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celestie0 · 3 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 (f)

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+, 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

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

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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azullumi · 20 days

Text

premise — you know those beach arc in a 12-episode shoujo anime? make it with the ip3o !!

characters — aventurine, topaz, and ratio

tags — established relationship, fluff, not proofread, 0.6k words ; headcanons

note — just something quick which i wrote in the beach yesterday before my phone wanted to become a fish and dived into the ocean !! probably not that accurate to their character but hey i just wanted to have fun

AVENTURINE who will write your name in the sand, only to have it being washed away by the ocean’s wave the moment he shows it to you. The dejected look on his face as he watches his effort being flattened and smoothened into sand will just make you want to kiss him (he’s just so kissable no matter what he does).

AVENTURINE who will stay up all night listening to the waves and watching stars with you. He’ll set up a small tent for the both of you to stay in as you wait for the sun to set and the sky to cast its dark blanket to reveal the stars that are waiting to be seen. It’s such a pretty sight, something that you will forever engrave in your mind, but he’s there spending most of his time looking at you before the stars; he ended up missing the shooting star that passed by.

AVENTURINE who will collect pretty seashells with you. He’ll look out for them while he’s on his own and will choose the ones he thinks you’ll love—seemingly seeking your approval, he’ll show the shell to you with expectation drawn in each breath. He adores the look on your face when you get so excited over something small and simple.

TOPAZ who will build play in the sand and build sandcastles with you, along with Numby who’ll watch by the sidelines like a curious cat to their busy owner. You two, in collaboration, would either end up with the tallest and most majestic sandcastle ever made or the most horrendous piece ever seen by mankind—there’s no in between. Bonus points if it also gets washed away by the wave.

TOPAZ who will drag you anywhere and everything. She will take you to several and various locations whether it be a hidden spot with a nice view which she found while she was out walking (she’ll steal a kiss from you once knowing that there’s nobody around) or to areas that are bustling with activities that the both of you can participate in.

TOPAZ who’s probably the most active person you’ll see at the beach. One minute she’s playing volleyball, the next she’s out making kites fly, then the next you’ll see her, she’s setting up the bonfire for later night or either talking with the locals. Best believe that she’ll spend her evening just by your side, leaning against your form in silence as she tries to recover her energy—which would probably just lead to her falling asleep beside you.

DR. RATIO who will most likely spend his time sunbathing or staying away from the water—he wouldn’t want his book to get wet, would he? Although he brings his book during his baths, the ocean is quite unpredictable compared to the still waters of his bathtub. Sometimes, the tide would come in slow and gentle like a mother’s lullaby but it would be followed by a body-slapping wave that would drag you away from the shore.

DR. RATIO who will wake you up early just for the sunrise because he learned that the view would be a lovely sight—also, because he thinks you might like it. He’ll gently guide you through the sand as you force your eyes open, drowsiness still in your gaze and the way you slowly walk to not stumble in your steps; he’ll hold your hand the whole time and you’ll watch the sunrise with him in silence of the cold morning.

DR. RATIO who will look after you and watch you always. He wouldn’t let the opportunity to say something (scold you or tell you off) pass by, however. Most likely would pull something like, “You’re cold, aren’t you? If so, that’s your own problem.” then would proceed to place a jacket or towel over your shoulder.

#aventurine honkai star rail #topaz honkai star rail #ratio honkai star rail #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai fluff #honkai imagines #honkai #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #hsr topaz #hsr ratio #aventurine x reader #topaz x reader #ratio x reader #azul.writes

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sameschmidtdiffname · 2 months

Note

Peeta as the smallest of 3 brothers definitely had to resort to dirty plays like biting in his youth.

First off, you're right and you should say it. Second off, Peeta being the youngest is 1000% a dynamic in his relationship with Katniss once they start to recover.

No bc listen. I was the youngest of three siblings and while we never got into physical fights I learned QUICK how to use my mouth to win what battles couldn't be fought physically because my siblings would 100% go to jail for trying to rock a 3 y/os shit. So Peeta was running his mouth religiously around the household. Can't tell me otherwise. "If it weren't for the baby??" Girl, he was biting AND flappin his lips. 100% would get pinned to the ground by his brothers and be like "wow I feel bad for your girlfriend" before getting his shit rocked. He'll offer them tips inbetween punches. "Aim for the throat. Wow, you're still pathetic."

Second, Katniss is the eldest, Peeta is the youngest in their families. Once they're more secure in their relationship, Peeta is 100% causing fun! problems 24/7. She's stressed the fuck out she's gonna come home one day from hunting again and half the house is repainted with all of the furniture just shoved into one big pile away from the drying walls like "WHY DID YOU DO THIS??" "bored :))" because he's so dangerously intelligent, I'm thoroughly convinced he's a practical fucking moron. He probably had to create his own entertainment as a child, he's used to being ignored. If he gets an idea to rearrange the furniture, he just does it. Katniss and Haymitch both have to intervene with how much this happens because Katniss complained about it to Effie once, and Effie started rambling about this thing called "feng-shui," and now Peeta is completely obsessed and will spend several hours to the point of obsession planning with Effie not just his decor, but literally fucking everyones, and Katniss tried to warn Haymitch "Hey, we need to fucking stop this," and Haymitch just said "get out of my house." But now Haymitch is too sober to deal with the constantly changing furniture, and why is this idiot painting his ceiling, and can you please pick up a hobby that doesn't involve majorly changing the layout of our houses? Peeta says no. Katniss instead comes home to Peeta having several geese chasing him at Haymitchs training. He's been waiting for an excuse to reveal this.

She stops feeling bad for needing his constant comfort once he starts biting her out of boredom. Oh, come on. You can see it. He would absolutely look at her arm one night and go "you look nice :))" before taking a giant fucking bite that makes her question every decision she made from age 16-18. There's a solid minute where they just sit in their bed at a standstill. She's holding her book in shock, he's just frozen still biting her. She says "What the fuck" he says "nostalgia :))" to which she's further confused and slightly terrified. She learns how to duck. He learns how to lure her in easier. Post-canon angst + comfort is cute, give me chaotic Peeta torturing his wife who just wants five minutes of peace but secretly adores her dangerously clever idiot of a husband

Imagine when they have kids. That woman is gonna go from "peetas baby!" To "your child."

He likes tossing the motherfuckers in the air. He's the kinda dad who will take off RUNNING with the shopping cart, shove the thing as far away as he can and just wave "bye bye! :))" to the baby inside of the cart that's laughing wildly while Katniss is just chasing this fucking thing down through the store like it's the quarter quell all over again and everyone else is just watching like "Jesus Christ he's doing it again." It gets worse when Peeta collaborates his children with the attacking geese to use against Haymitch when he tries to prevent him from repainting his ceiling again.

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augiewrites · 6 months

Text

"secret admirer" - dead poets society (part 5)

summary: y/n receives a curious invitation from meeks and has a surprise encounter with neil and todd

pairing: anonymous!dead poet x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.2k

previous | next

It was finally Friday, and Y/N was looking forward to spending the weekend recovering from a week of non-stop exams, cramming, and a nonexistent sleep schedule. The morning’s classes had been a drag so far, and they were looking forward to the reprieve of Keating’s class. Knowing they'd be in close proximity to their admirer aside, Keating’s class gave them an opportunity to activate another part of their brain—one concerned less with grades and formulas.

No, this part was more concerned with matters of feeling. Matters of love, art, expression—everything crucial to finding true meaning in life.

Meaning.

Something that Y/N’s life—and the students of Welton’s lives—was severely lacking.

Y/N shoved the existential crisis to the back of their mind, shooting Todd a smile as he occupied the desk at the front of the class.

Their desk compartment was empty aside from their textbook and notes. Y/N felt their heart drop. It had been empty for days.

Did I make a mistake leaving that poem?

Y/N did their best to not look disappointed. The only thing more embarrassing than their poet’s lack of response was the thought of him observing their discontent.

Keating’s class didn't give them much reprieve that day.

_________________________________________

Against their better judgment, Y/N found themselves in the library during common hour. In all truth, Y/N just wanted to go back to their dorm and bang their head against the wall until they fell asleep. Alas, the expectation of a 4.0 GPA was looming over their head.

Thankfully, Meeks was the only other person to show up. Y/N didn't think they had the strength to deal with Dalton.

“So are you just going to keep side eyeing me, or do you have something to say?” Y/N set down their pencil and turned to face Meeks.

“Y/N, you've sighed three times within the last minute,” Meeks quipped, "seems like you're the one with something to say."

“But I'm right, though. You have something you want to say."

“I'll share with the class if you will.”

The two stared at each other for a moment—Meeks' expression much lighter compared to Y/N’s frustrated features.

Y/N gave in first.

“I’m tired, Meeks."

“Of?..."

“Everything.”

“You’re going to have to give me a little more here, Y/N.”

“…”

"I'm waiting."

“My GPA dropped to a 3.7," Y/N’s gaze was fixed to the table, “my parents are not happy. I feel like all I ever do is try, but it's not enough, and it never will be. My social life is practically nonexistent, I don't remember the last time I had fun, and I can feel my spirit dying. Some days it feels like I'm dying."

“You’re more than your grades, Y/N. You have to know that."

“I know that, Meeks. They don't,” Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “they ship me off to this prison, don't let me come home for breaks, and they call me maybe twice a semester if I'm lucky. They see my grades more than they ever see me."

Meeks was silent for a beat as Y/N cradled their head in their hands.

“Tomorrow night. Meet me outside the East wing at 10PM.”

“Meeks, what are you—“

“Just trust me. If you care about your spirit, anyway."

“Fine,” Y/N began packing their bag and stood up, nodding absentmindedly, "yeah, okay."

Because everything was cosmically determined to go wrong, Y/N crashed into Charlie as they rounded the corner out of the library. Their armload of textbooks crashed to the floor.

“Don’t you know to look both ways before crossing the street?" Charlie joked as he knelt to pick up Y/N’s books.

Y/N kept their head down as they gathered the mess of note paper that exploded out of their trig book.

“I mean, really, Y/N. If you want to feel me up you don't need to be so aggressive about it—“

Charlie’s sly smile melted into concern when he noticed the tears in Y/N’s eyes.

"Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” Charlie passed the books to Y/N and placed a gentle hand on their upper am.

Y/N gave the boy a tight lipped smile and stepped away from his touch.

“I'm fine, Dalton," Y/N was already moving down the hall.

“Y/N—“

“If you're looking for Meeks, he's still in there."

Y/N disappeared around the corner, leaving Charlie staring at the space they just occupied.

_________________________________________

Y/N wasn’t one for skipping class, but it was the last period of the day and Y/N thought their head would explode if they didn’t get away from everyone as soon as possible.

They triple checked that the hallway was empty before rushing into the storage room filled with students’ empty luggage.

But the room wasn’t unoccupied like they expected.

Neil Perry and Todd Anderson were in the middle of the room, locked in a gentle embrace.

They jumped apart when they heard Y/N’s soft sound of surprise, and the trio looked at each other in shock for a beat.

“We were just—” Neil took a step away from Todd before the other boy cut him off, surprising everyone, seemingly including himself.

“We’re together.”

They all stared at each other for another moment before Neil stepped forward again.

“You can’t tell anyone, Y/N.”

“I won’t,” Y/N blinked, suddenly coming alive again, “I would never.”

Relief washed over the two boys. Todd was more red than Y/N thought was humanly possible.

“Okay, I’m just gonna,” Y/N took a step back and jerked a thumb over their shoulder at the door, “go…”

They turned quickly to leave.

“Y/N.” Neil’s hand enclosed their wrist as they reached for the doorknob.

They looked up into Neil’s soft gaze, a faint smile on his face, “thank you.”

“Of course,” they returned the smile and waved to Todd as they slipped out the door, rushing to their dorm to avoid being caught for truancy.

_________________________________________

Y/N had been laying in bed for all of fifteen minutes before they heard the familiar sound of paper sliding under the door.

They were out of bed and rushing to open the door before they could think twice. Truancy be damned.

The empty hallway mocked Y/N.

Frustrated tears welled in their eyes as they slammed the door and grabbed the envelope off the floor before ripping it open.

Beloved Y/N,

In your eyes, a storm silently brews, Emotional tempest, tears it strews. I stand close, a silent observer, Love entangled in your pain, a fervent preserver.

Your hurt, a whisper in the quiet air, A shared burden, a weight to bear. In the shadows, love stands strong, A balm for wounds, a solace lifelong.

