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celestie0 · 8 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

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When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

Text

Eddie develops a strange habit after sex. It’s not exactly cute or romantic or nice. Nothing bad either. It’s just… well, Steve isn’t too sure what it is. But every time, it’s the same damn thing.

He collapses onto Steve’s chest and says:

“My boyfriend is a cyborg.”

Usually, Steve is still recovering from the fucking downpour of post-orgasm endorphins. So he doesn’t question it. Hell, he stopped challenging Eddie’s tolerance to geek out months ago. Dude holds fantasy knowledge in his brain better than he holds his liquor.

Which is saying a lot.

Anyways, Steve never has the mental capacity to react or respond. Instead, he runs his fingers through Eddie’s sweat-soaked hair for awhile. Scratches out little patterns on his scalp because it always makes Eddie go limp. Quiet.

Quiet is a rarity for him. And while Steve is totally weak for Eddie’s chattiness, the quiet can be nice too.

The only reason Steve finally decides to ask about it is because Eddie slips up. Says it before they have sex.

Steve is against the bedroom door, his nails dragging down Eddie’s back. God, he loves this kind of kissing. The lung draining kind. The type that’s sort of filthy from all the heat and grinding.

Eddie hasn’t marked him up this bad since that time someone at work noticed his neck. Asked if Steve was having an allergic reaction during an office-wide meeting.

And this is going to be even worse. Steve can tell by the sounds and the soft pricks of Eddie’s teeth. He can tell by how long Eddie spends over each spot, like the bruising skin needs more attention than the rest of him. Like licking them over will make the colors last longer.

The damage has been done. Really no point in stopping him when it feels so fucking good. Steve forgets to worry about how mauled he’s gonna look tomorrow because his head is swimming with Eddie’s lips on his neck. His collarbone. His chest.

That’s when it happens. That’s when Eddie’s strange habit makes an early appearance.

He kisses over the blistery mess he made, practically growls the words out this time:

“My boyfriend is a cyborg.”

“Okay, time out.” Steve says. Heaves some air back into his lungs. Pulls Eddie’s face up before he can continue making Steve look like goddamn target practice.

Eddie blinks a few times. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Gonna have to wear fucking high-collared shirts all week, but whatever.

He’ll bring that up some other time. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“That… thing.” Steve barely can spit it out. It’s like his throat is physically rejecting the nerdy shit he’s about to say. “You keep calling me… a cyborg or something.”

“Oh that.” Eddie sighs. Casually shrugs to one side. “It’s your fault actually.”

“How is it my fault? I don’t even know what fucking language you’re speaking.”

Eddie walks over to the bed, chanting Steve’s name over and over. Definitely not in the way Steve prefers him to chant his name. Very un-sexy chanting.

“Remember that day you asked me to grab your car keys?” He asks, patting the bed for Steve to join him.

No. “Kinda?”

Steve hesitates before walking over. He didn’t necessarily wanna stop their primal makeout session. But it was bound to lead to the bed at some point, so…

Just not like this. Not talking while fully clothed. Blech.

He sits next to Eddie. Hands awkwardly fidgeting in his lap.

“Well, I couldn’t find them.” Eddie admits. “So I ended up going through your desk drawers.”

Of course he did. Perpetual snooper.

“Ended up finding a binder full of medical records.”

Well shit.

Steve’s throat tightens. Swells around the sudden guilt he feels for keeping this from Eddie.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a metal plate in your head?”

“Dunno. Hardly even remember it.” That’s only partly true. Steve doesn’t remember the surgery or much of the recovery process. He was only a kid when it happened.

But he does remember the hospital smells. He remembers the sounds of his IV bag dripping throughout the night. All the sensory indicators are still fresh in his mind.

“Well, that’s why. You're part-machine.” Eddie points to Steve’s head, expression softening. “And every time we fuck around, I think about your bionic skull. And how glad I am that it keeps your brain from leaking out when I bend you over the way you like it best.”

Steve laughs. The jokes help lighten the mood. Not enough to replace it entirely, but enough for it to be easy to swallow again.

They’re both quiet as they get ready for bed, folding the covers down. And yeah, sometimes quiet can be nice. Just maybe not right now.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

Steve stares hard at the pillows. “Are cyborgs like… cool?”

Eddie pauses for a moment, then hops onto the bed. Starts crawling over to Steve with a smug grin. He lifts up to meet Steve’s lips. Kisses him sweeter than normal. Lighter. Starts nodding his head mid-kiss, keeps nodding as he breaks away.

“Yeah, babe. Cyborgs are so fucking cool.”

#steddie #steddie fic #hi it's very late and this is very short #but I had to get it out before sleeps so here you go #so apologies if it's riddled with mistakes #I just missed writing lovebites #and this is the hc that keeps me sane knowing how many concussions Steve has had #like this is how he keeps recovering so quickly from all of them idkidk #okay please enjoy and have nice day xx

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imaginesbymonika · 1 month

Text

LOML- loss of my life | Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Plot: You knew him at a time when he didn't, and now he is looking for you...

Warnings: depiction of violence, angst, mentions of (perhaps) death, angst, fluff at the end (maybe), takes place after TFATWS

Bucky didn't like to think back to the years when he was working for Hydra. No matter how many times people named him a victim, an instrument - it didn't change the fact that he was operating for them. Going on those missions- slaughtering hundreds of people. Innocent fucking civilians. He couldn't possibly look past that. His therapist informed him that this kind of mindset is what's keeping him from fully recovering.

Maybe she was right about that.

Perhaps that was the root of his never-ending nightmares. The ones where he can still smell the blood whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat. Where he stares down at his hands, and for a split second he can catch a glimpse of their blood. Or maybe it is his blood. He lost track of that a long time ago.

A couple of months ago he had read a psychology book where someone argued that memories are primarily silent. And he couldn’t have thrown that book any faster against the closest wall. Because fuck whoever wrote that piece of crap. He’d be happy if for once he couldn’t hear the screaming of his victims, their begging and crying…followed by his metal arm making this eerie sound whenever it crushed someone’s spine into little pieces.

Bucky takes a deep breath. God, how he yearned and wished for silence. But then again, God has abandoned him a while ago.

His dreams only consist of flashbacks. Please, I have children waiting for me at home! Stop, stop, that hurts! Your work is fundamental for mankind! Oh my god, please stop! Make this stop, please! My oldest is 7! Please, don’t forget that you’re still human underneath it all. Bucky’s eyes open and when he sits up he can not stop gasping for air. Please, don’t forget you’re still human underneath it all.

He inspects his worn out features in the mirror. When had he started to dream of her? When did she manage to tiptoe her way into this hellfire of memories? What was her name again?

You slightly flinched when Pierce's hand made contact with The Winter Soldier’s cheek. The sound echoed through the empty corridors of the facility. And her gaze quickly drops to her clipboard. Everybody around her was silent, staring at either the long-haired man or the one in the suit. Pierce looked beyond furious before his eyes fell on you and he cleared his throat:” What are you writing down.”

Fuck. You took a deep breath, and quickly improved your posture:” I am just documenting the bruising, Sir.” The older man hummed and furrowed his eyebrows:” Let me see.” Out of nowhere, he snatched the clipboard out of your hands. You slightly groan at the burning sensation the plastic left on your skin. The entire time, you were able to feel The Winter Soldier's eyes on you. How you loathed this job. But you needed to remind yourself that you didn’t have much of a choice, whether or not you wanted to be there. For almost three years, you were one of the top physicians at NYC’s best hospital. Then one evening, while you were walking back to your car, you got kidnapped. You-

“Bucky?”, Sam’s voice brings him back into the present: “Are you still with me?” There is a playfulness to his voice. One that quickly disappears, once Sam notices the look on his friend’s face. And for a few seconds, the two men just look at one another, before Bucky shakes his head:” Yeah no. I’m fine.”

“You’re gone a lot these days.”

Bucky tilts his head and blinks in perplexity:” What’s that supposed to mean? We have been working on this case together since last week, we-.”

“Mentally, Bucky.”, Sam cuts him off and brings his cup of coffee up to his lips. And he can detect an emotion in Bucky’s eyes that tells him he struck a nerve. There is a heavy silence filling the kitchen before Sam speaks up again, his voice gentle and understanding:” Where are you going?”

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #sebastian stan

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firewasabeast · 9 days

Text

There was an eerie silence in the hospital room. Nothing was beeping, all the other visitors were long gone, there didn't even seem to be anyone moving around in the halls.

He wasn't very comfortable. They'd brought him in a bed hours ago, but he couldn't seem to move away from the chair. He could keep their hands tangled together this way. Could press a finger against Tommy's wrist and make sure he continued to feel a pulse.

Yeah, the monitors could tell him that Tommy was still there, alive and alright and likely to be discharged in a day or two. But it made Buck feel better to feel that steady thump, thump, thump under the pad of his finger.

He closed his eyes. Tried to steady his own breathing: in, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out. Over and over until his heart calmed down again.

