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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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afterglowkatie · 12 days

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everything will be okay | l.w.

leah williamson x reader | 1.6k | leah takes care of you after you tear your acl

ˏˋ°•*⁀acl mentions :( i had the base of this written when i was out from basketball for a long time with an injury so it seemed fitting to turn it into a leah fic

Leah couldn’t help but feel bad as she watched you struggle to get around on crutches. She knew how it felt and couldn’t help but feel like she was responsible for you ending up like this. You and Leah were at training, running through your usual drills when you had been running after the ball trying to stop Leah from reaching it when she gave you a little bump. That little bump where you had lost your footing slightly was all it took for a sudden sharp pain to tear through your leg from your knee. You cried out collapsing to the ground while holding your knee. Having gone through this already Leah’s stomach dropped and she was quick to get you help.

Leah was there by your side the entire time, refusing to leave no matter who it was trying to tell her that she didn’t need to be there. You were grateful to have Leah there holding your hand through every scan and test that needed to happen. Leah was there to hold you and wipe away your tears while your heart sunk and the world became a blur when you were told you had torn your acl. Leah kept you grounded

This last year you had seen many of your teammates go through this injury, and with helping Leah through it, you knew how the next year was going to go for you. Though nothing could prepare you for how it actually felt to go through it. It had been about four months since having torn your acl and nothing was getting any easier. You were convinced everything was getting harder, if that was even possible.

You hated having to rely on those around you, even if they constantly reassured you that it was fine and they were happy to help you. And to top it all off you still hadn’t figured out how to properly use the crutches you were given. Your frustrations towards your injury kept growing but Leah was doing everything she could to take care of you and make sure you were okay. You were sure that she had stopped going out as much and seeing her friends just so she could stay home to take care of you and make sure your recovery went as smoothly as possible.

It only added to the frustration and guilt you felt. You weren’t used to being so dependent on others. Though you never complained and never wanted to seem ungrateful because you were immensely grateful for Leah’s help. Just by being her and being around you it would make each day so much better. She was the only thing that could bring you happiness in your current state.

Today was another day that drained even more of your already quite low energy and mental strength. Another day of rehab and physio and another week of being told your recovery wasn’t moving along as fast as you had hoped. You knew it wasn’t right but you couldn’t help to compare yourself to the others that had already gone through this. Comparing your recovery to theirs and wondering what more you could be doing to be at the same place they were around this time.

In your rational mind you knew that everyone’s bodies were different and everyone took different times to repair and recover. It still didn’t stop you from feeling like you were falling behind. Every time your potential return to even just running again got pushed back it took a big toll on you mentally. Afraid everyone was going to give up on you the longer it took for you to recover, afraid that you would get replaced and not have a spot in the team to come back to. It was bound to happen soon that you would also give up on yourself.

‘Here let me,’ Leah got out of the car once you had returned to your apartment, going around to your side to help you out of the car. Taken back when you pushed her hand off of you, not used to you refusing any help.

‘I can do it,’ Your words came out more harsh than anticipated. It was the first time you had spoken to Leah since your session and her training had ended. Leah wasn’t hurt at your tone, just surprised. After all, she knew better than anyone what you were going through. She understood how hard this sort of injury can be mentally, especially on a player at the peak of their career just like you were. Finally having made your way into being a regular in the starting eleven, to have an injury to this extent where you would have to eventually prove yourself worthy of that starting line up once again.

Leah watched as you struggled to get out of the car and inside the apartment, taking a step back knowing a little bit of space is what you needed. Though she desperately wanted to help you and make your life easier. You let out a frustrated groan as you sat on the edge of your bed, haphazardly throwing your crutches down on the floor next to you before dropping your head to rest in your hands.

‘Baby,’ Leah whispered out softly while she slowly approached you, ‘talk to me, please’ Leah was concerned. You could tell and hear the desperation that laced her voice while she gently took your hands in hers and pulled them away from your face. She had been there the whole time, seeing how you had recently started to withdraw from everyone around you. Your arsenal teammates asking Leah how you were doing since they had stopped hearing from you. Leah knew you were struggling. You didn’t want to confide in anyone, feeling like you were already enough of a burden having to rely on someone now.

You knew that Leah understood how you were feeling and it should be easy to confide in her, but somehow that made it all harder for you. You shook your head and closed your eyes tight, refusing to look in front of you. Leah sighed softly, standing up to sit next to you on the bed, wrapping her arms around you and gently pulling you into her side, ‘I’m here for you,’ You didn’t know why but hearing Leah utter those words had you breaking down instantly.

‘Le,’ You cried out softly, tears pricking your eyes as you remembered what you had been told earlier that day, ‘It’s going to take longer than we thought,’ Your voice was barely above a whisper. Dropping your head so it was laying against Leah’s shoulder looking down where she was absentmindedly playing with your fingers. The softness of her hands against yours had started to calm you down, though it didn’t stop the thoughts racing around in your mind, ‘What if I never fully recover. I don’t think I can handle never stepping onto the pitch again, never getting to be back with the team,’

‘Oh baby,’ Leah sighed out, a sad smile on her face, thankful that you were finally talking to her about how you were feeling, ‘You’re so strong, stronger than you think. You are going to be okay. Everything will be okay. Don’t think too much about the future and try to take each day as they come,’

‘I’m scared, Le. I don’t want to lose all of this. I don’t want to lose the team and I don’t want to lose you,’ Your teammates at arsenal and Leah were some of the most important people in your life. You dedicated most of your life towards football and if it suddenly disappeared from you, you didn’t know what you’d do without it. What good were you to your friends if you couldn’t play again.

‘You won’t lose any of this, any of us. You’re smart babe, if you can’t return as a player I’m sure there will be another way you can still be involved in football,’ Leah smiled while holding you close to her. Her hands giving yours a little squeeze, ‘And you definitely won’t lose me,’ Leah leaned close to give you a small kiss on your cheek, one that had your frown turning into an almost instant small smile.

‘How can you be so sure?’ Turning your head to look up at Leah, feeling your cheeks heat up seeing how softly she was looking at you. Your smile takes over more of your face the longer you both look at each other. Leah was happy to be seeing the smile she loved so much again.

‘Love, arsenal we’re like a family and you know that. Families don’t just throw each other away just because we’re injured. You aren’t the exception, everyone loves you. Though I obviously love you the most,’ Leah gave you a soft kiss on your lips, ‘You couldn’t get rid of me babes, even if you tried,’ Leah playfully squeezed your sides while you let out a small chuckle at her words already feeling a lot better than you previously had been.

You stayed wrapped in Leah’s embrace, enjoying the way she felt comforting and safe. The day had taken a lot out of you, so much you had forgotten to eat until your stomach loudly reminded you. Leah laughing and lightly poking at your stomach, ‘How does some food sound?’

‘As long as you’re not the one cooking it,’ Leah feigned hurt at your words before you both fell into an uncontrollable laughter.

‘Don’t worry, I have my personal chef on speed dial,’ Leah held up her phone showing your favourite restaurant's name already up on her screen. You just shook your head at her, burying yourself even more into her side. As long as you had Leah there by your side you felt as though you could more willingly accept the help that Leah and your friends gave you. You’d learn that you aren’t a burden to anyone. And most importantly, no matter where you were at with recovery even if you were to never fully recover, you would be okay. Everything will be okay.

#leah williamson x you #leah williamson fluff #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #awfc #woso one shot #woso community #woso fanfics #woso soccer #arsenal women #woso x reader #woso imagine

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reasonsforhope · 24 days

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"A 2019 sighting by five witnesses indicates that the long-extinct Javan tiger may still be alive, a new study suggests.

A single strand of hair recovered from that encounter is a close genetic match to hair from a Javan tiger pelt from 1930 kept at a museum, the study shows.

“Through this research, we have determined that the Javan tiger still exists in the wild,” says Wirdateti, a government researcher and lead author of the study.

The Javan tiger was believed to have gone extinct in the 1980s but only officially declared as such in 2008...

Ripi Yanuar Fajar and his four friends say they’ll never forget that evening after Indonesia’s Independence Day celebration in 2019 when they encountered a big cat roaming a community plantation in Sukabumi, West Java province.

Immediately after the brief encounter, Ripi, who happens to be a local conservationist, reached out to Kalih Raksasewu, a researcher at the country’s National Research and Innovation Agency (BRIN), saying he and his friends had seen either a Javan leopard (Panthera pardus melas), a critically endangered animal, or a Javan tiger (Panthera tigris sondaica), a subspecies believed to have gone extinct in the 1980s but only officially declared so in 2008.

About 10 days later, Kalih visited the site of the encounter with Ripi and his friends. There, Kalih found a strand of hair snagged on a plantation fence that the unknown creature was believed to have jumped over. She also recorded footprints and claw marks that she thought resembled those of a tiger.

Kalih then sent the hair sample and other records to the West Java provincial conservation agency, or BKSDA, for further investigation. She also sent a formal letter to the provincial government to follow up on the investigation request. The matter eventually landed at BRIN, where a team of researchers ran genetic analyses to compare the single strand of hair with known samples of other tiger subspecies, such as the Sumatran tiger (Panthera tigris sumatrae) and a nearly century-old Javan tiger pelt kept at a museum in the West Java city of Bogor.

“After going through various process of laboratory tests, the results showed that the hair sample had 97.8% similarities to the Javan tiger,” Wirdateti, a researcher with BRIN’s Biosystemic and Evolutionary Research Center, said at an online discussion hosted by Mongabay Indonesia on March 28.

The discussion centered on a study published March 21 in the journal Oryx in which Wirdateti and colleagues presented their findings that suggested that the long-extinct Javan tiger may somehow — miraculously — still be prowling parts of one of the most densely populated islands on Earth.

Their testing compared the Sukabumi hair sample with hair from the museum specimen collected in 1930, as well as with other tigers, Javan leopards and several sequences from GenBank, a publicly accessible database of genetic sequences overseen by the U.S. National Institutes of Health.

The study noted that the supposed tiger hair had a sequence similarity of 97.06% with Sumatran tigers and 96.87% with Bengal tigers. Wirdateti also conducted additional interviews with Ripi and his friends about the encounter they’d had.

“I wanted to emphasize that this wasn’t just about finding a strand of hair, but an encounter with the Javan tiger in which five people saw it,” Kalih said.

“There’s still a possibility that the Javan tiger is in the Sukabumi forest,” she added. “If it’s coming down to the village or community plantation, it could be because its habitat has been disturbed. In 2019, when the hair was found, the Sukabumi region had been affected by drought for almost a year.” ...

Didik Raharyono, a Javan tiger expert who wasn’t involved in the study but has conducted voluntary expeditions with local wildlife awareness groups since 1997, said the number of previous reported sightings coupled with the new scientific findings must be taken seriously. He called on the environment ministry to draft and issue a policy on measures to find and conserve the Javan tiger.