In the heart's tempest, emotions entwine, Love persists, a steadfast lifeline. I may not heal all that pains your soul, But together, in love, we find a way to be whole.

x, Yours.

Y/N let the tears flow freely as they sunk down onto the bed.

They were certain of who wasn’t their poet, but they were in denial about who it could be.

~~~

part six

a/n: any reality where neil and todd aren't in love is a crime against nature

taglist: @vvnbxz @edb954

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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

Text

Cowboy Like Me - Part 6

Azriel x Reader

Reader and Elain are forced to spend a little one on one time together. Mor whisks reader out for a night on the town. Azriel loses his shit during an incident at Rita’s and comforts reader afterward. A new boundary is crossed between Azriel and reader.

A/n: We’re coming into the home stretch with this story! It will only have a couple more chapters.

Part 5

Warnings: Alcohol, Language, mild violence, seizure, poisoning, mention (kind of) of drugging via alcohol

Elain’s garden was lovely. A labor of love that only countless hours of tending and getting hands dirty could cultivate. Her tension eased slightly as she shared details of the various flora blooming throughout.

Truthfully, I had no interest in gardening and most of the plant names went in one of my ears and out the other but her passion was captivating. There was something about listening to someone speak of their interests that I couldn’t get enough of.

As if she were a demure flower that came into bloom when she entered her space, she went from uncomfortable with me to genuine. I could see why Azriel had interest in her.

As we finished her tour of the garden, nobody had come to collect us and the awkwardness once returned.

Finally Elain looked to her feet and then back to me. “You and Azriel are a lovely pair.”

I started. “Oh no, we’re not together. It’s just an assignment.”

Elain thought for a moment beginning to say something but holding herself back.

And because I was nothing if not incurably nosey I blurted out. “It’s okay. You can say whatever it is you’re holding back. It won’t hurt me, Elain.”

“It’s not like that.” She spoke softly. “Just be careful. Not with him, he is a good, honorable male. But I am a seer. It was one of the powers thrust upon me by the cauldron and I’ve seen something that I don’t understand. A mangled skeleton in a tunnel with you…. And threads of gold flowing from the opposite direction.”

I paled. What an ominous thing to say. “My visions are strange and I don’t understand how to decipher them just yet. I don’t want to alarm you. Please,” she took my hand earnestly, “just be careful.”

I squeezed her hand in return. Who was I to make the female before me feel uncomfortable for sharing something she clearly still struggled to speak about. She had no reason to be kind to me. I was a stranger, a spy, in close proximity to someone she had or perhaps still did have feelings for. And yet, I could feel she was being genuine. So I met her eyes sincerely, “Thank you, Elain. I’m happy to have met you.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, nothing of substance, just contented small talk.

Eventually Rhysand came to the garden, Azriel behind him looking uncomfortable. “Thank you for your patience, ladies. Amren can get rather cranky when she hasn’t had her nap. Please excuse her…. brazen ways. It makes her a great second, but an occasional pain in the ass at dinner.”

He gestured to the female beside me, “Thank you for showing our guest your garden, Elain.” before turning to me. “Y/N, please join Azriel, Cassian, and I in my office.”

Rhysand turned back toward the house, Azriel lingering behind to wait for me. I felt his gaze as we wandered through a corridor of the massive estate. I felt awkward after the earlier encounter, not quite sure what to say. It was Azriel who broke the silence as he slowed his pace. “Y/N…”

I looked up to the male towering over me. His wings were tucked in tightly behind him as his shadows whirled around our feet. “You look so much more than nice. You’re resplendent.”

My face heated in a blush and a flicker sparked in those hazel eyes. Oh, he knew that effected me and was proud of recovering from his earlier stumble.

“Thank you, Azriel.” I reached toward his tunic. “You clean up quite well yourself.”

It was his turn to blush now. I jerked my head toward the High Lord now several yards ahead of us. “We best catch up with him.”

“Yes, of course.” He extended his arm as I looped mine through it.

Rhysand’s office was less of an office and more of a library. In fact, I am pretty sure that I’ve seen smaller libraries in my travels to the Day Court. “What an impressive collection” I marveled at the grand room surrounding us that was both warm and elegant. A lovely painting of the High Lady hung behind his desk. I wondered if she painted it.

“She did.” Rhys spoke into my head. “Lovely, isn’t she?”

“The loveliest” I mused wistfully. She truly was. “Hey, now get out of my head.”

He held his hands up in a show of innocence before mentally replying “No mind reading here. It was easy enough to read on your face, little spy. Nice to know all I need to break a spy is my beautiful mate.”

I only giggled in return. I liked him. I had heard rumors that he was a much more benevolent ruler than he let the world see but hearing it versus experiencing were two totally different things.

Azriel’s low voice interrupted and brought me back to reality “I’d love to be included in whatever you two are going on about.”

Whoops. Busted.

“Yeah, guys.” Cassian’s booming voice came from the doorway. “Secrets don’t make friends.”

“They do keep my pockets lined though.” I replied without thinking. Probably not in my best interest to make such jokes after Amren’s display at dinner.

To both my surprise and lack of it, Cassian laughed. “Touché, little spy.”

Rhys placed his palms on the desk, eyes fixating on a letter before lifting his head back to us. “We have new information on the infiltrated shipments. A trace amount of the same poison that had laced the spices imported to the Summer Court were detected in one of Beron’s vaults. Not enough to damn him but enough to suggest we are looking in the right direction.”

“Who relayed this intel?” Azriel asked.

“Who do you think?” Cassian goaded, earning an eye roll from his brother.

I cut in “It was Eris, right? Are you sure he can be trusted?”

“I trust him far more than Beron and he hasn’t led us astray yet.” Rhys replied. “I see no reason not to believe him at this point in time.”

“Now,” Rhys continued. “Here’s where things get interesting. Beron will be attending the ball next week. Eris will be there as well and I’ve contacted Lucien. He was hesitant to show given his history with his father but with Elain in attendance he plans to join.”

Azriel gave no response, physical or verbal, to the mention of Elain. He only continued listening intently. “Lucien was concerned about Elain given Beron being there but she has made it abundantly clear to Feyre and I that it is her choice to go.”

“Is it necessary for her to attend?” Cassian asked.

“Once again, it is her choice. She had a vision leading me to believe Beron has something planned and that was before Eris confirmed that Beron is attending the ball and of the traces of poison he had discovered.”

“Shit.” Cassian muttered.

“Azriel, I need you and Y/N to stay here in the event that anything urgent comes up. Y/N, would you be comfortable staying in Velaris for the time being? You can stay at the House of Wind with Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel and train with Nesta in the mornings.”

As if I would be sad to stay in a gorgeous city and not in a giant palace in the middle of nowhere with only one grumpy Shadowsinger for company. Okay, the last part wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t that grumpy… and he was rather pleasant to look at it.

Rhys waited patiently for an answer. “I am at your disposal, High Lord.”

———————

Upon reentering the main living area, I was greeted by an eager Mor. “What would an evening together be without a little Amren drama?” She clung to my arm guiding me toward a liquor cart, pouring us each a glass of Cognac served neat. “Cheers to surviving your first family dinner!”

Azriel only huffed. “We should get to the House of Wind. It’s late and we have to train in the morning.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Mor gripped my arm tightly.

“Don’t even think about it, Mor.” Azriel warned.

“My gift is truth. And the truth is that Y/N has not experienced Velaris until she’s had a night out at Rita’s.”

Azriel kept his stance. “Well she’ll be here for at least a week longer. We’re going to stay at the House of Wind until the ball.”

Mor squealed. “Oh, we are going to have so much fun!”

“She’s still here for work, Mor.” He reprimanded

Her brows knit together “And? What does that have to do with anything? There’s plenty of time for work. Now, let’s play.”

I wasn’t about to get into this battle of wills between Mor and Az but the idea of a night out was appealing. I’ve never had a night out for just fun. It was always for work, always. I wanted to feel music and lose my myself for a bit, but… Azriel did have a point. It was getting late and we did have to train tomorrow.

The blonde waived a hand dismissively. “Azriel. You work too hard. You’ve been wound tight for months now. You need this just as much.”

He scoffed. “My idea of an enjoyable night out isn’t babysitting my belligerent best friend and one of my spies.”

“Excuse me?” I chimed in. “One: you don’t have to babysit me. Two: I’m a spy for hire, not one of your spies.”

And with that, I could have sworn hurt flickered across his stoic features before regaining his composure. “Do what you want then. I’m not going out.”

“Fine.” I stated. “I’m going with Mor.”

“For fucks sake.” He muttered under his breath.

Mor again squealed. “Come on! Let’s change.”

———————-

I wasn’t sure why Mor insisted on changing when the dress I had been wearing was perfectly suitable for a night out, but who was I to fight the determined female? I saw how far it got Azriel who had known her for 500 years. There was no way that I would win that battle with her.

So, I found myself at Rita’s a lively bar with even livelier music in a much too short, skin tight dress, high heels, and an obscene amount of cleavage.

Cassian and Nesta came along as Nesta loved the music though she did not drink.

And Az thought he would have to babysit when Nesta was right there?

I would obey any command the silver eyed female gave me. Any command. Cassian was a very lucky male.

Rita’s was far more lively than I anticipated, nothing like the taverns I had frequented where a sole piano collected dust until a passing bard came through to warm the keys for tips. No, this bar had a stage dedicated for instrumentals and singers with sultry voices. The drinks were far from the stale and shitty varieties of ale I was used to. While there were plenty of bottom shelf options, Mor ordered everything from the top, and I gladly indulged.

We did several rounds of shots before Mor pulled me onto the dance floor. Nesta following with Cassian in tow. Round of drinks were served to us in between sets and I completely lost myself to the music. I took turns writhing against Mor and Nesta, which Cassian did not mind ogling in the slightest. Nesta only gave him a sultry smirk before losing herself to the music again.

A few males tried getting close to us but Cassian’s big scary “Lord of Bloodshed” face drove them off. Fortunately for them.

I had a feeling that if they slipped past his harrowing gaze, Nesta would happily eat them alive. Just to reiterate, Cassian is a very lucky male.

The liquor continued flowing and my head felt light in the best of ways. A lightness I’d experienced so few times over the years. I knew I was a sight, we all were. Nesta’s curves were stunning in anything, and Mor and I… well we had enough on display for anyone to appreciate.

Eventually Rhys and Feyre came into the bar, seemingly having left Nyx with Elain for the rest of the night. They were a sight together, the moon and stars, so effortlessly captivating.

Feyre joined us out on the dance floor as tendrils of darkness swirled around the booth Rhysand sat at, his white teeth shining through as an amused grin crossed his face.

Maybe if I’d looked closer I would have noticed that those weren’t tendrils of darkness at all but shadow that surrounded the booth.

Mor was drawn into dance with a beautiful female as Cassian took reprieve to visit Rhys in his booth and Nesta and Feyre took to chatting with eachother in a corner. The perfect moment to sneak away and indulge in one more drink.

I approached the bar, fighting through a crowd of bystanders to place another order. After three attempts to catch the bartenders attention, a pretty male appeared next to me with that classic High Fae beauty and he was so, so tall. “What do you want?” He asked. “I’ve got you.” And in a normal circumstances would have insisted I am a strong, independent female perfectly calable to order my own drink but honestly…. My inhibitions were low enough that I was happy to accept the feat of a beautiful male buying me a drink.

I yelled my drink order to him over the crowd to which he raised an eyebrow then threw a long arm up in the air with two fingers and a gold mark. Ah, money, great attention getter. It was only a moment before the bartender made his way over to take his order. The bartender opened a new bottle of the liquor from the shelf. Not a high end liquor but not totally bottom of the barrel either. Something that said I’m a classy lady but also considerate of the fact that someone else is paying for my drink.

The bartender slid the drinks over to which the male handed me mine, gave a cheers, and invited me for a dance.

One dance wouldn’t hurt.

He stayed close to me but remained respectful. His hands not drifting anywhere above or below mid-waist and keeping a few centimeters of space between our bodies.

As I became more comfortable with the stranger and the music became a bit more seductive, I leaned back into his warm chest. It was nice, comfortable, but my eyes began to grow heavy and my limbs a bit more lucid. My motions became slower and I felt myself slumping a bit. The male noticed too because he peered around me. “Hey. Hey, are you-“ and suddenly shadows surrounded us and a low, gravely voice spoke. “Step away from my lady.”

I heard the male gasp beginning to speak, letting go of me as Azriel’s large, strong hands caught me, not letting go until I steadied. “Wait, I wasn’t-“ he didn’t finish the sentence before Azriel’s fist met the males face, hard.

“Fuck!” The male shouted as Azriel shoved him further away from me and it was then that I fell to the floor, darkness overtaking me.

——————

When I came to it, I was in an unfamiliar bed. A warm fire glowed in a large stone fireplace before me and a few stars still interés in the sky outside. Pain radiated through me shooting from my stomach and throughout the rest of my body. I tried to sit up but immediately needed to throw up.