It'd been a problem for him since he got the call. Tommy had been hurt. Fallen off a ladder and lost consciousness. Honestly, they didn't know in the beginning if he'd broken his back or even his neck. They did know that his arm was definitely broken, bending in a way that arms were never meant to bend.

Buck had gotten to the hospital before they had finished all of Tommy's tests. Had sat and paced in the waiting room while Bobby tried to help keep him calm.

Over time, Maddie had come with Chimney. Then Hen and Karen, and Eddie with Christopher. Athena, even while working, had spared some time to stop by and bring food.

Buck didn't eat.

Couldn't eat, really.

He did manage a few sips of a milkshake, mostly for Maddie's sake, but it made him feel more nauseous than anything.

When the doctor finally came out and told him that, besides the arm, there were no other broken bones, Buck took what felt like his first breath since the phone call.

He still had to wait until after Tommy's surgery to see him. His arm needed a rod and pins so it would heal properly.

People filtered in and out. Maddie and Chim had to pick up Jee. Hen and Karen had to get Mara and Denny, and Christopher went with them. Athena had to leave for a robbery call.

Bobby and Eddie stayed. They stayed until Tommy was wheeled into recovery. Stayed until Tommy briefly woke up and managed to mumble a slightly high, “Ev'n? Wha' happened?” Stayed until Buck ate some real food. Stayed until Buck had won the fight with the nurses that he was going to stay the night and they might as well give up on trying to get him to leave because it wasn't going to work.

Eddie left first, letting Buck know he'd be back in the morning.

Everyone would be back in the morning. They'd help out and do whatever they needed to do so that Tommy was as comfortable as possible during his hospital stay.

Bobby stayed a while longer, until the sun had fully set and the little clock above the door showed the short hand on the nine and the long hand on the seven.

They hadn't talked much. Buck, always ready for a conversation, couldn't seem to get many words out.

But before Bobby left, Buck did manage to get up briefly and allow himself to be wrapped in his captain's arms. A tear fell down his face then, as Bobby reassured him that Tommy was okay. He'd recover. He'd be okay.

He pulled himself back together before Bobby had walked out the door. Sat back down beside Tommy, held onto the hand that wasn't connected to a severely broken arm, and made sure to keep a finger over that pulse point.

The room was still dimly lit at two-thirty in the morning. Just enough light for Buck to watch Tommy's face. Make sure there were no signs of discomfort.

In the silence, in his time to do nothing but think, Buck was pretty sure he finally understood. He understood the fear he put his family (Maddie, mostly) through every time he got injured. He understood how quickly someone can be taken from you. He understood just how much a person can mean to you.

People had tried to tell him before.

He never fully got it until now.

Buck scooted his chair closer to Tommy, so he could press his lips to Tommy's calloused knuckles.

He rested his cheek against their intertwined hands after that, closed his eyes and breathed Tommy in. He smelled like Hibiclens, mostly. But he still had that warmth to him, even in the chilly hospital room.

Buck thought of their previous night together. He'd fallen asleep with Tommy's arm tight around his waist, hand sprawled over his stomach. He'd been safely nestled with his back against Tommy's chest. That's how they slept most nights. Sometimes they'd end up the other way around, or facing each other with arms and legs tangled, but mostly Tommy held onto Buck like he was precious cargo.

Ironic.

The adrenaline of the day began to dissipate, so Buck let himself drift off.

It may not be the most comfortable sleeping position, and he'd definitely regret it whenever he woke up, but there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Soon Tommy would wake. The pain medication would wear off and he'd be uncomfortable. They'd have to schedule doctor's appointments, physical therapy sessions, and possibly more surgeries. Tommy would get grumpy about how much help he needed, and he'd try to overdo it until Buck would be forced to give him an ultimatum. There would be good days and bad ones. Leaps forward and countless setbacks.

And Buck would be grateful for every second of it, because it meant Tommy was alive and safe. As long as those two things were true, Buck could handle anything.

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #idk what this is im just tired and it happened #i did not check for errors lord help me

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thisapplepielife · 3 months

Text

Written for @steddie-week.

All Hours

Steve parks outside of the trailer park and walks in. Careful to avoid the streetlights and the corners where there are known yapping dogs.

He approaches Eddie's window on the back side of the new trailer, and moves to push open the screen, to let himself inside without waking up Eddie, or Wayne. He just hikes his foot up into the sill when he's startled.

"We do have a front door, you know," comes the lazy drawl, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin, heart hammering wildly in his chest. He tries to suck in a breath, gripping the edge of the window frame, finally looking over at Wayne as he sits on the back steps, cigarette burning between his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, taking a step back from the house, pulling the window closed, putting some distance between himself and the room where Eddie is surely sleeping.

Eddie sleeps all the time these days. The doctors swear it's just part of his healing process, the recovery, but Steve still worries. All the time. Everyday. It's impossible not to. Eddie's healed so slowly, after being so close to death, that Steve's terrified he'll never fully recover.

"C'mere, kid," Wayne says, and pats the step beside him.

Steve goes, but is a little wary. Wayne and him haven't really spent that much time together, they were just ships passing in the night while Eddie was in the hospital. Each taking their turn, and then handing the baton off to the other.

Steve sits down, and folds his hands in his lap.

"I know you've been sneaking in and out of his window during all hours of the day and night, for, well, months now," Wayne says, just barely above a murmur.

"I'm sorry. I just worry about him," Steve says, and that's the truth. Most of it, anyway.

There have been a couple quick, tentative kisses, but that's it. Eddie isn't strong enough for anything else, definitely nothing as tawdry as Wayne seems to be implying. It's pretty innocent, this thing they've got going.

Steve's snuck in a lot of windows in his lifetime, but none compare to crawling over the sill of Eddie's window, and onto the chair Eddie now leaves there to ease Steve's entrance. None have been as chaste as this either. Steve's never spent months pursuing someone, hell, loving someone, that he didn't win over.

Even Robin, he counts as a win. It's platonic love, for sure, but he worked his Harrington charm on her, and got her to love him.

"I know you worry, but we have a front door. You're welcome to use it. Day or night," Wayne says, low and almost too soft to hear, even in the still of the night.

"Oh," Steve says, like this hadn't been something he'd ever considered, and honestly, it hasn't been, "okay."

"Okay," Wayne agrees, and he digs in his shirt pocket and fishes out a single key on a ring. "Here. So I can lock it. I worry about him, about someone coming after him again. And I wanted to put better locks on all the windows, but Eddie protested. Any idea why?" Wayne asks, and it's playful, in a very dry way.

Steve laughs, reaching out and taking the key, closing his hand around it, tight.

"Okay, I'll come through the door."

"Thank you," Wayne says.

"And I'll help with the window locks. If you want," Steve offers, and Wayne nods, like he's accepting this offer.

Now, Steve isn't sure if he should get up and leave, or keep sitting, or what. He stays.

"I don't care, you know," Wayne finally says.

"Don't care?" Steve questions, wanting him to clarify.

"If you boys are more than friends," Wayne says, and Steve hadn't expected it.

"Oh," Steve breathes out.

"He's my boy, and I want him to be happy. Whatever that means for him," Wayne explains and Steve suddenly feels like his eyes are burning.

He wishes his dad would be as invested in his happiness as Wayne clearly is about Eddie's.

"Thank you," Steve says, "it's…nothing, not really. We're just friends."

Wayne turns to look at him, and grins, "If you say so."

Steve feels like he's lying, even if he isn't. Not really.

"But we could be more than that, maybe, someday. When he's feeling better. Maybe, if he's interested in that," Steve rambles.

Wayne smiles, takes a deep drag on his cigarette, and blows it up into the night sky, "Oh, he's definitely interested. Steve Harrington this, Steve Harrington that. Let me tell you. I've heard your name more in the past few months than I've heard my own."

Steve laughs at that, unexpected and far too loud, and it doesn't take long before Eddie's bedroom window is being shoved open, his head popping out. His hair is a mess, tangled and frizzy, but he's on his feet, and that's a damn good look on him.

It's a beautiful sight. But he always is.

"What? Are you two having fun without me?" Eddie asks, like he's not at all surprised to see them together. Like this whole sneaking through the window thing wasn't a top secret operation.

Was it not a secret?

Steve turns back towards Wayne, "How long have you known I was coming through the window?"

"Since the first night," Wayne admits, "I heard you floundering in, and came to the door to check on him, but I heard Eddie laughing, so I knew he was okay. I asked him in the morning who was making such a racket, and he said it was you."

Steve laughs at himself, apparently he was trying to be stealthy for Eddie's benefit, but they weren't on the same page.

"C'mon in, Harrington. Henderson brought over some new tapes earlier," Eddie says, and Steve stands.

Wayne nods his head towards the back door, "It's unlocked. But your key will work there, too."

And Steve pulls it open, heading towards Eddie's room. Eddie is back in bed, propped up, remote in hand for the VCR Steve had set up in Eddie's room months ago, thinking they'd get better use out of it here, than Steve would at home, these days.

Steve settles next to him, "What do we got tonight?"

"Back to the Future, have you seen it?" Eddie asks.

"Only while very drugged by the Russians," Steve admits, "it'll be nice to see it again."

