beat longer.

But then you shook your head—small, firm. Almost amused with yourself.

No.

He’s seen you without makeup before. Plenty of times.

Late movie nights with Gojo. Sunday mornings when you forgot to care. After swimming. After crying.

Suguru had been there more times than you cared to notice until now.

This wasn’t new. You didn’t owe him a version of you polished at the edges.

You turned the bathroom light on, pulled your hair back, and began your usual routine. Cleanser, water, rinse. The feeling of a soft towel pressed to your face. Your skin underneath felt cooler now. Clean. Unhidden.

You stood there for a moment longer, fingers still damp against the edge of the sink.

Then, without giving yourself time to overthink it, you peeled your clothes off—layer by layer—and stepped into the shower.

It wasn’t about being presentable.

It was about the day sliding off you, down the drain with the heat and the steam and the tension that had wound itself around your shoulders. You stood under the water until your muscles started to uncoil, until the thoughts quieted, until you could feel yourself again.

No scrubbing. No ritual. Just warmth on your back and a moment to exhale.

You dried off slowly. Pulled on something soft and worn—cotton against clean skin—and padded barefoot back to the mirror.

After smoothing on a fresh layer of moisturizer, you then reached for the one thing you never skipped—your tinted lip balm.

Not makeup, not really. Just a touch of colour, and you used it religiously—if you could afford to buy one hundred tubes of it, you would.

A final step. A signal that the day was done, and you were back in your body again.

And when you stepped back into the hallway, you didn’t look in the mirror again.

You had no reason to impress him.

And besides—he was already coming over. Just as a friend.

Just as Suguru.

You moved through the apartment in slow, familiar steps, the quiet after the shower settling over you.

In the bedroom, you changed into something casual—comfortable enough to feel like yourself. Nothing styled. Nothing planned. Just what you’d wear on any night in.

Back in the living room, you crossed to the shelf near the window and pulled out your incense tin. You picked a stick without thinking too hard—something light, familiar—and lit the end. After a few seconds, you blew it out, letting the smoke drift upward in slow, lazy curls.

The scent spread gently through the space, warm and steady.

You turned on the lamp beside the couch—soft light, easy on the eyes—and took a step back.

Everything felt still.

Not perfect. Not staged.

But ready.

You crossed to the kitchen, poured yourself a glass of water, and leaned back against the counter, letting the quiet settle a little deeper into your skin. The light from the lamp caught on the edge of the glass, refracting small, watery shapes onto the floor.

After a moment, you picked up your phone to check the time.

6:46.

Still early.

You were just about to set it back down when the screen lit up with a new message.

Geto: On my way

Another one followed almost instantly—a photo this time.

You tapped it open.

It was a quick, close shot: his hand holding a folded-over brown paper takeout bag, knuckles curled around the handles. The background was nothing—sidewalk, a bit of concrete, maybe his coat sleeve just barely in frame—but your eyes caught on the smallest details without meaning to.

The soft dip of veins along the inside of his wrist. The way his rings—two of them, one heavier-looking than the other—sat neatly at the base of his fingers. His nails were clean. His grip relaxed.

He had… nice hands.

You blinked, screen still glowing in your palm.

You hadn’t meant to notice, really. But the image lingered for a second longer than necessary before you locked your phone and set it down, a little slower this time.

The scent of incense still drifted through the room, sweet and woody. Outside, a car passed with its headlights skating across your blinds. You glanced toward the door without moving.

He’d be here any minute now, and you really hoped that he remembered your khao soi…

The apartment felt still, but your nerves had started to hum again—quiet, low..

You crossed back into the living room, picked up your phone again, and tapped it awake. Opened Spotify.

Scrolled past the ones you usually kept to yourself—the sad ones, the overthought ones—and settled on the playlist you’d made without any real theme. Just the kind of music that made the room feel like yours.

You connected to the speaker tucked on the shelf and turned the volume down low. Just enough to soften the silence.

The first track floated in, slow and steady. The kind of sound that felt like a room you wanted to stay in. Something with a soft beat, warm vocals, nothing that asked for too much attention.

You let it play. Let it settle.

Then you crossed to the couch and straightened the throw without thinking. Tucked a stray slipper under the edge of the coffee table. Wiped a nonexistent crumb from the counter.

And before you could check the time again—there it was. A knock.

Not loud. Not rushed.

Just two quiet taps, measured and certain.

He was early.

You didn’t move at first. Not startled—just still. Like something had clicked into place a beat sooner than expected. A flicker of something low in your chest, not quite nerves, not quite thrill. Just there.

A breath caught in your throat. You let it go. Then moved.

You crossed the floor, your socks making your steps soundless on the rug, and paused with your hand on the doorknob.

You opened the door, and there he was.

Suguru stood there, completely oblivious that he just sent your stomach into a full somersault ten minutes ago.

Jacket open, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the other holding the takeout bag by its twisted paper handles. The warm scent of curry and lemongrass drifted up between you, carried in on the quiet of the hallway.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. Calm, unreadable, but steady.

“Hi,” he said, voice low. Almost too casual. Like this wasn’t something. Like this was normal.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the doorknob. “You’re early.”

His mouth pulled at one corner—not quite a smile, but close enough to make your pulse skip. “Couldn’t help it. The place was faster than I thought.”

He stepped past you without needing permission, brushing by in a way that left the faintest trail of his cologne in the air—clean, a little woodsy, something familiar now. The door clicked shut behind him as you turned.

He dropped the bag on the counter, casual, already at home in the space.

You caught yourself watching the way his hand moved—how the veins in his wrist shifted as he let go of the handle, how the silver rings on his fingers caught the low kitchen light.

There was something absurdly specific about it. The easy way his fingers flexed. The way they looked as if they’d been sculpted with quiet intention.

You looked away.

He glanced around once, slow. Took in the low lighting, the haze of incense smoke curling from the windowsill, the soft music still murmuring from the speaker before his gaze found yours once again.

“You went full ambience,” he said, voice low. Almost amused.

“Don’t act surprised. I like it when my place feels like mine. Always been a big decorator… don't you remember my place at school?”

There was a pause—quiet but not empty. You watched his expression shift, subtle as always. A small crease appeared between his brows, like the memory had come faster than he expected. Like it caught him a little off guard.

“Your old place…” he said, voice lower now. “Yeah. This feels the same.”

His eyes moved slowly around the room again, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at the walls or the incense or the books.

He was remembering something else. Maybe the cracked window frame in your university apartment that you simply never fixed. Maybe the crooked shelf you insisted on keeping there as a ‘happy accident’. Or maybe you, sitting cross-legged on a thrifted couch, light from the hallway bending around you.

He looked back at you.

“Feels like you.”

Then he nodded once, like that was answer enough, and turned to tear the tape off the bag. “Hope you’re still into spicy food. I didn’t hold back.”

“Bold of you,” you said, walking over, “assuming I’ve gone weak in the time we’ve been apart.”

“Mmm. Could never picture that,” he replied without looking up.

You watched as he pulled out a few plastic containers, setting them side by side. And your eyes were locked in on your khao soi, which was smelling ever so fragrant. He popped open a lid and peeked inside, making a small, approving noise.

“Still hot.”

You grabbed two forks and two spoons from the drawer beside Suguru, handing one set over without thinking.

Your hands brushed, briefly, the way they always seemed to lately—casual, but not quite forgettable.

Suguru stacked the warm containers in his arms and moved toward the living area. The fabric of his black sweatshirt shifted with him—soft-looking, slightly worn at the cuffs.

His jeans hung low on his hips, baggy in that way that looked thoughtless but never quite careless, the denim faded in places which made them seem more lived in. He crouched beside the low table, setting the containers down with a soft thud before lowering himself to the rug.

Cross-legged, back loose against the couch, one arm draped over his knee—comfortable, effortless.

He looked good like that. Familiar.

A little too easy to look at.

“Should we use plates?” You said, watching him from the kitchen.

Suguru shrugged with a sly grin, tilting his head like it was the most obvious logic in the world.

“I mean, there’s a first time for everything,” he said, deadpan. “But why waste clean dishes when the containers are already doing the heavy lifting?”

You smiled, shaking your head as if amused by the effortless ease of his logic. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “that sounds about right.”

It felt so natural, this back-and-forth, the kind of simple comfort of his presence you didn’t realize you’d missed. Normally, you avoided people when you were drained—too tired to carry any weight but your own—but if there was one person who never took from your well, it was Suguru.

Your eyes met his for a moment, and there was no need to say it out loud. You both understood.

With a small, knowing smile, you settled down across from him on the floor, the warm scent of the Thai aromas filling the space between you. The room felt softer somehow—like the quiet in between storms, safe and familiar.

And just like that, you were home again.

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internetdaddy98 · 4 months ago

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The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 4

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Ectopic pregnancy; blood; violence; gory description; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

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

The Emergency Room was already humming when you stepped in. You walked through the sliding doors, scrub top sticking to your shoulder blades where your bag had rested, your badge swinging with each step. The scent of antiseptic and saline entered your senses.

“Williams.” Dana’s voice floated over from the nurses’ station. Clipboard in one hand, coffee cup in the other. “You’ve got that ‘I slept four hours and regretted every minute’ look.”

“At least on nights no one expects me to look awake,” you scoffed.

“I didn’t want to seem too well-rested,” you replied, suppressing a yawn. “Bad for team morale.”

You weren’t sure when the hospital had started feeling more like reality than your apartment. You hadn’t slept well since changing to day shift over a week ago, your body not adjusting to sunlight had left you in limbo.

Your first case came in less than twenty minutes later.

Code Blue—female, late twenties, syncopal episode, hypotensive. Report from EMS said she collapsed in her apartment bathroom, pulse thready, GCS dropping en route. ETA two minutes.

The trauma bay swelled with motion before the doors even opened. You reached for gloves without thinking, your brain already mapping out differentials: ruptured AAA? Sepsis? Internal bleeding?

Then she was wheeled in—ashen, barely breathing, soaked in sweat. EMS was shouting vitals, and someone called out, “Positive pregnancy test. LMP unknown. No trauma history.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Get her on O2,” you snapped, stepping in. “Two large-bore IVs, run a bolus. CBC, coags, type and cross. I want a pelvic—”

“She’s hypotensive,” Perlah said. “BP seventy over forty and falling.”

Your eyes scanned the abdomen—distended, rigid.

Robby was suddenly at your side, already snapping sterile gloves on. “Could be ectopic.”

You didn’t need to answer. The look you shared said enough.

“Let’s do the bedside,” he said, and you nodded.

He handed you the ultrasound probe with steady hands “Transabdominal first,” you murmured, angling the screen. “Uterine stripe is empty…”

“Check Morrison’s pouch.”

You slid the probe, and there it was: free fluid collecting near the liver. You didn’t need a positive pregnancy test anymore.

“She’s bleeding out,” you said, your voice low but calm. “Internal rupture.”

Robby met your eyes. “OR, now.”

“Call OB,” you barked. “We need the rapid transfuser. Get a trauma pack—no, two.”

There was blood. Too much of it. But your hands stayed steady as you started the line. Robby worked the airway, quick and efficient, while you coordinated the push to surgery. The two of you didn’t speak beyond commands to the residents, but the rhythm was still there—tight, fluid, unspoken.

When the gurney finally wheeled her out, you stayed frozen in place for a second, gloves soaked, the adrenaline still ricocheting through your chest.

You peeled off your gown and leaned against the wall just outside the trauma one. Breathing finally caught up to you. The world tilted back into focus.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. Quiet enough that it didn’t carry.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically. Then, softer, “It’s just… fast.”

He watched you for a moment. “You’ll learn to breathe in the middle of it.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be comforting, but you took comfort in it anyway

At lunch, you leaned beside him on the rails of the rooftop. It had become habitual to find yourself up here with him during your shifts, finding a small moment of quiet.

“You ever get used to it?” you asked, not quite looking at him. “The… not knowing how things end?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, hands gripping the rails “No,” he said finally. “You just get better at compartmentalizing.”

“That sounds bleak.”

“It’s honest.”

Another pause. Your eyes flicked toward him, catching the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Not quite from age. More like from carrying too much.

You tilted your head. “You ever take a day off?”

He glanced over at you. “You ever stop asking questions?”

You smirked. “Touché.”

A pause.

“You talk like someone who’s burned out and pretending not to be.”

He glanced at you, surprised. “You talk like someone who sees more than she says.”

You didn’t answer that.

Late afternoon hit you like a sledgehammer. A code blue on 4 East, two pediatric lacerations back-to-back, and a psych hold in Room 9 who threw a bedpan at you because you wouldn’t let him leave AMA.

You didn’t know Robby had seen that until you found an energy drink waiting at the nurses’ station.

No note. No acknowledgment.

You almost smiled. Almost.

You blamed your lack of sleep, but your last case got to you. It was a diabetic foot ulcer gone septic. The smell alone made your eyes water, and the patient was aggressive and confused.

You powered through the dressing, the orders, and the call to vascular. You didn’t realize how tightly your jaw was clenched until you stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

“Hey.”

You opened them to find Robby standing in front of you, arms crossed, watching you with something like… caution. Or concern.

“You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… one of those days.”

“You handled it.”

“Barely.”

He looked at you, long enough that you felt your stomach twist. Not unpleasantly. Just… uncomfortably aware.

“You’re allowed to struggle, Williams. Doesn’t make you weaker.”

You nodded, swallowing past the thickness in your throat.

“I just hate that I care so much,” you said. “About getting it right. About being good.”

He hesitated. Then, softer, “That’s exactly why you will be.”

There was silence between you then. Not awkward. Just… still.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Eventually, you broke it. “If you say something profound and walk away dramatically, I swear I will beg Dr. Shen to take me back-”

He snorted. “I’ll save the theatrics for tomorrow.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t leave until nearly eight. Your shift had ended an hour ago, but you’d found yourself lingering—checking your charts, double-reading labs, pretending like you hadn’t just been waiting for your heartbeat to slow down.

You finally stepped out into the night, air cool against your skin. You were halfway to the parking lot when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You always stay this late?” Robby asked, walking up beside you.

You shrugged. “I was just being thorough.”

He tilted his head. “And the real reason?”

“I don’t know how to turn it off,” you confessed quietly.

He nodded like he understood. Because maybe, he did.

You walked in silence for a while, the gravel crunching beneath your sneakers, headlights flashing in the distance.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, just as you reached your car. “You’re not just surviving this place. You’re learning it.”

You looked at him. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

A pause. His voice dropped slightly, not softer but lower. “And you’re not easy to intimidate.”

You almost smiled. “I fake it really well.”

“I can tell.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something else. Like he almost did.

Instead, he stepped back.

“Night, Williams.”

You climbed into your car, closed the door, and sat there for a long moment before starting the engine.

He still hadn’t said your first name.

And somehow, that felt like its own kind of tension.

#michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr robinavitch x reader #dr robby imagine #dr michael robinavitch #dr robinavitch #noah wyle

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heademptysimirror · 16 days ago

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So...Fraud.

The eight layer of Hell, and the second to last level in Ultrakill. Even if we just have the teaser for now, there's already a lot of theories on what Fraud's gonna be like! Personally, I've been giving it a lot of thought lately.

Analysis/Theories under cut!

First off, the OST art for 8-1.

The cover is immediately...off-putting. Ultrakill has INTENTIONALLY avoided eye imagery for most of the game, the only exceptions I can think of being the death screen, the eyes in Gluttony, and the tiny one in the album art for A Heart Of Cold. So an eye that is MEANT to be the central piece is very weird. Not to mention the artstyle change from, say, Infinite Hyperdeath, Imperfect Hatred and even Violence.

They all very clearly show the themes of Ultrakill, using black sharp silhouettes on top of a solid color background. In contrast, the one for Fraud gives off a more "holy" vibe. It has light colors, soft strokes and not even a speck of black to be found. It's almost inviting.

8-1 "HURTBREAK WONDERLAND"

The mission takes place in some kind of manor, and a modern city. It looks normal, to some point. Too normal for a game like Ultrakill. Then again, the layer as a whole is based on deceit.

"TRUST NOT YOUR EYES.

TRUST NOT YOUR EARS.

THIS IS THE EIGHTH LAYER OF HELL.

THIS IS ULTRAKILL.

THIS IS FRAUD."

Watching the teaser, one of my first thoughts was "Hey, this looks a bit like 5-3!" So I played it to get in-game footage.

I know it may just be reused models to save time, BUUUT it's funny to me how people theorized on Fraud to mimick Heaven, and just how similar 8-1 is to the inside of the Ferryman's ship (a character heavily related to Heaven, that intends to show his gratitude towards it). It wouldn't surprise me if the Ferryman decorated his ferry to resemble Paradise on purpose. (We still don't actually know what Heaven looks like in Ultrakill, sooo...)