Suddenly a scarred hand passed a bucket to me. “Here, here take this.” I gripped my hands onto it and heaved. A warm hand helped keep me sitting upright, thumb running soft strokes over my back as another held my hair back.

“Holy shit.” I gasped before heaving again. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Not a bad idea.” Azriel spoke, no hint of amusement in his voice. “But drinking wasn’t the sole factor.”

Pain radiated through my skull. “What do you mean?”

Then a flashback ran through my mind of shadow and Azriel’s fist meeting a males face.

Fuck, how could I have been so stupid! “That male. He…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “Did he-?”

Azriel looked down to his feet before taking the bucket back and handing me a cup of ginger tea.

“Look, I…” shame darkened his features. “My shadows sensed something was wrong. I saw you slumping in his arms and I acted before realizing.”

My brows furrowed, lips drawing into a straight line. “I still don’t understand. What do you mean, Azriel?”

“No, he didn’t do anything wrong. For what it’s worth, he seems like a decent male. But after you fell, I ran to you. I shouldn’t have stepped away from you in the first place. You began seizing, Y/N. It fucking terrified me. Cassian apprehended him before the same thing happened to the male. He lost his steadiness, fell to the ground, and began seizing as well.

I immediately took you to Madja who examined you, induced vomiting and provided tonics to counteract the symptoms. “What happened to me?”

Rage. Icy rage crossed his features. “You were poisoned. Mor came and stayed by your side while Madja worked on you. Rhys, Cassian, and I were able to question several people at Rita’s. It turns out that soon after you fell ill, a few others came down with the same symptoms. It was the liquor that had been poisoned. We spoke with the owner of Rita’s who checked their logs and the bottle of liquor you were last served from had been imported around the time that the rogue shipment landed in the summer court.”

“Fuuuck.” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I overreacted. I thought he hurt you. And when i considered his intentions….”

His hands flexed and a light hint of silver lined his eyes. “Fuck, I just lost it.”

“Is he okay?” I asked. “Yes, once the tonic took effect for him. I was able to apologize and he was forgiving. Very decent of him given that if the roles were reversed… I didn’t deserve the forgiveness.”

“What about the other patrons who were poisoned?” I asked. “Is everyone okay?”

Azriel’s shadows whirred angrily. “Fortunately. Madja and her staff were quick and everyone will recover.”

His hazel eyes met mine sympathetically, “but it may take a full day for the effects to fully clear from your system. It won’t be a pleasant process.”

Given the pain and nausea within me, I was dreading the next several hours. Looking down, I saw that I’d been changed into an oversized t-shirt and men’s boxer briefs. I looked to Azriel with a raised eyebrow. “Your doing?”

The male blushed, blushed for the second time in less than twelve hours, and I couldn’t repress the small grin that came to my lips. “Nesta helped you into these. Your dress was covered in vomit. And Nesta may dress somewhat modestly in public but she has preferences in her nightly attire so it was either my clothes or a night gown that left very little to the imagination.

Mor is going to bring you some of the clothes you bought yesterday and some of hers after she gets a few hours of sleep. I’ll retrieve clothes from the Moonstone Palace once you’re better.”

Had he forgotten that I was only wearing clothes from the guest armoire there? “I know they aren’t yours but they suited you. Night Court attire suits you.”

I remembered the cobalt blue outfits I wore around the palace. Cobalt blue like…. Oh my gods, his siphons.

It was my turn to blush.

“You should get some more rest, Y/N.”

“Fine.” I sighed. A fevered chill running through me that even the warm bed and fire couldn’t suppress.

He started as he saw the shivers overtake me, goosebumps appearing on my arms.

“Azriel?”

“Yes?” He asked cautiously.

“Will you lay with me? I’m cold.”

And that was the first night I slept in the arms of the Shadowsinger.

———————

Azriel

He sat beside her bed for hours, heart lurching at any stir in her sleep. Had he just gone out with them in the first place, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe it would have been him holding her against his chest on the dance floor, maybe she wouldn’t have wandered off for that last drink.

When she seized on the floor, he felt his soul leave his body. He’d never known such panic in his life, not when his brothers held fire to his hands, not when he saw Mor in that field, not even when Elain had been captured by Hybern. He was always able to master himself in times of distress. But he knew that this time was different and if it weren’t for the adrenaline rush that overtook his senses in rushing her to Madja, he would have been hyperventilating on the floor next to her, he was certain of it.

So when she finally awoke and asked meekly if he’d sleep with her, there was no other option. She felt so right in his arms. As her breathing evened out, sleep once again overtaking her, he quietly whispered into the night, to himself, to her sleeping form, to the gods, anyone who would listen. “Never again.”

His shadows hummed in agreement.

Never again would he leave her when he knew she wanted his company. No, she didn’t say it out loud, but he felt it somewhere deep within his chest. Never again would he let someone bring harm to her, and if they did, he wouldn’t let them get away with it. Never again would his little spy feel alone in this world.

With that he softly brushed his lips across her temple. A seal of a vow. A silent show of adoration.

And he could have sworn he felt a little flutter in his chest as her lip quirked upward in her dream state.

————————————————

Tags: @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @minnieoo @dr4g0ngirl @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife

Sorry for the delay with this chapter!

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moumouton4 · 10 months

Note

THE WAY YOU WROTE GENYA WAS UGGHH *CHEF'S KISS* WE ALL KNOW THERE AIN'T ENOUGH GENYA CONTENT EVEN AFTER S3 CAME OUT 😔 so can I request hcs or a part 2 please? 🙏😭 It's totally fine if you won't! Have a great day! <33

Not So Repulsive After All || Genya Shinazugawa x fem!reader

Part 2 : The Beginning Of Something Before Taking The First Step

A/n : Hello my dear one I really hope you're gonna like it as much as the first ! 😍 But seriously the first was so good nothing could be better in my opinion lmao 🤣 This one was a bit harder to write but I think I managed. Also shout out to my little sister. Whom I read and the first part told me how Inosuke was put on the corner lmao 😂

Including : Tanjiro Kamado, Inosuke Hashibira, Giyu Tomioka, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Mitsuri Kanjori ( in description )

Part 1 : First Meeting 🔫

There will be a PART 3

Summary : Now that' you've recovered you're ready to start training again. In the last part Genya accepted to come with you. So will it be just like a training or more like a date. Well only time will say.

Warning : Fluf fluff fluff

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 3151

After this Genya zoomed to his place. He couldn’t help nor understand his heart from beating this fast in his chest even way after you left. When he sat at the table with his brother he didn’t even manage to finish a whole bowl or rice and vegetables – let’s hope Tanjiro doesn’t learn about that – nor was he able to look his brother in the eye anymore.

When it was time to get to sleep it was the same thing all over again. Lying in his futon, his gaze fixated on the ceiling above he couldn’t help overthinking the training session he was going to share with you tomorrow. His brain was working fast as he repeated the scene in his mind again and again.

“You’re the one who proposed so that means you wanted to spend time with him, right ? And maybe get to know him better ? WAIT ! Was this a DATE ?!?” he thought startling back up. He carefully walked to the bathroom, mindful not to wake Sanemi up. Once in the bathroom he stood in front of the mirror. He sighed at the sight of his hot face. Damn it, you weren’t even there ! Why was he acting so dramatically ?!? He then bent forward and gently splashed some cold water on his burning face. Hoping it will grant him the fresh restart he needs to be able to actually go to sleep.

But once he was back in his futon, he couldn't stop the thoughts from swirling in his head. What if he disappointed you anyway ? What if his lack of breath control would cause him to make a fool of himself in front of you ?

He tried to reassure himself as best he could, telling himself that since you'd just come out of convalescence, you must not be in the best of shape, but he couldn't help putting himself down, thinking that in any case, at least you had mastered a breath unlike him. After a little more time worrying, he finally fell asleep.

The next day he got ready with trembling hands due to an anticipation that reflected his excitement at spending time with you alone. He picked up his katana and guns and strapped them firmly to him before snapping his fingers when he remembered he'd forgotten something. He stepped back and retrieved two small cloth handkerchiefs to soak up any blood that might drip from his nose. Better to be prepared for the worst.

Unsurprisingly, when he arrived at the training ground, he was alone. Of course, he'd taken at least 15 minutes to calm down when he got there. As he waited, he shifted from one leg to the other, occasionally playing with the hammer of his pistol or shooting at some rocks.

Just when he thought you weren't going to show up, he heard you shouting in the distance, waving your arms dramatically - it seemed that Zenistu had turned on you.

"Hey hello ! Sorry I'm late !" you shouted in the distance as you ran at full speed towards him, nearly stumbling several times because of your lack of training due to your injury, but you got where you wanted to go.

Once you were in front of him, out of breath, you spoke up "I'm sorry ughh I was held up again by Inosuke, who wanted to ask me to duel, but I told him I was already taken and I ughh ran off"

In front of you, Genya half-listened to what you were saying, a light pink color beginning to appear on his cheeks as you moved in front of him. At the mention of Inosuke he snapped awake "I-I will go talk to him" he said in a voice both firm and trembling.

But you stopped him by shaking your head - this time deciding not to touch him for fear he'd refreeze like the day before - "Don't worry about that, I think the person who caught him earlier gave him a hard time. Let's start training instead !" you said happily, drawing your katana.

As his eyes fell on the azure-blue blade of your katana, he completely forgot to ask you who the person who had taken care of Inosuke was ( and you can guess who it was ? 👀 ).

He only nodded to let you know that he was ready to start your training together. You start with an intense warm-up to get you back in the saddle after 3 weeks off the bike. Stretching, a few sets of muscle-building exercises, field laps to gauge your endurance... everything you could think about.

And all the time Genya - whose face was particularly flushed compared to the simplicity of the exercises for him - couldn't help glancing at you. First, because you were so so pretty, and second, because he wanted to make sure you never overdid it for fear of re-injuring yourself.

A short break was needed at the end of the warm-up so you could catch your breath before the real training. Since he wasn't talking much by himself, you decided to strike up a conversation "So, Genya, what's it like to be the brother of a hashira ?" you said in a gentle, genuinely interested tone.

He held his breath for a split second when he heard you addressing him. The gears in his brain were turning at full speed to find something that wouldn't be awkward to say "T-that's great" he mentally slapped himself "I-I mean it's really gratifying a-and I'm proud of it" he caught himself trying to meet your gaze as he spoke. But when he saw that your eyes were fixed on his face he couldn't help another wave of red spreading across his face.

You continued to talk unaware of his special condition "I bet you're really strong ! He must have taught you a lot" you beamed.

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck when he heard your praise "I- well... not a-as much as him" he replied in an almost quiet voice.

Thinking he was humble you continued "I've seen the way he treats training dummies. I just hope you're not going to send me flying through the air with a big gust of wind too" you chuckled.

"I could never do that" he said this time without stuttering. The words came from the depths of his heart. Even if he'd had the power, he'd never have risked it anyway.

But you understood his answer as a question of ability and replied "Really ?But breathing styles run in the family, don't they ?"

But that's when he tensed up and jumped up from the bench you were both sitting on. Your eyes followed his every move, waiting for him to speak.

The stutter in his voice returned like a galloping horse, "I-I can't... I mean... w-well" But you cut him off by standing up as well "Just breath okay. I'm sorry I shouldn't have assumed anything. If you want we can go back to training ?"

He tried to answer but the words stuck in his throat. Genya was getting fed up with himself. How was it possible for someone like him to be in this state of inability to speak ?

He grabbed his hair and grunted - but not screamed - "Raggh I don't... I don't have any breathing style. I couldn't master it" he finished his sentence almost in a whisper. You could see disappointment in his beautiful eyes and decided to take a step towards him.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you spoke "Hey, I think that makes you even braver than the others. You're going out there and kicking demons' asses without even using some kind of powers"

Listening to you, he couldn't help but feel the warmth spreading in his heart. A shy smile settled on his lips as you continued to speak "You know Tanjiro told me that you were a great help back then in the Swordsmith Village. If I made it out, it's partly thanks to you because I was knocked out long before the main fight started, according to what he told me"

He chuckled sheepishly "W-well I did my best" but he couldn't help feeling that he was hiding something important from you. Like the fact that he could momentarily become a demon if he consumed their flesh. He was glad Tanjiro hadn't told you. Giving him the choice of revealing his secret or not. Contemplating the idea, he decided not to mention it for the time being, thinking that you'd find it disgusting or worse, that you'd get scared and decide to stay away from him.