“What’s most important is the next steps that we take in the future,” Didik said."

-via Mongabay, April 4, 2024

#tigers #tiger #endangered species #extinction #conservation #environment #extinct animals #de extinction #indonesia #java #big cats #wild animals #good news #hope

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g1rld1ary · 2 months

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you never disappointed me - part two

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; percy and beckendorf's plan to set you up with luke is in motion, but you're extremely resistant to any advances (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 3462

➻ warnings: swearing, ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos

➻ thank u so much for all the love on part 1 I am such a happy gal!!!!! also, have my first day at uni tomorrow (so pls wish me luck) and sorry if updates slow down!

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

It turned out that getting you to go out with Luke was harder than he’d originally anticipated. Eager for the whole ordeal to be over and for him to be 50 dollars richer, he’d hopped down from his spot on a fallen log and hurried to meet you by the volleyball courts when your match ended. You, unaware of Luke’s agenda, were fanning your face to combat some of the sweat that had accumulated, quickly tightening the messy ponytail you’d tied. Luke watched you in your own world, unbothered by anybody watching you, unlike the rest of your siblings. Sucking in a quick breath for confidence he approached you.

“Hey there, girly,” He smiled, “How’re you doing?” You looked up at him, inquisitive for a moment but ultimately unimpressed.

“Sweating like a pig actually, and yourself?” You were barely looking at him, skulling an impressive amount of your water bottle quickly. He stared at you, not expecting to be dismissed so easily. He recovered smoothly, not prepared to give up so soon.

“You really know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?”

“My mission in life,” You shot him a cloying smile, now giving him your full attention, unable to help being slightly interested by his boldness. “But obviously I’ve struck your fancy, so you see it worked. The world makes sense again.” You‘d figured out his motives now and had no interest, so began the walk back to your cabin. He followed, much to your dismay. Couldn’t men ever take the hint?

“So I’ll pick you up Friday then?”

“Oh right, Friday, uh huh.” You kept your eyes ahead, dodging a few younger kids as Luke trailed after you, annoyingly optimistic still.

“The night I take you places you’ve never been before,” He said, and you looked at him in disbelief. The ego on this kid!

“Right, like the makeout clearing in the forest? Do you even know my name, Castellan?” Luke could tell that you were mocking him, but he still had high hopes.

“I know a lot more than you think.” He smiled then, a lopsided thing that would have been somewhat charming if you’d actually bothered to look. Instead you were already walking away, calling out a “Doubtful. Very doubtful,” over your shoulder as you picked up into a run, presumably to go tell Clarisse about the bizarre experience you just had. Luke watched you go, dumbstruck in the middle of camp.

Percy and Beckendorf watched the exchange from the porch of the Hephaestus cabin, the latter putting his head in his hands dramatically.

“We’re screwed,” He groaned and Percy winced slightly.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, dude. Luke has faced a lot worse than a teenage girl.”

When you sat at dinner that night, desperately avoiding the eye contact Luke seemed desperate on initiating, you almost told Silena about your bizarre day. You’d opened your mouth to start the story when you realised that she’d only be encouraged by Luke’s antics, pressuring you into going out with him for her own benefit and quickly shut it. She’d noticed your odd behaviour and searched for meaning in your face. Panicking for something to replace the conversation, you zeroed in on the necklace sitting nicely on top of her camp one.

“Where’d you get the pearls?” You asked, already dreading the answer. Silena only confirmed your fears, claiming them as your grandmother’s with a coy smile.

“So what? You’ve just been hiding them the last three years?” You were always closest with your grandmother, and you were sure she wouldn’t leave her favourite pearls for Silena over you.

“Daddy found them in a drawer just before summer.” Silena shrugged as if you weren’t sitting across from her, cheeks a blotchy red in your upset. “Besides, they look good on me.” Your hands itched to hit her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, knowing exactly how much she was pissing you off.

“Trust me, they don’t,” You spat, quietly glad when Silena stalked off in a huff, amongst the first to leave the meal. You didn’t know how much longer you could argue with her before starting to cry, which you really didn’t want to do in front of the whole camp. You thought you were safe for the rest of the meal when Drew began speaking instead.

“You could try being nice sometimes, you know, people wouldn’t know what to think.” You rolled your eyes aggressively.

“You forget, I don’t care what people think,” You replied, taking in a spoonful of food.

“Yes you do. Everyone does. You know, with a new look you could have some serious potential.” You ignored her last statement.

“No, I don’t,” You emphasised, “You don’t always have to be who they want you to be.” You knew that wouldn’t impact Drew in the slightest, but you hoped it might resonate with some of your younger siblings — encourage them to nurture their internal beauty rather than accept the vain stereotype Aphrodite children were forced into. You pushed yourself out of the bench you were sitting on, needing a break from your insufferable siblings. As you dumped your dishes where they needed to be you saw Luke beginning to follow you and turned to make dead eye contact. Knowing you’d only scream at him (or worse) you gave him a dangerous look, accompanied with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Not enough for anyone else to know you’d even acknowledged him, but enough to tell Luke to back off. He was smarter than you thought, as he held up his hands in a show of surrender, redirecting his action to innocently collect up his own dishes.

You may not have had any interest in knowing the boy, but you did appreciate that he knew when to back off. Or so you thought.

You were proven not-so-free from Luke Castellan the very next morning. It was the Aphrodite cabin’s day to check all the storerooms, and you’d volunteered to do the one which held all the weapons and armour near the sword fighting arena. You knew none of your siblings would come near if they could help it, mostly against weapons and the violence that surrounded the area, so you’d get a whole morning alone. It was peaceful attending to the chore, and you were allowed to use some of your Aphrodite eye for beauty. Of course, stacks of swords and assorted weapons could only be made so pretty, but you enjoyed organising them into neat rows, making it look as nice as possible — not that you would admit that to Silena or you’d be in her vanity chair receiving an unwelcome makeover in seconds.

You were just admiring your own sword, which you’d taken the time to polish while you were taking care of the others, when you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t react, assuming it was just some camper coming for a weapon, until he spoke.

“Nice sword, vintage hilt?” You tensed as Luke’s voice infiltrated your peace.

“Are you following me?” You disregarded his statement, an unimpressed frown present on your lips.

“I was training in the arena and needed to polish my sword. I saw you come in a while ago and not leave, I came to say hi,” He explained, and you raised an eyebrow. You weren’t friends, why would he come for a chat?

“Hi.” You promptly turned back to your task, shoving the cloth into the intricate designs of the hilt.

“Not a big talker, huh?” He persisted.

“Depends on the topic. My sword doesn’t exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy.” That wasn’t strictly true — the sword was a gift from your mother, with gold twisting around a blood red ruby in the centre of the hilt. After you’d made it clear that you weren’t going to just sit around during your time at camp she gifted you the sword, her way of saying that if you were going to fight, you should at least look good doing it. You’d had several conversations with Clarisse gushing over the intricacy of it, and profusely thanked Aphrodite for the gift in your offerings. You didn’t quite care to share this with Luke, being a relative stranger.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He asked, and you were somewhat taken aback by the earnest tone of his voice.

“Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that crept into your sentence.

“Most people are.” He gestured subtly towards his scar — gnarled and twisted against his otherwise tanned skin. You put a hand on your hip, resigned to conversation now.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Ok, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” You were pretty sure Luke was going for smooth or charming, but you thought in this moment he was entirely lame. The wink didn’t help his case.

“Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.” You put on your best Drew impression, nasally and whiny, before handing him the cloth he needed to polish his own sword and turning to leave. There, quickly approaching the door, was Ethan. Seeing you he put on a disgusting smirk and blocked the doorway, effectively caging you into the storeroom.

“Gods, what is it, asshole day?” You asked, not caring that both boys could very clearly hear you. “Do you mind?” You gestured to his blocking the exit. He simply looked down at you, clearly doing his best to appear sexy (and failing miserably).

“Not at all.” His stupid smirk was going to kill you, and not in the good way. You scoffed, giving him a last chance to get the fuck out of your way. Then, sparing a fraction of a glance back to Luke pretending to mind his own business, you slammed the hilt of your sword into his foot, wishing it was the blade instead. You watched him crumble to the ground, holding his foot with both hands.

“You bitch!” He yelled, voice cracking pathetically in the middle. You forced your smile to stay contained.

“Oops,” You feigned innocence, one hands covering your mouth strategically. “You might need some ambrosia for that…” With that you side-stepped him, eager to leave the situation. If you’d have looked back, you would have seen the gleeful, disbelieving smile on Luke’s face, probably the biggest one he’d worn in a while. Although he didn’t get the date he’d entered for, he was beginning to think you were a little more interesting than you let on.

“Did you just cripple Ethan?” Silena shrieked as you entered your cabin to grab your things. “He’s a model, you can’t do that! Has it escaped your notice that you’re completely psychotic?” You pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

“Guess your long walks on the beach are gonna have to wait,” You sighed dramatically, leaving Silena to wallow in her pity alone. It wasn’t like it was really your fault — if Ethan had learned how to respond to words or learn the meaning of ‘move’ he wouldn’t have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

Meanwhile, Ethan and Luke were having a similarly emotional conversation after Luke had — very reluctantly — helped Ethan over to the infirmary to get his foot checked out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results.” Luke sighed, could this boy get any whinier?

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to hurt him.

“Watching that bitch obliterate my foot doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get any, I don’t get any, so let’s get some,” Ethan said, running a hand through his ridiculously styled hair. Luke couldn’t believe his nerve. First of all, obliterated? He would be left with a bruise for a few days, if anything. Secondly, this whole things was Ethan’s idea, Luke had never given any indication wanting to ‘get some’, especially not with someone so clearly resisting his advances. Just as Ethan left, giving the Apollo girl treating him a douchebag smile, Luke hardened his resolve.

“I just upped my price,” He said, loving the way Ethan’s eyes widened like a cartoon character. “A hundred bucks a date, in advance.”

“Forget it,” Ethan grumbled, moving to leave again.

“Forget her sister then.” The two boys stared at each other, one significantly more amused than the other. Luke knew he had the upper hand in the dynamic, something he revelled in. Then, after the intimidation tactic clearly wasn’t having any effect, Ethan reached for his wallet, Luke admiring the crisp fifty he was handed.

“You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Castellan.” Luke just watched him go, confident tilt of his head conveying his outlook on the situation.

Luke had taken his usual spot overseeing combat training, but his usual thoughts were long gone. Instead, he was entirely preoccupied with you. He didn’t know how to get you to go out with him when you could barely entertain a conversation, and he twirled his cigarette between his fingers as he pondered.

Percy and Beckendorf saw his internal conflicts, slowly moving closer to him under the guise of a very chaotic fight between the two. Finally Luke gave them attention, knowing Percy’s skills would never have him running all over the place like that. He raised an eyebrow, a sign for them to get on with whatever they were angling at.