Then there's also plenty of stone statues shaped like a lion devouring a sun. In alchemy, that can represent the consciousness being overwhelmed by violent, frustrated desires (I'll retake this later). Or, it's used as a metaphor for aqua regia (the lion) dissolving gold (the sun). The sun itself is sometimes linked to the consciousness, the divine, or sulphur, too. Interesting how a screenshot focuses on a red skull, considering those are the ones which have the alchemical symbol for sulphur. With such emphasis on it, it makes me think there might be some parts of Fraud that are just completely corroded or ruined.

8-2

Stanley Parable?

Some sort of office/warehouse/factory. It continues that "urban" theme from the first mission. Not much to comment here for now with the lack of screenshots, sadly :(

(Though, the colors kinda reminded me of that bathroom at what seems to be the end of 8-1. Wonder what the deal with it is??)

Fraud - General

Non-euclidean geometry in a modern-esque, twisted yet beautiful city. In such a deep layer of Hell, you'd expect it to be a lot more grotesque, like its version in Dante's Inferno. And it's deceitfully pretty, clearly going for a liminal feel. We're going to be fighting enemies on top of buildings while the environment bends around us (So metal!!).

I'm really curious as to what the torture here is supposed to be. The normality of its looks could make you think about Limbo, where the torture was psychological.

"WE CAME IN" If that's a reference, then I'm completely oblivious to it. However, I'm assuming it refers to the inside of the TV in the room, which looks like it leads to the start of the level. In 1-4, the book's text tells us how Hank's experience in Limbo tempted him to "plunge deeper into hell". In Fraud, if the punishment is any similar to Limbo's, then there might be a similar situation. By "going in" the TV, you're progressing in the level, and eventually going deeper into the layer.

And again with the 5-3 parallels, there's the level names. "Ship of fools" and "Hurtbreak Wonderland". The ferry is a safe (if you ignore the enemies in the mission??) place amidst the raging sea of souls of Wrath. The city of 8-1 basically intends for you to feel comfortable, at least by its looks. And yet, 5-3's title directly tells you what to expect from the level, while 8-1's goes as far as to call it a wonderland.

Honestly, Fraud's got a lot of potential for a high scare factor. I'm betting it's going to have AT LEAST one moment in a mission, like the Mannequin jumpscare in 7-1.

(If it relies on psychological horror then I'm sold. And horrified. I'd hate the first playthrough and I mean this in the best way possible)

As for 8-S, no clue. I don't really know WHAT to expect since this is the first layer release I've been around for. I doubt we'd guess it, anyways. Unlikely because of how popular the prediction is, but it would be so funny if it was a building simulator. The PC gaming show had a bunch of those before the Ultrakill announcement and after it the views basically HALVED. I feel kinda bad because some of the games were genuinely cool-looking but really most of us were only there for the Fraud reveal.

One thing I don't see people talking about is that this is the last secret mission AND the last Testament if there's none in Treachery. The last of God's lore?? Maybe we'll finally learn just what happened.

Providence

A new enemy introduced in the teaser. As soon as it dropped, a popular theory was created:

Providence is NOT an angel.

It was presented as a new enemy, not as a new ANGEL enemy. And the statement seemed pretty solid, until more Fraud content was published in July 8.

Oh.

Despite confirmation from the official team themselves, I refuse to believe that's actually an angel. At least a regular one. They've told us multiple times not to trust our eyes or our ears, and that might as well be hinting at a lie they're telling!

Not to mention all of the evidence there is for the theory:

1. Providence's attacks use HELL ENERGY.

2. It has whole eye on its face. According to the Terminal entry for Virtues:

"Virtues are normally known to have a multitude of eyes, though for unknown reasons, these eyes are hidden or removed for ones that become wardens in Hell. Some have speculated this may be related to why almost all husks lack eyes, with the only verified exception being the previous Judge of Hell, King Minos."

Eyes in Ultrakill are scarce, and mostly associated with Hell Itself. What is an angel with eyes doing in hell? Unless Providence is not supposed to be there, then it just doesn't much sense. Even Gabriel's (hypothetical) eyes are covered.

3. Providence seems to lack that vibrant blue light Virtues and Gabriel emit in game. Supporting this theory, 6-2 Gabriel doesn't have that Holy Light (This is after the Council removes his Light) that he did in 3-2. Sure, the arena does have a blue light in his second phase, but that's probably just the glow of his wings.

4. If you look at the concept art for Providence, you'll see a lot of insect and flower designs, especially butterflies and moths. Those insects are commonly associated with disguise or change. Following the motif, there's also an idea for Providence to be based on the Tetramorph cherub, and for it to use its different faces.

And lastly, there's plenty of concepts for Providence to be made out of stone (the material a demon's exterior is made out of.

(Though these remained concepts for a reason, it might be helpful to consider them!)

5. There's statues in the image of Providence. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal, since there's statues of Gabriel and what seem to be other angels around Hell. The thing is Providence is apparently a Lesser Angel. How important could it be?

(When getting footage, I found out the lion statue is also in Limbo. Funny being how Fraud might be comparable to Limbo, them being the first and second to last layers, respectively.)

With this in mind, there's different possibilities for Providence. The first is that it's really just a freaky angel or something. Second, a demon. Or third, a husk. Regardless of how biased I might have been at first for demon Providence, it being a husk could be even more interesting and more congruent with Ultrakill's themes. Imagine how absolutely horrifying it'd be to be forced to live as a twisted caricature of something you clearly aren't, in a place that pretends to be a utopia.

Perhaps it was Hell, or perhaps someone else, and that brings us to the last part of this post.

P-3 predictions

Important note : We've reached the segment with the least official proof. I should mention that most of this theory is based on the belief that the Act 3 layer that had a king was Fraud, although it might also work with Treachery. Still, this is all very speculative.

I feel like Fraud did go through some kind of change like Lust did when the angels left. However, I wouldn't really call it a renaissance. Minos focused on reforming his kingdom, Sisyphus trained an army, and perhaps this third king chose to do something similar to Minos, but not for the sake of his people. Rather, just to spite Heaven by copying it.

That being said, my candidate for the third Prime Soul is Theseus. Not only is he very associated with the Minotaur (that is associated with Minos), he also checks the boxes for being a Greek king in mythology, having some questionable actions, and being fraudulent/treacherous in some occasions.

As mentioned with the alchemy symbolism earlier, someone may have been frustrated and succumbed to a more brutal lifestyle. The angels' disappearance was the perfect opportunity to taunt the jailors. The Fraud layer transformed into a beautiful place, but only to the eyes of its king. The sinners were morphed into parodies of the gracious inhabitants of Heaven, eternally forced to behold what they could have been. The Council, utterly disgusted, sent Gabriel to get rid of the ruler, imprisoning him, you know the drill.

Since the kings in Hell seem to have known eachother, then that's a check, too. Theseus has a connection to Minos due to slaying the Minotaur in mythology.

(I wonder if the one who gave it to Minos is really the third prime soul. According to its data, was sculpted by "████ ██████" as a gift for the Judge of Hell in an attempt to find some kind of rapport. I tried looking for Greek kings that had six letter names and fit the "criteria" for a possible Prime soul, but no one really convinced me. That person might just be a random Hell resident.)

From what we've been shown of Fraud, it has a lot about change. The perspective changing, the environment shifting, the concept art of Providence alternating faces, and whatever else might come with the full level. And what is Theseus also known for? His paradox. If an object's parts are all replaced over time, is it still the same object, or a completely new one? Not only does it fit with the idea of Fraud being transfigured, but I think it would also be a really cool concept for Ultrakill's finale. After humanity went through so much horrible events, and did such horrific things, could it still have been considered...well, human?

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

Aaaaand we're done! Is this overanalyzing it? Probably. Is it far-fetched? Completely. Albeit, I really really really needed to organize my thoughts, so here you go. I'm going to go bonkers when Layer 8 comes out. The last level with 4 missions is surely going to be pretty lore heavy.

#ultrakill #my art #v1 ultrakill #providence ultrakill #ultrakill providence #fraud ultrakill #rambles of the mirror maze #I'm so sorry if this is confusing to read this is the first time I've done this 💔💔#I'm still hoping for a Greater Angel in Fraud. Imagine if we get the gold arm from it!!#Please tell me if you spot any mistakes! ^^

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redvexillum · 25 days ago

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A/N: We are starting our summer smash event with a Vox x Reader from my sunshine series! This happens right after Shallow so I recommend that you guys check that story out first! Also, shoutout to @safination for being a number 1 Sunshine fan! 😘

Summary: Caught in a cycle of passion, manipulation, and aching hope, you make a decision that will change everything. As fireworks light up the sky, you finally decided to leave the man who could never love you out loud.

TAGS/WARNING: f!reader, dry humping, smoll sad, relationship troubles, Vox being clueless

My Sweet Sunshine Masterlist

You really shouldn't have gone to the New Year's party. That much was painfully clear the second the laughter felt too loud, too sharp, too distant. You should’ve faked an illness, something rare with an impossible affliction, just to keep yourself away. Sinners didn’t get sick, not in the human sense, but you would’ve welcomed even a fever if it meant avoiding the sight of him.

Now, under the sterile light of your workspace, your fingers tapped absently at the sleek new interface of the next-gen Vwatch. As your eyes moved to your phone, the screen caught the hollow, tired look in your eyes, making it hard for you to recognize yourself. Exhausted. Numb. Lonely.

It hadn’t started at New Year’s. No, this decay began earlier, right before Christmas, the night you’d walked out in a childish flash of rebellion, a petty act meant to make him feel something. Maybe even miss you. But if you’d hoped to shake something loose in him, you were sorely disappointed.

The ice between you had thinned to glass since then.

Still, Vox tried. God, he tried. There were moments, fleeting and fragile moments, where it felt like he was reaching for you. But always with caution, always from just across a line he refused to cross. You weren’t his lover. Not really. But you weren’t just his co-worker, either.

You lived in that in-between space. That aching, silent limbo.

Almost.

Secret.

Those two words clung to you like frostbite. Words that whispered through every glance, every near-touch, every unspoken sentence caught between your lips. Ever since you realized just how deeply he had carved himself into your heart, the two of you had been performing a clumsy waltz. One where the rhythm was never quite right. One step too early. One step too late. Always missing each other by a breath.

He would text you. Say your name like a prayer on the screen, but never in person. Every morning, like clockwork, a single blue rose would be left on your desk. Delicate, intentional, beautiful.

Then came that night.

New Year’s. The night he kissed Valentino in front of everyone. Boldly. Proudly. Like it meant nothing… or everything. You couldn't tell which hurt more.

After that, the gifts changed. They weren’t gentle offerings anymore. They were declarations.

A surprise bonus for all your “hard work.” Clothing, shoes, watches, and even chocolate with velvet ribbons on it all have designer labels. Tickets for two to places that promised warmth and romance, in corners of the Pride Ring made for couples who held hands in private.

You threw it all away. Every last attempt to buy your forgiveness.

Except the money.

You weren’t stupid.

Even the roses, which started out as a single flower but ended up in a bouquet, are now buried in your trash can, their scent still lingering like a vengeful ghost. You were trying to move on. Really. That night, you were three bottles of wine deep, curled up on your couch sobbing like a child, cursing the universe for dealing you such a cruel hand.

He made you feel like you were his… until it mattered. Until you needed him to choose you. And he never did.

He always chose Valentino.

You knew the rules from the beginning. Whatever this was, it had never been explained, named, or given a chance to breathe in the light. You knew you were replaceable, who wasn't?

But even so, the stupid, stubborn part of you still had room in your heart for him. Held out hope. Because falling for him had never been a choice. It was a gravity. A curse. No matter how many times he broke you, you kept returning to his arms like they were the only place you belonged.

Ah, fuck.

Your mouse clicked sharply beneath your fingers, frustration bubbling in your chest. You jabbed at the keyboard with too much force, the keys rattling beneath your fury. The work needed to get done—needed to be done fast. You don’t work overtime anymore. You skipped lunch. You didn’t care about praise or bonuses or blue roses.

You just wanted out.

Out of this tower.

Out of this ache.

Out of his orbit, before it pulled you under again.

Maybe what you needed was a good, dirty, no-strings-attached rebound.

Maybe you just needed someone—anyone—other than him to forget how his touch lingered and how his voice curled around your spine like smoke. You thought, maybe, just maybe, if you downloaded Vinder and let someone wreck you for a night, you’d finally be able to scrape him out of your system.

After all, Vox hadn’t claimed you.

Hadn’t even wanted you, not really.

Not when it counted. Not in public. Not in the way that mattered.

This was Hell, for crying out loud. There had to be someone in the flaming bowels of the afterlife who could make your heart race and your stomach flutter the way he did. Someone who could make you forget him. Burn him out of you.

Hell was practically crawling with narcissistic, cowardly, manipulative man-children like him. Vox was a dime a dozen.

…Right?

Your fingers clacked across the keyboard in a blur of half-hearted effort, and when you looked back to the screen, there it was again.

ASSHOLE.

You didn’t even type his name. You’d meant to. But your subconscious had other ideas. That was the third time today. Maybe the fourth. You weren’t even correcting it anymore.

You groaned and slumped in your chair, pressing your knuckles into your eyes. Maybe you should just go home early. Who the fuck was going to stop you? Vox? Please. Let him fire you. Give you a reason to finally cut the last thread tying you to him.

But bitterness was a sticky, rising tide, and it didn’t let go easily. Every time you saw his face—on screens, posters, ads, projections—you had to actively restrain yourself from throwing something. Or setting something on fire. Or keying his hover-car. Whatever counted as cathartic, property damage in a skyscraper full of ego.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t need to check it.

Vox.

Of course, it was him. It was probably another one of his fake “emergencies”—a bug that he could fix in seconds but made you fix it. Because apparently his highly advanced, data-stream-integrated, walking-computer ass couldn’t figure out how to unfreeze a tab.

At first, after you stopped replying to his personal texts, he got clever. Switched tactics. Started calling in “professional” favours. Tiny, petty tasks dressed up as urgent business, all just so he could summon you like some goddamn servant. You hated it. But you answered. Because you had integrity. You were damn good at your job, and no matter how much you wanted to ghost him into oblivion, you weren’t about to let him ruin your reputation.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t be a passive-aggressive menace in the workplace, though. You weren’t a saint.

The phone buzzed again. Then again. And then, predictably, it rang.

You let it sit. Watched it vibrate angrily on the desk for a few seconds. Then, with a groan, you rolled your eyes and picked up, your voice clipped and cold:

“…Yes?”

“Heyyy~” Vox drawled, his tone syrupy sweet, fake as a budget beauty filter. He dragged out the greeting like you were old pals and not barely-speaking ex-something. “Just wanted to make sure you saw my messages, ya know?” He gave a forced little chuckle. “This dang computer’s giving me trouble again!”

Your left eye twitched.

You knew damn well that Vox could interface with tech like it was foreplay. The man practically bent reality with a USB cord. He didn’t need you. He just wanted you there. Near him. Close enough to see. Close enough to keep.

You inhaled sharply, teeth grinding. “I’m on my way,” you muttered.

“Great! See you soon!” he chirped, far too eager.

You hung up without another word, clutching the phone just shy of snapping it in half. One deep breath. Then another. You carefully shaped your expression to be calm, cool, and neutral.

The moment you stepped into the elevator, you felt the tension begin to coil in your stomach. This would be the eighth time today you had to deal with him and his stupid fake problems. And it wasn’t even lunch yet.

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered under your breath, already bracing for whatever performance he had waiting for you at the top.

You reached for the door to his office, fingers brushing the sleek handle, but stopped short. The old argument came to mind, his petty power play. He hated when you walked in unannounced. Said it was about respect. About boundaries. Really, it was about control. About reminding you of your place.

Fine.

You raised your fist and knocked, once, then twice.

Silence.

You waited, shifting your weight, your jaw ticking as the seconds stretched. You could feel him in there, knew damn well he was watching from one of his monitors, dragging this out like he always did when he wanted to make you squirm.

You knocked again. Harder this time. Then turned on your heel, already rehearsing the dramatic little exit in your head.

The door swung open just as you began to walk away.

Vox stood there, slightly winded, eyes wide like he’d just sprinted from the far end of his office. His screen flickered with a single bead of digital sweat, his grin boyish, too practiced.

“Hey, hey,” he panted lightly, voice dipped in that oily charm. “You know you don’t have to knock, sunshine.”

That name. It used to make your heart flutter. Now it only made your spine straighten, your lips curl into something polite and punishing.

“Oh, no, boss,” you replied, the title like venom on your tongue. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt one of your very important meetings with the other Vees.”

The air snapped cold. His smile faltered. Just a blink, a hesitation, before he masked it again.