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts "If you like, I'd like to see how you fight. I don't suppose you've got a katana ?" you said, breaking the contact between your hand and his shoulder.

"Y-you'd like to see ?!?" he said almost in disbelief - he also wished your hand had stayed where it was.

"Well yes ! It's a fighting training isn't it ?" you chuckled.

"Y-you're right" he finally said "C-come with me" he said walking to an improvised shooting range behind the bamboo forest ( All the dirty minded people there I'm seeing you lmao )

You walked through the green walls on a path you hadn't taken since your arrival at Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters.

After about 10 minutes of walking in silence, a shooting range came into view. The area was much smaller than the others training ones, but more than enough for one person. As you got closer to the targets, you could see that they were all hit in the center, and multiple times.

"Do you train here alone ?" you asked softly, as if you'd just stepped into a sacred place. He nodded, his face still a little flushed. He was getting used to having you around.

"Yes, a little every day" he replied.

"I can see that you're good. I can't see any target you haven't hit the center of already" you said surprised.

"T-thank you !" he said feeling a wave of warmth on his face but before he could - embarrass himself - say anything more you asked "Can you give me a demonstration ?"

His eyes widened. What ? You were willing to see him shoot ? "Y-yeah I can s-show you some tricks"

Once on the shooting range, he took a deep breath. This was his chance to show you what he could do. And with that he pulled out the guns he had on him. And he turned back to you to see if you were at a safe distance. Then he started shooting. And each bullet that went off would nestle right in the center of the target, then move on to different objects at different distances. Even the objects he threw into the distance couldn't resist him. He shattered them one by one with a rapid rate of fire that would not have given an enemy a chance in a deafening roar.

Once he'd finished, and as the last sound of the explosion fading away. While his guns were still smoking, you could hear that he was breathing a little raggedly. Yes, it took a lot to shoot as quickly and accurately as he did.

He almost fired - not at you - when your cheer broke the almost perfect silence of the shooting area "Wooooooow bravo ! That was so impressive Genya ! Are you a real marksman ?"He waved his hands in front of him "N-no far from it... but it's true that I-I train a lot" he said sheepishly.

Suddenly he saw you fidgeting with your fingers "Would you trust me with it to let me shoot ?" you asked shyly. What again ? Were you so interested that you were willing to give it a try ? He stood dumbfounded for a few seconds, as if time had stopped.

When he didn't answer, you stuttered "B-but you don't have to of course. It's not a big dea-"

"Y-yes I'm going t-to put a new t-target" he said and a second later he was rushing to install a brand new target for you. He quickly explained how to proceed and not to turn around and point the gun at him. When he handed you one of his precious guns, your fingers brushed and he felt a spark of electricity on his finger, making him bring his hand quickly to his side.

One thing he still didn't know was how familiar you were with guns, and as you began to shoot, it was clear to him that you knew what you were doing. You hit the target right in the center 2 or 3 times. Without looking back, you asked him "Could you send a target or two into the air for me, please ?"

His eyes widened as he picked up some sort of Frisbee and, after approaching you, threw it into the air. Once again you impressed him, hitting almost all of them. It had been a long time since you'd fired a gun, after all, long before your battle wound.

Once you'd finished, you blew the smoke out of the gun and turned to him, gun pointing down, before handing it back "So, how did I do ? I might be a little rusty" you chuckled softly. You really wanted to get an overview of such a great shooter.

Except that when you turned around he had his back to you. You didn't quite understand and called out to him, "Genya ? Are you all right ?"

"Y-yea yeah j-just give m-me a s-second" he asked you, busying himself with his face. The Shinazugawa was reaching for tissues to wipe away the blood that had flowed from your performance. Gosh you looked so hot. How was this even possible ?

When he turned around, you eagerly held out the weapon he'd kindly lent you. He took it quickly without looking you in the eye, and then put it away. When you looked up into his face, however, you couldn't help noticing the small piece of handkerchief that protruded from his nostrils "Erm are you okay ?"

The poor flustered boy, who'd been speechless for a second, didn't even have time to reply when another voice roared out of nowhere "Y/n !!!! I've heard your call to battle throughout the domain !"

"What are you talking about-" you said in disbelief. The boy in the boar mask continued, running towards you at full speed "I accept your challenge and we're going to fight in sweat and blood until we die. To establish the new king of the mountain-"

Genya reacted at full speed, his arm going in front of you to protect you from Inosuke's assault "Back off !" he growled, nearly knocking one of the papers out of one of his nostrils. He quickly put it back, wiping away the drop of blood that had run down.

"Get out of the way, it's just the two of us-" but he didn't even have time to make a single move when someone stopped him. You recognized him, it was the man from earlier. The one who had agreed, thanks to Tanjiro, to help you get better at your breathing technique. He appeared behind Inosuke and struck him on the back of the head with the handle of his katana. The boy collapsed to the ground unconscious, as his mask rolled off, revealing his silky blue hair and oddly angelic face.

You and Genya looked dumbfounded "Don't worry, Tanjiro will come and get him" said the young man with black hair and a two-tone haori jacket in a very monotone voice.

Then he resumed "I'm counting on you not to be late tomorrow" you could only nod frantically as you looked at the Water Hashira standing in front of you "Very well. Have a good evening" he said and finally left.

Genya for his part was stunned "Y-you... he's going to teach you ?!?" he was so impressed and surprised that he almost lost his stammer.

"Well it looks like it. I still have to thank Tanjiro for Tomioka-san's willingness to take me on as an apprentice" you said, watching Inosuke on the ground before turning your gaze back to Genya. He saw your hand come dangerously close to his face "You've got blood there" you said, wiping the blood from above his upper lip.

Suddenly he grabbed your hand, the air thickened around you for a moment. All he wanted was to bring your body closer to his own, although he felt totally powerless against you "Ah, I've finally found you !" a voice beamed from the forest. He immediately let go of your wrist as Tanjiro walked in your direction. Once there he gave you a big smile before picking up Inosuke who had been forgotten on the ground "I tried to keep an eye on him Y/n I swear but he rushed off when he heard the shots"

"It's nothing Tanjiro, don't worry. But I'm beginning to think I'll end up doing this fight. At least to tell him I'm not trying to take over his territory" you laughed.

"I hope you trained well today, because tonight Kanjori-san is inviting us to a feast" he exclaimed. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your lips. You liked the Love Hashira so much. You'd finally found someone who loved good food as much as you did. She was always so kind and expressive. You couldn't wait. But you couldn't go just like that.

"Genya, would you honor us with your presence tonight ? Please ? Pretty please ?" you asked, making puppy dog eyes. And how could he resist you when you looked so adorable "Y-yeah sure" he smiled feeling his heart swell at the idea that you still wanted to spend time with him.

Tanjiro smiled proudly as he saw you walking along the path towards Mitsuri's house while he carried Inosuke a little behind. He was really looking forward to seeing how your relationship would evolve in the end. And even Mitsuri seemed to sense the bubbling feelings between you when she saw you both coming. And of course she couldn't help but give you a bone crushing hug. Causing another wave of blood to flow from Genya's nose.

Bonus :

"Y/n-chan you have blood on your haori" Zenitsu said pointing at your shoulder.

You chuckled before taking a tissue and wiping it "It happens more than you think"

On the other side of the table Genya was for some reason choking on his... erm nothing because he didn't eat. He only came for you. But at least you had a good evening and for him that all that mattered.

A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🍨🍗 Again my requests are open 🥐🥗

A/ n 2 : My sister also reminded me that Genya and Sanemi didn't talk to each other anymore and that Genya wanted to become a Hashira just to be better than his brother. I totally forgot and that's so sad. I hop to see them draw closer again in the future. Please no spoilers 🥰

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

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bringthekaos · 2 months

Note

Jayce accidentally taking Viktor's pain meds and 47 minutes later he is zoned out to the next plane of existence like ( °__°)

I can definitely see this happening, in the early days before they’ve really cemented each other’s routines and patterns. Jayce keeps some mild painkillers in the lab for his headaches (you know, the ones he gets because he stays up until 3am and drinks exclusively coffee). They’ve got a big deadline coming up, so they’ve been going going going, pretty much nonstop for several days—switching off dozing on the cot in the corner for an hour or two here and there, and then getting right back to work.

Jayce gets one of his headaches late one afternoon, and in his sleep-deprived delirium, he just blindly reaches for the bottle on the desk and pops one dry. If he were more alert, he might have noticed the unfamiliar shape, the texture which is much grainier than it should be. But as it is, he just gets back to work…

For about half an hour, when the words on the chalkboard start to double up, and his hand is so tingly he keeps dropping the chalk. He takes a step back, thinking maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation finally catching up to him, but this feels… different. He feels drunk and disoriented, and he’s definitely not going to get any work done like this. So he slurs a quick “m’gunna take a break,” and slinks over to his chair, plopping down in it with not an ounce of grace.

And within ten minutes, he’s in the fucking stratosphere.

Viktor doesn’t immediately notice, as he just kept working when Jayce said he was taking a break. But when he posits a question and receives a suspiciously cat-like sound in return, he spins around and finds Jayce poured over his chair like a being of far fewer bones.

And it hits him—his eyes dart to Jayce’s desk, where Viktor realizes he accidentally set down his bottle of painkillers when last he took them.

First he lets loose the equivalent of George Carlin’s seven dirty words you can’t say on television in his native tongue, then he gets to work—he fetches Jayce a glass of water and forces him to sit up and drink at least half of it. He wets a washrag and runs it over Jayce’s forehead and the back of his neck. And after an astronomical amount of struggle, he gets Jayce onto his feet and guides him, uncoordinated and stumbling over to the cot, apologizing profusely the whole way, even though he knows Jayce is tripping balls and likely won’t remember a thing Viktor is saying. But he still apologizes, because he feels awful—this is his fault, he set his bottle down on the wrong desk in his exhaustion.

Viktor ends up having to finish a majority of the presentation on his own, while Jayce recovers. He sleeps a little of it off, but he also spends a decent amount of time talking absolute gibberish and writing several pages of nonsense in his journal. But eventually it starts to wear off, and Jayce slowly gets back to work.

They both learn a lot from the experience—namely to be more vigilant with where they set things, and what they’re picking up. But Jayce also learns a lot about his partner—he now understands why Viktor has to take a small break about an hour after he takes his medication, why he gets sluggish and lethargic. He also realizes why Viktor typically gets a little quiet and unresponsive in that time—his brain is fighting the fog, but it can only fight one battle at a time.

So he vows to make a routine of it—taking breaks when Viktor does, giving him some peace and quiet for a few minutes as he levels out. And eventually, it’s a story they can laugh at—reminiscing on those early days when that practiced waltz around each other in the lab was more like a toddler dancing on their father’s feet. It’s also when Viktor starts teasing him about being a lightweight, and that’s a joke that survives well into their divorce era.

#arcane #jayvik #Jayce talis #arcane Jayce #arcane viktor #Viktor arcane #the ol’ drug mixup #lab safety who’s she?#asks #ace answers

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apprenticestanheight · 5 months

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Adam being found in the trap and the reader helping him recover afterwards? Love ur stuff!!!

Peaceful- Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

hi!! Thank you for sending this in--I know it's been a couple of weeks but thank you and I'm sorry it's taken so long. Life and demotivation and bad object permanence have all gotten in the way recently and so this request slipped away from my mind for a while there, but if you're reading, anon, I really do hope this was worth the wait!

Fic type- this is a somewhat healthy balance of angst and fluff, though the angst is a bit heavy so the scales might be somewhat uneven

Warnings- this is very unedited oops

Adam is found only thanks to Lawrences insistences as he's put onto a stretcher. Lawrence had mustered what limited strength he had left to tell paramedics to get the cops to investigate the building he'd crawled out of, and thankfully they'd listened.

Adam is found four days out from his initial capture, and in that time you'd been worried sick. Scott had given you Xanax from a buddy of a buddy just to get you to calm down, and even then, despite looking calm on your exterior, your mind was clouded with thoughts of Adam and such remained as you haggled the police to start looking for him.

Your entire body pretty much floods with relief when you answer an unknown caller from the landline and hear the voice of a nurse, informing you that you were the first person on Adam Stanheights emergency contact list and that he was in the hospital, being treated for a severe shoulder wound that had been left to fester for nearly a week.