“We know what you’re trying to do, for Beauregard,” Percy said, and Luke appeared almost startled.

“And we want to help,” Added Beckendorf helpfully, shying away when Luke’s eyes bore into his.

“And why would you do that?”

“Beckendorf here has a major crush on Silena—”

“Gods, what is it with this girl? Does she sweat nectar?” Beckendorf opened his mouth to protest when Percy spoke over him, knowing it would be more beneficial to let Luke lead.

“Look, I think we can both tell that Charlie’s love is pure, well-intentioned, better than, say, Ethan White?” Luke sighed, catching on.

“I’m in this for the cash, that’s it. Who Ethan wants to bang is of no interest to me.”

“There will be no banging!” Beckendorf cried as Percy pushed him behind. He was no use in a delicate situation like this.

“Ok, Luke, it’s just that we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing. We set it up so Beckendorf can get the girl — Ethan’s just a pawn.” Luke paid closer attention suddenly, intrigued by the chess match he’d been pulled into.

“So you two are gonna help me win her over?”

“We’ll do research, find out what she likes. We can be your guys on the inside.”

“In a strictly non-mission type of way,” Beckendorf added helpfully, nervous of the legends he’d heard about Luke’s failed quest. Luke chose to simply ignore that comment, and Percy filled the silence before he could get angry about it.

“Let’s just start here: the Apollo cabin is throwing a party on Friday night, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it,” Was all Luke said, a clear signal the conversation was over. Percy and Beckendorf returned to fighting, slightly more regulated now they had gotten what they’d wanted, and Luke brought the cigarette back up to his lips, new thoughts clouding his mind.

Meanwhile, Ethan had found Silena where she was known to hang out by the rocks near the lake. He was hovering next to her, providing snatches of shade as he performed pose after pose, claiming he had a modelling job lined up when he left for the year.

“So which do you like better?” He asked, moving his hands fractionally to the left of his chin.

“The second,” Silena giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s more… pensive.”

“Damn,” Ethan kicked the sand softly. “I was going for thoughtful. So, you going to the Apollo party on Friday?”

“Maybe.” She produced her best coy smile, looking up at him from behind her lashes.

“Good, ‘cause you know I’ll only bother if you’re there.” Silena smiled, getting up from her spot on the rock.

“Bye.” Her voice was airy in the way she knew drove boys mad. She walked away leaving Ethan wanting more, her specialty. You scoffed, catching the end of the exchange. You and Silena made momentary eye contact, tension thick between the two of you.

As Beckendorf approached Silena, fishing for more information about you, Ethan had caught you in his sights and wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You sister is so cute,” His voice infiltrated your bubble in a way that made you want to hit him so desperately. “Doesn’t have your bite though, a feisty woman is so sexy.” You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, but it was so close to working.

“Come any closer and I’ll show you just how feisty I can get,” You snapped, braid almost whacking him in the face as you turned to face him. You could have sworn Ethan looked afraid for a second before he covered it with bravado.

“One day you’re gonna realise that all of this hostility is just your sexual repression. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be waiting with open arms… And legs.” You almost threw up.

“Gods, can’t you just leave me alone, asshole?” You yelled, trying to push past him to get anywhere else.

“C’mon, don’t be a prude,” He whined, and you were really close to taking him to the ground — not in the way he wanted.

“You heard the girl,” A voice called from behind you, and instantly Ethan took a step back. “She wants you to leave her alone.” Luke appeared behind you, a respectful distance away whilst still making his intentions clear. Ethan shrunk back into himself, making a lame excuse as to why he had to leave, hurriedly fleeing the beach. Reluctantly, you turned to face Luke.

“I’m not going out with you just for that,” You said plainly, daring him to try again.

“You think that low of me?” He laughed, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. You forced yourself not to notice. “I don’t have to want something from you to know that Ethan White isn’t worth your time.” It was your turn to be embarrassed at that, feeling slightly narcissistic for assuming that was the purpose of the conversation (it was, but Luke sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin his chances because you were in a mood, justified or otherwise).

“Oh.” You stared at his shoes. “Well, thanks, I guess.” You moved to leave but Luke stopped you, hand not quite touching your arm, unwilling to have it bitten off.

“So you do have a heart!” He joked, signature grin on his face. You wondered why you were seeing so much of it lately when he’d been so dour since his quest.

“Ha! You wish.”

“Don’t try to hide it, Beauregard, you’re warming up to me.”

“I’d sooner fuck Mister D,” You replied, actually taking your leave.

Luke watched you go, chewing his lip between his teeth. There was more to you than you let on, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t say it was any fondness, but he was starting to have a curiosity attaching itself to this scheme, and he knew that going out with you would satisfy it. He should have known having any personal stakes involved — sentimental or otherwise — would get dangerous.

Your own thoughts had barely budged on Luke. He was still a pain in your side and you figured you knew what kind of guy he was — not the type you had any interest in. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were appreciative he’d saved you from Ethan (and the inevitable washing up duty you’d be punished with when you beat him up), so maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as you’d initially judged him to be. Close, though.

part three

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#love #luke castellan #pjo series #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson show #percy jackson #percy series #percy pjo #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson tv show

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bucksangel · 4 months

Text

don't worry, darling

pairing: avenger!bucky x civilian!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: even though bucky is mostly healed, that doesn’t mean his nightmares go away. and a particular grueling mission brings back memories he’d rather forget.

warnings: angsttttt, hella fluff at the end though, hurt/comfort, talk of bucky’s trauma and abuse, brief mentions of murder of a hydra agent (he deserves it), nightmares, reader is here to love and comfort bucky, also civil war and everything after didn’t happen and they all live at the tower and everything is fine bc i said so

a/n: even though this does not contain smut, my blog is 18+ so minors dni. also i wanted to write something short and sweet to get my creative juices flowing and yet, as always, i managed to go overboard

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It started with a whimper, a small one. Barely detectable if you weren’t already awake and snuggled against Bucky’s body. He’s lying on his side facing you with you mirroring his position, arms wrapped around each other and your head tucked into his chest. You’ve been having a hard time sleeping for the last week and a half due to Bucky being gone on a mission that didn’t allow him to contact you at all. Your restless nights were mostly due to worrying over your boyfriend’s safety, something you always do whenever he leaves. It was worse this time around, though.

It was a day before he was supposed to leave, and you knew you weren’t supposed to listen in on other people’s private conversations, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You’d come home early from work one day to find Steve and Bucky in your shared home office, stopping outside the door and getting ready to knock when you overheard something about an upcoming mission. It seemed pretty important so you decided not to interrupt them, though you couldn’t force yourself to walk away.

You’re never allowed to know anything about what Bucky’s missions entail, and some part of you wanted to listen in on their conversation to hopefully ease any worries about what might be happening to him since you’ll have a general idea of where they’re going and what they’re doing.

According to Steve, although it was going to be a four-day mission, it was supposed to be relatively simple. Or, it would’ve been simple if it weren’t for the fact that the building they were being sent to scout was an old Hydra facility somewhere in Russia. The same Hydra facility where Bucky was held captive.

Upon hearing this piece of information you wanted to barge into the room and tell Steve off for letting Bucky be a part of this mission. It’s been nearly five years since he escaped and Bucky has mostly readjusted, has recovered from his trauma as much as one can after being tortured for decades. And you’ll be damned if anything jeopardizes that progress.

But you’d also overheard Bucky agreeing with the plans, helping Steve strategize, and going over all the information that needed to be obtained. And it wasn’t your place to tell Bucky what he could and couldn’t do. As much as you wanted to demand that he not go, he was his own person. And if he thought he could handle this mission then you’d have to find a way to support him.

The four-day mission turned into eight and by the sixth day with still no contact, you’d marched into the tower and demanded Fury call you with any and all updates he received. He said he would in a tone that made you believe he wouldn’t give you every detail, but it did help reassure you that if anything happened to Bucky then you wouldn’t be kept totally in the dark. It was nerve-wracking in the worst way, obsessively thinking over what Bucky could be going through - physically and mentally.

But on the eighth day, Fury had called you on your lunch break at work to tell you that Bucky was on his way back to the Tower and would probably be back at your apartment by early evening after the briefing and check-up in the medical wing.

All of your nerves and anxieties that built up over the last week were immediately replaced with relief flooding your body, your heart finally unclenching at knowing that Bucky would be back in a few short hours. One good thing about your job is that you don’t technically need to be in the office every day. As long as you get your work done you’re pretty much given free rein to leave whenever you want, and you’d finished your stack of paperwork maybe fifteen minutes before the phone call.

You gathered up your things quickly and stopped by your boss's office to wish her a good weekend, then made your way to your car to head home. Your heartbeat was increasing ever so slightly the closer you got to your apartment, and you had to remind yourself to focus on driving instead of daydreaming of being back in Bucky’s arms.

When you did finally get home, you made quick work of cleaning the entire apartment; changing your bed sheets, doing laundry, then pulling out food from the fridge to make dinner. You’d actually just gotten the chicken out of the oven when the front door opened, and your excitement at finally seeing your boyfriend again forced you to run out of the kitchen and down the hall. But you stopped a good six feet from the door, standing still at seeing Bucky’s bruised face and scabbed knuckles.

“Bucky?” You asked softly, finally noticing the spacey look in his eyes, the way they seemed to be glazed over.

Bucky smiled at you, though it was more of a grimace, and you could tell it was mostly forced but he still wanted to acknowledge you. He approached you slowly, and you stood still so you would not startle him - he just seemed so on edge. He stopped not even a foot away from you, had stared down at you with a look in his eyes you hoped you would never see again - it was such an empty gaze, almost emotionless. There was no life in his eyes. It didn’t feel like the dead gaze was directed at you specifically, it was more like Bucky just couldn’t muster up any emotion at all.

That’s when you knew. Something went wrong.

Slowly, he brought up his right hand and placed it on the back of your head, tilting it up so he could really look at you, letting his gaze linger on your lips. Instead of kissing them, he leans forward to press a kiss on your forehead, wrapping his left arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. He didn’t speak as he slowly tucked you into his body, and you didn’t dare break the silence either, you simply wrapped your arms around his body as well, squeezing him tightly to let him know that you were there. You were there for him - physically, mentally, and emotionally, and you needed him to know that.

After maybe five minutes of no one speaking, of simply standing in the front hallway embracing each other, you decided to finally say something.

“I made dinner,” You whispered, running one of your hands up and down Bucky’s back. You pulled your head off of his chest but didn’t loosen your hold. “Chicken and mashed potatoes. I even made apple pie.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched again, and his attempted smile felt a little more genuine this time. His glassy eyes were filled with tears now, and he seemed oh so close to crying. You’d never seen him like this before, he was always happy, and smiling, even on days when he wouldn’t say it but you knew he still resented himself for his time as the soldier he would indulge in his hobbies to help him cope. But you’ve never seen him shut down before, and this is what this felt like.