Steve's sure there's no chance Eddie will stay awake for an entire movie, but he'll be happy to sit with him, no matter what.

"You're so weird, Harrington," Eddie says, but it sounds affectionate, and Steve will take it, as Eddie leans his head on Steve's shoulder.

"Yeah, well. Back at ya, Munson."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

#steddieweek2024 #day one #secret relationship #steve harrington #wayne munson #eddie munson #steddie fic #good uncle wayne #steve harrigton & wayne munson #steddieweek #thisapplepielife: steddieweek #thisapplepielife: short fic

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softxsuki · 9 months

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Hey, hope you're doing great! Can i ask an urgent request, a jjk x fem reader where the reader is left in a vegetative state after a mission, all them seeing her for the first time in intensive care with multiple tubes going in and out of her while she was fighting for her life in a coma, and like when she wakes up she's clueless the first days, struggling to say what she wants or express any emotions because she's unable to talk (and move also) Hope it's not a burden to you <33

Megumi, Gojo, and Itadori With S/O Who's In A Coma After A Mission

Warnings: mentions of death (no one actually dies), past character deaths, despair, crying (in itadori's), reader in a coma

Note: Hello <3 Happy New Year. I actually really enjoyed writing this one. One of my fav jjk posts so far 0.0 hope you and anyone else that reads it also enjoys it! And I hope your situation with your family has improved <3

Megumi:

Megumi is in shock as soon as he finds out you’re in a coma after your recent mission

You had assured him you’d be okay, and in that moment, regret fills him for not pushing to be there with you

He’d already gone through this with Itadori years ago when he thought he was dead after that one mission they were on together, and now here you were clinging on to life, one of the most important people in his life

He was scared he’d never see you awake again, yet he remained calm on the outside, coming to the hospital to visit you everyday

You were in the same hospital as his sister, who was also in a coma, so he was also able to visit her more often while you were there

The two most important women in his life were practically lifeless on hospital beds, it killed him

However, hope filled him one day when he saw your fingers fidget and he immediately ran to get a doctor–you were waking up

Confusion fills you as soon as your eyes open, you can’t quite put together where you were, the last thing you remembered was fighting that powerful curse before everything went dark and now you were in a room surrounded by people in white coats

The doctors had just finished removing your breathing tube since you were finally stable and conscious

Megumi feels his shoulders lighten as he sees your eyes open, you were alert, which was a good sign

He takes a seat beside you, the chair he’d been glued in since he found out you were in a coma and takes your hand to let you know he was there as the doctors started their examination on you to make sure you were doing well

The next few days are tough on you as you struggle to move or speak due to going so long without doing both of those things while in a coma, but Megumi is by your side the whole time helping you out

He spends his every waking moment by your side, taking care of you until you’re back to your normal self

Gojo:

Like Megumi, Gojo is also worried of course, but that worry doesn’t show on the outside

Yet everyone around him knows something is wrong because he’s unusually quiet and doesn’t joke around anymore, he’s become very serious

He was the strongest in the world, yet couldn’t do one simple job and keep you safe? He was beyond disappointed in himself

There was so much responsibility on his shoulders that the elders threw on him, but they didn’t dare request him during these weeks while you were in a coma

Gojo was unstable and there was no telling what he’d do if anyone pushed him too far, so he spent his time visiting you, and continuing to teach and train his students, the only two things he could find the energy to do, but all solo missions were at a standstill

Even after you awaken, Gojo still isn’t himself, his attention is now fully on your recovery and making sure the doctors are doing their utmost best to make sure you recover fully

The thought that he was so close to losing you just like so many of his other friends and colleagues terrified him, he felt unworthy of his title of the strongest, but moving forward he’s even more protective of you after seeing how easy it was to almost lose you

So after you’re released from the hospital and sent back home, finally able to speak and move around again, Gojo is on high alert

He feels paranoid that something will happen to you again so he pushes back his missions and has the elders give them to other sorcerers in the meantime so he can watch over you

It kills you to see him this way so you’ll have to do your best to persuade him that you’ll be fine and safe, he can’t spend his whole life glued to your side, that’s no way for him to live

So it does take a while to persuade him to continue his work, but he makes sure to keep you heavily guarded while you’re still in recovery

It will take a while before he’s back to his usual self, just give him some time

Itadori:

Itadori is probably the most visibly impacted one after hearing the news that you were in a coma after your latest mission

He’s another one who has lost countless people and felt responsible for not being strong enough to protect them, and now he couldn’t even protect you

He’s distraught, silent tears falling from his eyes as he makes a promise to exorcize the curse that did this to you

If he wasn’t by your side, he was out on the streets eliminating curse after curse, waiting for the moment he’d come across the curse that put your life in danger, he wouldn’t be going easy on it

It kills him to see all those tubes connected to your body, you looked so fragile, like any tiny gust of wind will have your heart monitor flat lining at any given moment, he was terrified

He experienced too much loss already, if he lost you as well, he’d never recover

So when he receives a call from your doctor, he’s already running to the hospital before he even picks up the phone

You were awake

Tears of relief fall from his eyes when he sees for himself that you are in fact awake–your eyes on him as he enters your hospital room, eyes he thought he’d never see again

He collapses at your side, pulling you into his arms, almost scared that if he let go, he’d never see you again

The weeks of your recovery go smoothly with Itadori by your side though, he listens to everything the doctors say and helps you get back on your feet, literally

Walking became difficult for you, so he became your cane

Even talking hurt your throat, but he’d speak for you until your throat healed up andyou could speak again

He was incredibly attentive and caring during the next few weeks of your recovery and made a vow that nothing like this would ever happen to you again so long as he was alive and by your side

And that was a promise he’d keep forever

Posted: 1/1/2024

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dizzyjaden · 7 months

Note

hihihi soooo. I want this to involve Kaeya, Xiao, and Dottore (heheh) if that’s okay. Pick whoever u want if only one ! But anyways

What if you’re a member of the armed forces (a knight of Favonius, a member of the millelith, and a fatui agent respectively). And you get injured on the job. Like, injured enough to warrant a hospital stay. Pretty *badly* hurt. What are those three doing, yknow? How do they react? Are they helping? How so? That type of stuff

✦ GENSHIN MEN WHEN YOU GET HURT ✦

Thank you for asking, let's find out.

Pairings: Kaeya, Xiao, Dottore x gn! Reader

♤ Summary: You got hurt and need medical assistance.

♤ Warnings: Severe injury (abdominal stab wound, broken arm, various bruises and cuts), slight yummy angst, soft Dottore

♤ A/N: I know this isn't exactly a request but I'm treating it like a request because I wanna get stuff posted. I'm also really not the best at Kaeya, so forgive me in advance if he's fugly. Enjoy!

Kaeya:

As a knight, you know that when an issue arises in Mondstadt, you’re going to stand on the frontlines for your city. It’s what is expected of you, and what you have accepted for yourself. You don’t mind it, your city is important to you. Your job is important to you. It’s actually how you met your boyfriend, Kaeya, who is also very important to you. Perhaps that’s why when the two of you were out fighting off abyss mages to protect a group of civilians, you threw yourself right in front of him as a shard of ice, summoned by a cryo abyss mage, was sent flying straight towards his chest. Instead of his chest, it impaled you in your stomach, right beneath your ribcage.

It takes him a moment to process what just happened, in an instant everything pauses and he’s focused entirely on you. Needless to say, when he sees you fall to your knees, holding your stomach in agony, he practically rips the remaining mages apart and hurries to tend to you.

Thankfully the wound is not horrifically deep, the distance between you and the mage prevented it from flying fast enough, but you are still bleeding from your stomach, which is rather alarming. He hides his panic though, not wanting to upset you further when you’re already injured. He ties his belt tightly around the wound and picks you up, you’ve never been stabbed before so obviously you’re quite concerned with your injury, because of this he chooses to gaslight you while he rushes to get you back to the city. “It’s fine, I’ve seen way worse! You worry too much.”

Kaeya wants to remain by your side when he does finally get you to a doctor, he is quite irritable when he can’t go back with you but ultimately waits, impatiently so. When you’re all patched up he rushes into the room and gives you a tight, slightly painful hug. When you remind him that you’re freshly injured his face falls and a hurried apology leaves his lips.

The two of you spend the rest of the day laughing and teasing each other about the unfortunate incident, Kaeya is glad it’s already something you can laugh about, but he truthfully feels guilty he let that happen to you when it was such an easy fight. He’ll get you whatever you need until you’re fully recovered.

Xiao:

Honestly, Xiao would just prefer if you called his name before you fought anything. Yes, he knows you’re trained. Yes, he knows you’re strong. But he’s an adeptus and he’s willing to protect you. Why won’t you just utilize that and not put yourself at risk? He doesn’t understand. But he doesn’t ask any questions when he’s called by you in your time of need. He teleports straight to your location, where he finds you gravely injured with multiple gashes and bruises on your body, and a small crowd of ruin guards encircling your fallen figure. He quickly stands in front of you, calculates how much time he has based on the severity of your injuries, and then tears them all to shreds.

