the sitter chronicles "broken ankle, karma rules" part 2
a toji fushiguro x babysitter!reader fic
a/n: I promise you guys, MEGUMI'S FINE!!! I know this is a bit long, please let me know if you'd like me to shorten things a bit, but I just felt like this couldn't be rushed. I'm so weak for this situation, I promise everybody will be happy soon😭 I started writing this last evening and it took me the whoooole night so please forgive any mistake. let me know if you'd like anything specific for the next parts and if you liked this one🩷🩷🩷 love you all😼 as always, if you want, you can read the rest of the series here !
LIKES, COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED
the coziness of the fushiguro's house fails to ease your tense nerves. take-out boxes are scattered all over the living room's small table, empty bottles of beer waiting to be thrown out.
you don't blame mr. fushiguro — the rest of the house is spotless. the kitchen is crystal clear, the bedroom immaculate, almost as if he hasn't slept in there for the last couple days. megumi's toys are neatly put aside, his clothes perfectly folded, the softener’s scent still lingering.
the only noise filing the room is the one made by the tapping of your foot on the wooden floor.
you shouldn't be this scared. of course, megumi is hurt and feverish. but there's another thought hunting you — him being uncomfortable enough not to tell anyone about his pain. and so scared his father couldn't help but call you.
you play with the peanut plushie you bought megumi a couple days ago. the initial intent was to gift it to him once he came back from the summer camp. however, this situation seems to fit much more.
you try lying on the couch to relax.
megumi's already scared. mr. fushiguro will probably be, too. you have to be the calm one in this situation. as soon as your head touches the pillow, fingers pressing on your closed eyes, you hear the key turning into the lock. megumi is cradled on toji's chest, his little leg blocked by the white cast.
toji carefully takes his shoes off, dropping his keys and a bag full of what you imagine are megumi's medicines on the kitchen table. you silently stand up, thinking megumi's asleep, but as soon as you get closer, he turns around and reaches his little arms out.
"y/n!" his delicate voice hits you straight into the heart.
"oh, peanut — come here..." you cooed. his little arms quickly lock around your neck, squeezing you tightly.
"she's not escaping, pal. y/n's sleeping here tonight, don't worry" toji says.
megumi's eyes snap open, his little mouth forming a circle. "really??" his surprised tone shatters your heart. that little bean already experienced what most people probably never do in their life.
"of course, peanut. we're gonna put on our pyjamas and cuddle up until tomorrow morning. what do you think? are we liking this idea?" he frantically nods his head, resulting in a laughter from bot you and toji.
"oh, speaking about peanuts. I have a little gift for you." with megumi on your hip you walk towards the couch, grabbing the plushie and giving it to him. he snatches it out of your hands, hugging it dearly.
"megumi, thank y/n for the gift." toji orders.
"thank you so so much. you're the best girl ever!" he seems relieved. he probably wasn't that scared, only sad he had to leave camp early. you smile at him. you notice toji scratching the back of his neck, black bags under his eyes.
"c'mon, peanut. let's get you changed."
you help him out of his clothes, being careful while putting his pyjama pants on, afraid you could hurt his leg, then hold him while he brushes his teeth — watching him as he sticks out his tongue at your reflection in the mirror.
you carefully tuck him in, ruffling his soft black hair. he smiles, then pats the mattress next to him. you lean down — slowly start humming a song for him, stroking his hair to help him fall asleep. and he does, almost immediately. on your way out, you don't switch off the lamp on the bedside table. megumi hates sleeping in the dark.
you find toji sprawled on the couch. he cleared the table, probably quickly showered — his hair is damp and he changed into sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. he straightens up as soon as he notices your presence.
"he fell asleep on the spot." you whisper. his rough hands rub his eyes, leaving the skin red — however, the guilt in his eyes is still visible. you slowly approach him, sitting right beside him.
your body reacts before your mind, small hand resting on his hard shoulder. "what's wrong, mr. fushiguro?"
he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tightens, eyes fixed somewhere on the wall, afraid anything might spill if he looks at you too long.
“nothing,” he mutters. “just tired.”
you don’t move your hand from his shoulder. If anything, you slowly start drawing small circles on it.
“he’s a fucking kid, y/n,” he says suddenly. “and he already knows how to grit his teeth and say he’s fine.”
his chest rises in a sharp breath, his smile full of resentment.
“guess he learned that from me.”
for a second, you think he’s going to stand up. his shoulder shifts under your palm, muscles tensing in defense.
instead, he lets out a long, heavy exhale.
“I wasn’t there,” he adds. “I should’ve been.”
you shake your head before you even realize it, fingers slightly brushing his shirt.
“he didn’t say anything,” he mutters. “didn’t cry when he fell. didn’t complain. just sat there, said his leg hurt a bit.”
his hands curl into a fist, knuckles whitening.
“that’s not normal,” he adds. “kids don’t do that unless they’re used to it.”
the words land heavy and accusatory towards himself. you open your mouth to answer, but he cuts you off.
“don’t,” he says. “I know what you’re gonna say.”
“that I did my best. that shit happens. that he’s fine.”
silence stretches again, this time uglier. uncomfortable.
your hand is still on his shoulder. he notices — of course he does.
“you shouldn’t be here for this part” he says, quieter now.
“and which is that?” you ask.
“the one where you realize I’m a fucking mess. and you start asking yourself how is it possible that megumi is still alive and well.”
his jaw clenches hard, like he regrets saying it the second it leaves his mouth.
for a moment, he waits, almost like he expects you to pull away.
“your kid doesn’t want you there while he’s having fun with his best friend at summer camp. you were there the second he needed you, that’s it.”
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands — visibly tired of holding himself together.
“mr. fushiguro,” you say softly, “you’re the first person he called out for.”
that does it. you can clearly see his body giving up before your very eyes.