You weren’t too sure how to help him, how to comfort him. But you had an inkling he might need some time to himself.

“How about you go shower and I can put the food away for later,” You said with a soft smile, speaking up again before Bucky had the chance to feel guilty, “I ate a couple of hours ago, I’m fine baby. Go shower.”

You lifted up on your toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, letting him squeeze you to his chest one more time before he released you, slumping off down the hall to the bathroom.

That was two days ago, and Bucky hasn’t spoken more than a few words at a time since. Now, it’s not like he’s avoiding you, he’s actually a little more clingy than he normally is. You can tell he wants to say something, to tell you what had happened, he just doesn’t know how. He hasn’t told you everything about what happened to him during his time as the soldier, but you know enough and don’t push him to say anything he doesn’t want to.

At night, Bucky will go out onto the small terrace outside of your apartment and stare up at the stars for hours. You don’t sit with him for all of it, just for about one hour - cuddled close to his body and talking softly and mindlessly about anything you can think of, anything that might help Bucky open up. Then, around nine or ten, you’ll give him a lingering kiss on his cheek, one on his temple, and one final kiss on his lips before going to bed, letting Bucky be alone with himself and his thoughts.

Tonight, though, Bucky’s decided to climb into bed with you soon after dinner. You both showered together, washing each other’s bodies and sharing a few lingering kisses under the spray of the shower head. You didn’t go any further, but you did make sure to spend extra time massaging his shoulders and back, placing kisses everywhere you could reach.

It’s one in the morning now, and you hear another whimper. Bucky shifts beside you, tightening his hold on you ever so slightly. Another whine.

“Bucky?” You whisper, careful to not disturb the silence too much.

He responds with a mumbled ‘please’. Then, ‘no’.

“Buck? Baby?” You say a little louder, shifting in his hold but not able to move much due to his arms being wound around your body.

He shudders, pulling you further into him as his breathing picks up. He’s having a nightmare. Now, despite him being mostly healed, he still does have nightmares. They’ve lessened over the years, but they never truly go away.

When he’s in this mindset, you’re careful not to move too much and startle him awake. So, you simply shimmy your arm from under one of his so you can push on his chest and gently ease him onto his back. It takes a little more force than you’d like, but you’re eventually able to lay him flat on his back and untangle your body from his.

“Baby?” You whisper a little louder, placing your hand on the side of his face and rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone. “Bucky.”

He groans; louder, desperate. He’s in pain. You run your hand down his face, down his neck, then land on his chest, right above his heart. It’s increased rapidly, and you can see beads of sweat coat his forehead.

“Bucky.” Your voice is pleading, and you push on his chest a little, now hoping to startle him awake before it gets worse. You don’t want to keep him in this nightmare, so you shake him again.

“Bu-” You’re stopped short by him gasping, his eyes shooting open and his body lifting off the bed slightly as he wakes up. Relief fills your body, and you sigh gratefully. You hate when he’s in pain, whether physical or mental, but you hate not being able to do anything about it even more.

Bucky doesn’t move right away, he squeezes his eyes closed and clenches his fists momentarily. Then, when you place your hand on his cheek, his whole body goes limp, relaxing into the sheets under your touch.

“Baby,” He whispers hoarsely. “I…” He chokes back a sob, and you’re quick to adjust yourselves so you’re laying on your back and he’s laying almost entirely on top of you with his head on your chest right above your heart. He starts crying then, really crying. His arms wrap themselves around your midsection, and you wrap yours around his body as well, cradling him close to you.

“It’s okay, darling. It’s okay, you’re okay,” You mumble into his ear, pressing kisses anywhere you can reach. You continue cooing at him, whispering reassurances and declarations of love until his cries taper off into small whimpers and sniffles. You’re really worried now. Yeah, Bucky isn’t shy about expressing his emotions, and you’ve held him after nightmares and through the aftermath of difficult missions when he comes home disheartened. But he’s never been so vulnerable, and you want nothing more than to hold him close and protect him from everything bad in the world.

Silence envelops the both of you for a while. You want to allow Bucky to speak when he’s ready. And he does so after a couple of minutes.

“There was an agent; Alix, I think. I - I don’t remember his last name, but…” Bucky pauses, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his forehead. “For the last five or so years of me being… him, Alix was there. He’d… Any time I failed a mission, he’d be there. Out of all the Hydra agents that I’ve ever come in contact with… his punishments were the worst.” He pauses again, sniffling softly and nuzzling his face into your chest.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” You whisper, bringing your hand up to his hair so you can run your fingers through his locks. Bucky shakes his head softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“He was there. When Steve, Natasha, and I went to the facility last week, Alix was there. And he… I don’t know. I saw him and I just went blank, my mind shut off. I know I promised I wouldn’t kill anymore, I know. I just… He just hurt me so fucking much.”

Bucky starts crying again, and you have to force yourself not to cry as well. You want to be here to support him, not break down as well because then he’ll feel guilty. He always says you’re one of the most important people in his life - Steve obviously being another one - and that seeing you cry makes him want to go feral on whoever or whatever made you sad.

“I had to,” he says, muffled by his face tucking into your neck. “I just. I couldn’t not. I thought I was ready, I thought I could go there and be okay. But I wasn’t. I… He broke me.” Bucky trails off, sighing heavily before he goes quiet again, giving you time to process this information.

“Baby,” You say, prompting Bucky to hum in acknowledgment. “Can you look at me, please?”

You know it takes a lot of effort, but he does. Bucky lifts his head from your neck, looking into your eyes with overwhelming sorrow. Bending your head, you place a quick kiss on his lips.

“This might sound odd, but I’m proud of you. You thought you were healed enough to do it, you went through the planning and probably had to hype yourself up a lot to even agree to the mission. And that’s immense progress. The fact that you even felt ready, even if you ultimately weren’t, you pushed through it and finished the mission. And that’s something to be celebrated. Sometimes recovery can be set back by certain events, but that doesn’t mean that everything else you’ve accomplished is set back as well. You tried, and I’m proud of you.”

With that said, you give Bucky another kiss, lingering a little longer this time before pulling back and holding his gaze.

“And I know you promised to not kill anyone, but I don’t blame you in this situation. I don’t know what this says about me, but even though I don’t know exactly how you killed him, and I don’t think I want to honestly, I do know he deserved far worse than what you gave him. He’s just lucky I wasn’t there because I genuinely don’t know what I would have done if I saw him.”

Bucky’s mouth forms into the smallest of smiles, and you can’t help but want to burn the world to the ground if it means he was protected from the harm it brought him.

“I know you’re the man, and that, stereotypically, men are supposed to be the protector, the provider, but you also deserve to be protected, to have everything you could ever want. And I want to give that to you. I know you are your own person and you do a damn well job of taking care of yourself, but I also want to take care of you. I want to protect you from everything bad, everything that’s ever harmed you, and everything that could potentially harm you in the future.”

You place a kiss on his forehead, squeezing the arm that’s around his upper back to hug him tighter to you.

“You’re the love of my life, baby. Now and forever.”

Bucky shudders slightly, leaning up to kiss your jaw, then one to your cheek, one on the corner of your mouth, and one final kiss to your lips. Your hand continues to run through his hair, tugging at it slightly, causing your boyfriend to sigh in contentment and tighten his hold on you as well. You’re locked in the embrace for a long moment, his lips gliding over yours as the kiss remains relatively chaste. But then, he pulls away.

“Darling,” He says, and for the first time in two days, he finally looks like he’s getting back to his old self. “I - I don’t think I’m ready to talk about everything that happened during the mission right now, I kind of just want to hear you talk so I can get my mind off of it for a little if that’s okay?” He looks a bit nervous asking for that, but you’re quick to nod, offering him a smile of your own. Bucky smiles a tad bit wider and removes one of his arms from around your body so he can slowly reach up and take hold of your hand that’s still running through his hair. Stubble tickles your palm as Bucky presses his lips there, then turns his gaze up to look into your eyes.

“I can’t even describe how much I love you. It scares me, sometimes, the things I would do for you. I need you to know that I will do everything I can to make you as happy and safe as you make me. You’re just… you’re incredible. And I can’t thank you enough for how much you’ve helped me over the past two years that we’ve been together, even the entire year before we started dating when we were just friends.”

His eyes start watering for a whole other reason now. Bucky looks so damn in love that you’d think it hurt, and you would know because that’s exactly how you feel about him.

“I - I know we haven’t talked about it, and I don’t even have a ring, but I can’t ever imagine loving anyone as much as I love you. I’m devoted to you, now and forever. I don’t know how you feel, but if you’re ever willing to…” He pauses, and you feel your heartbeat increase rapidly, a sudden happiness flooding your body.

“If I were to one day ask you to marry me, would you say yes?”

You’ve never nodded faster in your life, nor have you ever said ‘yes’ so quickly to anything Bucky has asked.

The large sigh of relief your boyfriend lets out lets you know he’s probably been thinking about this for a while, and you would swear your heart is about to burst from how much you love this man as you hold him close to your chest and place absentminded kisses on his forehead, cheeks, lips, the top of his head.

Everything stays silent for a few minutes, letting the conversation taper off. That is, until Bucky puts his head back on your shoulder, lacing his fingers with yours and bringing your hands up to kiss your knuckles.

“Can you talk to me?”

Humming in agreement, you run your hand that’s still on his back up and down in a soothing motion.

“Do you want to hear about how Sam almost broke his arm last week?”

#let me know what y'all think!!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic rec #bucky barns #james barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x reader #my writing #my stuff

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fayes-fics · 4 months

Text

A Welcome Intrusion

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A drunken Bridgerton in the wrong room could be the start of something...

Warnings: none really... flirtatious drunken fluff, meet-cute.

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors Note: This idea has been lingering in my "wtf is this" pile of scenes I sometimes scribble down idly. I decided to add a little polish and make it a little one-shot, as I could not see it having a natural home in my other WIPs. I also have vague plans to do the same scene setup with Anthony as a character study of how their reactions would differ. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy <3

You are sleeping fitfully - a stifling summer night makes even a thin cotton sheet too much to bear on your overheated skin - when your bedroom is rudely invaded.

In your half-awake, bleary state, you are not even certain someone is in the room at first, your back being turned to the door. Indeed, it’s only when the mattress dips that you truly startle. You freeze, facing away, completely uncertain what to do with a stranger perched on the edge of your bed.

Behind you, you hear someone undressing haphazardly, Clothing hitting the rug in soft whumps. Bile rises in your throat when the effort-filled grunt while doing so is decidedly male.

There is a triumphant noise, and then a body flops back onto the mattress with a self-satisfied chuckle. After a few beats, all is still, and you steel yourself to speak.