As he fights he counts each second that passes, thinking about your blood loss. He manages to defeat them in thirty-one seconds, but he was planning on thirty. He teleports back to you, picks you up, and then teleports you to the nearest hospital. You’re too weak at this point to really register anything so he hands you over to the doctors wordlessly and then leaves you there.

When you’re fixed up and a bit more conscious, you quickly call his name and he meekly appears with a bouquet of flowers he’d gathered while you were getting treated. “For the single second that I let you bleed.” He explains his intention behind the small gift. He’s convinced you’ve probably been irritated at him since you got to the hospital, but you are entirely unsure of what he means. Xiao is such a perfectionist when it comes to keeping you safe, but you’re just grateful he came at all. When you take his gift, you express this and he isn’t sure what to make of it, but he doesn’t wish to make it a bigger deal than he already has so he simply nods and then lectures you for nearly an hour about not calling sooner.

Dottore:

When Dottore hears from an associate that you’ve been injured while out on a mission, he is right on it. He doesn’t ask any questions about your condition, he can figure that out when he finds you. And when he does, he is livid. Whatever opponent you faced completely broke your arm! It doesn’t matter if you were already about to receive treatment, he trusts nobody but himself to help you. As a harbinger, what he says goes so he’s going to take care of it.

While he’s fixing your arm he’s asking you questions about who did this to you. He’s disappointed to hear you already managed to defeat them. He was hoping to have the opportunity to make their death so much longer than the merciful quick bullet you gave them. But, at least they aren’t alive anymore.

Once that’s out of the way, he gives you gentle kisses and hushed words of comfort to take care of you. Really, it’s not that big of a deal to a fatui soldier like yourself and you find his reaction dramatic, but he likes taking care of you and he just has to smother you right now so, tough luck I guess.

He makes sure you take it easy for a while, not allowing you to do anything strenuous. If you happen to argue with him about it, he’ll simply order you to stay home and rest. He’s a harbinger, remember?

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore #il dottore x reader #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #hcs genshin men #genshin x reader

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strwberri-milk · 4 months

Note

MC and Xavier/Zayne/Rafayel have a unplanned kid (or kids, i like the idea of twins too)

They are dating for only some months now, having a unplanned kid now would be a problem?

How would she talk about it with them? Or, would them be the one to notice first that something is strange? (I mean zayne is her doctor and ask for regular exams, you doctor is always the first to know the results right?)

They are just dating and never talked about marriage, would a baby change it? (I think rafayel is the romantic one who would want to marry before the baby is born)

How would them act while mc is pregnant? (Not to mention she tecnically have health problems)

Would them be extra carefull about her health?

What about her job as a hunter?

When its birth time, how would them react? (Maybe rafayel would freak out a bit?)

Besides that, what about the fluffynes, or feelings?

Also already leaving this here for another post (not that i would mind if you want to do it all in the same one): what about them as dads?

Starting at birth, how would be see their kid/kids the first time?

Would they take care of mc so she can recover after birth? (My friend had a 28h birth and breastfeeding was painfull, it was nothing like the in movies yk)

How would the kids be like? And what they would have in common with their parents?

Thank you very much since now ♡

nothing personal against you but this is a quick reminder to anybody whos new here to please please please check out my rules before requesting! I will be doing the dad hcs section and ONLY the dad hcs - nothing about pregnancy, pregnancy recovery, etc. etc. because i do not write for pregnancy - i can see youve put a lot of energy into this ask and i appreciate it but just as a heads up for the future please check my rules first!

Zayne is a great father. He isn't able to be as active as he would like to be in the earlier years of childhood because he wants to make sure that the child has enough money to be provided for for their entire life. He doesn't throw himself fully into work but he also is just as busy now as he was before the arrival of the child.

Once things settle and he gets used to a rhythm he might start taking less odd hours at the hospital. He's been interviewing for another surgeon or three that can replace his manpower when needed, not wanting to be the absolute backbone for the hospital anymore so he can be home as often as needed.

He can't totally get rid of those odd hours or being on call because it wouldn't be fair to the other staff as he isn't the only parent that works there but the load is definitely lessened with the way that he's worked things out. He wants to be as present as possible and he always does his best to get days off for any special events in the child's life, or just for the family in general.

He will definitely broach the idea of you being an at home parent. He wants there to be someone who can be there for the child at any given time and if you refuse he'll respect your wishes without saying much. It doesn't bother him too much but it is something he wants to bring up.

Xavier is immediately concerned about your lives as hunters. He's very confident in his ability to keep himself safe and it's not to say that he isn't confident in you, but he does worry about you being reckless. It's simply a case of him not being able to be with you at all times and being nervous about it. He'll try to convince you to take a safer job or consider working in a sector that wouldn't require you to be on the field as often.

In all fairness he also stops going off by himself for missions as often and makes it easy for you to find him or know where he is in case he has to go somewhere more remote. He'll be a little picky about who he works with just because he doesn't want them to impede the way he works. He already started playing it safe when you confided in him how much you worry when he does things dangerously but now with a child in the mix he's more aware of himself.

He is very active in the child's life. Definitely loves doing tummy time with it and cuddling with it. He gives both you and the child so much love and attention - there's no way it'll grow up without knowing how in love its parents are and how much its parents love it. You definitely love watching him interact with your child, finding it so adorable to see how he coos and plays.

Xavier also loves to read to your child. He's got a small collection of space themed children's book and now his nightly routine is reading a few of them to your child as it rests on his chest, pointing out all the little pictures and constellations and teaching it all about them.

Rafayel buys the cutest little outfits for the baby. He's definitely the kind of parent who buys designer clothes that will only fit for the week but the good thing is at least he doesn't pick anything that's overtly designer. He just likes dressing your baby well and he has expensive taste and the money to pay for it.

Rafayel is a little awkward at first being a father. He's used to communal child rearing being standard practise (a headcanon I have from the way he talks about his childhood/how I read interactions during myths) so he's a little out of his element. His Aunt definitely comes over constantly to coo over the new family member and Rafayel wouldn't mind hiring additional staff to help keep the home in order and support child rearing as well. He just doesn't want the nanny becoming a primary parental figure for the child - he thinks that honour should go to you and him.

Since he basically works from home he inadvertently spends a lot of time with the baby. He tries to get you to quit your job, citing that he makes more than enough money for you to either stay at home or find safer work but also won't stop you. However, if you continue actively working as a hunter in the field his anxiety around your absence worsens tenfold. He'll ask you to keep your phone on you as much as possible and with your permission will want the ability to monitor your location. He just wants to make sure you don't get hurt and really has your safety at the forefront of his mind at any given moment.

He's also going to be watching for any signs that your child is going to have any Lemurian traits. He doesn't want anybody to find out about it in case harm befalls your little family and also wants to be able to help your child through those changes the best he can. You'll be seeing a lot of his aunt around now to help the two of you - she never minds even if the child isn't Lemurian like they are because she just finds it adorable.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #lnds rafayel x reader #lnds xavier x reader #lnds zayne x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads rafayel x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #l&ds zayne x reader

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with-my-calamitous-love · 5 months

Text

LOSS OF MY LIFE

chuuya x reader

chuuya questions his humanity while you’re on your deathbed.

inspired by loml

he wished he never knew you.

at least then, he wouldn’t have the feeling of knowing you, knowing every part of you, but not having you around.

it all happened so fast. one wrong mission. one wrong move. one wrong mistake that should’ve landed on chuuya- but costed you everything. he should have seen the attack coming, but he didn’t. why didn’t he? the one time chuuya nakahara fucked up, it fucked you over instead.

it should have been me. he thought.

he’s lost track of time. he knows he has work to return to, stacks of paper on his desk. his stomach growls and his throat is parched for water. his eyes yearn to close, wanting to sleep. but he can’t. you’re not there to keep him company in his otherwise barren office. you’re not there to share the meal with him and scold him about staying hydrated. you’re not there to be wrapped up in his arms, fully trusting you while you sleep together. because you’re here. on the hospital bed, tubes attached to you keeping you alive.

the beeps of your heart monitor was merely white noise to him now. the doctors told him to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. you were hit in one to many fatal areas. you lost almost too much blood. you might not recover. you might not wake up.

but she has too. he thought.

spending a year with someone does a lot to a person. chuuya had loved before you, but never like this. he had never promised so much for someone, felt his heart beat the way it did for you. you and him promised marriage, a family, you two promised forever.

chuuya nakahara was a man of the mafia.

and that meant he knew death better than anyone.

in his line of work, losing people meant hoping that death is kinder than life. he didn’t have the time to grieve, he could only wish them peace in slumber and fortify his heart. he had been through it, possibly preparing himself for worse and worse each time.

but nothing could have prepared him for this.

chuuya could feel his being overfill with grief. he had given so much love to you. so much time, so many promises, so many kisses, embraces, late nights and forevers to you. he’d given you every fibre of his mortal being because fuck, he loved you. and he had never felt a love like yours- and he didn’t want to try and feel anyone else’s because it would never feel like yours. his grief was just love with nowhere to go.

you were an anchor to chuuya’s humanity, something that kept him in place throughout all the pain and suffering of his life. he thought he would love you forever. but right now chuuya wished he could forget. forget the life you two almost had. the wedding you almost had. the kids you almost raised. the life that was so close he could graze it with his fingertips right before the rug was pulled out from underneath him. it was either he had it all with you, or didn’t know you at all. not the in between. not the purgatory. not the almost.