You go see him the day after you're called, and Adam manages a small smile when he sees you entering the room, wearing one of his sweaters and likely harboring his last known pack of cigarettes in the pocket so that you could calm yourself down with an excuse to go outside when you got the jitters.

"Thief," Adam says, adjusting his bed so that he's sitting up. His shoulder is in wicked pain and he wants to be mad about it but seeing you has pretty much made feeling anything other than relief impossible. "My sweater, probably my cigarettes too."

Adam laughs when you freeze, clearly not having meant to walk in while he was awake, let alone feeling brazen. You approach and sit in the weird comfortable-but-not reclining chair on his left, lightly hitting the space near his thigh as you do.

"Shut up," you murmur. "It smelled like you, okay? And as for the cigarettes--yes, I did steal them but that was because they looked lonely, and I figured it was a few days where I didn't have to buy a pack. Haggling the police is stressful enough, I deserved a break."

"You haggled the police?" Adam asks. "Isn't that grounds for harassment?"

"Well, one very angry FBI agent made sure to make that clear to me the day before you were found, but I don't have any regrets. I was worried--worried to the point of Scott feeling the need to get me fuckin' Xanax."

Adam snorts, scoffing a little. "He knows a few dealers who've been bugging him to start feeding them clientele," he says. "Of course he'd use my disappearance as the opportunity to buy a bottle. Fucking lunatic."

You grab his hand before you can think about it, and Adam interlaces your fingers without a second thought.

"Are you okay if I spend a few days at yours when I'm released?"

"Of course," you nod. "Yeah--however much time you want, you can spend it at mine."

Adam looks at you, for a minute, like you're the reason that there are stars in the sky at night. You bring his hand to your lips and press a kiss against it, telling him to rest because he'd been trapped for four days and could probably use some to replace the sleep he'd missed out on.

He makes a quip about how little he'll sleep when he's at yours, closes his eyes and rests his cheek against his pillow as you scoff, saying: "You wish, Stanheight," as he drifts off.

Adam gets released a week later, and when he comes to stay at your place, you learn that Adam has a whole new host of fears to accompany the trauma of being trapped with what seemed like no way out.

He doesn't really like the dark and is afraid of the water, and just about anything is small enough to set off his anger issues or make him start quipping, sarcasm dripping from his tone like no tomorrow.

Of course, that ends up culminating in a fight between the two of you, which are rare to speak of because you've just--you've rarely fought.

It's something that Adam prides himself on--despite thinking of himself as an inherently angry person, he's not prone to flipping his lid as much as he used to be.

You two had been together for three years at that point, and Adam was very anger prone during the opening stages of your relationship so fights were common, but he'd done his best and worked on it and two years and nine months gone, he'd stopped being so quick to anger with regard to you. He kept himself in check because fighting was exhausting and he hated fighting with you as it were, so communication had become a big thing for you two and it was one of the reasons the two of you were so tight knit.

But then, after his trap, Adam stopped communicating because he knew you wouldn't understand and what was the point in talking if you wouldn't get it? Adam had stopped communicating with regard to that because it was just--he thought it was easier that way.

But of course, you didn't feel the same. You felt like he was shutting you out and you hated that, and it all culminated some night in the middle of September.

"You're just--you're not getting it!" You're shouting, standing by the fridge where Adam sits at the dining room table. "You're not understanding my perspective, Adam. Pete's sake, it's like trying to talk to a goddamned brick wall."

"There's nothing to understand, Y/N!" Adam fires back. "There's nothing to discuss, okay? I'm fine! I've been fine--everything is fine with me and you thinking otherwise is not helping because you're trying to pry to get answers and I just fuckin' hate that shit, and you know it, and you're doing it to aggravate me!"

"I'm not doing anything to aggravate you, Adam," you pause, turning around and pressing your forehead against the steel of your fridge. You let your eyes close. "I'm trying to fucking understand, okay?"

"There's nothing to understand!" Adam screams. "I was put into a trap, okay? I was shot and I killed someone and I was left for fucking dead--you don't get that. It's not your job to get that, and I'm not asking you to so stop trying!"

"I want to understand, Adam," you try to keep your voice level. "I want to understand because I want to help you, all right? I want to make sure that you're okay because you're clearly incapable of doing so yourself so someone fucking has to!"

"You're a goddamned lunatic," Adam shouts. "Fuck, I fell in love with a lunatic! Good job, me! I don't need help, Y/N. I'm not worthy of a fucking pity party, nor am I your goddamned charity case. Stop trying to fix me--I'm fine, okay? And when I say I'm fine, you need to either believe it or get the fuck out of my life!"

You mull over the words for maybe ten seconds before you speak again.

"Get out," you say, voice monotonous. "Get the fuck out of my apartment, Adam. If you want me gone, then you have to leave because I sure as hell am not going anywhere."

Adam sighs. "Fine," he says. "If that's how you wanna be, then I'll go. We're done."

"Whatever you say, Stanheight," you shrug. "If you don't want help, then fine. I won't give it to you, but I'm not going to stick around just for you to shut me out. That is not who I am and I will not be that person just to give you comfort."

You don't look at him, only hear his footsteps and the wall-shaking slam of the door signaling that he's gone.

Once he's left, you move to the counter, brace your hands against it and start quietly crying.

Adam goes to his apartment, finding solace in both the bottle of whiskey that sits in one of his cabinets and the stray cat he's been feeding since he moved in.

Two and a half days go by before Adam is at your apartment, an apology on the tip of his tongue and your favorite CDs in a care basket he carries, that he had to buy with two last minute PI jobs that he hopes the Jigsaw killer isn't going to bust his ass for.

You answer the door within thirty seconds after Adam knocks, and selfishly Adam is kind of relieved to sere you look as much of a wreck as he does.

He grins sadly at you. "I don't wanna break up," he says. "I don't know why I said that, and I'm really sorry--this trap shit has messed me up and I swear, I didn't mean to take it out on you."

You look about ready to collapse in his arms, but you at least have the decency to let him in first, nodding your agreement as you do. Once the door closes, Adam puts the basket onto the floor and hugs you as tightly as he can muster.

"'M sorry, baby," he says, finally letting out the guilt that has had two days to fester. "I didn't mean to snap, I swear."

"I know," you nod. "I know, Adam, and I know that I can't understand what you've been through but I just--I want to help you, okay? I know you're not okay because I can see it, and I just want to make sure you know I care. I'm sorry if I've been overbearing about it but I just--seeing you like you've been lately? I love you so much, but it's been unbearable. I hate it because I know you're in pain and you're not letting me help."

He pulls away just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, holding your face like he has his entire world between his palms.

"I don't want you to feel like you need to try and fix me," Adam murmurs as your hands find his forearms. You run your hands up and down them, trying to soothe both his anxiety and your own. "I don't need to be fixed, Y/N, and I don't wanna be. I don't wanna be a charity case, okay? If I'm too fucked up you're allowed to let me go."

"You're not a charity case, Stanheight," you say it with a laugh following along through your words, and as Adam presses another lingering kiss to your forehead he knows you're smiling. "Even if I wanted you to be, you wouldn't let me turn you into one. I just wanna--I wanna know, what's happened to you and what I can to do help you when the going gets tough, all right? That's all I'm asking for, I promise."

"Okay," Adam murmurs, and he knows he's agreeing to it both for his sake and your own. He didn't want to lose you but he also needed someone, and so it worked out in it's own mysterious way. "I can do that, Y/N."

And then he's pulling away just enough to meet your gaze, and you have a tear running down your cheek, but you're smiling.

"I love you," you whisper.

Adam leans in and you let him kiss you in a way that says that he loves you more, in a way that says every single thing that Adam cannot find it in himself to speak at the current.

Adam opens up to you that night. It happens long after you've eaten your Chinese food and before you've bothered to light candles in order to save on your light bill, but the conversation is very long and ends up with Adam having a break down while you press a soothing kiss to his forehead and he asks if you have any bowls to smoke so that he can ease his anxieties. All in all, though, you both end up thinking it's worth it because, by the conversations end, you're on the same wavelength again and that is one of the best feelings in both of your experiences.

You quickly devise strategies to distract him when his anxiety kicks up, be it with a story of a stray you saw while on a walk through the Jersey gardens or offering to watch a crappy 60s era horror movie after you've smoked a bowl or two. You learn what his tells are, when something is triggering his trauma, and along with learning his tells you learn to act accordingly.

Like, when a few weeks after he's escaped, a story of possible Jigsaw victims in Mexico makes it to your local news channel and his anxiety kicks back in despite the fact Mexico and Jersey are a good enough distance away from each other, you notice the first of his tells.

The first of his tells is the fact that his gaze moves to his hands. He scrutinizes his nails at first and will start picking at them with a moments notice, so you stop that. You change the channel to one of the ones that just plays adorable cat segments on loop and grin as you steal his hand away from his gaze, interlacing your fingers with his and using that as a means to lift his arm. Lifting his arm in turn allows you to move closer and let go of his hand as you drape his arm across your shoulders and press a kiss to his jawline as he smiles nervously.

"Everything is okay," you say, grinning in as much of an assured manner as you can. "He's still on the loose, sure, but he's on the loose in Mexico. That's not nearly as scary as him being on the loose here."

"You're trying to help," Adam murmurs. "Thank you for trying, but talking about him isn't really helpful."

You think on the next topic of conversation for a solid twelve seconds.

"Well, how's the stray you've been feeding?"

"Graycie? She's good! Been looking for a new place and I think I'll just bring her with me when I go. Found a decent job last week so all I have to do is find a place within range and I'm pretty much set."

"Move in with me," you suggest, blurting the words out before you can stop yourself. "I mean--it's been three years anyway and the rent here is only a third of the paycheck I make working in marketing so you realistically don't have to pay any at all! You can cover groceries or utilities or something, if you're adamant about contributing. The building is also pet friendly so there's definitely that."

Adam blinks surprisedly, mouth open in somewhat shock. "You're--you're sure?"

"It's either you move in or you life in the building you were taken from, which also has roaches," you shrug. "Plus--the bed gets really lonely at night without you and your intense body heat. I can help you move out, Adam, and we can live together, share a car, do all of the silly couple shit."

Adams face breaks out into a grin, and he nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'll do silly couple shit with you, Y/N, including moving in--long as I get to bring the stray with me."

"I thought the two of you were a package deal," you laugh. "Of course--I'm eager to meet the stink, anyway."

Adam laughs, presses several kisses along the scope of your jawline and by your earlobe, and suddenly what originated as a need to stop his anxious mind from being as it does has turned into a rather momentous, joyous occasion that would probably call for a bottle of wine if it weren't five o'clock on an October Monday.

all in all, your existence becomes a very peaceful one, even when you have to help Adam through bouts where the trauma comes up in the form of memories and triggers.

It's a peaceful existence, and it is one that you love for it's peace.

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw (2004)

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perplexingluciddreams · 3 months

Text

I wish I have a place to sit that actually supports my hypotonic body properly. Every place I sit hurts my body and makes additional pain and damage.

My muscles get so fatigued, especially on the left side. And it makes such a deep hot ache in the muscles.

The best option I have is bed, sitting very reclined (closer to lying down than sitting) with pillows behind. I still slide down and have bad posture and it exacerbates pain.

I have a specialised chair downstairs, which my OT got for me. Unfortunately, it still doesn't work for me despite adjusting every possible thing on it several times. In fact, I can't even sit in it because it makes me so sore. I hoped for so long that I would get something like this to help me, and it still doesn't work at all. I know I am fortunate to even get this option, but it is really upsetting and disappointing that it doesn't help me. Not to mention how much of a struggle it is to get downstairs in the first place (not only because of this issue, but many compounded issues).

I have trouble holding my head up for a long time, so I put it back a lot which means I struggle even more to make my eyes look at computer screen (because have motor control issue with make eye gaze go to where I want and focus on the right thing).

I also can't lift my arms to use them, even for only a wee bit more than a handful of seconds at a time, without many days of pain. I rest my phone on my chest or stomach and prop it up with my left hand (causing left arm pain), using my right hand to tap the screen or type with swipe-to-type.

I rest my arms as best as I possibly can, but that involves using other muscle groups as substitutes (arching my back to raise my chest, taking deep breaths and holding it to again raise my chest/stomach, etc.), so I get sore and fatigued in my entire torso from the simple task of using my phone.