“Kind sir,” you murmur, not daring to move, clinging to the far side, “please leave my room.”

There is a decidedly undignified squeal of shock, more akin to a young girl, him flipping over onto all fours next to you, the movement causing you to turn over in equal surprise.

You both stare at each other as if burned; you clutch the bedding high around your neck as he pants lightly, recovering from the apparent scare you gave him, his breath carrying the rich aroma of expensive brandy. In the shaft of moonlight leaking through the curtains, you see the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Whoever he is, he is very pretty. Very drunk, yes. But very pretty, too.

“What in god’s name are you doing in my bed?” he demands, sounding alarmed but mildly slurred with intoxication.

“You are in my bed!” you squeak back, knuckles tightening around the sheet you hold, even as your traitorous eyes roam lower, entirely without meaning to. A slice of lithe, freckled chest muscle flexing over ribs as he draws heavy breaths makes something deep inside you quake. You quickly dart your eyes back up to his face.

“I think not! This has been my bedroom since I was three years old!” he attests with the blithe certainty alcohol provides.

Oh, so he must be a Bridgerton. That is perhaps an easy guess, seeing as you are staying at Aubrey Hall ahead of tomorrow’s midsummer Hearts and Flowers Ball.

“I don’t think they would assign a family bedroom to a guest,” you answer with a flare of sass.

“Yes, I quite agree. That’s why you should not be here,” he huffs indignantly.

“I was shown here by the head housemaid. That is my trunk there, the footmen brought in,” you point out, gesturing across the room.

He seems to ignore your argument but suddenly swings around almost violently, looking at the room.

“I don’t have that on my wall,” he frowns at a sizeable floral painting over a dresser.

“Maybe because this isn’t actually your bedroom?” you volley back with uncharacteristic brashness, likely a reaction to his presence affecting you the longer he remains.

He whips back and narrows his eyes at you. “Did Anthony put you up to this? Or Colin? Change my room around and hide you in my bed to fool me? Are you some doxy?”

“How dare you, sir!!” you blanche, horrified at his coarse language and that he could think you are any sort of woman of such low morals.

“My sincerest apologies,” he immediately looks thoroughly contrite. “You do appear far too well-bred to be such. But it still does not explain your presence in my room.”

“No, it does not,” you answer through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring at his continued erroneous insistence. “And that is because this is not your room…. dunderhead!”

The ferocity with which you spit the last word has his face morphing into one of befuddled incredulity, a single eyebrow arching.

“Sorry, that was impertinent of me,” you flush, dropping your gaze ashamed.

No!” he rushes out, “I… I liked it,” the confession apparently takes him by surprise as much as it does you, judging by his confused frown at his own words.

But then he seems to shrug and nod decisively as if agreeing with himself before he looks back to you, shifting so the light colour of his eyes catches the moonbeam.

“Who are you?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

“Miss y/l/n,” you respond.

“I’m Benedict…”

“...BrIdgerton,” you finish for him. “I assume, based on the fact you have a childhood bedroom here.”

He laughs; a rich, resonant sound that makes your insides jolt.

“Indeed,” he smiles, the ivory of his teeth catching the light. Again, you are drawn to how pretty he seems to be. “I am… quite intoxicated, Miss y/l/n”, he confesses, clutching a hand to his chest as if holding a doffed cap, “‘tis entirely possible I am indeed not in the correct bedroom.”

“I would venture that to be the correct assessment,” you offer with a meek smile.

“I sincerely apologise, yet again,” his face contrite as he shuffles into a kneeling position, his palms resting upturned on his thighs as if seeking forgiveness.

The problem is all your eyes can do is slide down his bare torso, lingering in places they shouldn’t—like the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his waist, and the pull of material at the junction of his thighs just a few inches above where his palms rest….

“I suppose it is only fair I let you look, seeing as I so rudely interrupted your sleep,” he comments dryly.

Your eyes jerk back to his face, met with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a knowing crooked smirk. You feel your cheeks aflame and bow your head, biting your lip, knowing you have been thoroughly caught in your ogling.

“I… I apologise, sir,” you mumble quietly, “I… I have not seen a man without a shirt before…” you admit in a whisper.

“And do you like what you see?” he teases, tone etched with beguiling menace, his mouth twisted into an intrigued pout as you dare to raise your gaze again.

“I… I…,” you falter, knowing that admitting such would be scandalous.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss y/l/n,” he winks, “and I hope I am forgiven.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you bustle out, tugging the bedding high under your chin again, wanting desperately to conceal the flush you know is creeping over your skin with every second spent in his half-naked presence.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he sighs, his cadence reluctant, perhaps hoping you will dispute his assessment.

“That would be… the most prudent course of action,” you nod even though your fingertips itch to grab his hand and ask him to stay for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

He slides off the bed and scoops up his discarded shirt, a moderately unsteady gait as he tugs it back onto his body.

“Goodnight, Miss y/l/n,” he bows with a touch of comedic chivalry before he takes his leave. You cannot help but stare at his shapely rear as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton,” you call softly, and before you can stop yourself, more words are spilling from your lips, something about this man making you daring. “I do so hope you will offer me a dance at the ball tomorrow to make amends for this intrusion.”

Even you are astounded by your words. Benedict pauses, his hand frozen on the door handle as he turns back around slowly, his mien surprised.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rumbles after a pause, a tingle running through your being.

“Until tomorrow, Mr Bridgerton,” you offer, heart pounding.

“Until tomorrow indeed, Miss y/l/n,” the velvet of his voice tickling your skin long after the door snicks closed behind him.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaa @urfavnoirette

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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carolmunson · 11 months

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always something there to remind me (s.h.)

summary: ten years after the sealing of the upside-down, you and your fiance steve head to a cookout to unwind during memorial day weekend. with steve on edge after a rough half sleep full of night terrors, you hope the day can be salvaged by seeing the party and just relaxing, but a violent thunderstorm changes those plans for the worse. pairings: steve x reader, lumax, edancy. heavy on the steddie brotp tho.

tw: 18+ as always. this story deals with themes of mental illness and ptsd, it is only intended for mature audiences. descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, internal and external (please be advised they are dramatizations). partner violence (unintentional). drinking/smoking. discussions of mental illness. very moody steve but very soft steve. features some tense arguments. smut, like, very loving and passionate smut. this relationship is not perfect, it's also a depiction of a moment in time in 1997. the emotional load was very much a woman's job and i personally think steve would be 'too proud' to be 'too soft' about his stuff. so there are parts that seem kind of 'eh' but -- that's just how things were sorta. gif by @kingofscoops

His pill case sounded like a rattle when you took it from the medicine cabinet, taking it into the kitchen where he was shrugging on his freshly ironed polo. The ironing board and hot iron still set up by the counter. The black stone contrasted nicely against your cherry wood cabinets that he installed two summers ago. That was when you both thought he might be getting better: the night terrors were less and less frequent, the flashbacks far and few between, he was less tense, less irritable. Seeking you constantly for soft touches and kisses, any kind of affection he could pull from you he'd take willingly. Two years ago was your two year anniversary -- when he finally told you the real story. Why he had all those scars, why he can't sleep, why he wakes up in a cold sweat crying. Why you'd never been able to figure out which health care company was providing him with so much medication and therapy when he was working part time at the hospital -- it's because it was the FBI.

It was two years ago where they took you to an underground office where they told you everything. Steve sat next to you, gripping your hand so tightly you thought it might break. They reassured over and over that nothing was coming back, that everything was over, but that Steve and his friends will likely never recover emotionally and mentally from what they endured. Four years into things now, you were both his fiance and his nurse. You checked in monthly with his caseworking team, but in these last few months, they've had nothing but shaky reports. You wondered if maybe his mind just isn't as sharp as it used to be -- you both just entered your thirties, maybe things get knocked loose quicker when you've been to hell and back. "Here, honey," you say softly, putting his pill case on the table. He looks at them and sighs, amber eyes lingering on the 'Saturday' section of the pill box. "Let me get you some wa--" "You don't need to give me my pills every day," he says -- it's soft and sharp, "I know I have to take them. I've been takin' them for ten years."

You offer him a tight smile, "I know, Stevie..." You trail off. 'It's important that he feels in control of the situation, a lot of his role when he was in this situation was to protect others. Try not to baby him about it, he might be fragile, but he doesn't like to feel like he is.'

"It's just...I don't want a repeat of last year," you quietly remind him. He had gotten too sure of himself when he started to feel better -- missing days, stopping altogether, off and on.

He reaches for the pill case and pops open the Saturday square, tossing the main five pills into his palm and then into his mouth. Pain, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, migraine, blood thinner. The heavy stuff sat in the cabinet above the fridge: Quaaludes, Oxycontin, Sumatriptan, Clozapine -- among others. Every day was a reminder to him that he didn't come out of this a stronger person. His dad let him know that at every visit, treating him like he had a son made of glass. "Don't," he says after he swallows, "Don't start with me."

Your eyes narrow in on the finger he puts up in warning and travels down to his big hand, a vein popping in his forearm and under the band of his watch. His bicep flexes against his polo, you follow it across the expanse of his chest and down the other arm, landing back on the pill case.

You knew last night what kind of day it would be this morning. Desperate reaches for you while he woke up from another nightmare, his damp chest up against yours while he hid his face in your neck. He hugs you so tightly to him so he doesn't float away, and you match his strength as best you can until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours of stroking his hair and soothing him before he feels safe enough to even close his eyes. In the years you've been together, he's been more and more embarrassed over these needier nights. 'It's just, baby -- I'm a man. I have to get over all this shit.'

"I'm not starting anyth--" "You are," he warns, eyes narrowing. He clenches his jaw, "Don't."

"M'sorry," you breath out. You take the pill case when he sets it back down and bring it back upstairs to the main bathroom. You refill the case before placing it back in the medicine cabinet with a sigh. When it closes you look at yourself in the mirror, no longer the fresh 26 year old he met at the hospital admin desk when he started his part time job as an assistant in the children's psych floor. Gaining hours towards getting his pediatric therapist licensure to help kids who were like him and his friends -- well, sort of. To some extent. You smooth over your button down dress, his favorite one in your closet -- navy blue with beige flowers littering the fabric. It flounces over you in dips and swoops, falling just under your knee. Another sigh and you grab your purse from the bedroom and slip on your sandals, clip clopping down the stairs where you hear him grab the keys. Another Saturday morning where the group gets together and just hangs out, even though Steve sees Eddie, Rob, and Dustin pretty often throughout the week. They've been doing it for years now, but the outside buzzed with the promise of summer, Memorial Day weekend making everyone feel more at ease. Everyone except Steve.