He looked down the hall, then back at you. His hand closed around your wrist, firm and possessive. You didn’t resist as he pulled you in and shut the door behind you with a sharp, echoing thud.

His office was dim, save for the electric hum and glow of his many monitors, casting him in a blue-and-purple halo. The light flickered across his features, making his smirk look dangerous.

He crowded into your space without hesitation, herding you back until your spine kissed the cool surface of the door. You tilted your chin up, not budging an inch, meeting his gaze with all the defiance you could summon.

“Doll…” he started, voice low and rough. A growl followed, deep and resonant, vibrating through the narrow space between your bodies. “I thought we had an understanding.”

You rolled your eyes slowly, deliberately, like you were savouring the disdain.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he asked, his voice high with disbelief. “Seriously?”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you snapped, turning your head away from him in dismissal. “Anyway, what’s the supposed tech issue now? Let me guess, you accidentally unplugged something while flexing in front of a mirror?”

You moved to step past him, but his claws wrapped around your waist. He yanked you back, pressing you flush to the door. His hips pushed into yours with a clear, heated intention, his breath ghosting against your cheek.

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered, but your chest was tight. Your pulse traitorous.

He was losing his grip on patience. You’d seen that look before. You’d worn it yourself.

This was the cycle.

You’d fight. Words sharp as blades. Then you’d fuck—hard, fast, desperate—like you were trying to exorcise the feelings neither of you would admit to. And afterward, tangled and breathless, you'd lie there in the wreckage, pretending it meant nothing. Pretending it didn’t tear you up inside.

Again and again, the same melody, off-beat and toxic.

But maybe this time, you should walk away. Maybe this time, you should end the song before it devoured you.

Then came his voice, soft like silk and poison.

“Baby…”

The word slithered into your ear, thick with desire. He grinned, his hips grinding ever so slightly against you. The hardness pressing into your lower belly left no room for doubt.

“You know how I feel about you,” he murmured, lips ghosting along your jaw. “Let me show you. Just one chance…”

You closed your eyes for a beat, breathing in his scent—ozone and sin—and hated how much your body still wanted him.

Because it always did.

And he knew it.

A chance.

That's what it always came down to. Giving him one more chance. Over and over again, like a song stuck on loop, each chorus softer, more desperate, unravelling you by the thread.

How many times had you stood at this edge, letting him pull you back with promises whispered against your skin? How many times could you let him seduce away your common sense before the fire finally consumed you both?

This wasn't a love story. Not anymore. Maybe it had never been. It was a slow-motion crash you were both too proud to stop watching.

You knew what you were to him. An outlet. A distraction. A balm for the burns he got fighting with Valentino.

Unless you were willing to play second fiddle to power, unless you accepted the scraps of his affection whenever he was lonely, this was always going to hurt.

Still, your arms moved of their accord, curling around his neck. His eyes lit up, like a puppy who thought he’d won. He pressed closer, and you arched, your back pressing harder into the door behind you. You lifted one leg and hooked it around his waist, your skirt riding up, the fabric stretching over your thigh.

A low groan escaped him, hot and heavy. He nestled himself between your legs, his bulge pressing right where you needed him. Layers of clothing separated you, but the heat was already smoldering.

He breathed, “It's been so long,” and gave you a slow, electric kiss. His lips sparked against yours, literal static dancing over your skin. You gasped against his mouth, and he hissed, grinding his cock against the soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. His voice thick and needy. “I could take you right here. You remember that, don’t you? The way I made you feel? The way you screamed my name, clung to me like your life depended on it?”

His words were filth wrapped in silk. With every slow grind, he stirred your body to betray you. Wetness gathered, soaking through your underwear, coating the place where his hardness pressed.

But where your body warmed, your heart cooled. There was that dull ache again, that reminder.

“That’s right,” you said with a breathless edge. “But we’re at work, baby.”

He flinched. The term of endearment knocked something loose in him. His grip tightened, his arms wrapping around your waist as though he could keep you from slipping away. His hips kept moving, deliberate and slow, teasing the needy ache he’d so easily reawakened.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, voice like honey contaminated with sin. “I’ll fuck you so good you won’t remember why you were mad.” He chuckled, nuzzling your jaw, lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Then I’ll send you home early… or maybe we do dinner at my place? Finish what we start here.”

You’d heard it all before.

A quick fuck against the desk, your moans echoing off the cold walls. Dinner served with charm and empty reassurances. Hours in his bed, being worshipped until your body shook, overstimulated and wrecked with bliss.

And still, every time the dawn came, you were left wondering why you never woke up chosen.

You didn’t want to be a temporary fix. You didn’t want to be his escape.

You wanted to matter.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers pressing into the tense muscles. Then, gently, you pushed.

His brows lifted in surprise as you offered a coy smirk, your eyes laced with false sweetness. “Just like that, Vox?” you murmured, tilting your head. Then you pouted—that pout—the one that always made him crumble, the one that turned you into his whole world for a moment.

He blinked. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up to your gaze. His smile faltered.

“Wh–what’s wrong?” he asked, voice cracking around the edges.

And just like that, the cracks in his illusion began to show.

“You hurt my feelings,” you said, your voice lilting, almost whiny. It was the truth, but the way you spoke it dulled the edge, made it easier to swallow. As if by softening the blow, he wouldn’t flinch. “So I want more, babe.”

You sighed against his lips and gave him a gentle kiss. Nothing more than a breath. Just enough to feel him and remind yourself how easy it would be to stay.

His eyes fluttered shut. He looked like he was drinking you in, like the touch of your mouth had momentarily soothed every demon in his chest. You felt the hard throb of him pressed against you.

“Anything, doll,” he murmured. “Anything you want is yours.”

Anything, you thought bitterly, except your heart.

You circled the back of his ports and smiled like you believed him. “Well,” you began, your tone almost teasing, “I heard there’s going to be fireworks tonight. Some kind of Summer Solstice celebration.”

You remembered the poster you saw earlier. Tattered, half-burnt, stapled to a crooked pole beside a rotting sinner who had been screaming for hours.

Vox blinked at you, puzzled. The confusion in his eyes was soft, but it was there. Then it shifted—his brows lowered, just slightly. Disappointment. He didn’t understand.

But you did.

You remembered too clearly the last time you watched fireworks. The way the colours bled into the sky while your heart cracked like glass. The sparkles had rained down above you while he had kissed Valentino in front of everyone.

Tonight, you weren’t watching those fireworks with him.

Tonight, you were going to celebrate something else.

You were going to let go. You were going to start over. You were going to reclaim every piece of yourself that he had taken for granted.

A belated new year, so to speak. A new beginning. One that didn’t include him.

You smiled as you leaned in, pressing your lips to his bezel, “Pick me up at seven.”

And when he nodded, still unaware, still thinking he had you in his grip, you felt the final shard in your chest slip free.

Because he had no idea.

He had no idea tonight was the last time he would ever touch you.

The last time he would ever see you like this.

The last time he would ever believe he still had you.

You had already decided.

You were going to leave him.

But not before making him feel it.

His favourite red blouse was on you. It had a deep V-neck that dipped daringly low between your breasts and hugged your curves like a promise. The short sleeves clung to your arms in a soft embrace, and the fabric shimmered faintly when it caught the light. A delicate gold chain belt wrapped around your waist, glinting just beneath your ribcage, cinched perfectly over high-waisted black shorts. The hem was embroidered with tiny red roses, their thread work fine and intricate, like the kind of love that should have meant something.

The necklace he gave you rested against your chest—a whisper of gold and a teardrop sapphire. Your matching sapphire studs twinkled under the kitchen lights. He gave you those too. Almost everything you had on tonight—every shimmer, every curve, every finishing touch—was either hand-picked by Vox or worn simply because he liked it.

You looked at your reflection in the full-length mirror, heart fluttering with something sharp and heavy. Nostalgia, maybe. Or regret.

“I'm going to miss all of this,” you murmured to your reflection, fingertips grazing the necklace. Then you caught yourself and rolled your eyes. No. Maybe not. You planned to sell everything—every piece of jewellery, every outfit he ever called “his favourite.” Let someone else wear the illusion of being loved by a man like Vox.

At 6:55, right on cue, there was a knock at your door. Vox was never late. Always either on time or frustratingly early. It used to endear you. It still did, but it shouldn’t have.

You started toward the door with a quiet “coming,” but you paused halfway. Your ruby-painted lips pressed together, and your nails curled into your palms. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep pretending. He would never be just yours—not when power came first. Not when Valentino still kissed him like he owned him.

He could keep kissing Valentino, chasing the throne. You only ever wanted warmth. Peace. To burn in Hell without breaking.

With a deep breath, you opened the door.

There he stood—Vox, in his sharp royal blue suit layered over a sweater vest like some kind of dorky schoolboy trying to look charming for a date. His screen glowed faintly, his expression lighting up the moment he saw you. His gaze trailed down your body like he was memorizing it, pausing briefly on your necklace and earrings.

“Wow,” he said with a smirk. “Whoever bought you those has impeccable taste.”

You giggled despite yourself. “I think so, too.”

He handed you a massive bouquet of blue roses. Their velvety petals spilled over your arms and filled the doorway with a rich, heady scent. A hundred of them, easy—just like the ones you used to pass in that overpriced floral market. Just like the ones you used to throw in the trash without a second thought.

“Thank you,” you said, voice quieter now. You didn’t mention the ones he never saw wilt in your garbage bin. It didn’t feel right anymore.

“May I come in?” he asked, his face hidden behind the blue bloom.

You were grateful he couldn’t see yours, not when your expression had already begun to falter. You were getting cold feet, trembling under the weight of a goodbye you hadn’t even spoken yet.

You stepped aside. “Sure,” you said softly, already turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll get a vase.”

“Make yourself at home,” you added, and hated how natural it still sounded.

You felt him behind you before you heard his steps, and when you turned around, there he was—in your kitchen like he belonged there, grinning like he still had a right to.

“Let’s have a good night,” he said gently. “Just you and me.”

He held up his cellphone, the screen dark. Powered off. A rare gesture from him. Of course, it didn’t actually mean he couldn’t still receive calls. He didn’t need a device to connect. He was the network.

But the gesture… the gesture mattered.

And yet, it wasn’t enough. Not this time.

Not when you already knew tonight was going to end with more than just fireworks.

It had been one of your earliest asks, from years ago. You had pleaded with him to be fully present during your dates, to put his work aside, just for one night. He’d smiled and agreed then, the same way he smiled now as he turned off his phone. That small gesture used to mean the world to you.

Clutching the stems of the roses tighter, you forced out a soft, breathy laugh. The sound felt wrong on your tongue. You turned quickly, your vision blurring as your eyes filled. He couldn't see you like this. Not yet.

“Listen,” Vox began behind you, and you heard the hesitation in his voice. “I know I…”

He trailed off, searching for words. As if the right ones had simply gone missing.

You reached for a vase, filling it under the sink. The water ran cool and fast, rising steadily. Still, he didn’t speak. The silence stretched, filled only by the sound of water and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then it hit you.

If he said it now—if he told you he loved you, if he denounced Valentino, if he finally chose you—the cold water could keep running down your arms, but none of it would matter. You would stay. You would stay because of these rare, quiet moments. The moments when he looked at you and smiled like you were the centre of his world. The nights you would laugh in his arms, safe and held. The times he let you glimpse something real beneath the screen and static.

You wanted to believe those moments were worth the pain.

But how much longer could you keep waiting? How many more nights could you spend pretending he might actually choose you?

“Anyway,” he said suddenly, his voice casual now, light as ever. “I’m glad you finally understand where I’m coming from, Sunshine.”

He laughed, like it was all settled.

You closed your eyes.

There it was again. You weren’t chosen.

You opened your eyes slowly and turned off the faucet. The water had spilled over, soaking your hands, the counter, and the floor below. You dumped a little out and set the vase down without care. Shoved the bouquet into the water like it meant nothing because right now, it did.

“Let’s go?” you asked, your voice bright and cheery, like nothing had cracked inside you.

Vox glanced at the puddle spreading over the countertop. His eyes lingered there for just a moment before flicking back to yours. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he said with a warm smile. “M’lady,” he added in a playfully dorky voice, holding out his arm.

You hesitated, just for a second. Then your fingers slid into the crook of his elbow, and his warmth seeped into your skin like poison disguised as comfort.

Outside, he had taken out one of his favourite toys tonight. The Vox-branded sports car gleamed electric blue under the lights. It was a convertible, styled like a vintage 1950s classic, and he always said it was one of the first cars he ever loved—back when he was still alive. It suited him in a way no modern machine ever could.

You both slipped into the car, and the ride began smoothly. He drove like he always did, with confidence and charm, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other sliding onto your thigh. His thumb stroked you gently, slow circles that made your skin prickle.

The conversation stayed light. Work. The past few months. The long six months when you hadn’t answered his calls. He didn’t call it what it was. He said you just needed “a little break.”

You gave him directions to the Summer Solstice festival, your voice steady, masking the storm rising inside you. Neither of you mentioned the thing that hovered between you, suffocating the air. Instead, you talked about favourite shows, small victories, stupid headlines. And all the while, his touch stayed gentle and persistent, like he was grounding you. Or maybe like he didn’t want you to float away.

You didn’t reach for his hand. Not this time.

But you remembered the late-night drives, the open skies, the way he’d show you his territory like a king surveying his empire. He would talk about his ambitions, his hunger for power, his dreams of being untouchable.

And never once did he speak of a future with you in it.

Not then. Not now.

Not ever.

You always knew how deep his hunger ran. Vox wanted power more than anything, wanted to claw his way to the very top, to rule with his name stitched into the fabric of Hell itself. And if that meant sacrificing the quiet, elusive thing between you—if it meant giving up any chance of happiness with you—he would do it without looking back.

That truth sat heavy in your chest as you both pulled into the outskirts of his territory. You couldn’t help but snicker at the absurdity of it all. The two of you stepped out in your finest—Vox in his sleek suit, you wrapped in luxury and glittering jewels—and found yourselves surrounded by half-naked sinners. Their bodies were smeared with red and black paint, symbols scrawled across their skin in uneven patterns. Fires crackled, the air reeked of ash and sweat, and the chanting was wild and guttural.

“What the…” Vox’s voice was a mix of disdain and confusion, his expression full of disbelief. You didn’t need to read his mind to know exactly what he was thinking. This wasn’t his kind of scene.

You offered him a knowing glance, your voice even. “Apparently, there’s a group of sinners out here who follow their Summer Solstice tradition. They worship Satan for their eternal damnation. They think of it as… heaven.”

You raised a brow toward the bonfire, where bodies moved like waves, writhing to a rhythm that didn’t quite match the music, if there even was music to begin with.

“Uh… huh.” Vox stared, his discomfort obvious in the way his lip curled slightly. Then he turned to face you fully, tilting his head with concern. “Babe, are you sure this is where you want to have our date?” His voice dipped with skepticism. “I could still book us that seafood place you liked. I’m sure they’d squeeze us in.” He smiled, eyes silently pleading for you to say yes.

But you’d chosen this place for a reason. This wasteland, despite being technically within his reach, was untouched by his influence. These people didn’t consume media. They didn’t care about who Vox was. They didn’t buy into his charm, his persona, his brand. They didn’t matter to him—because they weren’t his. That made this place safe.

Here, there was no one to watch. No one to whisper. No one to remind you of your place in his carefully curated world.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. His skin was cool, his claws sharp, but you squeezed gently and stepped closer until you could rest your head against his chest.

“We don’t have to go in,” you whispered, eyes closed, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

His body stiffened at first, tense like he didn’t know how to receive something so soft. But then his arms came around you, one clawed hand slipping into your hair, holding you there like you might disappear if he let go.

Out here, away from the eyes and expectations, you could do this. You could be close without consequence. Without needing to pretend it was just business. Just casual.

Just nothing.

You lifted your other hand and placed it against his back, holding him tightly. And for a brief, painful moment, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like to love him out loud. What it would be like to be his, openly. To be chosen. To matter.

“I see,” Vox murmured, voice low and quiet, like the realization had only just begun to settle into him. “I guess we can stay out here a little longer.”

Around you, the world burned strange. Wooden stakes circled the edge of the gathering like teeth, crowned with rotting sinner heads. It wasn’t romantic, not in the traditional sense. But for you, it felt like freedom.

The car started up again with a soft rumble, and for a moment, there was static in the air before it turned into an old blues tune. Vox swayed gently with you, letting the melody wrap around your bodies like a blanket. You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his chest, and nestled closer to him.

For now, this would be enough.

You forgot about trying to hurt him. Forgot about every cruel thing you imagined saying, every plan you’d made to twist the knife before you finally walked away.