Any other place I sit during the day (toilet/toilet seat, bath lift, bath, stair lift, downstairs chair) is even MORE work for my already weak and deconditioned and fatigued muscles, so it causes more fatigue and pain. I am too weak and have too low muscle tone to support my own body weight.

I don't have words to emphasise how limiting it is to not be able to support your own body properly. I struggle even to sit in a chair - that most people would consider highly supportive and comfortable - for 20 minutes. And then I spend days recovering from that.

I know I post several positive things about physio achievements recently, which is all still true! But walking is such a different thing, because active movement is aided by momentum (and AFO braces to support my wobbly ankles and bendy knees). Being still is an entirely different thing, because gravtivy fully takes over and pulls my floppy body down with its own weight.

I would have so much more energy and ability to do things if I didn't need to spend so much precious effort on simply keeping my body as well supported as possible, to prevent present and future pain (and recover from past pain).

I just want to be comfortable.

#from the chaos of my mind #autism #autistic #physical disability #physically disabled #hypotonia #low muscle tone #mecfs #cfsme #me/cfs #cfs/me #myalgic encephalomyelitis #chronic fatigue syndrome #chronic pain

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darklinsblog · 1 year

Text

Dating Morpheus as Raven from Titans

Author’s note: This GIF is mine and it is surprisingly high quality omg! Please give credits if you use.

Your first meeting with Morpheus was quite… unusual as you had united forces to go against Lucifer.

In fact, he came to you as he figured to make Lucifer stand back into peaceful terms was you.

“I knew you would come”

“I presume you then know what my proposition is”

“Well I can’t protect this world if it is consumed by the one and only Satan”

Morpheus had invited you to the Dreaming to work out a plan together.

Undoubtedly, you became close

You bonded as your souls were perceived as dark, sombre.

When all you wanted to do was good.

He realized he loved you as you were severely injured.

The days you spend on the Dreaming to recover were the longest for Morpheus.

He felt like he could finally breathe as you opened your eyes.

From the minute you were safe and sound, he confessed his feelings.

It was comforting to know he was corresponded.

He promised from that day forward he would never let you come to any harm.

Morpheus gifted you a crow as a sign of his love and commitment to you.

It was too, some sort of tribute to you, as your superhero name was Raven.

Although you were very capable of taking care of yourself, it was reassuring to know he would be there if you needed.

It came to the ears of Trigon about your relationship with Morpheus

He of course, tried to use it against you, but Morpheus was the living and breathing representation of Dreams.

“You should not worry for me, my beautiful Y/N”

“My father has ruined many things in my life, I don’t want to add this to the list”

Morpheus knew about your past, so he could understand your fear of losing him.

You knew about his years of imprisonment.

You were very protective of each other

His enemies were scared of you, coming from an alternative dimension nobody knew the extents of your power.

…and nobody wanted to find out

Messing with you, meant they would have to respond to the Lord of Dreams

Because Morpheus with dreams, there are also nightmares.

The King had no trouble in becoming anybody’s worst nightmare in the flesh.

Because no one would touch his beautiful raven.

#the sandman comics #sandman imagine #sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus dream #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #tom sturridge x reader #sandman shitpost #tom sturridge #morpheus sandman #morpheus imagines #sandman x y/n #morpheus x reader #morpheus #morpheus x you #dream x reader

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vorchagirl · 4 months

Note

Oooooh! What's happening in 'from the edge of the deep green sea'? I see Harry and Sara and a winky face. I must know

So, this was the sequel fic I was writing for Harry & Sara that followed on from Girl From Mars and Mountains In The Sky.

It's several disconnected moments currently and would need some serious writing to finish. The first is Harry desperately trying to save Alec & Sara in the shuttle after being picked up from Habitat 7 and realising Alec is gone, and Sara might not make it either.

Another moment is Harry trying to end things with Sara after she recovered, and her stubbornly refusing to let him walk away when he's all she has left.

Annnd the final moment is smut, lol. It's also the first time that they say I love you to each other. Hopefully I can finish it soon because its got a lot of promise, and In love these two!

I'll throw a snippet down below:

From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea

“Harry!” Cora’s voice, tight with alarm. “Harry, we need you! We’re losing Sara!”

Reality crashed back.

It was the use of Sara’s name that snapped him out of it. It broke through the clinical numbness like a stone smashing a pane of glass. Loud. Inescapable. Sharp. Her name, the desperation in Cora’s tone, the shrieking of the alarms that signalled that something was very wrong with her, it crashed upon him and sent a surge of adrenaline spiking through him.

Harry froze.

Sara. Oh god. His Sara.

This was what he had been frightened of from the moment he’d discovered that the beautiful brunette he’d hooked up with at the Nexus’ farewell party was Alec Ryder’s daughter. And every time they’d given in and seen each other since it had been like a nail being driven into a coffin, an inevitable foreshadowing of something horrible looming ahead of them.

But she’d laughed when he’d brought up professional ethics. Hell, she’d even joked about finding doctors sexy, her green eyes flashing with amusement. And dammit, he had gone along with her.

He’d been so caught up in Sara Ryder, had been so hungry for one more minute in her arms, of her taste and touch and smell, that he would have done anything. She was like a drug he couldn't get out of his system. And she seemed equally taken with him, though Harry was damned if he could understand why a gorgeous young woman like her was spending her time with a man twice her age.

He’d been a fool.

They both had.

#mass effect andromeda #harry carlyle #sara ryder #my writing

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jane-friend · 1 month

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Okay I ought to explain the situation :u

My dad had a heart attack and was without oxygen for 18 minutes and suffered a lot of brain damage. He was in ICU for a week totally unconscious, and this week he’s in a proper hospital room. His physical condition is somewhat stable(although he still does need open heart surgery), but he’s in an extreme state of delirium and has amnesia, on top of severely impaired motor skills. We were advised to have a family member over at all times to keep him company and talk to him during the day, but the problem is that most of the family lives far away, so it’s mostly been up to me and my stepmom to watch over him. We take turns spending days and nights with him, and at night our main job is to prevent him from ripping out his various tubes.

Fortunately he’s recovering very fast, but it’s been extremely hard on us. My stepmom and I basically dropped everything to look after him. I’m burning all my PTO and will probably need to resort to FMLA because I spend too much time at the hospital to work. And it’s also just hard to see one of the kindest most charismatic people in my life reduced to a shell of the person he was. Even on the nights I get to spend at home, I still can’t sleep because I keep hearing his incoherent mumbling and crying in my mind. But, like, I’m not the one who had the heart attack so I shouldn’t complain too much :y

I didn’t really want to bring it up because Tumblr, for better or worse, was my one little bastion of normalcy, but honestly being vague about being at the hospital wasn’t helping and too many people have asked if I’m okay so now you guys know what’s going on. Please send my dad all your love and support so that he’ll become powerful and regain his old personality and break out of the hospital ❤️

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silentmoths · 1 year

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As Fragile as a Brick wall

Masterlist||First||Previous||Next

I realized if i didnt get this chapter out soon, ya'll probably wouldnt be getting one till like, june. tears of the kingdom drops on friday boissss

Chapter 8: ding dong, sneznhaya calling

Zhongli x Afab (fem pronoun) Reader

NSFW elements in later chapters

Multi-chapter, Royal AU, angst, mentions of death, eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

(Wonderful header image made by the wonderful @ainescribe)

The unfortunate part about agreeing to help Zhongli with this was…well, helping Zhongli.

In the weeks leading up to the arrival of their Ambassador, you had to give Zhongli a crash course in how to impress a Sneznhayan. The northernmost kingdom was often seen as icy and distant, but once you got to know their customs, it was not as difficult as one would think.

However, despite your help, he still insisted you spend the next few weeks resting in your chambers, recovering from your broken rib, which meant it was you and he, stuck in very close quarters as you explain every little detail. You had spent plenty of time in the land of snow in the years he had been gone, after all, you had been set to marry their prince…which is why they were now upset with Zhongli.

“So what was the prince like, anyway?” He asks you one day as you go over things again with him, you wince.

“Ugh Ajax?” you grumble “I mean…he’s alright? He’s not actually the Tsaritsa’s kid…apparently she could never conceive, so she adopted him.”

Zhongli raises an eyebrow as he looks up from his paperwork “Truly? I’m sure there’s some sort of loophole we could exploit there…” “Don’t try.” You warn him “She loves Ajax more than life itself. It’ll just make more problems.”

Zhongli hums, leaning his head against this hand as he watches you.

“Did you like Ajax?” He asks after a moment.

“Like I said, he’s alright…but he…I dunno…there’s something about him that always kinda freaked me out?”

“Oh? Do explain.” Zhongli presses, watching as your brow furrows.

“It’s… hard to explain I guess.” you start with a sigh “Sometimes he’s great…he’s funny, smart…a genuinely cool person to hang out with…I would consider him a friend.”

Zhongli notes the conflicted look upon your face, and the way you fall silent as you consider you next words, he finds himself invested, what on earth was wrong with the prince of the snow to cause his own little love such confusion?

“Sometimes it’s like…a switch would flick in him.” You eventually manage out after several long minutes of trying to figure out the right words. “So…Ajax has always been interested in combat, he’s a member of the royal guard as well as being the prince….right?”

Zhongli nods, not entirely unheard of…hell, the king had once spoken to Zhongli about the potential of his sons, her brothers, joining the guard…an idea Zhongli had quickly discouraged because…to be honest, they wouldn’t have survived a day.

“No one will spar against him.”

“I mean, he’s the prince-” Zhongli adds.

“No you don’t understand, Zhongli. It’s not that no one will fight him because of his status…it’s because those foolish enough to fight him…don't usually come out in one piece…literally.”

At first, He thinks she’s joking, but he can see it in her eyes, that… haunted look, and he finds himself invested.

“Like I said…it’s a switch…the moment combat happens… he goes from this sweet, kinda goofy guy to… the only words I have for it is… bloodthirsty monster” you sigh.

“Hm…he seems a rather… interesting character…”

“That’s a word for it.” You huff.

“And what of this Ambassador? Do you happen to know him?”

At this, you perk up a little “Yes actually! I’ve met him a couple of times… he’s one of the funny ones that goes by a weird name.” “You mean like the captain of the guard is literally called Capitano?” Zhongli snorts, you nod.

“Yep, just like that.” you sigh “His name is Pantalone- Don’t you start!”

“Start what?” Zhongli snickers, receiving a pillow to the face “His name is pants-”

“ I know!” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose “I know his name is pants.”

Sometimes…

Sometimes you found Zhongli’s presence a little less frustrating than you used to

—-

“Um…your highness-” Zhongli mutters from beside you.

“I see him.” you grunt; already feeling a vein ready to pop in your head “I thought you said they were sending the Ambassador”

“They said they were”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already you were very tired of today. Sure your rib had been healed for several weeks, but it had been a very long time since you’d had to dress up this fancily… and you’d even broken out the formalwear the Tsaritsa had tailored for you upon your first visit to them.

“So why then…am I seeing the prince…and his happy gaggle of men…approaching the castle?” you ask, your voice is terse and thin, this was not what was meant to happen, even Zhongli looks absolutely and utterly confused.

“You know him better than I do…” Zhongli sighs, also looking equally as uncomfortable. For all the king he was, it was not often that he had to dress so regally, even you knew he was far more used to chainmail and plate, not heavy, ornate suits.

“Is it to late to back out-”

“Absolutely.”

”Damn.” you sigh, this was about to get…*uncomfortable*

You find yourself standing beside the throne: on Zhongli’s right, as the throne room doors burst open. In the corner of your eye you see both Zhongli’s grip on the arms of the throne tighten, and Xiao, stationed to his left, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword as your ex-fiance bounds into the room like an unruly child.

There is a moment where all is still, as if time stops as his eyes land on you.

And in the next moment, he’s sprinting towards the throne, manic look upon his boyish features. You see Zhongli poise to stand, Xiao taking hold of his sword properly, and then you’re engulfed by strong, and unfortunately familiar arms as Ajax laughs warmly.

This was what you were afraid of.

The prince lifts you from your feet and twirls you like you weigh nothing, as you spin, you spy Ganyu, by the doors, her eyes wide in shock at his display.

“My little krolik!” Ajax laughs as he finally ceases the godawful spinning and sets you down, his eyes are bright and his smile is wide as he looks you up and down. “It’s so good to see you again!”