He slams the car door when he gets in the drivers seat, making you jump in the leather of his Lexus. He runs his hands over his jean clad thighs, having grown in size over the last six years with age and trips to the gym. 'I just wanna be in like, peak physical condition if anything tries to come back. I wanna be more ready than when I was a kid, y'know?' And while the muscle was certainly titilating, it made for a very wary you when things went left. "Don't be like that, Stevie," you say softly, your voice calm and gentle like it is with patients on the floor, "I promise I wasn't trying to get on your case. Do you -- I don't know, do you wanna just stay home?" "No," he snaps, looking ahead toward the road as he starts the car, "I didn't pack a cooler full of all the shit you made for this cook-out just the stay home." "Can you relax?" you ask a little harsher than you planned, "Are you even good to drive?" "I'm good. To drive," he says through gritted teeth, pulling down the street. "Are you sure? 'Cause -- Honey you -- you didn't sleep so good last night and I --" He hits the breaks hard, stopping short at a stop light turning to look at you, tilting his head a bit to glare at you down the slope of his straight nose.

"Drop it," he says, the tenseness in his voice sends a chill up your spine. "Stevie I'm not trying t --" "Drop. It." he warns again, "Don't make me raise my voice at you." "Don't talk to me like that," you say sharply while he pulls the car forward when the light turns green. "Then don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child," he snaps back. "Well maybe if you didn't have an attitude with me like one I wouldn't have to," you cross your arms over your seat belt and huff. He shakes his head slowly, tongue tight between his teeth. He thought he knew better than to fall in love with someone who had a tongue as sharp as his. "You're askin' for an argument when you say shit like that to me," he says lowly, the Lexus crunching over helicopter seeds while he navigates through the neighborhood. You see his shoulders rise and fall while he attempts to steady himself -- fuse lit and ready to blow. "I'm sorry," you follow up, a deep breath filling your chest. You uncross your arms to lean your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand, "I didn't mean that." "You did," he responds, tight and frustrated, quiet. He hastily reaches into his back pocket with one hand, eyes still on the road. Steve pops a cigarette between his full lips and you sigh at the sound of the lighter flicking. “What’s wrong now, hm?” he asks while the cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, “What’s your problem?” “Nothing,” you say – it’s something. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out the open window, “It’s just that you bought that pack yesterday and it’s already half way gone. You always chain smoke when you –” “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, voice raising with each word, “God, can you let me have fuckin’ anything?” “No Steve, I guess not. God forbid I look out for your heal–” you start sarcastically. “Look out for yourself, baby,” he says sharply into the rearview so you can see his glare, “I’m doin’ just fine without you on my back.” You bicker the rest of the way to Ed and Nancy’s house, he only raises his voice one more time.

Eddie and Nancy's wedding was one for the ages, something about the mixture of straight laced and all over the place that made sense when they tied the knot. The pair, you were told, seemed unlikely until Eddie was in recovery after being removed from the Upside Down. He was down there for six months, tested on for another six. The Party and the older kids would visit him every day, keeping him updated and fed and hydrated. They'd cheer him on when he made advances in his mobility -- but for the most part he just needed rest. Nancy was working a lot, throwing herself into journalism like she always wanted, so she'd come to the hospital late. She wasn't really one for small talk so instead, she'd just read. She'd read aloud while he was asleep, her voice slow and calm -- stoic. Keeping him lulled like still water, she didn't even know if he knew she was there. One night, she picked up where she left off on the first installment of Lord of the Rings, continuing in her soft stoic voice. She watched him lay there with his eyes closed, breath steady, the beeps of the hospital machines in quiet rhythm with him. She at frist felt silly before she started, but maybe in his dreams he could hear her, and maybe just maybe if she does something fun, he won't have nightmares tonight. So she tries it...she puts on a silly voice for Samwise, and she continues with her silly voices. Gruff and manly for Aragorn, gleeful for Sam, some weird form of Scottish for Gimli. She bites her lip, smiling as she tries each one, shaking her curly head at her ridiculousness and stops. Then she hears it...the low rumbling giggle from Eddie in his hospital bed. "Keep going, it's funny..." he said with a grin, eyes still closed. "You can hear me?" she asked, trying to stifle her giggle. "I can hear you every night," he said, eyes peering open slightly, "It's the best." "Do you want me to keep reading?" she asked with a blush. He nods, a soft grin pulling up on his lips while he eyes closes again, "Only if you do the voices."

When you park in the driveway it's clear that the rest of the group arrived before you, their cars already Tetris'd into their places. Steve lugs the cooler out of the back seat with a grunt, hoisting it to rest on his broad shoulder. You roll your eyes at his machismo, like someone is watching him at all times and he has something to prove. You both walk to the back, the sounds of music and conversation and laughter bubbling louder and louder as you get to the gate of the yard.

A symphony of 'Heeeyyy!' and 'There he is!' and 'Finally!' come from the group as he opens the gate and you follow in toe. Eddie comes over quickly to help with the cooler, his hair still as long as it was when he was 20 – the only real updates being his five o’clock shadow and the ring in his nose. A few more weary tired lines by his eyes. His home made Iron Maiden muscle tee had a small sweat mark by the neckline – they must’ve been out here getting ready all morning. “Hey man,” he grins when the cooler gets set down, pulling Steve in for a tight hug. “Hey,” Steve smiles, patting his back hard, savoring the hold. “You alright?” Eddie asks when he lets go, putting a hand to his face, “You feeling okay?” Steve smiles tightly and nods but Eddie only half buys it, returning his look before turning to you. He comes forward, kissing both your cheeks with his full lips, scruff scratching at your skin, “Hi, sweetheart.” “Hi Ed,” you grin, watching everyone else come up to say their hellos. “Where’s Nance?” Steve asks, but his question is answered when she waddles out of the sliding door of the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade. From the back, you’d have no idea she was seven months pregnant, but from the side – let’s just say, it was gonna be a real big boy. “Honey, what did I say?” Eddie calls out, walking over to her and taking the pitcher. “It’s not even heavy,” she chides back with an exasperated eye roll. You giggle at their bickering, listening to their sweet back and forth with a gentle ache in your chest. You wonder if Steve will be the same way when you’re pregnant. You wonder if the back and forths will sound so sweet, so innocent, so soft. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the cooler opening, turning to look and grab what you can to put in the fridge inside. Steve takes the meat out to put by the grill and a few appetizers that you put together last nice. You take the icebox cake and chocolate covered strawberries, hurrying with them through the sliding door into the kitchen. “I know, mommy just thinks she can do it all,” Eddie coos, resting his hands on Nancy’s stomach while she slices cheeseburger toppings on the counter, “She just won’t rest, are you gonna be like that too? You gonna run me ragged? You gonna be just like mommy?” Nancy laughs and it’s half airy, half from deep in her belly, “Look, it’s just better if I’m active so that I’m not surprised by it when he’s born.” “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I know. You still love me, Wheeler?” “Love you always,” she grins, blushing when she sees you come in with desserts, “Oh! Oh my goodness, let me help you!” “I got it!” you say, “Just hope there’s room in the fridge!” When everything’s loaded up you give each other a hug, watching as Eddie and Steve have a mildly stern conversation about who is grilling what. ‘It’s my grill.’ ‘And? It’s my meat.’

“Do you think they should just kiss?” you ask while you watch them. “Honestly, I feel like they need to at this point," she laughs, "Go on outside, I’ll be out in a few,” Nancy encourages and you make your way back out into the very early summer heat – mugginess starting to soak the air around you. Before you know it, you’re already being pulled over to the picnic table to watch a game of Magic the Gathering between Lucas, Max, Dustin, Mike, and Will. El doesn’t come back to Hawkins very much,so you’ve been told – she’s the only person from the group you haven’t met. “So is this like D&D?” you ask, resting your cheek against your palm while you lean on the table. “Yes and no,” Max explains, looking at her options, “It’s like…” “Like poker but D&D,” Dustin says, making Mike, Will, and Lucas snort. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it to you,” Mike says. “I trust that,” you laugh with them. You’ve been consistently hopeless with trying to learn the mechanics of Dungeons and Dragons but still enjoy watching, loving it more when Steve decides to join a campaign. He lets loose in ways you’ve never seen when he does, smiling and laughing, free like a child in the summertime. The sun beating on your back suddenly disappears when you hear Steve come up behind you with a hand on your shoulder, “Can I have my glasses, honey?” “They’re in the glove box,” you say, turning around, “Why do you need them?” “Oh, is Erica making you read her thesis outline?” Lucas asks, “Just tell her to buzz off. She already passed it in.” “Sinclair – don’t be an asshole,” Steve gives him a look that can only be described as ‘bitchy’, “She wants some assurance. We need another psychologist in the family, and she’s obviously the only one smart enough to get it done.” “Rude,” Max deadpans, flicking her eyes up at him. “You’re rude, twerp,” he says back, he turns back to you after sucking his teeth, "My glasses?"

“I just said, in the glovebox,” you repeat, a little sharper than you meant to. He lets out a huff through his nose, looking at you like he can’t believe you’d get snippy with him before stomping off toward the gate of the yard. “Is he alright?” Dustin asks quietly, “I saw him on Thursday he just…I don’t know, he seems a little tense.” “He had a bad night,” you explain, toying at a splinter in the wood, “He’ll be okay.” The sun disappears again but not from the expanse of your fiance’s shoulders and chest, but from a thick cloud moving slowly across the sky. The relief from the heat is almost welcomed until you feel the humidity raise a bit in the air – a little too tight, a little too suffocating for your taste.

The party is in full swing while Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch,’ blares from the boom box, Nancy and Max screaming the lyrics with abandon while the boys groan. You smile at how much fun they’re having, the afternoon going smoothly enough that you haven’t had time to notice how cloudy the sky had become. Your eyes linger on Steve, glasses on while looking at Erica’s thesis outline with her on the back porch. He had a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the fifth one in the last hour and a half. "You got something here," he says to her, tapping his pen while continues reading, "Your argument's really strong -- especially about the rates of homelessness, it's almost always trauma related." "Well -- I am me," she says. He raises his brows and nods in agreement. "Can't spell America without Erica," he teases. You watch him, how gentle he is and how he taps through outline, asking her questions about how she feels about the finished thesis, where she got it bound, if the articles he sent over were helpful. They speak in words you don't understand, but it's okay -- he looks calmer, brows softened while they talk, so encouraging. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed --"

Eddie's rasp pierces the groups singing and conversation as he belts the lyrics next to his wife. Everyone looks up to watch him go, laughing as he does. "We should cover this," he grins, "Me and the guys, we gotta cover this at the next show." "So you can get boo'd off the stage?" Mike laughs. "So I can make sure your ass doesn't get in the bar?" he asks back. Mike scowls while Dustin laughs at him -- it's always smarter to not try it with Eddie, he'd always get you back ten fold. With a jolt, you feel something cold hit your hand, looking down to see a water drop splat against your skin. Then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, the rain starts to come down -- and then it starts to pour. "Alright!" Nancy calls, "Everyone grab something and head inside." The Party rises, wincing as the rain pellets down on them while everyone grabs a foil tray or covered Pyrex filled with food. You follow suit, hurrying inside with the undressed cheeseburgers and buns, laying them safe on the counter in the kitchen. Everyone else starts to file in, Steve and Eddie turning off the grill while the sky starts to darken significantly. The first rumble of thunder sends everyone's face to a flat line -- you wished Robin wasn't spending the weekend in New York City so that you'd have someone on the front lines with you and Nancy to keep everyone at ease. Nancy and Robin definitely had their moments but had a much tighter grasp on the world around them now.