For all that rage, every sharp, flaming edge, melted into something worse. Something softer.

There remained a part of your heart that belonged to him despite everything—the deception, the distance, the broken promises, and the fact that he never fully chose you.

You cared.

God, you cared.

You cared because those moments you shared—the late-night laughter, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, the way he whispered your name when the world fell quiet—were real. They meant something. Even now, they beat inside your chest like a second heart, aching with the weight of everything you could never say.

Not every love story ends in blood or betrayal. Some just fall apart under the gravity of what can never be.

Your life wasn’t a fairytale. Your relationship with him was even less of one. But that didn’t make it meaningless.

“Sunshine,” Vox breathed, like your name was a prayer. “I… I…”

He hesitated.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. Just kept your eyes closed and listened—to the quiet hum of the car, the faint sound of blues still playing low through the speakers, the steady thrum of his heart beneath your cheek.

“I want you to know,” he tried again, his voice faltering, “I’m glad you understand… where I’m coming from.”

His words sat in the air like ash.

You opened your eyes slowly, expecting the fire of rage to return and consume you whole. But it didn’t. All you felt was the crushing weight of sorrow.

He wouldn’t choose you. Not fully. Not ever.

And you were so goddamn tired of being second.

How could two people whose hearts once beat in sync now pull in opposite directions? You could wait, sure. Wait until he climbed the last rung of whatever empire he was trying to build. But what would be left of you by then? What would be left of this?

Your eyes welled with tears before the first one even had a chance to fall.

Then, the sky cracked open. The first screech of fireworks ripped through the night.

“Oh babe, the fireworks are starting,” Vox said, a smile in his voice, the kind he always wore when he was trying to chase away the dark.

You imagined screaming over the explosions. Telling him, he was a fucking coward. That you were done letting him pull you close only to keep you in the shadows. You imagined walking away in silence, calling a taxi, letting him sit alone under the sky with nothing but his guilt to keep him company.

You even imagined fucking him now and stopping just before it went too far—again. Blue-balling him like you did last Christmas, punishing him with silence and desire he wasn’t allowed to satisfy.

You imagined all the ways you could hurt him. And yet… even that thought made your chest ache worse.

Because hurting him still meant you loved him enough to want him to feel something.

He turned to you, eyes shining as fireworks burst overhead, the colours casting a strange glow across his screen. His expression shifted when he looked down and saw your tears.

His smile dropped. His whole face crumpled.

“Doll—babe—”

His hands reached for you, desperate and clumsy, trying to wipe away the tears spilling too fast for him to catch.

“Sunshine, sunshine, what’s wrong?” His voice cracked. Honest concern poured from him like blood.

But you couldn’t speak.

The grief was too thick in your throat.

And all you could do was cry.

You had told yourself—so many times before—that you were done. That you'd walk away and never look back. But now that it was really happening, now that the moment had arrived… it hurt more than you thought it would.

You didn’t want to leave him. You wanted him. Craved him in a way that felt carved into your very soul.

But not like this.

Not when being with him meant slowly bleeding yourself dry just to keep the love alive. Not when every kiss was a question, and every touch came with a caveat.

This wasn’t good for you. It hadn’t been for a long time.

And like a cruel echo of New Year’s—the night you stood frozen, forced to watch him kiss Valentino in front of everyone—you broke.

The tears came hard, and fast, crashing out of you like a dam finally giving way. Choking sobs that left your body trembling, your cries swallowed by the roar of fireworks painting the sky.

Vox moved instantly, gathering you into his arms like you were something fragile, something sacred. He held you tightly, gently, whispering nonsense, trying to soothe you.

And that only worsened it.

Because this part—his warmth, his touch, the way he cradled your head and rocked you like you mattered—this part was why leaving felt like trying to rip your heart out.

You wanted to say it with a brave face. A cold one. You wanted to be cruel, to shut him out the way he so often shut you out.

But instead, you wept.

You cried for the future you were choosing to give up, for the pieces of yourself you’d poured into something that could never hold you fully. You cried for the chance of happiness you didn’t know if you’d ever find—but that you had to try to chase.

Eventually, you collapsed fully into him, your sobs soaking his clothes. He said your name over and over like it was a prayer he couldn’t bear to stop repeating.

And when the final firework soared skyward—when the last spark burned and fizzled into ash—you pulled away.

You were breathless. Exhausted. Hollow.

“Sunshine,” he called, his voice tender, as if nothing had changed. As if you were still his.

His hand reached for you, but you stepped back.

“I can’t do this anymore, Vox.”

He froze mid-reach. “What?” he whispered, like he didn’t understand the words, like they couldn’t possibly be real.

You laughed. A bitter, broken sound. “No. That’s not right. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He tried to smile—oh, he tried—but it was cracking at the edges, trembling. “Do what?” he asked, knowing damn well what you meant.

“This. Us.” You bowed your head, unable to look him in the eye. “We’re done. I’m quitting. Starting today.”

He said nothing.

“You don’t have to pay me for the last cheque. I won’t be coming back to get my things.”

Your voice grew colder with every word, a defence mechanism you couldn’t afford to abandon. You finally looked up. And when you did, you saw it—his expression, frozen in place, as if the world had just slipped out from beneath him.

“Vox,” you said softly, but it landed like thunder between you. “I don’t want to be with you.”

His eyes darted to the ground, searching for some kind of answer, something to anchor him to the moment. He looked so utterly lost.

He hadn’t seen this coming. You knew that.

In his mind, you'd go through this cycle again—another fight, another cold stretch, another half-hearted apology, and then you'd be back in his arms, pretending it was enough.

But this time, it wasn't.

You weren't angry. You weren’t even heartbroken anymore.

You were just… tired.

Tired of begging to be chosen. Tired of loving someone who only loved you when it was convenient. Tired of hoping for a version of him that might never come.

With the final truth weighing heavily on your chest, you turned and walked away.

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did… you might never leave.

✨ KOFI -- DISCORD SERVER -- xREADER COMMUNITY ✨

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outofconcheol · 11 months ago

Text

resonance (scb x f!reader)

pairing: android!changbin x heiress!reader

genres/aus/rating: romance, angst, smut, arranged marriage, e2l (a little bit), sort of cyberpunk au, 18+

summary: Perfection - an idea that’s been drilled into you from birth. As the sole heir to the empire known as Miroh Labs, you’ve watched technology and tradition collide. However, your family’s latest venture is one that puts your own fate in limbo – ambitiously arranging a marriage to an android of their creation, known as C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N. Grappling with the idea of marrying a machine, you come to realize Changbin is more than a set of intricate codes – the profound depths of his abilities are capable of changing the fabric of society, and you, forever.

warnings: strained parent child relationships (OC's parents are jerks), mentions of past abuse (very mild and not described in detail), class differences, failed past relationship references numerous times, cameos from Chan, Jisung, Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Yuna (ITZY), fair warning OC is a lot, Changbin is precious, self-doubt and negative feelings, arguments, alcohol, blood and injury, swearing, genetic engineering, talks of self-determination and agency, Streetlight my beloved makes an appearance

word count: 12k

a/n: happy (belated) bday to my beloved Changbin (almost a month later, nice)! i hope this is enjoyable and worthy of someone as wonderful as Changbin seems (i might have slightly fallen in love with him while writing this, don't look at me). the lovely banner is by Sarah (@caelesjjk). I hope you enjoy!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension (lots of it), making out, kind of hatefucking?, sex outside (against a railing), clothed sex, dirty talk, brief nipple play, thigh riding, fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex (just because Changbin can doesn't mean you should), honestly more mild than the warnings imply

It’d been years since you’d seen candles - forgotten memories of birthdays past that faded into oblivion. Their warm, nascent glow had flickered much like your own life had, the comfort of past years giving way to the bright, grating pixels of the lights that illuminated New Domino - bright pinks, vivid greens, cool blues and silvers. Lights that greeted you from your window when you went to bed every night, reminding you that no matter how much your life stalled, the city never would, much of it your own family’s doing.

The years before Miroh Labs, your family’s company, took hold of the city, became difficult to recall — before the towering skyscrapers blocked out the sun, neon lights replacing its rays, technology weaving itself seamlessly into the fabric of your lives, like the patterns on your dress.

Picking at the threads – you wonder if someone had put love and care into intertwining each one, meeting perfectly to create the image of a flower. But the thought quickly dispels — knowing that a specialized machine was behind it, or an android doing the work that was once meant for humans.

Resonance, your family prided themselves on saying. The ability of an object to match another’s frequency – only it’d progressed beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Systems had advanced from being motherboards connected to screens to full blown humanized machines, who not only had to ability to perform human functions, but excel at them when it came to speed, efficiency, and cost.

The thought of it made you sick to your stomach. As the presumptive heir to Miroh Labs’ empire, you’d seen firsthand how ambition had slowly given way to greed, your family creating and creating and creating, giving no mind to how their projects always seemed to end up in the hands of the city’s elite.

You’d been to the outskirts, the fringes of society failing to catch up with the advancement of the inner city, a ruined wasteland where people struggled to find work to bring home food for their families.

But they had candles, you muse, smiling lightly to yourself, remembering how you’d passed by a home once, devoid of any electricity, a single candle flickering in the window, the family huddled around their only source of light. It had brought them closer in ways that you could only dream of.

Which is why the intimate setting of the dining room shocked you today – lights dim, candleglow every prominent. Except instead of comforting you, it felt strangely eerie, casting shadows on the faces of your parents, seated at the head of the long table, your own chair pulled out at the very opposite end.

Of course - your parents spared no opportunity to turn even the simplest of dinners into a boardroom meeting. Wincing, you feel the chair screech as you slide it across the cool tile, the sound grating your ears, which have begun to ring, pain throbbing at your temples.

The food is untouched, grave expressions on your parents’ face, and it’s your father who breaks the deafening silence.

“There’s a new project we want you to be a part of—”

“Forget it,” you pick at your plate. “I’m not interested. It’s not like I can contribute anything useful anyway.”

“This one’s different,” your mother’s voice cuts you off, and it’s softer, more gentle than you’ve ever heard it. For a moment, you could believe she actually cared.

Your father’s footsteps reverberate against the tile, walking over to your side of the table. A picture is set in front of you – a man. Dark curly hair, full lips, a strong jaw, the faint hint of muscle underneath his shirt. But it’s his eyes that pierce through the page – stark hazel. Your throat feels tight, closing in on itself.

“New employee?” you ponder, even though you know it’s not the answer.

Hazel eyes were for androids — no human would have eyes so piercing, ones that could glint in the darkest room, or pale in the brightest sun.

“___, meet C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N, Computer Human Advanced Network Growing By Intelligent Nexuses. Our pride and joy.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the words, knowing they’d never applied to you – you with your rebellious streak, your lack of achievements, your failed engagement to a man that was far too good for you.

Hyunjin’s face flashes in the back of your mind, and you fight to keep your expression from shifting.

“C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N was created for a very specific purpose you see — he’s been built and programmed to be the perfect companion. To provide all the qualities that one would normally seek in a spouse. Although humans are falliable, C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N is not. But we need a beta tester.”

The reality of what your parents are proposing dawns on you, horror creeping up your spine.

“No–,” you begin to protest, but you’re cut off by a wave of your father’s hand.

“The announcements have already been uploaded to the city-wide servers. Starting tomorrow, news of C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N’s launch will go live, along with your engagement announcement. The wedding will be held in a week’s’ time.”

You look despondently to your mother, hoping the pain in your eyes is enough to dissuade her. Were you really that worthless to your parents that they’d hand you to a hunk of scrap metal, dooming you to loneliness for the rest of your life?

Your mother shakes her head. “___, dear, this is the least you can do for us, and for Miroh Labs. Especially given everything that’s happened.”

They always wielded it against you — the fact that you were hard to love. You hadn’t been enough to persuade Hyunjin to stay, and they’d experienced the fallout from whispers all around New Domino. Now, you were barely human in their eyes, not even equal to, and probably lesser than this machine they’d fabricated, one whose fate had become irrevocably intertwined with yours. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

When Changbin wakes, everything is a blur. While his lungs don’t burn for air, his circuits are driven haywire anyway by the new environment - the harsh gleam of fluorescent lights, the gentle whirring of motors, the coolness of the metal table. It hits him all at once, and he’s tempted to close his eyes again, to return to the darkness of being powered down.

A figure looms over him, a taller man in a lab coat, his eyes gentle and full of concern, almost as if he’s holding his breath looking at Changbin.

“Hello C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N, my name is Chan. I am one of the lead research developers at Miroh Labs. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Changbin feels his system boot up, gentle heat spreading through the center of his body, all the way to his fingertips.

“Good morning, Chan. I am C.H.A.N.G.B.I.N, Computer Human Andvanced Network Growing By Intelligent Nexuses. How may I be of assistance?”

His voice reverberates through his speakers, a monotonous tinge resounding against the empty walls of the lab, and he watches Chan’s face twist,

“Do you know why you’re here right now?” Chan asks, curiosity in his gaze.

“I am an advanced computer-human android, programmed to fulfill the role of a partner. My duties and capabilities include companionship, emotional support, and assistance with domestic tasks, designed to blend into one’s life seamlessly.”

As he speaks, Changbin notices his sensors blinking, watching different parts of his arm, chest, and the rest of his body light up as various programs are activated.

Chan slides something in his direction – a sheet of paper with a picture on it. He takes a look at it, his cameras analyzing the woman in the photo. Everything from the colour of her hair to the tiny mole on the back of her hand, to the way she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, perhaps evidence that something is different with her psychology from normal humans.

“This is ___, the next in line to be CEO of Miroh Labs. You will be her future companion,” Chan sighs heavily. “The family has already gone live with the announcement for the wedding, we only have a week to prepare.”

Changbin’s sensors beep, red lights blinking while he processes what Chan is saying, and Chan looks on, a deep furrow in between his brows.

“A w-week?” Changbin, stutters, and Chan already wonders if there’s something wrong with his circuitry. That couldn’t be possible though, the ___ family had tasked him with working on this for the better part of nine months, dedicating each and every hour of his spare time to this endeavour. He brushes off the thought, knowing that there was no way your parents would proceed unless everything was guaranteed to be perfect. After all, the motto of Miroh Labs was to create a more perfect world.

Changbin straightens, legs swinging over the edge of the table as he rises, standing slightly shorter than Chan.

“I understand my responsibilities, Chan. I assure you I will carry them out to the best of my abilities, until ___ is nothing less than satisfied.”

Chan looks at the android in front of him, his face softening. For a moment, Changbin looked as real as him – from the way his hair curled to the strong lines of his body. He almost reminded him of a younger sibling, and a protective instinct washed over Chan.

“I know you will Changbin. But there’s also something you should know.”

Changbin looks up with anticipation at Chan, wondering if there was a new program Chan wanted to add, and whether that meant he had to wait before he could meet ___.

“Please don’t tell anyone I’m telling you this, but should you ever decide that this is what you want, or that you desire to do something different, to be somewhere else, there’s always a way out. You’re more than just an android Changbin.”

Changbin’s processors began to hum. More than just an android? It didn’t make sense to him. His programs were designed to be the best, to cover every single duty one could expect from a partner. What more could there be? Still, Chan’s words sparked intrigue, and he saved a recording of them to his memory, just in case they would be useful later.

“Alright then Changbin, shall we get started? There’s a lot we need to go over about ___ before the wedding happens. Her favourite colour, favourite foods, the layout of her apartment … these will help inform your programs to adapt even more perfectly to your duties,” Chan’s voice is calm and even, with no hints of the darkness of the previous conversation in his tone at all.

They tour around the laboratories, Chan introducing him to the new world he was now expected to be a part of — from the windows, Changbin looks out onto New Domino, watching the hovercrafts zip down the neon-lit streets, and the skyscrapers graze the clouds, a dense fog covering up the skyline.

Changbin listens intently as Chan goes on, his motors continuing to whir and sensors lighting up as each new piece of information is revealed — the new dimensions of his existence seemed vast and overwhelming, and he worried whether he’d be up to the task, knowing what happened to androids who were faulty – they were deprogrammed, becoming no more than scrap metal to fuel the fires of those on the fringes of society. Shuddering at the thought, Changbin knew he had no choice but to succeed. All he could hope was that you would accept him too.

Goosebumps rise all along your arms — you feel the thorns of the roses prick your fingers as you clutch the bouquet in your hands tighter, listening from behind the door as the muted whispers of the guests fill the ceremony space. You can hear cameras going off, preparing yourself to be met with a grand scene - shimmering lights, velvet drapes, everything bathed in opulent hues of gold and silver.

There’s an uncomfortable buzz – everything had happened so quickly. From the invitations going out to the details being finalized, you’d had little to no say in any of it, the uncomfortable lace of the dress you could barely voice your resistance to scratching against your skin, setting it on fire. For once, you wished you could down a glass of champagne or two to keep the nerves at bay.