You don't see it, but you can feel the absolute fury radiating off of Zhongli when Ajax leans in to do exactly what you knew he’d do next, and you thankfully, shift your head in time. He kisses you, thanks to your quick movement, it’s only on the corner of your mouth, before he continues kissing affectionately up your cheek and to your forehead.

If it wasn't for the fact you were trying to pry this idiot prince off you, you probably would have found this situation funny, but there was no room for ruining Zhongli’s day here.

“Ajax…I wasn’t expecting you.” You finally manage to huff out as you push the overly affectionate prince away, but he simply grins, totally uncaring that he’s not yet introduced himself to the King, right beside him. “We were told Ambassador Pantalone-”

“Oh! Yeah as soon as I heard ol’ Pants was being sent here I immediately took over! I wanted to see you again my darling krolik!” Ajax interjects “I wanted to make sure you were alright!”

“Ajax.” you sigh, shaking your head, you knew he was impulsive but this? This was something else entirely. “I know I left in a hurry last time but have you no faith in my abilities?”

“Ahem…” Xiao is the one to finally save you with his well timed, if not violently forced cough, snapping the prince’s attention away from you and to Zhongli, who is raising a none-too-impressed eyebrow at the boy.

“Oh, Right! Heya!”

Heya… this idiot has just come all the way from his home country as the representative…and he greets the king with a heya.

You’re sure the sound of your palm making contact with your face echoes loudly throughout the throne room.

—-

You are thankful that after such a long trip, dinner and sleep is the only thing on Ajax and his men’s minds, you personally escort Ajax to his room and bid him goodnight, if only to know he would no longer bother you. Considering he’d all but attached himself to your arm the entire day, just like he did every time you had been to Sneznhaya since being promised to him.

You did your best to keep him from saying anything… inflammatory in front of Zhongli, you didn't want a war breaking out, but goddamn you also did not want to be here.

Even if watching Zhongli’s eye twitch every time Ajax got affectionate with you was somewhat entertaining.

In order to return to your own chambers from the guest wing, you find yourself shambling past the king’s study…you didn’t even notice the lantern lit inside, until you hear your name called from within.

Zhongli sits, at his desk, a bottle of a fine looking, amber coloured liquid in his hand. As you poke your head inside, he grabs not one, but two glasses.

Honestly after the day you’d had? You don't question it, entering silently and shutting the door behind you before you drop, ungraciously, into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, with enough force that the pile of paperwork set upon the mahogany and gold tabletop shudders.

It’s silent, as Zhongli sets down both glasses and pours the whiskey, there is silence as you take your glass.

There is silence as he raises his own and clinks it against yours and there is silence as you both throw back the drinks.

”That is a prince!?” Zhongli howls as he slams down his glass, the paperwork gives another shudder.

”Excuse you.” you grunt ”that. Is my ex-fiance!”

Zhongli snorts at the exact moment you crack a small grin, he motions for you to hold out your glass again as he refills his own. You share another shot in silence.

“He is aware that he is an ex, yes?” He asks, you shrug.

“He should! I mean…even his mother knows…”

“Is he stupid?”

You look over your glass at Zhongli, raising a single eyebrow.

He pours you another glass as an apology for a stupid question.

“If you are as smart a man as I remember, you will have more of this on hand.” you eventually mumble as you turn the amber liquid around in your glass “we’re going to need it.”

Zhongli scoffs at you.

“This is the youngest of my collection.”

“By the time this is over, we’ll need the vintage.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmothwrites #moth is not silent #Moths fragile as a brick wall #Zhongli genshin #Zhongli x reader

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densi-mber · 5 months

Text

Purpose

A/N: Oh yes, we’re back with my favorite storyline to hate.

***

Most days, Deeks was pretty good at keeping himself distracted from his current situation as a FLETC cadet. For the most part, it involved filling every spare moment he could do he didn’t have time to consider anything else. If he was busy, if he was exhausted, then he didn’t have the time to consider the true suckiness of it all.

Then there were days like today. He’d barely slept last night after an insanely frustrating day, and today he knew he’d face more of the same. Now that their automatic biases had worn off, most of his instructors had come to like him, or at the very least, appreciate that he knew what he was doing. There were a couple though, that seemed insistent on trying to knock him down a peg whenever possible.

That usually meant setting him overly complicated tasks or calling on him with particularly difficult questions. All the while, Deeks simmered with the knowledge that he’d done this for a living for years. He didn’t need to simulate getting stuck in a car with a bomb, because he’d lived variations of that scenario a dozen times over.

When Deeks lost the positivity that most people knew him for, he did so spectacularly. His discontent turned to anger and melancholy, which quickly spiraled into a depression of sorts. Right now, he was still in the angry and unsettled state and after spending a sleepless night cooped up in his room, he needed to get out.

The campus kept a pretty strict curfew that lasted until six in the morning. As soon as it ended, Deeks hit one of the many trails surrounding the grounds. He’d become well acquainted with the dirt paths over the last several weeks between the daily mandatory runs and his own solo circuits.

The run didn’t help nearly as much as he’d hoped. Though it had depleted some of his anger, he’d also had ample time to mull over everything from the last several weeks, which didn’t improve his mood. By the time he made it back to his room, he was sore, sweaty, and still frustrated.

“Damn it,” he swore when he checked his phone just a little after 7, and found a missed call from Kensi. He called her back, but of course she didn’t answer. Spitting out a heartfelt and considerably less benign epithet, dropped onto the bed with a sigh.

Being away from Kensi might be the worst part. Aside from missing her desperately, every day he was gone, the chance that something terrible would happen increased. Kessler, some other vindictive criminal, or the usual dangers that came with their jobs.

His alarm letting him know there was 45 minutes before his first class came far too soon. He dragged himself back off the bed, and headed downstairs to the cafeteria. He through the stations on autopilot, collecting a random bowl of fruit, toast, and eggs, even though he wasn’t hungry, and chose a table as far back as possible.

“Hey Deeks,” Jake said, swinging in beside Deeks with his tray. Apparently the subtle request for space hadn’t worked. Deeks didn’t need to look to know Charlie and Omar weren’t far behind.

“Hey man.”

“We were thinking of getting in some practice at the range after ethics. You wanna join us? Give us some more tips.”

“Thanks, but I’m, uh, not really in the mood today,” Deeks told him. He fully intended to go back to his room and fall into bed the moment he finished with the day’s classes.

“Since when?” Charlie asked, digging into a pile of eggs. “Not to be rude, but you do kind of love to show off your marksmanship.”

“To be fair, he’s better than almost any other cadet. Even a couple teachers,” Omar added with a chuckle. “Don’t tell Ritcher I said that.”

“Guys, I appreciate the offer. I’m really not up to the banter right now,” Deeks snapped. There was a moment of silence, which was almost worse than the chatter.

Jake was the first to recover. “Woah. Did we do something to upset you?”

“Jake, give him some space,” Omar said softly.

“No, it’s ok.” Deeks sighed. “I’m sorry. You guys didn’t do anything. I am just…having a couple of rough days. I didn’t mean to take it out on any of you.”

“Hey, it happens, man.” Omar’s easy forgiveness almost drew a smile from Deeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not sure if you wanna hear me whine,” Deeks said.

“Eh, you’ve put up with trying to teach us law, we handle it,” Charlie decided, nudging Deeks shoulder. “You’ll feel better. And if you don’t, we’ll sneak in some beer.”

“Oh lord, just what I need. Contraband.” This time, Deeks actually did smile.

“So, what’s going on?” Charlie prompted again.

Sighing, Deeks tried to gather his tumultuous feelings into a cohesive thought. “Sometimes…it feels like me being here is pointless,” he started. “I mean, what am I really gaining from being here? Is a couple months of classes I don’t really need going to make a difference to either of the organizations that decided my skills are no longer or use them? I’m not helping my team. I’m certainly not supporting my team. And when this is over, I have no real guarantee that any of it will be worth it.”

He’d said more than he intended, and while it was certainly therapeutic to give a voice to his frustration, it felt like he’d provided potential ammunition.

“I disagree. You’ve made a huge difference and you do have a purpose,” Charlie argued unexpectedly. He almost looked angry, which was odd given the topic.

“How so?” Deeks asked.

Charlie gestured between himself, Omar, and Jake. “You’re looking at the evidence right here. You’ve taught us so much we never would have gotten on our own.”

“You would have been fine.”

“Maybe,” Omar said. “It would have been a lot harder. Even without the tutoring, you’ve been a mentor like no one else. You don’t judge or try to make things harder to prove a point.” He paused and looked directly at Deeks. “I know you’d rather be back with your team, and your family, but you do have a purpose here. Even if it’s not the one you expected.”

“What he said,” Jake said.

“That’s pretty smart,” Deeks murmured.

“Well, we learned from the best.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“It’s only fair, you’ve given us enough of them,” Charlie reasoned. “You feel better.”

“Minutely,” Deeks said honestly.

“Well, there’s still the option for some liquid cheer.”

Shaking his head, Deeks held his hands up. “As your lawyer and a cadet, I’m removing myself from this conversation before I’m implicated in any of this.”

“Sweet, we’ve got a lawyer,” Jake said enthusiastically.

As the banter continued, Deeks sat back. He wasn’t anywhere near happy, but he supposed it did help to know his time here wasn’t completely wasted.

***

A/N: If you’re unfamiliar with Charlie, Jake, and Omar, I have a whole AU FLETC storyline for Deeks that goes much differently that the canon events.

I’ve always figured that going to FLETC with Deeks’ level of experience and skill would be quite frustrating in many ways. He’d undoubtedly taken many of the courses as continuing ed as we saw in early on in the show and learned through hands-on experience.

#densimber 2023 #densimber 7.0 #densimber day 10 #ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #Deeks at FLETC #angst #mentions of Kensi #ncis la #au #by ejzah

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pteroducktyll · 9 months

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FtM Hysto Recovery + Tips (Plus general tips for dealing with low/no spoons or recovering from any surgery)

I haven't been on Tumblr for years, but recently re-joined to check out art, as I start to work on getting my idea for a graphic novel off the ground (as well as getting serious about improving my art again). However, I'm hoping these first few posts get found by an entirely different audience. This is being written in 2023.

I'm going in for a laparoscopic hysterectomy on Thursday (today is Monday) and want to share my experience, as much as spoons will allow, so that other people can hopefully benefit in the future. I, personally, have struggled to find things online that fit my situation as a trans man with a history of pre-cancerous pap smears, abnormal bleeding, PID and ovarian cysts (but not PCOS). Although hysterectomies for "GRS" or gender affirming surgery purposes are easy to get where I live, mine in particular is primarily being done to avoid cancer and to stop the abnormal bleeding and random debilitating pain that comes out of nowhere every few years and upends my life for weeks/months. So if you're someone facing the prospect of a laparoscopic hysterectomy, regardless of your gender identity, and have a history of medical issues (but not PCOS or endometriosis) in your reproductive region, this blog may help you! Or, alternatively, if you're a trans man looking to get a laparoscopic hysterectomy, whether or not you've had issues in that region, this might help you, too!

It should be noted that this is written from the perspective of someone in their 30s with a complicated medical history, including Type 2 Diabetes and a very rare kidney disease (which has an average life expectancy of 29 years for men, but we aren't sure how it affects trans men), so the pre-surgery process I've been through is not the typical one. I also have chronic pain and know from my past experiences with very severe pain that a) I have a low tolerance for any pain beyond what I deal with day-to-day and b) I have a high tolerance for opiate pain medication, which means it takes a higher dose for me to address the level of pain that a lower dose would address in someone else. These both affect the length of time that I'll likely need to be on painkillers, and how functional I'll be while I'm on them. This, in turn, affects how quickly I'll be able to do things like return to work and driving.

I should also note that although it's common in some places for this surgery to be completed as day surgery, my jurisdiction almost always keeps people in overnight; this is because it takes almost 24 hours for the anesthetic to work its way out of your system, and until it does they won't have a true indication of your pain levels and, therefore, won't be able to make sure it's adequately controlled before sending you home. It's much easier (in my experience, and according to the doctors!) to stop you from having pain in the first place than to get it under control once you do.

Also, I live with my partner and a roommate, and my retired parents are about 90 minutes away and have a guest room. My support network isn't huge, but it's high quality. My partner managed to get 3 days off work for my surgery and the 2 days following, and after that is on a light workload for about a week in case she needs to take care of me. She also has a lot of flexibility with her job, and her boss really likes me, so if there are complications or she needs to spend more time at home to look after me, I don't think it's completely out of the question. All of this is to say that I'm going into this surgery from a very privileged place, in terms of not having to do much to look after myself in the aftermath. My surgeon did advise me, however, to take 1 week (for sure) off work if I could, and that I may need a second week. My work consists of two research jobs that draw heavily on my brain power, but don't require me to move around at all, especially as I work from home, so the issue is the painkillers, rather than actual healing time. Other jobs will require different amounts of time off work.