A few flashes of lightening crack followed by deep rumbles of thunder. Boom, crack! Boom, crack, crack! You notice everyone resettle themselves around the kitchen table -- jittery, quiet. You sit down across from Steve while he looks down, following the woodgrain with his finger. You keep your gaze on his chest, watching for a tell -- he swallows the frustration he feels from having your eyes on him. "It's alright guys, just a storm," Nancy reminds everyone gently while she brings in the last of the food from outside. Eddie gets her seated before opening things back on the counter, the kitchen smelling like barbecue while he opens the foils. The conversations start around you again while you sit across from Steve, the tension sitting like a weighted stone in your chest. Another flash of lightning and that's when you notice it, the twitch of his hand. The thunder rumbles and he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. Shit. "You okay, honey?" you ask him softly. He swallows, jaw clenching, "Mhm." "Okay," you nod, trying not to bring attention to it just yet, just incase it passes. The thunder booms again and he lets out a breath through his nose, he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes more agressively. You tap your foot under the table and he can hear it, he can hear everything in the room -- the scrapes of foil on foil. The separate conversations. Eddie's laugh while he talks to Nancy. The clinks of silverware. Ice in cups. The drumming of fingers. Your tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Under the fucking table could you just stop tapping your fucking foot -- The next crack of lightening is so intense it shakes the house and everyone gets quiet. 'Just a storm', Nancy reminds, but her voice sounds far away. Thunder rumbles again in the distance and he swears when the lightening flashes through the windows it's red. He rubs his eyes again, a short burst of breath coming through his nose. 'Honey?' he hears you but its like he has cotton in his ears. The thunder rumbles again, the slick squelching of vines starts to creep into the sound of it. Another crack of lighting and the lights in the kitchen flicker. But when they turn back on Steve isn't with the group anymore. He's not even in the kitchen. He's back at the Creel House. 'Baby? Steve?' your voice is distant -- does Vecna have you? Did he find you? Is he taking you away from him? Steve whimpers, getting out of the chair, pulling at the roots of his light brown locks -- desperate to pull himself out of the memory, "Help, please..."

"I'm here, Steve," you say rounding the table while the rest of the group stands back, getting ready to help. Max grabs a boom box and Lucas runs to his car to grab his tapes with everyone's favorite songs on it -- just in case. Dustin approaches him slowly, hands out in front of him while Steve shrinks to the floor, back against the cabinets. "Steve, it's me, it's Dustin," he says calmly and slowly, "You're in Eddie's kitchen, Steve." But Steve only hears Dustin saying his name -- Dustin must be in trouble. "I'm coming," Steve says, eyes shut tight, falling further away. You watch as sweat grows on his hair line and neck, muttering a fuck under you breath. This was gonna be a bad one. "Honey, honey," you continue, kneeling down in front of him to ease his hands off of his hair, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you." 'Honey.' He hears your voice in the distance, searching for you in the blue black haze of the Upside Down, the thick particles of dust in his eyes. The slither of vines covers the walls and the floors while he ascends the stairs -- where are Nancy and Robin? Weren't they with him? "Nance?" You watch him call out for Nancy and she goes to get up but Eddie puts his hand delicately on her shoulder. He shakes his head no at her, "Just talk to him," he says to her. 'I'm here, Steve, it's okay!' 'It's okay!' But it's not Nancy's voice, it gets more an more deep, more gravelly, more like him. Steve flinches in front of you, soft 'no, no, no's slipping from his mouth. 'Stevie...' Where are you? Does he have you? 'S̷T̴E̶V̴I̷E̵.'

The sound of Vecna's voice booms in his ears, the thunder rumbling, the red lighting flashing to light up the house. You were never here -- Vecna tricked him. He breathes hard, looking around while the vines snake around, searching for him. "Okay, okay baby," you say hurriedly, watching him while he starts to hyperventilate. You raise your voice to get through to him, "Honey you gotta take some deep breaths for me, okay? Can you hear me?" Max and Lucas come back, smacking the tape into the radio and fastforwarding until Marc Cohn's Walking In Memphis crackles through the speakers. They both heave breaths while the song plays, leaning over the table to settle down from running. "You hear the song, honey?" you ask, "Can you hear it? Talk to me, Steve." You reach your hands up, sliding slowly up his chest to rest your hands by his jaw in a soothing touch. But for Steve in the Creel House, the vines have found him, slithering up his chest and around his neck, tighter and tighter against the wall. He tenses, big hands coming up and grabbing your wrists with a grip so tight you whimper. "No, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! STOP! NO! I CAN'T!" he panics, gasping for breath while his nails dig into your forearms and drag painfully downward why he tries to pull you away. "Ow, ow baby, hey, you're hurting me," you yelp out. He doesn't stop, eyes switching from tightly closed to open and unfocused while he reaches up to your biceps, clawing at them in defense. You reach out a final time. "Honey, honey, please, it's me," you say, tears balancing on your lower lashes while he rises, taking you with him. He handles you real rough, grabbing you by the shoulders and throwing you to the ground with a loud thud. And god does it hurt.

"HEY!" Eddie's voice booms out, gruff and loud like the rumbles of thunder outside. He gets behind Steve, pulling his arms close to his chest while Steve struggles against him. Erica and Mike hurry toward you to help you slowly up off the floor. You reel at first, wanting to run back to him. "Stay in front of her Wheeler," Ed warns, "You all stay right there." You stand behind Mike with Erica who takes your hand tightly in hers. You feel the pulse of pain in your arms when you look down -- gouges and deep scrapes, the blood shines in the line of the kitchen. You shake your head out of it and watch on as Eddie and Dustin do what they can to help -- the song continues to play in the background. "No, no," Steve whimpers, twisting his wrists in Eddie's grasp to break free, but in this state Eddie is stronger. He pulls him close, Steve back to his chest while they sink back down against the cabinets. "Shh," Eddie soothes, still holding him tight, "We got you, just listen -- you're in my kitchen. You hear the song playing?" Steve grunts, thrashing while Eddie hugs him tighter to him. "Steve, listen, listen to the song," Dustin says, "Focus on me and Eddie's voice, listen." Steve struggles, less intense than before, "Shh, shh, it's okay Harrington," Eddie soothes, rocking him slowly back and forth. "They need me," Steve cries weakly, breaths slowing while he pulls again at Eddie's hold, "Gotta save 'em..." "Steve," Dustin says again, getting closer. He rubs his shoulder slowly, pressing his thumb into the joint, "We're safe, all the kids are safe." "Safe..." he repeats back. Eddie sighs a little in apprehensive relief, letting go of one wrist to run a hand over his head, turning Steve's face into his chest and holding him close. "That's right, Steve," Eddie says softly, "Safe." 'Saw the ghost of Elvis, on Union Avenue, Followed him up to the Gates of Graceland And they watched him walk right through...' Steve can hear the lyrics, warbled and tinny in the Upside Down. 'Safe, safe, safe.' Echoing through the walls -- it gets dimmer. 'Now security they did not see him, They just hovered round his tomb...' Dimmer and dimmer. 'Almost over buddy, I can tell, we're right here. You feel Henderson?' A soft warm rub on his shoulder, the lyrics to the song, Eddie's voice. The sound of vines fade away, he hears the rain, it fades to black. "Walkin' in Memphis..." Steve whispers, half confused, while his eyes open and focus -- squinting in the light of the kitchen. Overwhelmed he looks around while the room tilts on it's axis. He grips Eddie's leg tightly to steady himself, he's breaths picking up again. "It's okay buddy, it's just us," Eddie says again, "You with me?" Steve nods, face cracking while he lets out a broken sob. You can only watch while Eddie flicks his eyes up at you in another warning to not come closer yet. Dustin let's go while Eddie starts to hoist him up, wrapping Steve's arm around his shoulder while he helps him to the guest room down the hall. "C'mon big boy," he says gently, "Let's get you some rest."

Things feel a little quiet after Eddie comes back from the guest room, he's tense -- no longer having fun the way he was before. His eyes are dark while he heads outside into the rain to have a cigarette. Lucas turns off the stereo and The Party sits back down at the kitchen table for a moment to decompress. They silently take out of the Magic the Gathering cards and start to set up again, Erica joins them seamlessly. When things seems a semblance of stable, Nancy gets up and takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, "Let's check you out, alright?"

You sit on the toilet seat cover while Nancy takes out a first aid kit from under the sink. You listen while she hums the climax of Whitney's 'I Have Nothing' quietly, searching the medicine cabinet for some Bactine for your cuts.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking both of your hands to outstretch your arms, she turns them to see the damage -- she tries to hide her face of disappointment but it's clear.

"I'll be fine," you say softly while she wipes down the gouges and scrapes, "I can take care of it Nance."

"No, you just -- just let me," she says softly. The Bactine stings -- so does the way she looks at you -- pitifully. You hear Eddie's boots clomp down the hallway before he shows up at the door frame of the bathroom.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks -- you wish people would stop asking. They only ask when they see him lose control. You do this all the time, you take care of him all the time.

"I'm okay," you repeat, "A little banged up, but y'know. It's okay."

"Does he do that alot?" Eddie asks, his jaw clenching, "Does he hurt you a lot?"

"This is one of maybe...I don't know -- four times he's gotten physical with me during an episode," you explain, "And you all know about them."

"Does he hurt you when he's here?" Eddie asks, tapping at his temple.

"No, Ed, don't be ridiculous," you sigh, exasperated that he'd even ask.

"Steve's not like that, Eddie," Nancy says, "We've been over this." "Well, here's the thing Nance," he starts, tense, "We're ten years out of this shit and no matter how bad my shit got I've never put a hand on you like that. Ever." "Eddie --" "No, no, listen," he says, "I don't like that, and I especially don't like that happening in my house in front of my pregnant wife." "And what would you like me to do about it, Ed?" you snap, "I can't -- fuck -- I can't fucking fix him for you." "I'm not asking you to fix him," he says back, a pain deep in his chest coming through with his voice, "I'm asking you to be sure that you still want to be a part of this -- your wedding's what -- October? You really wanna be worrying about this?" "For better or for worse, right?" you ask back, choking on the lump in your throat, "That's the promise." Eddie tucks his lips in, his own eyes getting teary while he scans the gouges that Nancy carefully puts bandaids over. "Ice your hip and shoulder for the first couple days," he mutters, biting the edge of his them, "After a fall like that. Then heat." You nod, quietly murmuring a thank you. "S'what my mom used to do," he says under his breath. Eddie scans you slowly one more time, swallowing hard before pushing off the door frame and walking back down the hall. You hear their bedroom door click closed in the distance. "You know how he gets," Nancy says, "Stuff like that y'know -- that's hard for him." "I know." She takes a washcloth, running it under cold water before squeezing it out. Droplets fall on the fabric of her light purple maternity shirt, leaving dark people marks on the top of her belly. She hands it to you. "Here, for his head," she says softly, "In case he's not all the way back yet."