“i’ll love you for the rest of my life.” he hears you say in the tone of voice he adored.

he wasn’t sure what he would do if that life ended too short. no, not when you were supposed to be forever.

he would rather tear down the world than lose you. he’d tear the roots of the world into pieces, collapse buildings upon buildings and set everything in his sight ablaze. he’d burn down everything, everyone and anything that dared his grief. and in the end he’d cause massive waves to erupt from the ocean floors, washing over all who inhabits the planet, making sure no one would return from the seas unbiased fate.

i’d do it. he bargains in his mind, pleading to anyone out there who may hear his call. he was never the faithful type, but seeing you barely hold onto your life made him desperate. maybe arahabaki would hear him, maybe the universe would. i’d do it for her. just bring her back. bring her back to me.

he held your wired hand, a knot in his chest forming feeling how cold you were. it felt like death was already trying to take you away from him, and chuuya wasn’t having it.

he wanted to speak, to call out to you. he wanted to beg you to wake up, remind you that he’s still here. remind you that you still have a life to live. a life with him.

he opened his mouth, but nothing camee out.

he wasn’t just losing you. he was losing his life.

and he felt all of it escape his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

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sweetcreaturetm · 2 years

Text

I wish there was more nurse Steve.

Like Steve in nursing school doing clinicals and he does a round in the ED. And his first shift he gets this weirdo who has to have one of his rings cut off his finger cause he bet his buddy that his rings wouldn’t bend under the wheels of his van. He’s honestly lucky none of his bones are broken. Steve’s kind of just in the background since he’s just doing clinicals but the guy keeps looking at him for comfort while the doctors are setting up all the stuff to cut the ring. Steve can tell he’s a little scared so he goes to stand on his other side to distract him.

“So- uhhh” Steve checks the chart “Mr. Munson do you usually go around running over various body parts?”

Eddie smiles widely at him “it’s Eddie, and no. But uh” he shares a sneaky look with Steve and lowers his voice like they’re conspiring together “I was a little… shall we say elevated”

Steve literally giggles “I knew it smelled a little funkier than usual” he winks.

“What can I say I’m a funky guy-“ Eddie gets cut off by the small saw the doctors are aiming at his hand. Steve can tell he’s about to freak out he sees him start to pull his hand away.

He puts his hand on Eddie’s other arm and brings his attention back to him. He glances down at his guitar pick necklace. “Do you play the guitar?” He asks his hand never leaves Eddie’s arm. And that gets Eddie distracted going on and on about his sweetheart and his band and how they play at a place called the hideout and Steve listens intently. Steve’s more than kind of mesmerized by him.

Before either of them realize the ring is off. The charge nurse asks Steve to finish wrapping Eddie’s fingers and discharge him. Steve goes about getting the gauze and other supplies while still listening to Eddie now he’s talking about D&D something Steve knew more about than he wished thanks to Dustin.

He interrupts Eddie “Okay so I’m gonna put this ointment on just for some relief the saw blade didn’t cut you but it got a little hot for your skin so you might feel a little discomfort. Then I’ll wrap it up. Try to keep an eye if it starts to hurt worse or you have a reaction. I can sneak you some of this it works wonders” he starts to clean the tray off but Eddie stops him with his hand over Steve’s own.

“Do you think I could have my ring back?” He asks sheepishly.

“Oh yeah! Of course sorry I wasn’t thinking” Steve’s a little embarrassed of course he wanted his ring he probably didn’t even care about the stupid ointment. He puts the ring in a little plastic cup they use for pills. Unfortunately they had to cut it a few times so there’s some small bits of the band that are in pieces.

After Eddie signs all the paperwork he gives Steve a little bow in thanks “you probably couldn’t tell since I was being so brave” Eddie says. Steve giggles at that. “But I am a tad frightened of hospitals and stuff. So thanks for being so nice to me. And distracting me when they tried to saw my finger off”

“They would not saw your finger off!” Steve laughs even harder. “It was nice talking to you.” He gives Eddie a hopefully flirty smile.

“Whatever you say, Stevie” Eddie says after he glances down at Steve’s temporary badge. “But hey if it was so nice maybe you can come check out our next show after my fingers are fully recovered” he waggles said fingers but then winces and stops.

Steve reaches out for his injured hand and holds it and says “that actually sounds really nice. But I literally have no time out of school and clinicals.”

“Well maybe I’ll just have to find another way to injure myself to see you again” Eddie says getting bolder.

Steve looks deep into his eyes. He glances down at Eddie’s lips god he wishes he wasn’t literally working right now. “What if you didn’t hurt yourself again and I give you my number and you can come by when I get off my shift.”

Eddie considers for a second and hands Steve his own phone so Steve can put his number in. “That sounds doable” he leans close to Steve’s ear as he gathers his jacket to walk out of the curtained off area and then whispers “just like you” he winks over his shoulder at a gaping Steve.

When Eddie pulls out his phone after getting to the van he sees the newest contact in his phone “Stevie” with a little stethoscope emoji next to it. He sends Steve a quick text so he’ll be able to text him when he’s off.

Finally Steve takes a break and checks his phone he’s been dying to check it since Eddie left he has a text from an unknown number “Guess who *guitar emoji* *ring emoji*” Steve cannot stop grinning the rest of his shift.

#this started as a post about wanting more nurse Steve #then it didn’t stop #still think I need more cause I think it fits him so well #mean girl turned nurse #I mean that is Steve #I know he’s a reformed mean girl but still #nurse Steve #steddie #steddie ficlet #my writing #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #over use of emojis in text

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wonderlandwalker · 7 months

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One Day at a Time | Finnick Odair x Reader

Previous Part / THG Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: a short collection of sweet moments shared between you and Finnick as you recover, reminding the both of you of the love you share

(part 4 of the remember series but could also be read on its own I think, you can find the other parts in my masterlist)

Content Warnings / Tags: Fluff, no use of y/n, mentions of punching, I really think that's it.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: It's finally here! Sorry it took so long my only excuse is that I am an absolute mess of a human being which is a terrible one but oh well. This will be the final part of the series, hope the fluff makes up for all the heartbreak I've put you through <3

It's been a week now, one week of blissful moments spend with Finnick while recovering from the attack within district 13. After all that had happened you were in need of some peace, and the universe granted it.

On the first day you were still in the hospital wing, an IV dripping steady fluids into your system. You woke up to Finnick sitting next to you, one of his hands holding onto yours while the other was holding up a book. It was one of your favourites, and you had been pestering him about reading it so you could talk about it with him, but he had always brushed you off, saying he'd get around to it eventually. It seems eventually finally came around. You coaxed him into getting in the bed with you, he was hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt you, but he wasn't above your charms either, your eyes pleading with him in a way he couldn't resist. He had settled in behind you, letting you lean against him, ignoring the dirty look the nurse gave you. You had asked him to read to you, and even though you already knew it by heart, his sweet voice added a whole new element to the story so beloved.

The second day was spent trying to convince the nurse to let you leave the hospital room, if only for a few hours, she didn't initially want to agree, but Finnick simply wouldn't drop the subject. So you walked together towards the dinner hall, feeling like little children sneaking out past the curfew.

Supper had already finished, but Finnick was friends with one of the cooks who let him into the kitchens. He told you to sit down on the table in the middle of the room and gave you a quick peck on the lips before moving over to the fridge. It was simple, it wasn't much, but it was perfect. He would let you taste the dish in-between steps, always forgetting one ingredient or another, but you didn't mind reminding him. At some point you could have sworn he was doing it on purpose, but maybe he was just too caught up in having you there with him again. You offered to help with meting the butter, dicing the vegetables, stirring the sauce, but each and every time he would insist you stayed right where you were, accentuated with a quick kiss, his hands on your face smearing flour all over your jaw, not that you minded. He claimed he was the better cook anyway, that you'd only hold him back, now that one you both knew was a lie, but it was a precious one, one that didn't need to be disturbed.

Day three consisted of a slow day back in your room, having been cleared by the doctor and finally being in your own space again. You and Finnick hadn't shared a room in a while now with everything that had gone down, but you had immediately decided to spend your nights together again, not wanting to spend more time apart than necessary. You hadn't fully recovered yet, still needing your rest, but Finnick had set his mind on moving your things back into his room today.

So there you were, sitting crossed legged on his bed absentmindedly sipping on some coffee he had brought you as you watched him bustle about. He was only gone a few minutes at a time, but you never failed to produce a smile when you saw him approaching again, hands full with some of your books, the collection of flowers he had given you over the years that you had dried and pressed in-between the pages were sticking out slightly, but he handled them with care. Even while you weren't together you couldn't find it ins yourself to get rid of them, and you're glad of it now. He goes back and forth for a while, collecting your pillow, your skin care products, your small radio that barely managed to get a reception down here, but you couldn't bare to part with. Each time he'd ask you where you wanted him to put it down, carefully creating a space that consisted of the both of you.