A pit settles in your stomach once the door opens, and you’re blinded by the twinkling lights of crystal chandeliers. Heart pounding in your ears, you move automatically without thinking, heels clacking against the polished marble floor. Everything around you is a blur – senses in overdrive, it all melds together. The bright flashes of the photographers, the uncomfortably cold temperature of the room, even the soft tones of the piano becoming grating to your ears.

The only thing that remains clear is the figure waiting for you at the end. You suck in a breath – seeing Changbin for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how stunning of a specimen he was. Of course, he’d been designed to be crafted to perfection, but he was beyond flawless.

Clad in a black tux, the fabric hugs his broad, muscular, frame and tapers at the waist, highlighting his athletic build. His dark hair is swept away from his forehead, exposing the prominent angles of his face. The put-togetherness of his appearance must only serve to highlight the chaos of your own, the makeup doing little to cover up the lack of sleep you’d dealt with ever since that fateful meeting with your parents.

Coming up to the altar, Changbin extends his hand in your direction, and you’re shocked when you feel the warmth of his hand. Sparks jolt where your skin makes contact, and for a moment you forget that he’s not human like you, a jumble of circuits and running electricity. But it floats away when his posture goes rigid once again, with no hint of emotion on his face.

Mechanical – that’s how every bit of this felt. From the brittleness in the officiant’s tone as he droned on about the sanctity of marriage, to the pointed stares and light din that surrounded what should have been a sacred moment – two souls joining together as one. But Changbin didn’t have a soul. And you weren’t sure you did either. The two of you were just glass figurines, put on display for everyone to ogle, cogs in the machine of this elaborate public spectacle that your parents had crafted.

For a brief moment, you wonder if Hyunjin’s somewhere in the crowd, eyes widening as you search frantically for him, the one person who could have been your out, your chance at a normal life. But not a single face stands out to you – a crowd of strangers looking back at you. A bead of sweat pools at the base of your neck, and you suck in a breath.

You feel fingers wrap around your own, Changbin’s hand coming to clasp around yours, and it takes a moment for you to reorient yourself to the scene going on around you. The officiant is asking you to join hands, ready to repeat the vows that will join you and Changbin together.

Changbin’s eyes bore into yours, the hazel containing more depth than you’d imagined for an android.

“Are you ok?” the words are whispered so quietly you may have almost missed them. In fact, you believe you might have missed them, unable to believe what’s coming out of Changbin’s mouth. His voice is deeper than you’d expected, gravelly yet with a pleasant tone, far from the flat and monotone affect you’d expected.

Either two things could have been true in this moment: 1) Changbin knew you better than you knew yourself, or 2) he was malfunctioning, a slip in his meticulous programming. But androids weren’t people, they weren’t capable of feeling for people. They were only capable of completing the tasks set out for them.

You drop his hand, lips parting, unable to croak out a reponse for fear of arousing suspicion. But the moment is over before you’d even had a chance to respond, buried underneath his calculated rigidness once more.

The knife twists deeper in your gut when your lips curl around the “I do”, the words sounding as artificial as Changbin’s own, sealing the vows that doomed the two of you to a loveless existence by each others’ side.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you pull the heavy diamond earrings out of your ear, setting them on the cool crisp marble of your bathroom counter, rubbing at your burning earlobes. Alone in the comfort of your bathroom, you feel like you’re finally able to breathe again. And that’s when it all hits you, the gravity of what had just transpired weighing on you with the force of a heavy boulder.

Throat closing in on itself, you struggle to breathe, doubling over as tears fill your eyes. Fingers, shaking, you fumble with the laces of your dress, until the tightness is removed from your rib cage and you can finally breathe again, the dress falling to the floor.

If Hyunjin was here, he’d help you take it off, his fingers dancing delicately across the skin of your back. He’d remove the pins from your hair gently, pressing a kiss to your head in the spot where each one of them had been, until you finally grew tired of his teasing, pulling him in to meet your lips. If Hyunjin had been here, your wedding would have been full of love and joy and laughter, the most vivid of paintings come to life. But you’d lost him, and now yourself. You were alone.

A distant clanging jolts you from your misery, and you slip into your pyjamas, softly padding out from your bathroom to see what the commotion was about. Immediately, you’re hit with the aroma of savoury garlic and herbs, stomach rumbling in response. You’d barely eaten anything the whole night, scared that whatever you tried to would just come back up due to the gnawing feeling in your gut.

It hits you that you were no longer alone in this apartment — there was another being here now, one who’d managed to crawl inside the walls that you’d kept up. Changbin had no choice but to be here with you, to see you at your most vulnerable and exposed.

The hallway is dark as you make your way to the kitchen, pausing when you see Changbin bent over the stove, a crisp white apron around his waist. He’d changed too, clad in a comfy pair of grey sweats and a black t-shirt that showcases his wide shoulders.

The grumbling of your stomach gives you away – Changbin turning to see you at the threshold, his face lighting up in a smile. You notice how it doesn’t reach his eyes, restrained and polite – like the ones that littered the billboards of New Domino, promoting the latest breakthroughs.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he assures you. “I made aglio e olio.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at the Italian dish he’d mentioned — one of your favourites, but it sours when you think about how he’d probably been trained by the researchers to know your preferences. If it had been another person, maybe he would have made kimchi jigae or maqluba. It meant nothing.

“Smells great,” you manage to croak out, grateful for the hot meal. In a few moments, the table is full of two steaming plates of pasta, Changbin taking his place at the other end. You’re grateful he doesn’t try to sit next to you, allowing you to eat in piece. Silence passes, filled only with the clanging of forks, and you watch Changbin bristle in his chair. He pauses every few moments, like he wants to say something, but holds back, until you can no longer take it.

“What is it?” you spit out, uncaring at how harsh the words come across. Changbin doesn’t flinch, but you watch lights run across his arm, whirring emanating from him, like he’s trying to process your actions. You let out a heavy sigh.

“Did you enjoy the meal?” he asks, and you’re taken aback. You hadn’t expected such a simple, yet earnest question. You’d half-expected him to ask you to rate his skills from one to ten, like the surveys that popped up whenever you dined out at a fancy restaurant.

“It was delicious,” you refuse to lie. The pasta had quelled the burning hunger you’d felt, making you considerably less irritable, and Changbin whirs to life again, processing what you’d just told him.

You help him clean up, the two of you working in tandem to clear the table, carefully skirting around each other. Shadows dance across the wall from the city lights reflecting through the window.

Warmth emanates from Changbin, as you feel his heavy breath fan the back of your neck, startled by how life-like it actually felt. You realize you’re caged behind his arms as he puts the dried plates into the cabinet above you, the air growing thick with something you couldn’t name.

Turning around, you’re pressed against the hard planes of Changbin’s chest, and you lurch at the way your body comes to life against his, nipples peaking in the cold air.

A light flickers at Changbin’s temple, and he studies you curiously, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your breathing quickens.

His gaze lingers on your lips, leaning in closer. But before he can meet yours, you’re pulling away, shame and guilt in your chest. This wasn’t real. None of it was. And the sooner you learned to accept it, the less miserable both of you would be.

“I’m tired,” you whisper into thin air, turning your face away from his. “I want to go to bed.”

You swear Changbin’s eyes flicker for a brief moment before he straightens, responding with the mechanical tone you’d expected all along.

“Of course, you must be exhausted from today.”

You falter, not knowing whether he’d follow you into your room. Now that you were married, it was expected you’d share a bed. Stepping away, you’re relieved when he doesn’t follow.

Staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your mind replays everything that had happened – the fake fanfare of the wedding to Changbin asking if you were okay, to whatever had just happened now. Changbin couldn’t have wanted to kiss you, right? He lacked his own desires. Someone had probably told him that was what couples did.

The softness of your sheets and the light streaming in from your window did nothing to quell the turmoil arising within you – your room no longer felt like the safe refuge it had once been, where you could shut out the rest of the world.

In the silence of the night, the weight of what your life had become settled heavily on your chest. Once full of warmth and love, it was now cold and unfeeling, as clinical as the hallways of Miroh Labs.

For a brief moment, you hear steps come towards your bedroom, before they retreat. The hallway light flickers, before it’s turned off, and you’re able to retreat into the darkness once more.

No, you’d told your parents when they’d brought up the idea. Absolutely not.

As usual, your pleading fell on deaf ears. The invites had already been accepted, your dress had been arranged, and a night filled with mindless drivel and booze chatting with the city’s elite waited for you and Changbin.

You hated it – this pretending. At home, it was easy to accept, the way you and Changbin moved around each other, the uneasiness of that first night permeating every interaction you’d had after. But out here, in New Domino, the pretending had to happen. You had to play the part of a couple in love.

Changbin took to it easier than you’d expected. You’d nearly stumbled the moment you’d stepped out of your room, watching him turn to you with hands tucked into the pockets of yet another black tux. You briefly wondered if it was the exact same one he’d worn to the wedding – it wasn’t like there was a need for him to have different outfits, since his clothes never got dirty.

You hoped Changbin didn’t notice your gaze lingering on just how good he managed to look – outshining even your emerald silk gown. You wait for the same from him – a falter, a nod, some sort of acknowledgment that he was just as taken by you. But it never comes, his arm slipping stiffly into yours.

The car ride to the gala is silent, a sea of nerves and anxiety filling the space between you two. The lights from the city pass you by, illuminating Changbin’s face in a strange, yet beautiful glow.

However, you barely acknowledge it, lost in thought while watching the cars speed by on the freeway. Before long, the glittering lights of the manor greet you, and it feels as though you’re transported back in time. As much as the upper echelon of New Domino loved their androids and their hovercrafts, nothing could replace the value of a night full of egregiously expensive liquor and brainless chatter about how far society had come, knowing they’d done little to contribute to it besides emptying their pockets.

Changbin lingers by your side, and you’re painfully aware of his scent – the one he’d chosen for tonight. Black leather and sandalwood saturate the air in between you, and you notice the stares from other guests as the two of you weave through the crowd, you in search of water to clear the pounding headache that had begun to form at your temples.

For how out of place he is, Changbin dances the dance of your peers well – meeting their fake smiles with a polished one of his own, waving and happily introducing himself to anyone that passes by.

It shouldn’t bother you that none of it directed at you – you told yourself you didn’t want his affection, that he could never give you what he desired. So why did it bother you when he stops one of the hostesses for a glass of champagne, watching her face turn sour when he swerves to hand it to you?

You down the drink before he can even blink, moving away from him and further into the throng. Your head is buzzing, and you feel the alcohol come straight back up, rushing to the bathroom when you hear it – a soft whisper, but it cut through the music like a blade.

“It’s almost amusing,” a woman says, “to see such a flawless machine with someone so... human.”

“You know what happened with her last engagement, right? Hyunjin left her for another woman…”

It’s too much to bear, bile rising in your throat, before you feel a hand on the small of your back. If Changbin was human, you’d almost expect his knuckles to turn white with the force he uses to grip your waist.

“I suggest you keep your unwanted comments to yourself,” Changbin seethes, watching the guests turn pale. You sway under his touch, head spinning from the combination of alcohol and Changbin coming to your defense, before he’s leading you away, the crisp night air from the balcony nipping at your backs.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you gently, while you watch the same light at his temple flicker.

None of this was okay. None of it at all. But you didn’t want to make him understand how much was wrong with you being here with him, when it should have been someone else, someone you actually had loved.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, peeling his hand from your waist. His touch continues even after you’ve removed his fingers, and you shiver.

You were used to it – the stares, the whispers. They’d followed you your whole life, the cuts left in their wake eventually turning into hardened scars. You didn’t need defending, least of all from him.

“I’m going to leave,” you tell him, stepping away. “You’re free to stay. Please don’t let me ruin your evening.”

“I can go with you,” his voice echoes from beside you, “I was getting tired anyway.”

A sick, twisted laugh bubbles from your throat at his insistence. Changbin didn’t get tired, he couldn’t get tired. He wasn’t like you.

“Stay,” your voice is resolute. “That’s an order, Changbin.”

Changbin turns to face you, recoiling at the red rimming your eyes, the bags underneath them becoming even more prominent when the lights of the manor illuminate you from behind.

You don’t know what possesses him to reach for the single strand of hair that has managed to escape your polished bun, but he watches you suck in a breath, lips parting in surprise.

Your paralysis slowly melts away and you’re pushing him away without realizing it, walking away without another word. You don’t dare to turn around, knowing your heart would twist when you found Changbin looking at you again with that same blank expression – the one you’d come to know all too well.

Dawn is is barely trickling when you slip out of your apartment. Passing by the living room, you notice Changbin in the corner, standing against the wall. For a moment, he looks so peaceful you would almost think he’d fallen asleep. However, you take one look at the outlet and realize he’s powered down for the night, free from his duties of following you around. A pang of annoyance rattles through you. It should have been romantic, knowing Changbin had no point to his existence if it didn’t revolve around you. All it did was made you sick to your stomach instead.

Curling your jacket tighter around you, you duck your head down, few vehicles on the streets due to the early hour. The city seemed eerie yet peaceful at dawn, the dim rays of sun barely breaking through the clouds, casting everything in a soft orange glow. Such a stark contrast from the bright neon and gray that tinged its walls at every other time of day.

With only the sound your heels slamming against the pavement to keep you company, your walk slips into a run as your coat flies behind you, the wind whipping through your air. The city is soon left behind, tall skyscrapers giving way to modest brick houses, plumes of smoke wafting through the air.

Fire. You smile at the thought of it. Fire meant happy homes, with happy families. Families who relied on each other, who loved one another.

The haze that had clouded your head last night seems to have subsided, head clearer from the fresh air. But thoughts of Changbin cease to depart as easily, and it leaves you to wonder exactly where you stood with him.

He cared, more than an android should. For a moment it almost seemed like maybe he–

You shake the thought away, rounding the corner, shoulders immediately slumping in relief when you see the worn-out sign of the clinic.

“___?” a voice calls out to you. “Is that you?”

“Hello Jeongin,” you smile at the younger boy who bounds down the steps when he sees your figure standing outside, hair windswept and cheeks flushed as he comes to a halt next to you.

“Noona, what are you doing here?” he asks, and you feel yourself shrink underneath his sincere gaze.

“What do you mean? I always come by this time every week,” you raise an eyebrow, watching Jeongin bounce on the balls of his feet.

“But noona, you’re married now.”

You freeze at his statement, not realizing that the news had reached here too. Jeongin’s eyes are alight with excitement, and you know he’s going to ask questions that you don’t have the heart to answer.

As if he can sense your trepidation, Jeongin ushers you inside, the warm smiles of the elderly patients you’d come to know and love greeting you.

Before long, the two of you are at work, you helping them fill out their paperwork while Jeongin works to check their vitals and bring them back for the doctor to see them. All the while, you’re regaled with stories about their lives, including lost loves, mischievous grandchildren, and fond memories of a time that has since passed.

This is why you loved coming here. It reminded you that away from the hustle of New Domino, actual life existed. Life imbued with meaningful moments, connections, and people. Something that society seemed to have forgotten.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” one of the regulars, Miss Choi, pinches your cheek affectionately. “It’s such a shame we didn’t see it in any of your photos.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, shoulders tensing. “I guess Jeongin must have shown everyone.”

“Of course dear, you looked lovely. And such a handsome groom too!”

She titters, and you ponder about whether or not she knows the actual details of your wedding, of who Changbin really was. Even if she did, would she understand it? Even though he’d long since passed away, Miss Choi had a husband who’d loved her, who was capable of loving her. She wasn’t a victim of someone else’s greed, of their ambition. She’d never understand the kind of abyss that New Domino had become, and if she did, she’d probably be horrified.

You pat her shoulder, hoping she can’t see the way your breath hitches, before you’re rushing to the back, curling in on yourself as sobs wrack your entire body.

Jeongin is by your side in seconds, a steady arm on your shoulder, and you lean into the younger boy, someone who despite not having spent that much time with, had become your one of your closest friends.

“How much of it did you hear?” you mutter, looking at the floor.

“I heard enough,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry, noona.”

You don’t know how long you stay glued to Jeongin’s side, unable to stand upright, the two of you failing to notice the figure watching from outside the window.

. . .

Changbin hadn’t meant to follow you. He’d heard you slip out in the morning, not having powered down completely last night. After what had happened at the gala, his processors had gone into overdrive, replying everything – the whispers of those awful guests, the way you leaned into his touch, to your harsh words telling him you didn’t want him around.

Changbin wonders if he’d already failed at his task – it seemed like you didn’t care for his companionship, no matter how hard he tried. The walls you had built were too high for even his sophisticated technology to penetrate, and he hums, wondering if this meant he’d be deprogrammed.