“i’m not sure I can do this” he says.
“the jobs. the nights out. the counting money like it might disappear if I blink. being tired all the goddamn time and still waking up feeling like I failed something.”
his hands drag down his face, frustrated.
“I tell myself I’m doing this for him,” he continues. “that if I just keep going he’ll be fine.”
a bitter laugh slips out, head still held down by what feels like crushing gravity.
“and then I see him sitting there, on the hospital bed, trying not to cry and still managing to somehow hide his leg so I don’t get mad or worried or—”
his voice breaks. he stops.
for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks so small.
“I’m scared,” he admits. the words come out wrong, forced, like they physically hurt him on their way out.
“scared that one day he’ll look at me and realize I wasn’t enough.”
before you can think, you move closer. your knees touch. your hand finds his forehead.
he exhales sharply, body folding forward — and then he’s there, forehead pressed against your shoulder, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like it’s the only anchor left.
“I can’t fuck this up,” he whispers. “I can’t fuck him up.”
your arms wrap around him instinctively, pulling him in. he completely abandons to your touch, no pride left to protect.
toji fushiguro lets himself be held.
one arm comes around your waist, strong and trembling, drawing you closer until your chest collides with his. his other hand presses against your back. you feel his head slip into the crook of your neck.
“i only want him to be okay”
you run your fingers through his hair. slow, careful.
he shudders, holding you tighter.
just for a moment, he allows himself to rest. his head slowly rises, the ghost of his lips dangerously close to yours.
then reality sets back in. he pulls away, almost as if touching you burned his skin.
his behaviour shifts completely. he clears his throat, one hand scrubbing over his face as he stands up. his eyes avoid yours again, fixed on the floor, on the table. on anything but you.
the word isn’t angry. it’s embarrassed.
you don’t move. your arms fall back to your sides, chest still warm where he’d been pressed against you.
“that—” he starts, then stops. jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
“that can’t happen, kid.”
“I don’t do that,” he says. “I don’t—”
he exhales through his nose, frustrated.
his fingers flex, restless, like they’re looking for something to grab and finding nothing.
“you shouldn’t have seen me like that,” he adds.
you finally gather the courage to speak.
“you didn’t do anything wrong.”
that makes him laugh — humorlessy.
“yeah,” he says. “I did.”
he stands up, pacing once, twice, like a caged animal that’s suddenly aware of the bars. when he stops, his back is to you.
“I got shit to handle,” he continues. “I got work to do. bills to pay. a kid who depends on me.”
“and I don’t get to fall into someone’s arms when it gets heavy. especially your arms.”
the words sting — hitting the soft spot in your guts, making you flinch.
he turns back to you — his expression is closed off again, guarded, completely cold. a darkness in his eyes you’ve never seen before. you can’t seem to find the loving father that let him son jump on his chest while playing on the couch. that keeps the fridge impeccably stocked, sweet treats hiding in the pantry. almost as if he flicked off a switch and lost all his warmth.
“forget it,” he says. “what you saw. and whatever was happening there.”
you shake your head slowly, an unexpected wave of pride investing you all at once.
for a second, something dangerous flashes in his eyes — fear, maybe. or want. or a mixture of both.
“don’t make this harder than it already is,” he murmurs.
then, a softer “please”. barely there. he starts walking towards the front door.
“you don’t get to choose for me.” you say, but he doesn’t stop. he grabs his car keys and his jacket.
“mr. fushiguro stop please” your voice is a whine. he doesn’t.
“can you fucking stop for a second?” your voice comes out too loud. you probably woke megumi up. he freezes. your hand flies to your mouth.
he stares, his look unreadable.
“don’t speak to me like that, kid.” his tone is uncannily calm.
“don’t treat me like a kid then” you snap back.
“you are a kid. you’re twenty years old y/n. i’m the adult here. you have your life, your studies, your friends. your little experiences and the ones you still have to live.”
“i am an adult. you know that, right? I vote. i work, I pay my own bills. and, on top of everything, I make my own decisions.”
he’s visibly uncomfortable. he knows you’re right.
“your words make sense. I know you’re more than capable to do all that and have full decisional power over your life. but I also feel this protective instinct towards you, this suffocating need to keep you away from my world and the shit that’s connected to it. and it’s fucking with my head.” his voice is low and steady.
“why would you do that? I don’t need you to be my guarding dog. or to push me away.”
“then why are you acting like this?”
“because if I could I’d keep you for me all the time!” he finally snaps. His pupils dilated, his hands grabbing your wrists in a swift motion. His fingers slowly rise, brushing against your chin.
the tension is like a burden on your shoulders.
he doesn’t move. there’s no need, though, because you already made your decision. in a split second, you’re on his lips. your soft pink lips clashing against his unexpectedly hot mouth, fingers hooking the shirt at his chest. his hand traps your chin roughly, sinful desire blurring his conscience — his warm tongue wetting your lips.
once he breaks the kiss, the cold he leaves almost makes you shiver. your eyes are big in his. his forehead rests on yours, just a little longer.
“what’s going on?” a little voice echoes. megumi appears from his room, hair spiky and plushie in hand. you quickly retract from toji’s touch, adjusting your hair.
“what’s wrong, peanut?” you say, slightly leaning in front of him.
“can you sleep with me?” he asks with a pout.
“of course I can. let’s go.” you say grabbing his hand. he doesn’t move
you look at the exhausted man in front of you. he almost protests, then drops it the moments megumi threatens him with a cry.
if somebody told you you would’ve found yourself in a bed with mr. fushiguro, megumi between the two of you, moments after the wrongest yet realest kiss of your life, you would’ve told them they needed to slow on the romcoms.
yet, there you are. and it feels dangerously right.
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