On day four you had finally woken up in his arms again, wondering how you could have ever forgotten this feeling. When he noticed you were awake he had moved to place a delicate kiss on your lips, basking in the simplicity of the fact that he could. He had told you he had a surprise for you today, and you couldn't help how giddy you already got from the mere thought of what it could be. But it was oh so much better than you could have imagined, because today Finnick took you to the surface. How he managed to get you past all the checkpoints was beyond you, and when you asked he had simply said he had friends in all the right places.

It was a bit of a walk to the spot he wanted to take you, but you revelled in the sunlight against your face, needing to squint your eyes to see properly with how bright the sun was but too blissed to care. The high grass rustled against your bare legs as you continued to walk, and the tickling sensation brought back so many fond memories. When you finally made it to the clearing it was a sight from a dream. The tree next to the lake provided a shadow you could both comfortably lay in as the smell of the fresh water blessed your senses once more. The wildflowers adorning the space around you were once you could recall from back home, with a few others you couldn't identify. Finnick had picked a few, placing them behind your ear as he talked about what the flower meant. A myosotis, he had called it, representing true love and dedication. He told you about the myth behind the forget-me-nots, how they had been afraid of being forgotten by the gods, and you had vowed in return to never spend a day without thinking of him again.

During the fifth day you didn't do much of anything special, but you supposed that depends on your definition of the word. Finnick had made dandelion tea from flowers he had collected yesterday, the familiar taste bringing back a sense of nostalgia for a time that you wouldn't be able to return to. You had once told him your mother used to make it when you were sick, and ever since he would go collect them by the cliffs for you. You had insisted it was too much work that he didn't need to worry himself with, he had countered that he enjoyed the view where they grew anyway, and really, he was going for himself as much as for you. Maybe he had simply been trying to get you to stop fussing over the subject, maybe it had really been true.

You spend the day talking to your friends, reminiscing in regained memories and filling in gaps that you couldn't on your own. As you sat next to Johanna she talked on about the days Finnick spent longing after you, claiming he was alright wirh being just friends, but she was convinced that if any of her friends looked at her the way he looked at you she would have suckerpunched them.

On the sixth day you had begged Finnick train with you, saying how you wanted to get your strength back, how you missed the exercise and the content feeling of aching muscles. He had been reluctant, of course he had been, but once you had managed to drag him onto the training mat he revelled in it. He couldn't deny he had missed sparring with you, the action so effortless with you. He had made fun of how you threw your punches, saying you had to extent your arms further to complete the motion, but he was the one not protection his core properly while fixating on you. It had been good to feel your body in motion again, he was still stronger than you, knocking the breath out of your lungs once be stopped holding back, but you were still faster, getting the drop on him in the split seconds he was distracted. The manner in which your muscle memory still held up, the way in which you still used the same techniques without meaning to, it was good to know there are some things people can't take from you.

The seventh day you picked your routine back up. Waking up to an empty bed but not lonely, his side was still warm as you rolled over. Once you opened your eyes you saw the cup of coffee and the note on the bedside table. Finnick knew you never slept for long after he left, somehow he still knew. He had been given some time off during your recovery, but district 13 didn't stand still and they had needed his help. You weren't expected back yet, but the sense of purpose was one that you were always glad to have. You drank the coffee he left you as you got dressed, smiling as he had made it exactly to your liking, even if he used to complain you couldn't even call it coffee anymore with that much sugar in it. And so you went back to work, moving to scribble a quick message on the back of the note if he came back looking for you, not that he needed it, somehow he would always know where you were.

In the past week you had learned that a love as great as the one you shared with Finnick could never be forgotten, not really, because no matter how many memories faded, there would always come new ones. And soon, even though you didn't know it yet, Finnick would give you his mother's ring once more, and this time you would remember everything that led you here, and you would remember saying yes.

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tiny-1karus · 1 year

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Pairing: yandere!batfam (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) x fem!reader

(All the boys are 20+, Damian is around the same age as the reader and they're both in university.)

A tiny little sequel to the Cinderella-esque story, but from the boys perspective. There are multiple parts to this but you can check out the first part here:

Part 1

This is an almost 3k fic, so enjoy!

...

It was the following evening after the inciting but unfortunate incident that had landed you on the medical bay of the Wayne manor. You had been unconscious for most of the night until the late afternoon as your body recovered from the traumatic head injury you had received from your stepmom, only gaining consciousness for barely an hour before immediately falling back asleep. The last night's events, along with your clearly overworked and underfed body, had clearly taken it's toll on you. With the state of your body and your consistent lack of consciousness, they had to attach an IV tube to your arm.

The Wayne brothers, along with their father, had taken turns diligently monitoring you throughout this time after returning in the early dawn from their... Mission.

They could all finally relax as the primary and greatest threat to your well-being was finally taken care of.

They hope they burned in hell.

Your condition, thankfully, wasn't dire, even if it wasn't ideal. All you needed was complete and relative rest until the next 3-4 days, which was slightly overestimated, but none of them were taking any chances on your health. Not when you were still in such a fragile state.

Currently, Dick and Damian were on watch for you. Dick was sitting on a chair to your left while Damian stood next to him like a silent sentry, both of them watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as if to reassure themselves that you were still there with them. Even in sleep, you still had this shadow that seemed to haunt you as your face never seemed to be fully at peace.

Dick was holding on to your hand with a guilty expression, his blue eyes darting to the large square gauze taped to your left cheek. It hid the massive bruise that nearly covered the whole left side of your face. He still couldn't express into words the magnitude of rage that had consumed him when he saw the dark mark on your precious face.

Dick never thought himself a particularly violent person. He tended to use diplomacy as a primary approach when violence is clearly not warranted. As a vigilante, he uses violence as a means to protect, but last night he had used all his strength to harm.

He still couldn't fathom why it had felt so good in that one instance, so he tried not to think about it anymore.

He gently ran his thumb against the back of your hand as his eyes darted to the bandage on your face. He bit his lip as his own face scrunched up into an expression of guilt once again.

Clearly, he was failing at that.

Damian let out an annoyed sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Grayson, I can hear you thinking from here." He stared down at his brother with an unimpressed look, "and clearly, you're doing a poor job at it."

Dick bent his head until his forehead touched the back of your hand. He really wanted to kiss it but his guilty conscience made him think he was unworthy of the action at the moment.

"I dunno Dames, I just feel so... Guilty."

Damian let out a quiet exhale as he considered the miserable, guilt-ridden state of his oldest brother.

A tiny part of him, the part that hurt and raged at all the pain you had endured by your so-called family, felt remorseful that you had gotten injured that night. This piece of him ached at the thought of all the other nights that he wasn't there to protect you from it all, even if he had been unaware of your existence for most of it.

But he would never let anyone know that.

The youngest Wayne laid his hand on Dick's shoulder. He waited until his older brother finally looked up from his hunched over position on your hospital bed. Damian inclined his head towards the door before walking towards it, silently waiting for his brother to follow.

Dick seemed hesitant to leave your side but the impatient gesture that Damian made at the door finally made him follow his youngest brother outside. He closed the door with a faint click, and they both walked towards the observation window on the other side of the medical bay. They settled at the spot that was directly in front of your bed; Dick with his arms hanging loosely at his sides and Damian with his arms crossed over his chest.

You might have been unconscious but they didn't want to take any chances of you hearing this conversation.

Damian surprised his brother by speaking first. "I hope you know that it was done out of necessity. She wouldn't have come to us, where it's infinitely more safe and she has a vast access to superior resources, if this didn't happen." The conviction in his voice brokered no room for doubt or argument. He said this as if it was merely fact and to a degree, it was, but Dick couldn't help the sliver of doubt that persistently niggled at the back of his mind.

Damian hadn't turned to look at his brother as he spoke, his green eyes locked intensely on your sleeping form on the hospital bed. If he had any doubts, which Dick seriously doubted, he gave none of it away. Instead, his jaw seemed to clench a bit before letting out a silent, imperceptible sigh. "Nothing would have changed for her if we hadn't intervened." He pointed out with an unreadable look.

Dick sighed as he looked at you through the glass with a sad expression. He had hoped, however vaguely, that your family wouldn't have stooped that low. That they wouldn't have fallen for the bait.

The only tragedy is that they hadn't suffered more.

When Dick—uncharacteristically—still failed to respond, Damian let out a frustrated noise. Since when did he become the voice of reason for this family? The youngest Wayne pivoted and pinned his older brother with a hard, unyielding look.

"Grayson, I will only say this once. There is no need to feel guilty. It was the optimal way to get her out of that disgusting cesspool and we succeeded." There was a fierce conviction to the youngest Wayne as he said this and even Dick couldn't help but feel a little swayed.

Dick ran both of his hands through his hair aggressively and sighed harshly. "I just wish that she didn't get hurt in the process." We could have prevented it, was what went unsaid but clearly understood between the two brothers.