Chan’s words from before echo in the back of his mind – what did he mean an alternative? Was there another task he could be useful for, even if you didn’t want him?

Not wanting to dwell too long, he trails a safe distance behind you, watching you break into a run, limbs heavy with fatigue, your breathing labored, until an unfamiliar neighbourhood materializes, the grandeur of luxury boutiques and high-end restaurants fading into older buildings.

Finally catching up to you, he watches you embrace a younger man, the two of you walking into a battered, broken down building together. Heat floods Changbin, his gears kicked into overdrive, struggling to make sense of what he was witnessing. Did you already have someone else? Was this Hyunjin, the one who’d left you?

The air turns crisp the longer he lingers outside the door, waiting for any sign. He gets it when he sees a leaf fall, your figure appearing in the window, hunched over like you’re in pain. The same man from before is by your side, offering you his shoulder to lean on.

Changbin doesn’t know what comes over him — he’s at the door before he can think, even rationalize what’s going on.

He waits until your figure materializes from the back, wanting to see who the new entry was. Your lips part in a silent gasp when you see Changbin standing there.

It’s like he’s malfunctioning, gears whining and lights glinting, his jaw tense when Jeongin comes up behind you.

“Noona,” he hears the other man whisper. “I think you should go.”

You nod wordlessly, motioning for Changbin to walk with you, the two of you ignoring the many eyes that follow you, making your way down the dimly lit street.

The wind whips around him as Changbin jogs behind you, watching as you push through the crowds of passerby. You walk and walk, and he follows, watching the houses disappear behind him as you go higher and higher, eventually stopping when the road ends.

The view isn’t even comparable to the one from your penthouse – it’s even better. From the hill, he can see everything – the houses you’d passed on your way, to the bright lights of the city center, to beyond the horizon, where a mass of dense clouds covers the horizon. Which is exactly where you’re looking, and Changbin can’t help but look too, wondering what lies past their cover.

“I used to come here with Hyunjin,” you break the silence. “Before everything fell apart.”

“We’d just sit here and look at the sky,” you continue, words crashing into each other as you rush to get them out. Changbin doesn’t know whether he should reach out for you, but decides against it, not wanting to startle your trembling figure.

“We’d look at the sky and wonder about what the future would look like — a million different scenarios. Sometimes we’d be rich, other times poor, living in the city, living out of it. But we always had each other. Until he decided to leave.”

“We should get you home–”

“Am I really that hard to love?” you blurt out, and Changbin freezes, the naked truth of why you’d been so cold finally exposed to him.

“___, it’s not, you shouldn’t think like this–,” Changbin struggles to analyze this, something far beyond the limits of what his data sets had compiled. This was different, this grief was beyond the depths of his understanding. This yearning for something else, someone else.

“Can you make it go away Changbin? This emptiness that lives inside me. This feeling that my life has never been mine, will never be mine?” you taunt him, knocking against his chest, scoffing when you hear the hollowness of metal.

“You can’t, can’t you? You’re just an android–”

“I’M NOT!” Changbin screams, his circuits devolving into chaos at the sharb jab of your words, Chan’s words coming back to him. “I’m not! I’m not! I’m not.”

He feels sparks inside him, his words stilting as he struggles to get them out. His fingers grasp at the back of his neck, searching for the one button he knows can end this, can put him out of his misery. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.

He doesn’t even notice how close you’ve become until he feels your breath fan against his lips, like that first night.

“Prove it,” you whisper, eyes off to the side like you didn’t expect him to listen.

But he listens.

Changbin surges forward, seeking your lips, and you stumble for a brief second, thinking you’ll hurtle off the hilltop, before his arm comes up to wrap around you, your hands tangling in his hair in an instant. The wind howls around you both, yet a shiver ran down your spine, blood pounding in your ears.

His lips were softer than you’d expected, and you capture him with your teeth, drawing him in, a moan bubbling up in your chest.

He feels so real. This felt so real.

Changbin can hardly think either, kicked into overdrive, the feel of your hungry mouth against his, the fervent swipe of his tongue against your lips. You knew this was a bad idea, that it would complicate everything, but you didn’t have it in you to care, hands roaming everywhere, slipping underneath the hem of Changbin’s shirt to trace circles against his hard stomach.

A strangled sound escapes Changbin’s throat, and the two of you part, flustered and trembling, Changbin resting his forehead to yours. Your fingers card through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and he moves again, roving down your jawline, lapping at your skin. Despite it being freezing out, a thin trail of sweat trickles down your neck, and Changbin doesn’t miss the opportunity to taste you, teeth grazing as he goes.

“Let me show you,” he rumbles into your chest, voice raspy from the lack of air.

The cold metal of the railing juts against your back as Changbin lunges, his arm locking you into place. Your cry of protest turns into a gasp when he nudges a knee in between your thighs, spreading them apart.

“God, just fucking touch me already,” you seethe, gasping when he thumbs at your nipples through the fabric of your shirt, the swollen peaks stiffening when he tugs them with his fingers.

An ache begins to build between your thighs when you look into Changbin’s eyes, their laser-like focus on you and you only, and that’s when his fingers slip underneath your skirt and straight to where you need him.

“Say please,” he whispers, and for a moment, you imagine the same desperation in his tone that colours yours.

Even when you don’t say anything, he knows from the tremble of your lips and the slight nod of your head that you want this.

The moment he swipes his fingers against your core, Changbin curses, palm meeting the furious grinding of your hips.

Your hands ball into fists, feeling the slick leak out of you, and you whine, a warm flush settling over your body, evidence of its betrayal.

“Pretend all you want,” Changbin hisses. “Pretend you hate me. Pretend you don’t see me. But we both know you want this.”

You try to hold your resolve, your wet cunt leaking even more, walls fluttering around his fingers. One wrong move and you’d go hurtling over the railing. But Changbin’s grip on you is like a vice, which only makes you squeeze harder around his knee.

He changes his pace, circling faster, harder, and your head goes hazy from the stimulation, your hands grabbing fistfuls of Changbin’s shirt. When you feel yourself teetering on the brink, body flushing with anticipation, it all stops.

Panting, you look at Changbin, his dark eyes surveying you hungrily, and you hear the clink of his belt, quivering as you try and spare yourself from being utterly wrecked by the sight of his cock.

“Look. at. me,” he grabs your chin and turns your head towards him, your eyes fluttering from the delirium of it all.

Gripping your thighs, he sinks you down onto him. You cry out as the initial pain subsides and you feel his hips snap up into you, pubic bone rolling against your clit.

“Changbin, I, shit-, it’s too much!” you plead, shamelessly rocking aginst him as he sets a brutal pace, the sounds of skin slapping and your breathy moans echoing bouncing from the walls.

Changbin says nothing, planting a messy kiss on your lips, prodding his tongue into the seam of your mouth to taste, and you anchor your palms against the railing, allowing him to roll his hips upward, the two of you moving in tandem.

The fire in your abdomen reaches a peak, a new wave of arousal suddenly washing over you as you feel your hips jerk, coming undone as you collapse against Changbin, stifling a groan against his throat.

Lifting you off of the railing, Changbin’s arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel something wet against the side of your face. Tears.

“Changbin–”

You wobble to your feet, head swirling with emotion, but he’s already pulling away, the faint outline of his figure the only thing you see as he heads off into the night.

Sighing, you pull your glasses down onto your face, hoping they can diguise the fact that despite your best efforts, your night was absolutely restless, swimming with thoughts of Changbin.

After leaving you on the hilltop, he’d vanished, leaving you to make your own way home. And now, not even a day later, your parents had decided to add to your headache by summoning you for a board meeting.

You expected them to ask for updates on your relationship with Changbin, to pry into your life, pretending like they cared. It was what they’d always done.

But you never expected this.

“I–, I don’t understand,” you gnaw at your lip, biting down so hard the skin may break. In front of you, the powerpoint gleams brightly. You can read the words off the slide, but you struggle to actually process them. And what they mean.

The beta testing was successful. Although people responded rather tepidly at first to the idea of a human-android relationship, we’ve gotten more positive feedback and requests to expand than ever. We’re on the verge of a new breakthrough here at Miroh Labs. And we want you to take charge of it.

Your father’s words have been echoing ceaslessly in the back of your mind, ever since he uttered them the moment you walked in.

The news has you deeply unsettled. You’d thought that this was some kind of social experiment, that you and Changbin were some freaks of nature, two outcasts in society brought together as a spectacle for others. You’d never anticipated it would come to this.

Miroh Labs wasn’t just looking to change the future of human-android relationships. No your parents twisted plan took it a step further – they sought to create models beyond Changbin’s capabilities as a companion, ones who would be equipped with the ability to reproduce.

We’d never have to worry about birth rates or a weak genetic pool again.

Looking out the window, you look out onto New Domino, the blueprints reflecting onto the screen, clashing with the holographic displays outside, a stark contrast to the storm that was brewing inside the boardroom.

Face illuminated by the blue glow of the screens, your breath comes out in short, uneven bursts. Your mother reaches out, watching your handles tremble, but you yank them away before she can clasp them in hers,

“Don’t touch me!” you hiss. “Was this all a fucking joke to you? Playing with my life, my emotions, so you could turn me into some kind of laughingstock for whatever sick idea you had?”

Standing up, you clutch the the documents to your chest.

“I’m done,” you declare. If you’d asked seven years ago, maybe you would’ve have done it, so desparate to please everyone around you that you’d say yes to whatever came your way. But now you knew better than to trust anyone. It’d only end up in heartbreak, and you refused to be a part of this sick and twisted legacy.

You needed to talk to Changbin.

. . .

The soft thud of shoes at the entryway feels louder than ever, knowing that you’ve been lying on your bed for the past eight hours, willing the tears to stop. But they never did.

Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you prod your aching limbs to get up, soreness flooding your entire body when you stand. Padding softly out into the hallway, you gasp when you see Changbin there, standing solemnly against the window.

He knows you from even the quietest sound, head turning when you come up behind him. There was so much you had to talk about, so much to address. But you couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

You reach behind you to grab the papers you’d stolen,and Changbin’s eyes widen with surprise when you push them in his direction, confusion marring his handsome face.

The two of you stand there while he reads, a multitude of moments passing in silence.

“I don’t get it,” he protests. “This seems like a logical progression. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“You don’t get it, do you Changbin?,” you declare firmly, doing your best to overcome the wobble in your voice. “This changes everything.”

You hear Changbin whir, temple lighting up with red, and for a moment, all there is to fill the silence is the sound of clicking and beeping. Was this it? Had Changbin finally reached his limits.

You’d been thinking about this for hours, about how to tell Changbin, how to break the news to him. You had no idea where you stood without, about how he felt after what’d you’d both shared at the lookout. And despite the thousands of theorized and calculated ways you’d thought of in your head, telling you that this didn’t matter, that it wouldn’t hurt him, you still choke back a sob.

“Don’t you understand? They want to change everything, to alter what it even means to be human? If an android can reproduce with a human, then what’s the point of marriage? What’s the point of falling in love? It all just becomes a stupid commodity, a race to see who can pop out babies the fastest, who can engineer the most perfect spawn. All the meaning from life as we know will be gone.”

Changbin’s eyes flicker for a brief moment, hurt and confusion settling on his face.

“What are you saying ___? Look at me. Please.”

The words come out in a desperate whine, Changbin lifting your face up to his, searching your eyes for a spark of emotion, but all he finds are hollow pools of emptiness.

You take a moment to respond, knowing that what you have to say will be the end of this, will probably drive a stake through the farce that had been your marriage.

“You’ll never understand Changbin. You can simulate every single emotion and fulfill every task. Hell, even if they upgrade you and you’re somehow able to reproduce, you just won’t get it. Because you don’t know what real love is like; all you know is the substitute. And it will never be enough.”

“This isn’t fair,” Changbin chokes out, recoiling. “All I have ever done is my best. All I can ever do is my best. Why is that not enough?”

“I’m sorry,” you look at him, tears blurring your vision. “I wish it was.”

“A-are you going to deprogram me?” Changbin hums, and all of a sudden, his sensors go haywire, every single one lighting up and blinking until they devolve into chaos. Your heart lurches seeing him like this, reaching out for him, but he slaps your arm away.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is ___? It’s not you, or whatever you think you feel. Because you’ve never fucking known what you wanted. No, it’s that, for one fucking night, you had me convinced. Convinced that I was something more than just a hunk of scrap metal to you. Convinced that there was some sick, twisted part of me that actually thought you could love me. But I don’t want you to lie to yourself anymore. I want to leave.”

You don’t say a word to him as he pads out of the kitchen, slipping his coat over his shoulders and tying his shoes.

As he slips out the door, you hears his voice, so quiet that you’re almost not convinced it’s real.

“Forgive me.”

The moon shines on the dark streets, it’s gentle light almost swallowed by their neon glow. Changbin runs, heart pounding in sync with his frantic steps.

Taking in a deep breath, he watches the city melt away again, the night air becoming colder, heavier with the fog of polluted smoke, until he’s there again. The hilltop. Looking out onto the city, he marvels at how it had once been a place full of so much intensity, maybe even love. He thinks back to the feeling of your lips on his, to the way you’d gasped his name. But now he feels nothing but emptiness.

Maybe he deserved that emptiness. Maybe you were right, maybe he could never be more than what he was – an automated program. Maybe it was better that he’d never see you smile again, never get to watch you hum contentedly when you took a bite of food that you loved, that he’d never ever have the chance to even say that he loved you. Because he wanted to, not because he had to.

“Changbin?” a voice calls out to him. “Is that you?”

Turning, he watches as the lithe figure of Chan comes into view, face furrowed in confusion at the sight of an android wandering alone on the streets.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and Changbin feels himself shrink, embarrassment cutting deep into him like a knife.

“I had to leave,” he feels himself heat, drive replaying the memories of his last conversation with you. “I had to go, I didn’t know what else to do–”

Changbin clenches his jaw, body tense as he fears Chan’s response, wondering if the other man will laugh at his stupidity.

Androids don’t get choices.

Surprisingly, the look on his face is one of understanding. Chan motions for Changbin to follow him, the two of them heading out into the lonely night.

. . .

The flickering lights of a warehouse come into view, casting long shadows on the ground. Changbin turns to Chan, body going rigid, and the lights cast an eerie glow on Chan’s face, the other half bathed in the darkness.

Stepping through the door, he’s surprised to find it more cosy than industrial, a clean, fresh scent overtaking his senses, one that reminded him of your apartment. It smelled like home. Something that Changbin was unsure he’d ever find.

“Come sit here, Changbin,” Chan motions to a sofa. “Now do you want to tell me what you were doing roaming around at night like that?”

“You told me once that if I decided this life wasn’t what I wanted, that if I wanted to be more than an android, there was a way out. Is that still true?” Changbin’s words sound hollow to his own ears, and he watches Chan flinch in surprise.

“You’ve heard about the project.”

Chan bristles, reaching over to wrap an arm around Changbin, pulling him into a hug, and Changbin collapses against his shoulder. He was so tired.

“It’s not about the project,” Changbin mumbles into Chan’s shoulder, and Chan pushes him away gently. If he wasn’t mistaken, Chan could almost imagine Changbin’s eyes glimmering with tears. “It’s ___.”

Changbin can’t stop the words from spilling out, and he tells Chan everything. Everything from how cold you’ve been, to those little moments of warmth he’d come to live for, ones where your exterior of ice melted into something kinder, more gentle. He tells him about that night the two of you had shared, the one where your walls had come crashing down. And how he desperately wanted them to keep coming down for him every single day. He didn’t know whether or not he was capable of love, but he wanted it with you. And yet, you didn’t feel the same. You told him you couldn’t.

Chan listens to it all, and without saying anything, stands up. Changbin looks at him despondently, wondering if he’d just made a fool of himself, but Chan motions to one of the doors, telling Changbin softly that he’ll be right back.

A few tense moments pass, and Changbin wonders if he’s been abandoned. But then Chan comes back, and he’s not alone. With him is another person, slightly shorter. His long, brown hair curls around the base of his neck, chubby cheeks wide in a huge heart-shaped smile. If Changbin didn’t see his hazel eyes, he would have also assumed that he was human, just like Chan.

Another android.

“Hello, I’m Jisung.”

Changbin’s eyes widen at Jisung in front of him, wondering what someone like him was doing here on the outskirts, where most people were too poor to own an android.

“Jisung used to be a domestic android,” Chan explains. “He worked for a family in New Domino that wasn’t very kind to him.”

“They took advantage of me,” Jisung has a far-off look in his eyes. “In many different ways. But that’s why I ran. Chan-hyung found me in a coffee-shop one day and brought me back to live with him.”