Because I'm neurodivergent and like to have as many details as possible about ... literally everything, I'm going to make this as detailed as I can. Essentially, I'm hoping to share everything I know and experience without leaving anything out. If it's too much detail for you, I'm going to be doing my best to include useful headers.

Notification of Surgery & Lead-up

I received notice about my surgery just over a month before my surgery date; it was around June 26th that I was emailed and told my surgery would be on August 3rd. I had previously met my surgeon in January, and was told it would be a 6-8 month wait until surgery. Between that appointment and being given my surgery date, I'd had bloodwork done, as well as an internal ultrasound. I've had several internal ultrasounds before and while they are far from pleasant, they are not as dysphoria-inducing for me as they are for other trans men, I'm sure. I am more physically uncomfortable during them than mentally/spiritually uncomfortable.

In the notification email, my surgeon sent additional attachments; about 200 pages of information from a) their office specifically and b) the health authority [one document about hysterectomies, one document about recovering from surgery in general]. These documents answered most of my questions, and also had instructions about fasting, pre-surgery instructions (there's a special sponge I have to buy and use the night before surgery and the morning of surgery) and recovery information. The documents were very generic, and because they came from different sources, the information was sometimes contradictory. I, personally, took the information on board in this order of trustworthiness:

Things my surgeon had said in-person during my consultation appointment in January

Things included in the information from my surgeon's office directly

Things included in the documents from the health authority

If there were contradictions that seemed extremely important (e.g. one document said to wash everything my face with the special sponges, while another said, in all caps, to absolutely NOT wash my head or face with the sponges), I followed-up with the surgeon's office or the most appropriate person (e.g. pharmacist).

Pre-surgery Appointments

Because of my medical history (diabetes and Alport's Syndrome), I had an extra step in here. My surgeon required me to have a consultation with my internal medicine doctor's clinic (but not with my specialist) to get the all-clear and make sure my risk level wasn't too high. This doctor made some assumptions about the medications I'm taking, which led him to think I had both diabetes and a heart condition, which would have put me in a much higher risk category. Because of that, he ordered extra bloodwork, and an ECG, and booked a follow-up with me for a few days later. That initial appointment with him ended on the assumption that the surgery likely would be postponed. However, the bloodwork and ECG all came back fine, and at the follow-up he gave me the all-clear and said my risk wasn't very high at all.

I had a few other pre-surgery appointments.

One was with the surgeon. In my case, the doctor actually doing my surgery is a resident colleague of the surgeon I initially consulted with. Now that I had a specific date for the surgery, and my life situation had changed a bit since the consultation (e.g. work), I asked to meet with the surgeon to ask questions that had come up since the initial consultation, and so that I could meet the person who would be cutting into me and make sure I was comfortable with her. She answered all my questions really well, and it turned out I was more comfortable with her than the original surgeon. This was a quick 5-10 minute talk, but I highly recommend asking for it, even if your surgeon hasn't changed. You'll have another chance to talk to your surgery just before being wheeled into the OR, but you'll be nervous and may be medicated by then, and it's just nice to have this conversation ahead of time and in an environment where you can look at a list of questions you've written down, and actually pay attention to the answers.

The hospital required another two appointments before surgery:

The pharmacist

About a week before my surgery, the pharmacist called for 5-10 minutes to discuss my current medications, supplements, vitamins and holistic medicines (if I were taking any) and to find out what time of day I take them at. Easy peasy.

2. The anesthetist

Exactly a week before my surgery, the anesthetist called to discuss the operation itself and the anesthetic. I'm not sure if the doctor I talked to will be the anesthetist who is actually in the room with me, or if it was just her job that particular day to call and get the information that will get passed onto the one who will be in the room. She was very nice, and explained the method of anesthesia, as well as how I'll likely feel when I wake up, etc. She also saw on my chart that I have a history of chronic pain, and zeroed in on my back and shoulder. She asked if there are any positions that make me more comfortable, and then explained the position I'd be in for my surgery -- tipped back toward my head -- and that this sometimes gives people back and shoulder pain even if they don't have any to begin with. She said my arms would be alongside my body, fairly tight to it, and I said that would be fine. I practiced laying them beside my body later that day and promptly discovered that's actually pretty painful for one arm, but I'll mention that when I get there and hope for the best! If I was having the conversation again, I'd answer by saying I wasn't sure how that would feel but that I'd practice it before the surgery day to see, and then ask who I could talk to if it turned out there's a better position or if that one wouldn't work. Ultimately though, the surgery should be 1.5 hours to 4 hours at most, so I'm not overly concerned. What you should take away from this if you're having this surgery and don't already have back/shoulder pain is that you might wake up with some, but that it should go away in a day or maybe a little less. This type of surgery also requires the surgeon to inflate your belly with gas in order to make room for the scopes and so that they can see what they're doing. That gas can stick around for a day, sometimes two, according to the anesthetist and can be a little bit painful or uncomfortable. I can't remember anything else that came out of this conversation.

In terms of pre-surgery appointments, that was it.

Tips and Tricks for Being Prepared

The next little bit is information I acquired through talking to my therapist (who's had several laparoscopic surgeries!) and many hours of research online, as well as living as a person who often has few spoons.

Get your first 1-2 weeks of meals planned and ready in advance. For me, this means I've picked up a large number of cans of Alphaghetti-type foods, and I'll be buying as many frozen meals as I can but have VERY little freezer room because my partner and I share with our tenant. Other options include things like HelloFresh, identifying nights when it will be easier for your partner if you order food in (if you can afford to), making big batches of food leading up to surgery while you're well and then freezing them, creating a list of meals you'd appreciate friends bringing over [remind them to bring them in disposable containers, so you don't have to feel guilty when it takes you weeks to get the containers back to them!], etc

Buy some Depends/adult diapers. I bought store brand (Life brand, specifically, which is Canadian) ones. The only ones I could get were maximum absorbency unless I wanted to pay twice the price for name brand ones, but I suspect I could do with a minimum absorbency one. I bought the underwear-style ones. In the store brand, they don't look very underwear-like at all, but if you have more money to spend, some of the name brand ones look convincingly like underwear! I also bought 'Unisex' ones, but would have bought womens if the unisex ones weren't an option; I suspect the mens' might have a built-in bulge area that would be awkward for me. The point of the adult diapers is that their 'waistband' is not a traditional waistband -- it's about 8" tall, very thin, and crinkle-cut so that it doesn't put pressure on your skin. This will stop you from having clothing pushing on your incision sites. BONUS is that they ARE absorbent, so you won't have to also wear pads to deal with discharge (which can, apparently, last for 6 weeks). Try the Depends on for a day a few days before surgery. Yes, it will be awkward and you'll feel silly. I am literally sitting in bed, with nothing wrong with me, wearing nothing but an adult diaper and a tee shirt while my partner's at work. But this has 2 purposes: 1) chances are you haven't worn these before, and you want to make sure you've got the most comfortable ones you can in terms of fit and style; 2) if you've worn them once already, it'll be familiar when you go to put it on when you're ready to leave the hospital; you'll know which side is the back and which side is the front, and the 'weirdness' of wearing them will be less unsettling. You're going to have other weird stuff going on, this doesn't have to be yet another weird thing happening!

If you live alone or your partner doesn't (or can't) change the sheets, layer sheets on the bed. That's right, layer your mattress with bottom sheets. That way, you can peel the top one off and have a cleaner sheet beneath it. It won't be the same as being able to sleep on a fresh, clean sheet straight out of the cupboard or dryer, but it's going to be better than the one you've slept, sweat or, universe forbid, bled on.

Get a LEAKPROOF (truly) travel mug with a handle. After surgery you'll have maybe one comfortable position to lay in. You're not going to want to get out of that position to retrieve your water, but you're also going to need to be drinking a lot of water (it helps you recover, and also helps get your bowels moving again). Being able to lose your water in the bed is a luxury, but a necessary one. I got mine at Winners for pretty cheap.

Get a nightie or onesie. I usually sleep naked. I don't really own pyjamas -- when I need to cover up to sleep (like when I visit friends or travel), I throw on a pair of joggers, or boxer briefs. But those both have waistbands and, remember, we're trying to avoid waistbands. I ordered a sleep shirt from Oodie, which was on sale, but still expensive (I paid around $60, including 1-2 business day shipping because I didn't think of it until the last minute), as well as a halloween one-sie from Old Navy that's apparently leftover from last year's halloween stock. I'm expecting the onesie to be way too hot, but I need something I can wear out in public in case I have to get groceries, or pick something up at the pharmacy, or stand outside because the building's burning, without exposing myself. I also borrowed a robe to go over the sleep shirt when I leave the hospital.

Have whoever's picking you up bring 2 pillows. One goes between your abdomen and the seatbelt, and you sit on the other one.

Have whoever's picking you up bring fast food. When you leave the hospital you're going to either be ravenously hungry or feel like you never want to eat again. Either way, fast food is going to be the one thing you didn't realize you needed so badly in your life until that moment. Your body's going to be craving carbs and fat, and fat is also what's going to help your pain pills kick in.

Have ice cream, chips or other junk food on hand. This is mostly so that you have something to eat when you take your pain pills. Fatty foods help opiates work faster; as someone who takes them several times a month for chronic pain, I've sometimes noticed a difference of -hours- between taking them with fatty foods and taking them on their own.

Get a walking aid. We use our abdomens for everything. If you don't already have something like a cane, pick one up. Keep the receipt though; if you don't end up using it, you can usually take them back. With that said, my therapist said it's at about the 2 week mark when you feel like you actually need one. If you don't have a cane but you have walking/hiking sticks, dig them out and keep them handy.

Grab some baby wipes. You can get laparoscopic incisions wet, but that doesn't mean you're going to feel like you have the energy or endurance to shower right away. You're still going to want to keep your pits and bits clean.

If you take daily medications, organize them in a pill organizer. Things can get confusing when you're on painkillers, or when a partner is dishing out your meds. You know exactly how many you take, and how often, so the best way to approach this is to get a pill organizer and get all your doses for a week ready before your surgery. Monday AM, Monday PM, Tuesday AM, Tuesday PM, that kind of thing. There's nothing worse than being on painkillers and trying to remember if you've already taken That Very Important Medication You Can't Miss or not. Or, worse, not even realizing you've missed something that can give you withdrawal symptoms, and suddenly waking up a few days after surgery feeling worse than you've ever felt in your life and wondering if you need to go to the ER, only to have it turn out that you missed your meds.

Buy something for yourself that you can look forward to. I bought a video game that I've wanted for a couple of years that was finally on sale. I haven't touched it, and won't until sometime after surgery when I feel up to it. Giving yourself a little reward when you're going through something hard is always nice.

If you're diabetic...take a minute before your surgery to remind your partner/anyone you live with/anyone who's going to be looking after you about how and when to check your blood sugars, what numbers are abnormal for you, and what to do about them. Being ill or recovering from a surgery can really throw your diabetes out of whack, even if it's well-controlled beforehand, and recovering from surgery might make you feel a lot of the same symptoms you'd feel from a hypo/hyper or DKA, so make sure you (or someone else) test your sugars regularly and have things on hand to deal with abnormal or worrying results.

Take your phone everywhere. Painkillers (and pain) can make us unsteady. As someone who's taken a fall and had to wait hours for my partner to wake up and find me and help me back to my feet (and then bed), I don't recommend it.

These are the things I know about pre-surgery, but I'll try to update...eventually if I learn anything new post-surgery.

#transmasc #trans guy #trans man #transmasculine #ftm trans #surgery #medical stuff #hysto #hysterectomy #disability

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