At this, even Damian didn't have a reply or rebuttal ready. Because it was the same thing that plagued him about this situation. But he consoled reassured himself that you had survived and were finally in their care, where you were safe (where you belonged).

It had been years since Damian has thought this way, not since he started living with his father and adopted siblings and developed a moral code and conscience of his own, but this is one of those rare instances where the ends undeniably justified the means.

Damian couldn't—wouldn't regret his choice to plant your money box on top of your bed while leaving your door ajar for the filthy vultures to pounce like the mindless, greedy beasts they were. It was their fault for acting on their avarice and they paid for it with their lives.

"I just wish she didn't get hurt."

Damian narrowed his eyes in thought. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to get hurt.

...▼▼▼...

The hours that had led up to the incident had been a hectic whirlwind for everyone as they were neck-deep in the process of busting a criminal network drug-ring operation. The entire team had been investigating this underground operation for weeks and were on the cusp of sweeping this operation into the light.

And this was in the middle of them monitoring the situation in your house. Robin had already planted your moneybox in the open a few days ago and it hadn't even taken 30 minutes for the pests to take the bait. Through the multiple cameras they had set up within your house, it almost amazed the team how none of your step-family seemed to think twice before going on a shopping spree with your hard earned money, extravagantly parading their ill-gotten luxury (Damian scoffed, they called that luxury?) in your house right in front of you. All this, as you still worked hard and let these putrid leeches work you into the ground like a slave. It was only a matter of time before you realized where your money had unfortunately gone. They all waited with baited breaths for the explosive fall out that would ensue and had prepared measures to protect you from it.

But the sudden arrival of a rival gang on one of the warehouses that also acted as a quasi-headquarters for one of the heads of this operation threw a wrench in their plans, and suddenly all hands were needed on deck.

Batman called all of them in and the team entered the warehouse into a room that had turned into a battle ground as men and women fought in a free-for-all. Without hesitation, they all leapt into the fray.

And although the vigilantes had been busy bashing skulls, they still kept an ear out for the little ping! That would alert them of your stepmother's arrival at your house. Since that alert never preceded anything good for you.

Ping!

Red Hood nearly missed it over the sound of his and his enemy's exchange of gunfire but when he finally noticed the alert, he hurried to the nearest stack of crates for cover before pulling up the feed. You were crumpled on the floor with your stepmother nowhere in sight.

Shit, that can't be good.

"RED!" He bellowed.

From across the large warehouse, Red Robin answered. "Already on it!"

Everyone on the comms heard a curse as Red Robin sounded out the custom alert sound they had set for emergencies that pertained to you.

"Guys, we need to wrap this up now. She's running around downtown in the rain alone. She seems erratic and terrified." None of them had to be geniuses (which they were) to guess that something bad had happened in the mere moments they had focused their attention elsewhere.

Batman's gruff and gravelly voice came through the comms in a clear command, "Red Hood, Nightwing, go out and secure her location. We'll finish this."

Robin and Red Robin tightened their holds on their weapons before going back into the fight with renewed and vicious vigor. They had to finish this early so that they can see you. They barely had time to look at your feeds once the fight broke out but they couldn't ignore the foreboding feeling they got when they received your alert.

"We'll be at the house by then, make sure she's safe."

...

Nightwing could barely hide his worry as he frantically changed into the spare civilian clothes he kept in a bag right there in his own car before booking it, with Red Hood hot in his trail in his motorcycle. He already put in your coordinates in the screen on his dashboard, it began tracking the tracking device they had planted on your phone for such emergencies.

He watched as your icon ran through streets without rhyme or reason, and in the rain no less. He bit his lip, you must be terrified.

Red Hood had already taken off his helmet and had shoved it into the underseat storage of his motorcycle before following Nightwing. It was all he needed to do to transition to his 'civilian' attire. He didn't care about the rain that pelted him and soaked his clothes as he drove with the single-minded intent of finding you.

He pulled up a feed on the little monitor on the instrument display of his bike, it showed you from the image quality of street cameras running frantically in the rain. Fuck, what if you got sick?

Nightwing's—now Dick Grayson—voice called to him from the comms they both still wore, "Jay! She's up heading towards the 6th. Intercept her from the other side. I'll wait for you both there."

Jason Todd revved up his bike and broke away from the main street to cut through alleyways to beat you there. He haphazardly parked his bike next to a pile of trashbags and ran out of the dark alley and into the sidewalk. He wasn't all that worried about his bike, the Red Hood symbol emblazoned on it's side should deter most people from even touching it. But if it did get stolen, then he could just as easily replace or track it.

None of that mattered more than finding you, though.

Once he ran up to 6th street, he immediately zeroed in on you. You were standing a few blocks away from him, your clothes looked rumpled and you were positively drenched from the rain. There was a glazed look in your eyes even from this distance and he called your name as he slowly approached.

The way you had reacted to him, sobbing and grasping at him as if he was your lifeline, broke him. And he held you even closer as he let your tears mix with the rain that soaked his shirt.

Even though, he knew he was part of the reason for that.

...

Once you were finally situated at the house with all the Wayne men surrounding you (protecting you), you were quiet and withdrawn. A stark contrast from the bright and warm air that you seemed to bring with you everywhere you go. It had taken some coaxing, but you finally opened up to them about your problems at home for the first time since knowing them. And they all were aware how you tried to sugarcoat it and minimize the worst of your pain and that hurt. (Didn't you trust them?)

And once your injury was brought to light, they were furious.

Once you were being taken care of by Alfred, they pulled up the feed of the time they had missed while they were dealing with the drug-ring bust. They all watched, with surmounting horror, the way your stepmom had ruthlessly beaten you into the ground and had shouted such horrible words at you.

To say that they were infuriated was an understatement. The magnitude of their shared rage could never be encompassed by any measure in the known world.

They were down-right murderous.

How could you have gotten hurt on their watch?

... ∆ ∆ ∆ ...

"Staying there would've only hurt her more." Tim's quiet voice interjected, suddenly appearing on Dick's other side. Damian gave him a passing, acknowledging glance before his green eyes returned to your prone form on the other side of the glass.

Tim had his hands in the pockets of his favorite hoodie as he watched you with a solemn expression. "I don't regret what we did." He stated firmly. "When I was in her shoes, I remember all the pain I went through and always wished that someone would save me."

Dick turned to his brother and slung his arm over his shoulder before bringing him into a side hug. Tim leaned into his brother a little as he joined them in watching over you. Something in him settled as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, it was comforting to know that you were here, even if the circumstances that had led to your arrival had been unfortunate. He couldn't help but think about the similarities the both of you shared.

But unlike you, Tim had been lucky enough to have the opportunity to save himself, when he chose to become part of this family of vigilantes and chose to become one himself. He didn't want you to feel alone like he did in his previous life. And now you would never have to feel that way again.

Tim's voice was resolute as he spoke to his oldest brother, "and we saved her, Dick. I can't ever regret that."

Dick reached up to ruffle the already messy hair of his brother. "I know, Timmy." He said softly.

Still, the guilt lingered (as it will for a longer time still, like a jagged pebble inside the shoes of his psyche) as Dick watched your prone form sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed. He had a part to play in your injured state and he could never truly scrub himself of the guilt that came with that.

But you were here now, and you were safe. That was all that mattered to them.

And Dick would rather regret the things he's done rather than leaving you there to suffer by yourself.

...

Does this count as part 3?? Idk, y'all decideee. I just wanted to write a small insight on the boys and a BTS on what happened during that night. Like, isn't it just so juicy how yandere tendencies can clash with a hero's moral code and how it affects and manifests for each member?? Anyways, sorry that Bruce weren't in this part that much ;v;

Lemme know if y'all want more from this, and let me hear your thoughts! Constructive criticism is always welcome with me (whether it's you pointing out a grammatical error or a faulty tense) :>>

I'll start on the first part once I've posted this, I've barely edited this lmaooo. Thank you and enjoy!

#yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere imagines #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere x you #yandere imagine #fanfic

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sunshinesteviee · 2 years

Text

only you - s.h.

summary: steve finally wakes up after surviving the upside down, and all he can ask for is you, though you're not sure why; gn!reader wc: 2.1kwarnings: mentions of injuries, the hospital, a touch of angst?, slight enemies to lovers, canon? we don't know her a/n: this was originally supposed to be a blurb for my 8k celebration, but got way out of hand! for my wifey @sparklingsin

You’re lucky to have escaped the upside down fairly unscathed, you know that. You’d been scratched and bruised, briefly strangled by the vines, but aside from that, you’re okay. Most of your friends weren’t that lucky, and many of them sit in hospital beds still. Meaning you’re still rotating between their rooms, making conversation with Eddie, who, despite having literal chunks of his torso torn out by the demobats, seems to be in good spirits, comforting Max when she’s awake, and sitting silently in Steve’s room. Steve, who has yet to wake up. Steve, who you’re not totally sure would even want you there.