“How did you, I mean, how could you just leave like that? People need you,” Changbin is perplexed at the sight in front of him.

“Do they really?” Jisung counters. “Think about it, Changbin, what do they need us for? To make their lives easier? So they can sit back and reject every sense of responsibility they have towards others? The system we have is so flawed, and there’s so many others out there like me and you who suffer because of it.”

Chan nods his head in agreement.

“Why should you and Jisung have to pay the price for the mistakes of others? Why are you left questioning your identity, your own existence? You could be so much more in society than an end for other people’s satisfaction.”

“I make music now,” Jisung has a soft smile on his face. “Chan-hyung showed me how to use a production software, and now, I can go out to shops, walk around the neighbourhood, and use that inspiration for something beautiful. It’s not much, but it’s better than what I had to live for before.”

“Aren’t you scared, though? Of being deprogrammed, of being replaced?” Changbin can’t help the question from spilling out, his mind flashing back to how you had Hyunjin before him, and how easily you leaned into Jeongin, the employee at the clinic. Who was he compared to them?

“Life is so much more than living in fear, Changbin,” Jisung tells him. “If you just take a chance, maybe you can see that.”

And Changbin wants to believe him, to believe that he can leave this all behind, to start over again. But that would also mean leaving you behind, and that’s something he’s not sure he live with.

As if he can sense Changbin’s trepidation, Chan lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder again.

“You’re smarter than you think, Changbin. You’ll figure things out.”

You stare up at the ugly popcorn ceiling of the gallery. For being a space dedicated to showcasing the beauty of art, it paled in comparison to its inhabitants, cold concrete floors along with walls filled with cracks and peeling paint.

It has to be that way. Otherwise, would you even focus on the art?

The words bring a soft smile to your lips when you think of the last time you’d heard them. They ring true when you look at the painting in front of you – bold, dark colours interspersed with flecks of white. You get what the artist was trying to go for - the brightness of snow gleaming against a hillside, the snowflakes tiny pearls of brightness against the inky black backdrop of the night sky.

Lost in your study of the piece, you fail to notice the footsteps behind you, only turning when you feel a shadow loom over you.

“That one’s new,” Hyunjin says, coming to stand next to you. “Me and Yuna went to Interlaken last winter, you know I had to paint it.”

You bristle at his voice, an uncomfortable feeling bubbling in your chest. You’d always imagined this, meeting him again. What you’d say, what you’d do. Somehow, your dreams always ended with him taking you back. But now, that no longer felt right.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” you breathe out, realizing how stupid it sounds. Hyunjin literally worked there.

“I heard about the wedding. Congratulations.”

“Nothing to congratulate me for.”

“___,” Hyunjin croaks, and you stiffen at your name tumbling from his lips. “I’m sorry.”

There was a lot Hyunjin had to apologize for – leaving you suddenly, ending years of a relationship in one single moment, only for him to turn around and marry your best friend months later. A friend you no longer spoke to.

But it all seemed trivial now – it seemed like the past had consumed you, your demons chasing and chasing until they’d cornered you, leaving you with nowhere to run, no one to to turn to.

You’d had Changbin, and now he was gone. And you were alone, like you were always mean to be.

Your lips purse into a straight line, giving no indication that you accept Hyunjin’s apology.

“___ please, I know I can’t ask you to forgive me for what I did. I know it’s unforgivable. But please, you have to move on. You deserve to be loved. To have love.”

You’re unsure how much Hyunjin knows about you, or even Changbin, but the bitter regret in the his voice tells you that you weren’t the only one with wounds who’d been festering for longer than they should’ve.

“It feels like I’m trapped,” you finally admit out loud. “I’m trapped and there’s this lead weight that’s crushing me, and I can’t think, I can’t feel, I can’t even breathe— god, I just want to breathe, Hyun. And I lost the one person that was my chance to live again.” The words come out as sobs, Hyunjin raising a concerned eyebrow, and you shake your head, dismissing his suspicions.

“You care about him. The android.”

“Don’t call him that. He has a name.”

You bite your tongue at the grating response, mouth filling with the taste of blood. Changbin’s words from that night echo in your brain – I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.

He wasn’t.

Hyunjin sees the heat rush to your face when you mention him, the way your entire being changes – your once despondent body coming alive with emotion. And he knows that what you felt for him will never compare to now. Fate had steered you on opposite courses, your destiny intertwined with Changbin’s, his with Yuna’s.

“You know what you have to do then,” are his last words to you before you hear his boots tap against the cold concrete, walking away.

. . . .

The abandoned railway station lay forgotten at the edge of the city, a silent witness to years of decay. The iron tracks were tangled in weeds, and the once-bustling platform was now a graveyard of rusted metal and cracked concrete. The setting sun cast long, melancholic shadows, painting the scene in shades of orange and gray.

Changbin feels the cold metal of the bench against his back, and cards his fingers through his hair. He wonders if the disheveled strands, or the stains and threabare seams of his clothes, make him look more real. More human.

Holding the flyer in his hands, he stares at the face on it, in disbelief that it was once his face. So composed, so put together. So much had changed since then.

Finding Jisung and Chan had been a blessing, but it wasn’t enough. The emptiness remained, filled with thoughts of you, and he wonders if he’ll ever see you again. Whether you even thought of him.

The hum of an approaching vehicle broke the oppressive silence. Changbin’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as he saw headlights cutting through the dusk.

They’d found him. He had to run.

Miroh Labs had always been a prison – your prison. A cold, glowing fortress against the backdrop of New Domino, a place once full of so much promise. The place where you thought you’d prove yourself. But now it was time to let it go.

Chan is waiting for you at the entrance, lips parted in surprise when he sees you approaching. You don’t blame him for thinking that you’d bail. The plan had come together in mere hours, chaos unfolding the moment you’d returned to your apartment, going through every paper, every file as to how you could set your plan in motion.

Somehow, Chan seemed like a person you could trust. You briefly remember Changbin mentioning how Chan had been the first one to see him, shocked at how many of the little details about his presence you’d actually committed to memory.

It scared you, putting your heart and life on the line like this. But it had to be worth it – for the chance to live again, to love again.

“You ready for this?” Chan asked, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to your mess of emotions. His eyes glinted curiously in against the backdrop of darkness. voice steady and reassuring.

You nodded, full of determination. It was now or never.

“I am. I’ll take care of the security systems. You get to the servers.”

Chan gives a quick nod, before disappearing into the building.

You freeze, realizing you should have asked Chan if he knew anything about Changbin, where he was, what he was doing. You just had to hope this worked, and that you would be able to later. That was the only way.

The maze of the building is one you slip through easily, the long, dark hallways familiar to you from years of roaming around. You knew every door, where every secret was hidden. And how to shut it all down.

Fingers dancing across the keypad, you find the one you’re looking for. Booting up the system, the lights from the screens bathe the room in an eerie glow, and you begin to type.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered to yourself, eyes darting between the screen and the shadows outside. “Almost there…”

Your phone pings to life with a text — shoulders sagging with relief when you see it’s from Chan.

At the servers. Starting data extraction now.

You shoot a reply back quickly – two mins and i’ll initiate the shutdown sequence.

The two minutes pass by in agony, heart pounding out of your chest at the feeling that you could be caught at any time, that this could end.

The lab’s lights began to flicker and dim, casting an eerie glow over the deserted corridors. It worked.

You tiptoe silently out of the room, breaking into a run when you hear the sirens. You run and you run until you’re far enough away, Chan waiting for you a few blocks away.

“We did it,” he smiles, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “We got what we needed.”

He pauses when he sees you tremble, sobs wracking your entire body. You don’t know why the tears started, but they refused to stop when you think about everything – about how you’d just destroyed your family’s entire future, about how you were free, about Changbin.

His name slips from your lips without even thinking, and Chan freezes.

You hold your breath momentarily, waiting for the bad news to come. But all Chan does is let out a deep sigh of relief, the corners of his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Come with me.”

When Changbin wakes, it’s like the first time all over again. Senses assaulted by a bright light, fear strikes him in the worst way possible. How long had it been since he powered down? Weeks? Months? Had he been captured? Was this the end?

His systems go haywire with the possibilities, until he feels something. A breeze, ruffling his hair. He was outside.

The abandoned train station materializes amidst the fog of his muddled senses, his fingertips coming away with rust when he brushes them against the old, dilapidated bench. Relief washes over him. He was okay. He’d live another day.

The crunching of gravel startles him from his reverie, and he feels someone plop down next to him on the bench.

Turning to meet his company, he nearly short-circuits when he sees you, face illuminated by the sun’s rays. You’re smiling. At him.

Changbin tries to form a coherent thought, but everything is jumbled and clunky. The sun. The air. You. You. You.

You offer him something, and he pales when he sees it, an earbud extended to him.

“I need you to listen to something,” you say softly, and his hands shake as he accepts it, watching you hit play.

The first few melodious notes ring in his ears, and a shiver goes down his spine when he realizes what you’d chosen to show him.

Like a streetlight, like a streetlight

At the end of a lonely day, standing vacantly

In the middle of the lonely night, I try my best to smile brightly

It was the song he’d been working on with Jisung and Chan, the first thing he’d had of his own. The first step he’d taken to becoming himself, to becoming just Changbin. He closes his eyes, losing himself to the music, a tear slipping out at the last few notes, when he feels the weight of your head rest on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Changbin,” you sigh, voice wavering, whisper so low he can barely hear it among the reverberations of the final note.

“I want to fix this,” you say again, more resolutely this time, turning so his forehead meets yours. And you feel the dam break, tears flooding both of you as you collapse against each other.

“Wherever you’re going, I want to come with you. I want to show you that you’re more than enough. Because you showed me the same. Please tell me it’s not too late.”

Changbin nods, his tears mingling with a smile of hope.

“The song. It’s for you. It’s for us. For what we had and what we can still have. I can prove it to you.”

“You don’t need to prove anything, Changbin. You’ve done enough.”

And he had. Somehow, despite having no heart of his own, he’d managed to re-start yours, to show you that you didn’t have to live in the city’s shadows, under the iron grip of your past. That you could be more.

Hope fills your chest – it’s bright and vivid, the force of your love for Changbin knocking you back like a supernova.

Changbin’s fingers brush away the tears on your cheek, shining in the sunlight, and his gaze drops to your lips. You don’t know who leans in first, the next thing you feel being the soft press of his lips to yours. The skin is slightly chapped, but you melt into his touch anyway.

Soon the kiss becomes heated, the roughness of Changbin’s jeans dragging against your thighs as you push yourself onto his lap, prodding the seam of his lips with your tongue.

Here with Changbin, you realize you’d never really been weak at all. Neither of you had. Not like the world saw both of you.

Resonance. The ability of an object to match another’s frequency – the ability that you and Changbin now possessed to know whatever the world threw at you, wherever it took you next, you’d come out of it choosing each other every time.

a/n pt. 2: they are totally fucking after this btw (i don't make the rules)! all jokes aside, I'm so sorry if this sucks. I genuinely haven't written anything plot driven in over 8 months so I know there was a lot more I could have done and improved on. If you read this, thank you for giving it (and me) a chance. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

tagging: @jellyleggz

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glitterjay · 9 months ago

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— Endless Paradox (No Answer) | PJS

waiting for someone you love is like an endless paradox. it is both sweet and torturous.

synopsis: following a devastating breakup with his now ex-girlfriend, jay finds himself lost in the limbo of what comes after. he relieves their past, aching for closure yet afraid of the truth it might bring. each day, he is torn between the sweetness of their shared memories and the torment of her absence. as he wrestles with the paradox of love and loss, jay must decide whether to hold on to a love that may never return or to free himself from the chains of waiting. but in love, is there ever a true answer?

warnings: breakup, not moving on, angst. lots of angst.

notes: reposts are appreciated!

the thought of you had spent the night with jay once again. he stared at the cracked ceiling of his dimly lit apartment, the afternoon light filtering through the dusty blinds like the scattered reminders of a life he once knew. the silence was oppressive, heavy with memories of laughter and warmth that felt so distant now. there was a hole in his chest he had felt never before, and ever since. just a week ago, he had been wrapped in your arms, their future painted in vibrant colors, but now those colors had bled into a dull gray.

his phone buzzed beside him, breaking the complete silence. It was a message from you, the group chat buzzing with updates about mutual friends. he hesitated before opening it, a knot tightening in his stomach. as he read their plans for the weekend, he felt the familiar sting of exclusion. time went on for everybody else, he wont know it.

each day, jay found himself lost in a ritual of revisiting their shared moments. he would sift through old photos, each one a bittersweet reminder of laughter, dreams, and the way you would twirl your hair when she was deep in thought. he replayed their favorite songs, letting the melodies wash over him like a comforting balm, even as they cut deeper with every note.

one evening, he came across a video of you two dancing in the living room, your laugh echoing through the screen. a wave of longing crashed over him, and he couldn’t help but smile at the memory. yet, as the video ended, the stark reality of your absence seeped in, and he was left grappling with the haunting question: was it better to remember the good times or to face the painful truth of your ending?

as the days turned into weeks, jay found solace in the routine of his grief. He walked the same paths they had strolled, often feeling your presence beside him, as if you were just out of sight. but the comfort of those memories began to morph into a chain that bound him tighter with each passing day.

he met up with a close friend, jake, at their favorite café. over steaming mugs of coffee, he watched him with concern. “jay, you need to talk about this,” he urged gently. “You’re not going to find closure by just replaying the past.”

his words struck a chord within him, igniting a flicker of realization. what was he really waiting for? closure, or a chance to go back to a time when everything felt perfect? He felt the weight of jake's gaze, and for the first time, he voiced his fears. “what if I let her go and it hurts too much? what if I’m meant to fight for us?”

jake sighed, his expression softening. “but what if holding on is what’s hurting you most? sometimes... you just have to choose yourself first.”

but how could he choose himself when all he needed to be fine was to have you back? there seemed to be no answer to his despair. no matter from what sight he saw himself, whether it was from his own eyes or his friends perspectives of him, there was nothing that could fix the hole he felt. he might as well just stay down bad.

#— ✿ c's work!#enhypen #engene #enhypen angst #kpop #kpop angst #sad hours #enhypen jay #jay #park jay #park jongseong #jay angst #enhypen jay angst #park jay angst #park jongseong angst

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witchygagirlwrites · 4 months ago

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Ace-Part 2

Jay Halstead x Reader x Hailey Upton (Reader Nicknamed Ace)

Jay and Hailey want to talk things out but it ends with you pushing them further away.

When your text alert went off you groaned and seriously considered for a moment just throwing it at the wall. You had insurance on it after all but then again you had already changed out twice this year. You reached out for your phone and when your hand finally wrapped around it, you pulled it to your face and squinted against the brightness of the screen “Fuck” you turned down the brightness level then clicked on the unread text.

It was from Hailey. Do you want to get breakfast before work? Or just coffee? You rubbed your hand down your face as you stared at the words. Why did you read it? You had your freaking read receipts on so now she knew you’d seen it. You hadn’t really spoken much to her or Jay in the last couple days. It was just awkward for you.

You were a grown woman, you’d had one night stands but never with people you actually cared about, people that meant something to you. You never should have allowed that line to be crossed. You just needed the weirdness to pass, that was all. After a moment she texted again Ace, are you mad at us? Ok, that made your heart twist a little. As much as you didn’t want to face the consequences of your bad decisions you also didn’t want to risk pushing your best friends away either. You sighed and texted back Not much for breakfast but coffee sounds good

You tossed your blanket off and was just climbing out of the bed when she texted again We’ll meet you there

You sighed and tossed the phone down onto the bed. You could do this, it was an important step. You wanted to get things back to normal, get past that weird morning after limbo.

You parked your truck and spotted Jay’s a couple spaces down so you leaned back in to grab your jacket and slipped your arms into it before walking to the door of the coffee shop.

When you stepped in the smell of brewing coffee and fresh pastries hit your nose and your stomach growled despite yourself. Ok, maybe you were a little hungry. You looked around and spotted the two of them in the corner, already sitting at a table. They were talking but Jay’s eyes flickered towards the door and a smile slipped onto his face when he saw you then he bumped Hailey’s shoulder and she looked up, a smile slipping onto her face too.

You walked over to them “Morning” “Morning” Jay greeted first and Hailey smiled “We ordered your usual along with ours, hope that's ok?” you nodded “That’s very ok, did you order just coffee or..?” Hailey cut you off with a laugh “I ordered you a lemon pastry” you smiled “Thank you” she grinned “You’re welcome”

“Hey, it was my idea to order the pastries!” Jay sounded almost offended. You shook your head “Thank you Halstead” he grabbed his chest like you’d struck him “Oh she gets smiles and I get Halstead?” you rolled your eyes “I could always leave?”