The relationship you have with Steve is complicated, to say the least. You’d never liked him in high school. He’d been arrogant and rude, and at times, he could be a bully. It wasn’t until a weird twist of fate — Max being terrorized by this otherworldly creature — that you really got to know Steve. He wasn’t the same as he’d been in high school, but you still had your reservations. The feeling seemed to be mutual; Steve didn’t seem to care for you much either with how cold and distant he could be. And still, you find yourself spending a large chunk of your time sitting in the silence of Steve’s room by yourself, willing him to wake up.

When it’s just you, though, you pull the chair in the corner of the room closer to his bed, and grasp his hand in yours, whispering soft encouragements to him, even though you’re not sure he can hear you, “Don’t give up now, Steve.”

With each passing day, you lose a bit of hope. Eddie, who had suffered an arguably worse attack from the demobats, had woken up quickly. Max, who the doctors still don’t know if she’ll fully recover, is making conversation sometimes, even though she sleeps most of the day. The doctors think that on top of being attacked and bitten like Eddie, maybe Steve had just worn himself too thin. He had been attacked, and then carried on like nothing had happened. He’d winced as Eddie’s rough denim vest slid over his bitten back and arms, but hadn’t said anything else. You still don’t know Steve very well, but you saw how much he pushed himself to keep everyone else safe. And now everyone was worried he’d pushed himself past his breaking point. That he might not recover.

One day, Dustin bursts into Max’s room with a breathless gasp of your name, eyes wide. Your heart races, and you know that something has happened, though you have no idea if it’s good or bad. Dustin’s eyes dart from you to Max, and then back to you, “Sorry to interrupt, I just— Steve’s finally awake.”

“He is?!” Max asks, an urgency in her voice you haven’t heard before.

Dustin nods, still looking at you intently. The way he’s looking at you gives you a funny feeling, and your stomach turns as he murmurs your name again and adds, “He’s asking for you.”

“Me?” you ask, jaw dropping as you balk at your younger friend. You can’t imagine why Steve would ask for you, of all people.

He nods again, “He won’t… All he can ask for is you. Won’t say anything other than your name.”

You glance at Max, who quickly nods, and you shoot up out of your seat, following Dustin out of her room and down the hall to Steve’s room. There’s a bit more commotion behind the door than you’ve seen in a while, and it causes you to freeze. You’re not sure what you’ll find in there. Dustin notices your hesitation, the way your hand pauses at the handle. He knows about the moments you’d had with Steve, when no one else was around. It had been an accident, really, when he’d opened the door, and found you bent over Steve’s bedside, grasping his hand tightly in yours like you never wanted to let go. At the time, he’d quickly and quietly backed out of the room, but stored that bit of information in the back of his head for later. He knew the dynamic between you and Steve was odd, but he also knew that Steve cared about you, even if he hadn’t known how to show it. “It’s okay,” he assures, nodding to you, “He asked for you.”

Sucking in a deep breath, you nod and push open the door to find that Steve really is awake, and is half-sitting up in bed. He’s still connected to quite a few wires, and there are a bunch of nurses surrounding the bed, checking his vitals, but he’s awake. He’s awake, and he’s alive. You let out a soft gasp, hand flying to your mouth, as you breathe out his name, “Steve.”

You’re not quite sure how he heard you, your voice had barely been above a whisper, but Steve’s head whips to the doorway, eyes going wide when he sees you there. His voice is raspy from not using it for a while as he croaks out your name.

“Steve,” you say again, louder this time as you start across the room, “You… you’re okay. You’re awake.”

A few of the nurses step away, realizing that you’re the person he’d been asking for, letting you step up to his bed. Steve cracks a tight smile, and he nods, “Yeah, I am. At least I think I’m awake… this isn’t a dream, right?”

Laughing a little, you shake your head, “No, not a dream. This is real. Are you…” You trail off, not even sure what you were going to ask, and your hand pauses it’s descent to Steve’s arm. You’d held his hand frequently while he was out, but you’re not sure he’d want you touching him now. Instead, you let out a soft sigh and ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Umm… you know. Weird. Everything… everything hurts.” His voice is still scratchy, and he stumbles over his words with a wince, eyebrows drawing together and nose scrunching up. “Shit.”

“Shit,” you echo softly, sinking into the same chair you’d already spent many hours in over the last few days. The same chair you’d sat in only an hour ago, begging Steve to wake up for the millionth time. Your eyes dart down to your lap where your fingers pick at a piece of fraying denim. For some reason, your voice comes out shaky when you speak again, “I-I’m glad you’re awake, Steve. Dustin, he—“

Steve cuts you off abruptly, unable to help himself from blurting out, “I heard you, you know.”

You feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs, and the only thing you can think of saying is, “What?”

“While I… while I was out, I could still hear everything. When people were talking to me and stuff. I heard the things you were saying. About the kids, and Max and Eddie. And… about me not giving up, needing me to wake up.”

Heat rushes to your face, and no matter how far you sink into your chair, it won’t swallow you whole, unfortunately. Unsure of what to say, you pull one foot up off of the floor, hugging your knee to your chest, and press your cheek into your shoulder in an attempt to hide. You can’t look at Steve as you reply, “Oh… Steve, I—”

He interrupts you again, voice as firm as it can be in his current state, “Thank you.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Shaking your head slightly, you murmur, “What for?”

“For caring.” This time, Steve is the first to look away as he tilts his head back against his pillows, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks rapidly. “I mean, I know those twerps care, and Robin and Nance, too, but… I don’t know. Means a lot that you care even when you don’t particularly like me.”

“Steve, I don’t—“ you pause, taking a moment to collect yourself, and then scoot the chair you’re sitting in closer to his bed. “In high school, yeah, I wasn’t particularly fond of you.” Steve opens his mouth to say something, but you keep talking, “But you’re a different person now, I think. I hope. Max is like a little sister to me, so seeing how much you care about her — how much you did to protect her — means a lot.”

A soft pink springs to Steve’s cheeks, crawling up to his ears as he stares at you. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods, glancing away again, “I am. A completely different person, I mean. I-I’m sorry if I was ever awful to you in high school. How… how is Max, by the way?”

You wave your hand in the air, dismissing Steve’s worries. Whatever had happened in high school was behind you now. His question, though, makes you realize that the still doesn’t know everything, and that you’re taking up all of his time. “She’s okay. I mean, she’s alive. Not totally herself, though. I can— I don’t want to take up all of your time, I’m sure you’d rather talk to Robin or Dustin or Max. I’ll see if a nurse can bring Max to your room.”

As you stand up to leave, Steve’s hand darts out, fingers catching yours to stop you from moving. You notice a flash of pain on his face as he outstretches his arm towards you and mumbles, “Stay.”

“Okay,” you nod quickly, not wanting him to push himself any further, and drop back down into your chair next to him, “Okay, I’ll stay. Don’t hurt yourself on my behalf, Harrington.”

Steve huffs out a laugh in an attempt to mask the pain on his face. Instead of saying anything, though, he asks, “What about Munson? I was worried he wouldn’t make it when we got to him.”

“Oh, Eddie’s fine. They treated him, and he was begging to be up on his feet after like two days. He’s still here, his room is down the hall, but he’s doing well. Maybe I could ask for you guys to room together?” You finish with a mischievous grin, and don’t realize that the pad of your thumb is rubbing back and forth across the top of Steve’s hand.

“Oh, god, please don’t,” Steve groans with a grimace, nose wrinkling, “Turns out I don’t mind the guy, but I think he’d drive me insane in here.”

Letting out a small laugh, you nod in agreement, “I know what you mean. But it’s actually been good to have him around, he’s been keeping everyone’s spirits up.”

“Has it been bad?” Steve asks after a beat of silence, pursing his lips slightly, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Steve, no one was sure when — or if, quite frankly — you’d wake up.”

“Oh.” His voice is small as the reality of the situation starts to set in, “I didn’t realize.”

“Needless to say, we’re all glad you’re awake,” you murmur in reply, your gaze set on him.

It’s quiet again as Steve glances down to where your fingers are still intertwined with his, but he can’t find it in himself to pull back. Just as he’s about to reply, the door to Steve’s room flies open, the handle nearly banging into the wall as Robin bursts in, eyes wide and voice frantic, “Steve!”

The two of you jump in surprise, your hands flying apart as you scramble backwards into your chair.

Robin looks and sounds nearly angry, but you know she’s on the verge of tears as she rushes across the room, pointing at Steve, “You just had to wake up the one time I went home, didn’t you, you asshole?! If you ever scare me like that again, Steven, so help me god—“

Steve grins, wincing once more as he pushes himself further up in bed, and Robin gives him a hug that you’re worried will cause him even more pain. You’ve come to learn that Robin is quite the talker, and she’s quick to launch into a rant — something about how worried she’s been, and updating Steve on everything that’s happened.

You know that your conversation with Steve is done for now, and start moving towards the door. He notices, giving you an apologetic look over Robin’s shoulder — a fleeting look before turning his full attention back to his best friend. It’s only a moment, but you have a feeling there’s much more to be discussed at a later time. You'd sit by his bed all day, if he asked.

And he does ask for you again, only an hour later.

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