“Halstead works” he laughed, grabbing your chair to make sure you didn’t get up. About that time the barista called out Jay’s name. He looked from you to Hailey “I’m gonna go grab that, make sure she doesn’t bolt before I get back”

______________________

You watched him walk away then looked back at Hailey “Are you the flight risk or am I?” she gave you a look and you felt your face warm “Oh” “Yeah oh, can we talk about it?” you shrugged “Not much to talk about Hails” and started to mess with your necklace as a nervous habit. She watched you for a second then nodded slowly “So you regret it”

“That sounded more like a statement than a question detective so I’m not sure how to proceed” you replied and she raised an eyebrow “Come on Ace, it’s me. This isn’t an interrogation. I just wanted to talk, make sure we’re all good because you gave the flash a run for his money”

You opened your mouth to reply but Jay made it back to the table about that time and put down the tray of coffee along with the little paper bag that held the pastries. He could sense the tension so he smiled “Everything good?” you nodded “How much was mine? I’ll pay you back”

He held out your coffee and food “Like hell sweetheart” you took it and he handed Hailey hers then sat down. You raised your eyes to look at Hailey “We’re good Hails” “You never answered my question” she spoke softly and you shrugged “You didn’t word it as a question”

She sighed and looked at Jay so he turned to face you, leaning over on the table “Ace, do you regret what happened?” you looked from his seafoam colored eyes to Hailey’s pure blue ones and felt your heart flip. Did you regret it? You shrugged “If it’s going to change our friendship then yes because you two are my best friends”

“So what now?” Hailey asked and you smiled softly “We forget it happened maybe? You two mean a lot to me and I don’t want to lose you because..” you looked around and chose your next words carefully “Because we were all in a bad space and our mental demons decided to play nice together”

Hailey’s face fell slightly “Oh” Jay grabbed his coffee and took a sip “If that’s what you want Ace, it’s forgotten” and cut his eyes at Hailey. You felt like you were missing something, some sort of communication between the two of them you weren’t privy to but then again they were married, they had the right to that didn’t they?

“Ok, well thanks for the coffee and pastry. I’ll see you both at work” you grabbed the cup and bag and stood up. They both nodded so you turned to head to the door, hoping like hell you hadn’t just said or did the wrong thing to lose you Jay and Hailey from your life.

“So, do you believe her?” Hailey asked Jay once you’d walked out of the coffee shop. They’d talked over this for the last couple days. As a couple they had to talk it out, as individuals they had to talk it out and the startling but not quite surprising conclusion they’d come to was they’d both developed feelings for you and were not mad in the least about the other developing feelings for you.

“I don’t know” Jay breathed, eyes dropping to his wedding ring. “Maybe we should forget what happened Hailey, if that’s what Ace wants. We don’t want to push her away” Hailey nodded before asking him “Yeah but can we forget how we feel about her?” he shrugged “She’s our best friend. We just have to settle for that to keep her”

Hailey sighed, staring at the door of the coffee shop. “Tell me the truth on one thing Jay and I’m not going to get mad because you know I love you and you know I love our personal life” he cut his eyes at her “What is it baby?” she half smiled “How many times have you thought about it?” he smirked “Probably as many times as you have” and she nodded “That’s what I thought and that night just concreted it. Let’s get to work”

She stood up and pulled him into a kiss. She pulled him closer when he deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue against hers “I love you Jay” he smiled “I love you too”

You were just a few minutes ahead of Jay and Hailey which meant you barely sat down at your desk before you heard the gate pop and their boots on the stairs. By the time they made it to the top Voight was coming out of his office “Gear up, we gotta respond to a shooting on the north end”

You were almost grateful to have something to do that didn’t involve just being around the bullpen. You stood up from your desk and nearly shoulder checked Jay “Shit, sorry Jay” you muttered and he smiled “No problem”

You felt your face warm slightly when his hand came out to rest on your hip to steady you. His gaze locked onto your face for just a moment and you refused to meet his eyes. You couldn’t let him see that reaction. “Thanks” you whispered then fell in line to head down to roll up before anyone noticed that interaction.

You were almost finished gearing up and was about to get Adam to double check your vest when Hailey turned you by the shoulders “I got ya” you dropped your gaze to the floor when her fingertips brushed against your neck while she adjusted the strap just slightly. What the hell was that reaction? “You’re good” she spoke and you cut your eyes back at her “Thanks” then moved to follow Kevin out. “Ready to get it?” he asked and you grinned “Always Kev” and bumped your fist against his.

The shooting was carnage, just carnage. Three victims looked like a gang hit. You knew trying to find witnesses was a hit or miss situation but like it or not that was your job. You and Kevin were canvassing the block, Jay and Hailey were talking to the local business owners while Adam and Kim went to the hospital in hopes one of the victims may pull through.

“Thank you for your time ma’am. If you think of anything else, feel free to call” you handed her a card as you and Kevin walked away and he cut his eyes at you “She ain’t calling” “Ya think?” you scoffed. “Nobody wants to talk to us when this shit happens but it's always our fault at the same damn time” Kevin sighed. You shrugged “This is all we can do Kev, try to get ahead of it before the next one”

Jay waved the two of you over so you and Kevin walked over to him, Hailey and Voight.”Anything from witnesses?” Voight asked and you cut your eyes at him “Oh yeah boss, they were down right chatty” he shook his head “Cut the sarcasm Ace” you shrugged “Platt always says ask a dumb question, get a dumb answer”

You looked at Hailey “Anything from the businesses?” she pointed towards a bodega “They had two working cameras, emailed the footage to the precinct as far as the other two? Their cameras are either broken or fake” you groaned “Of course. Have we heard anything back from Kim or Adam?”

Voight shook his head and you nodded “Ok, what now boss?” he looked around “Circle back to the precinct. We’ll figure out next steps, get word out to C.I.’s and try to get a handle on what this was about, if more is coming and how the hell we can stop it before more bodies hit the ground”

You slapped Kevin’s arm “You heard the man. Let’s go”

You sat on the edge of your desk, watching as Voight taped the photos of the DOAs and the two currently hospitalized on the board “What do we know?” you asked and he hit one of the photos “Two of em had gang ties, the third one? None. This kid was squeaky clean” “So was he our target or collateral damage?” Kim asked and Voight shrugged “That’s the question all of you have to figure out. Atwater you’re with me. Ruzek and Burgess double back to Med then check in with C.I.s. Ace, roll with Upton and Halstead”

You wanted to argue but knew better, besides you and Jay did share a C.I. Hailey shot you a small smile. “Roll out, let's find something out”

____________________

You grabbed your jacket to follow Jay and Hailey down the stairs, trying to keep the look off your face that screamed how miserable you currently were. Jay opened the gate then held it for you both. You stepped through then continued walking, not waiting on them to make it outside. You could do this, make jokes, brush it off.

“So who’s people we going to see first? Yours, mine or ours?” you asked with a grim, cutting your eyes back at them. Hailey shrugged “We’ll check in with mine first then hit your shared one then Jay’s” you nodded “Sounds good to me, lets get on it”

Jay raised an eyebrow “So, we’re good now?” you nodded “We were always good Jay” Hailey laughed lightly “Oh we know you’re good” and you felt your face warm “Get in the truck ma’am” and she winked at you “I’m sorry but that was an opening I had to take”

By the time the three of you made it back to the precinct you felt a little better because even meeting up with C.I.s you found yourself joking with them and the awkwardness was fading. Maybe your friendship could get over it after all?

Jay parked and you slid out of the backseat, Hailey sliding out the passenger seat behind you. “Kim texted, we have another victim” you announced looking back at Hailey then over at Jay. They both nodded slowly “Damn, she was what? Sixteen?” Jay asked and you nodded “Yup”

“Good news is that Voight’s guy may have us some sort of a lead, we just have to play nice with vice” Jay groaned “I fucking hate those assholes” you didn’t think about it before you said “Oh honey everyone hates those assholes” and saw the two of them exchange a look that was a little too similar to…nope not going to the situation that look was similar to.

“Doesn’t your ex work in vice?” Hailey asked and you nodded “Yup, Melody Tyeron” she raised an eyebrow “This’ll be fun” you didn’t like the look in her eyes nor the fact that it made your heart flip “It’ll be fine” you assured her with a tight lipped smile.

She cut her eyes at Jay as the three of you headed inside. You nodded to Trudy on the way by but she whistled so you froze “Yeah?” she nodded towards the stairs “Tyeron is already upstairs” you groaned “Ok, thanks for the heads up” “Any time sweetie” she replied so you took a deep breath and headed for the stairs.

___________________

“Can I punch her?” Hailey asked Jay, the two of them were watching you interact with your ex and every time the woman looked at you Hailey had to fight the urge to knock her teeth down her throat. “No, Ace can handle herself” Jay reminded her and she nodded slowly “Yeah but that bitch cheated on her”

Jay shrugged “Can’t help that” Hailey looked at him “You’re only saying that because it’s one of her female exes. If it was one of the guys, you’d be pissed” he nodded, not seeing the point in arguing when she had already called him out “Oh yeah, I would’ve already swung but you’re more even tempered than I am”

She looked back towards you again and you were moving away from Melody to walk over to Kim’s desk. You looked pissed but not like you needed a rescue, you just needed a breather. “Trying to be even tempered and being even tempered are two different things” she muttered.

_______________________

You despised vice. They were a bunch of bullheaded assholes. You stuck close to Kim and Adam during the debriefing and when Voight started pairing everyone up for the takedown you groaned under your breath when you and Kevin were given Melody. You cut your eyes at Voight and he shrugged slightly as if to apologize.

You moved closer to Kevin, whispering in his ear “and why couldn’t we just take the info and run with it? We have a four time success rate over these asses” a smirk slipped onto his face before he said “We just handle the weight of the takedown then they the ones that put their picture in the paper”

“Ace, Atwater and Tyeron you three take the street side. Upton, Halstead and O’Neal take the alley side. Ruzek, Burgess and Jones take the back. The rest of us have the front” it was an old house with three exits and a freaking fire escape.

You nodded “Yes sir” and everyone moved to get into their positions. You caught Jay’s eye and smiled. He winked at you before following Hailey and O’Neal.

__________________

“CPD FREEZE” you held your gun level on the man who’d just ran out. “Don’t do it asshole” you told him and he must have weighed his options because he put his hands behind his head and slowly went down to his knees. “Good boy. Cuff him Tyeron” you spoke and she moved in to put the cuffs on him.

“GOT A RUNNER” you heard Hailey’s voice across the coms right before her and Jay came running around the corner. “Go, I got this” Kevin told you so you hit the com and fell in “I got east, Hailey take west, Jay stay on his ass”

“Copy that” “Copy that” technically Jay had seniority on you but fuck it.

You slid in one direction, Hailey in the other while Jay stayed right behind the guy. You ended up corralling him into an alleyway. “No place to go” Hailey spoke and the guy did a slow turn realizing he had you on one side, Hailey on one, a brick wall on one and Jay back the way he came.

He eyed Hailey and you and Jay spoke in unison “Don’t” your guns trained on him for the slightest movement. He held up his hands and went down to his knees. “You got me?” Jay asked you and you nodded “Cuff his ass” Hailey tossed him her cuffs so he cuffed the guy and pulled a forty five from his waistband. “You son of a bitch” you muttered and had to fight the urge to slap him. The way he’d been eyeing Hailey. He’d considered it.

He shrugged “Had to think about it damn” you open handedly slapped him “You don’t even deserve a punch you bastard” you snatched him from Jay’s hands and shoved him in front of you “Come on, I’m shoving your ass into a patrol car myself”

You were walking out of the twenty first when you heard Hailey call your name so you stopped and turned to see her and Jay headed towards you. “Yeah?” she smiled “You slapped that guy for even having the thought of it” you shrugged “You’re my partner and my friend” she nodded slowly “You’ve never slapped anyone over Ruzek”

“I like you better, always have” you teased and she laughed “Nice to know” Jay cleared his throat and when you looked at him he lifted one shoulder and let it fall “You got plans for dinner?” you shook your head “Depends, is it a restaurant dinner?”

He nodded “We didn’t think you’d exactly want to come to our place” you wanted to get over the weirdness and a girl had to eat so you shrugged “Fuck it, why not? I’ll follow you there?” Hailey smiled “Ok”

You walked over to your truck and climbed in, hoping this wasn’t a bad idea.

“What is that?” you leaned over and poked what was on Jay’s plate with your fork and Hailey busted out laughing. “She has a point baby, what did you order?” he raised an eyebrow “The menu said it was some sort of crab. This doesn’t look like crab” you laughed and slid your plate halfway towards him “It’s not how you normally eat it but want half my steak?”

“My hero” he teased, stabbing the piece of meat with his fork. You shook your head and shoved some of the potatoes over onto his plate too, “Here ya go honey” he winked at you “Aren’t you sweet?” you shook your head “Don’t get used to it” Hailey laughed “Yeah, she’s only sweet for me”

She grabbed the menu and looked up at you “Speaking of sweet, want to split a dessert? I don’t want a whole one” you leaned over closer to her and eyed the menu “Tiramisu?” she grinned “I love how your mind works”

_____________________

You walked out to the parking lot next to Hailey, Jay had his arm around her and she had her hand dangling down next to yours as if she wanted to grab it but thought better of it. When you got to your truck you turned to face them “Thanks for dinner even if Jay’s turned out to be questionable” he grinned “Hey, you gave me half of yours so I still got decent food”

You laughed “I’m glad I came out, I don’t want weirdness with you two. You mean too much to me” “Good” Hailey replied and pulled you into a hug. Your mind said to tense up but your body automatically relaxed against hers, she leaned back and smiled before brushing your hair back out of your face “You mean a lot to us too, rather you get that or not”

You didn’t mean for it to happen but the next breath your lips were meeting hers. One of her hands moved up to cup your chin as she stepped closer to you. The kiss was gentle, testing the waters. When she squeezed your hip with her other hand and you gasped she rolled her tongue into your mouth against yours and you whimpered lightly. It took you a moment for reality to set in and then you pulled back from her with wide eyes “Fuck I’m sorry” you looked at Jay who up until that point had seemed perfectly content watching you make out with his wife “Sorry”

You turned to try to get in your truck and possibly just head for the border but Jay’s hand wrapped gently around your upper arm “Ace, sweetheart” you looked around the parking lot before turning to face him “What?” he gave you one of those smiles that would make anyone weak “Why are you apologizing and running, again?” you shook your head, eyes flickering from his down to his lips and back up.

He leaned down, giving you plenty of time to pull away before his lips crashed against yours. His kiss wasn’t as gentle as Hailey’s. He kissed a little more claiming, like was trying to taste all of you at once, his tongue licking into your mouth pulling little noises out of you as you finally got enough of your senses to push against his chest “I can’t do this”

“Do what?” He asked and you waved between him and Hailey “This! I’m not a damn unicorn for a married couple Jay! I’m not interested in being a toy and having my heart ripped out. I care about you two, you’re my best friends! That’s why I wish the other night would have never happened. Please if you two care about me back off, because no matter how bad I want both of you…I’m not about to give anyone that power dynamic over me”

“We wouldn’t…” Hailey started and you held up a hand “Not on purpose but you’re married Hails. You’re in love with Jay, he’s in love with you. I deserve someone to be in love with me. Not just want to fuck me or claim me. Ok?”

You looked down where Jay’s hand was still loosely on your arm and he released it, letting his hand drop to your side “It wouldn’t be like that Ace” you smiled sadly “Yeah, it would. From now on, our friendship is work only. I’m sorry” you turned and climbed into your truck. You didn’t look back before slipping your key into the ignition and pulling away from the curb. This was a bad idea. All of this could result in you having to leave intelligence.

“FUCK!” you slammed your hands against the steering wheel as you drove. Anger at yourself and the situation. Why had you ever allowed it to happen? Why had you been so damn weak, so pathetic, so lonely that you would risk the two closest friendships you had?

___________________

“We just lost her completely didn’t we?” Hailey asked, on the verge of tears as the two of them watched your tail lights disappear. “I don’t know, I never thought she’d see us like that” Jay admitted, slipping his arms around her. Hailey sighed “I guess we have no choice but to back off, I don’t want to see her leave the unit. Do you?”

Jay shook his head “Of course not” you’d been their best friend for years now. You were always there. Before they got together, when they were falling for each other. Hell you were the only person who’d actually known the day they got married. The last few weeks, spending so much time with you on and off the clock had just led both of them to face feelings that probably had been brewing for some time and they all just ended up boiling over that night.

“We give her time, we let her breath and just try to be her friends again? Maybe she’ll see we want more than that?” Jay offered and Hailey nodded “Let’s go home”

Part 3

@desimarie12

#jay halstead x reader x hailey upton #upstead x reader #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic

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