You creep slowly into the guest room, seeing him laying on his stomach with half his face buried in the pillow. His sculpted arms tucked under it to give him something to hold. "Baby?" you ask quietly, "You awake?" He nods with his eyes closed and you look him over -- big hulking man who needs to be held. He hates it but you can't help but love him for knowing he needs it. You put the wet face cloth on the side table, sliding down next to him while he moves over to his side. In one swift motion you've replaced the pillow -- arms wrapping tight around your waist and up your back, one hand molding over your shoulder. He hides his face in your neck and you can feel his tears on his lashes and cheeks. His shoulders shake while he cries for a while, cold sweat damp on his shirt and the back of his neck. You never check how long he cries for – as long as he does. “I’m here,” you say softly, nails grazing his scalp in a steady swipe, “I’m right here.” You adjust a bit in his hold and you feel his grip tighten slightly, a soft whine of desperation leaking from his throat. “Don’t go, please,” he begs softly. “M’not going anywhere big guy,” you soothe, “This wedding’s already put us ten grand in the hole. Where would I even go, now?” You hear a soft ‘tsss’ come out of him, a tug of a smile against the skin of your neck where he hides.

“Oh, is that funny?” you joke, still coasting your fingers through his hair. He groans, letting his arms let go of you so he can sit up, you can see the tension in his body still. Steve looks down at you with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, beckoning you forward with his fingers. You sit up for your thank you kiss, his warm palm cupping your cheek while he holds you gently in place. He kisses once slowly, then twice, three times – holding the last so you know he means it. When you break away he rests his forehead against yours, offering a few shallow breaths. You stand up off the bed while he sits off the edge of it, standing between his thighs.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly. He asks after every episode ever since he did hurt you back when you first started dating. A swift smack to the arm that stung for a solid twenty minutes afterward with the amount of power he put into it. It welted. He cried for hours. He wrote you love letters every day for a week.

You nod, showing him the scratches and bandages on your arms, "I think you thought I was a vine or something. You threw me. Like, to the ground. It was pretty hard."

His lower lip quivers, "No, no, no." “No, Steve,” you assure, trying to calm him, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s alright, I’m alright. It was an accident.”

His face contorts while the tears start again, his big hands reach out to your waist, pulling you close to him, "It's not okay, it's not alright."

His voice raises an octave while he cries, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay, Stevie, shh," you whisper to him, he pulls you in tighter, body shaking while pressing his nose against your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cries, sniffling, "You know I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," you say back, your own cry getting caught in your throat. He sniffles again, leaning back to face you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing the apples.

"I love you," he says with a depth and intensity that makes the lump in your throat give way. You cry with him and it breaks his heart, "I love you so much honey, you know I’d never…"

You nod, trying to calm your cry the way he was able to calm his -- so used to swallowing it up even though you'd beg him not to.

"I – shit – I have to tell you something," he says softly, hands sliding from your cheeks back down to your waist and then your hips. He looks down at the small triangle of mattress between you and the apex of his thighs.

"What's up, Steve?" you ask, running your hands through his hair again soothingly, "What is it?"

He lifts his head up, eyes shutting at the comforting touch, but when he opens them he looks defeated -- guilty, "I haven't been taking my meds at night. I was -- was flushin’ them cause I just -- baby, I don't know. I can't keep depending on this shit."

"Steve."

"I know," he nods, "I know...That's why -- that's why my shit's getting worse."

"You're not just taking this stuff to take it," you say, cupping his cheeks, "It's to keep you here. It's to keep you with me."

"I know," he repeats, voice cracking again, "I'll call my shrink tomorrow I promise. I'll get back on track. Fuck -- I'm sorry -- and I'm -- I'm sorry I was so mean to you this morning."

"It's okay," you nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. You drop your hands and rub his shoulder, "I think we should go home, alright? We can get on the couch for the night and just rest."

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. He slowly gets up off the bed, a little dizzy, using you for support. You both slowly walk out of the bedroom, Nancy peeking around the end of the hall.

"Everything good?" she asks.

You smile at her, "Yeah, I think we're gonna head home."

She smiles tightly, heading into the kitchen where the rest of the group still sits, eating and talking. Their heads turn when you both come into view -- soft eyes and smiles.

"I'm okay, guys," Steve nods, barely able to meet their gazes, "It's fine."

Nancy approaches you with a few tupperwares filled with food and dessert, "We'll get the cooler back to you on Tuesday."

"Don't worry about it," you smile, gathering the tupperware in your arms. You watch as the group gets up one by one to give Steve a hug goodbye. Their movements are slow and controlled, warning touches on his shoulders beforehand to remind him ‘It’s just me, it’s just my arms, I’m hugging you’. Soft mumbled words of support, nothing too loud – don’t startle each other. Wraiths of the friendship they all shared earlier. Rehearsed reactions to all of their sensitive needs – if you’ve seen one episode, you’ve seen all of theirs. And you had, once or twice. “I’ll get a copy bound for you,” Erica says while she hugs him. “You make me so proud, Sinclair,” he smiles. Nancy walks you both to the door and you turn, “How’s Ed?” “He’ll call later,” she nods, a look behind her eyes that matches yours. You hug goodbye, share quick reminders about food for the baby shower and a few crafty decoration plans before heading to the car with a very tired Steve. The rain patters on the hood of the Lexus while you both sit in the leather interior, this time with you in the driver's seat. He rubs at his temples with his eyes closed while you rifle through your purse for a sandwich baggie of emergency migraine medicine. “Here,” you say, handing him the pill, “Before it starts to get bad.” “Hmm,” he grumbles in agreement, popping it in his dry mouth to suck it down. “We’ll be home soon, okay?” you say, hand coming down on his thigh reassuringly, “Just close your eyes for now.”

He takes the tupperwares when you get out of the car, fishing his keys out of his back pocket while he does. His strides are long while you hurry up behind him, following him into the house only to bump into his back while he’s stopped by the thermostat to turn on the air. “Sorry,” you say softly. “S’okay,” he replies back, barely above a whisper. He puts the food in the fridge while you head upstairs to start a shower, a ritual you’ve both come to learn well after days or nights like these. You take out the good soap, the shower oil, all the aroma therapy you can to get him to ease up. Anyone else watching you get things ready would assume it was about to be a very sexy time for you. On the same coin, these showers are probably the most intimate moments you have with each other. He comes in as the room starts to steam and you help him ease off his polo, you start on the buttons of your dress while he takes off his jeans and socks. He helps with your bra, both of you shedding your underwear at the same time before you step in. Steve soothes almost instantly, his muscles relaxing under the hot stream, sighing further while he gets soaped up. You don’t have to be in there with him, but you do. He needs you so close so he doesn’t float away. His favorite part comes near the end, sitting in the flow of the shower together while you wash his hair. His eyes flutter closed while your nails scratch and massage him – he swears his hair is even thicker than it was before with all the blood flow you encourage. You wash his hair twice, then deep condition, holding him to your chest while you wait the five minutes it takes to settle in. He leaves soft kisses on your collar bone, on all the marks he left on you in Nance and Eddie's kitchen. He holds your hand, so you can’t float away. You both end up on the couch afterward, the leather groaning beneath you both while you lay across the deep seat cushions, you lay on your back, he lays on his side against you. The heat of his bare chest warms you through your oversized sleep shirt. His soft sweat pants tangle up with your bare legs. You let whatever’s on TV play – reruns you guess, you’re thinking about too many other things. “How’s your head, baby?” you ask while his eyes shut, leaning on your shoulder. “S’fine, better,” he says, he lifts your hand and kisses your fingers before placing both his and your hand on your chest over your heart. The ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dum lulling him to sleep. You half watch TV for however long until your own eyelids get heavy. You click off the TV and opt to turn the stereo on low, just so he doesn’t get lost while he sleeps.

You wake up to oldies, music your parents would listen to on records in the living room growing up – songs that came out a few years before you were born. Oldies. It's dark outside but you can still hear the rain. Steve’s already awake, just watching you while his hand smooths back and forth over your sternum. “You snored,” he says. “Good,” you reply quietly. You both snort out breathy laughs, feeling the warmth of his lips as they smoosh against your cheek. “How you feeling?” he asks, hand coming up to rest on your cheek, sliding down the side of your neck. “A little banged up,” you say, “Might bruise.” “M’sorry,” he says again, a tinge of guilty pink tinging his ears. “It’s okay,” you repeat for what feels like the thousandth time in the past six hours. “You looked really pretty today,” Steve says gently, almost sheepish, “I should’ve told you.” “You looked really handsome,” you say back, “But you were kind of being an asshole so I didn’t want to tell you.” “You should’ve told me, it probably would’ve cured my PTSD,” he says seriously but sarcastically, “Could’ve saved the entire afternoon if you just said how good I looked. Prob’ly wouldn’t have had an episode.” “You’re such an ass,” you laugh, smiling. He leans in to kiss you and it’s the kind that makes you too weak to stand. That kiss got him a second date, it proved that they said about old King Steve in highschool. On the stereo, Sherry Baby bleeds into Unchained Melody.

His hand reaches up under your neck to tilt you up toward him, tasting your tongue with his, guiding you with his kiss, “Angel…” he murmurs. He breathes through his nose while he keeps his lips pressed to yours, desperate to stay here in this moment, attached to you. “Steve,” you say softly, breaking away, “Stevie…” “Please,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose slowly, “Please.” “Lemme take care of you.” “I…” your thoughts trail off while he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot just by the hinge of your jaw. He waits for your soft sigh, the tilt of your hips towards him – your allowance. He grins when he hears the air pass your lips, the realignment of your spine beneath him while he settles between your squishy thighs. His hands travel south, pushing up the hem of your big t-shirt to your waist, holding you there for a moment while his kiss takes over your mouth again. He tugs your cotton panties down, breaking the kiss while he sits up on the couch to slide them off your ankles. Steve looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch in your chest, serious – with supple lips, needy eyes. He leads himself back down again, big hands sliding down the sides of your thighs over your hips to your waist again. Instinctively, your legs spring up to wrap around him while his hips align with yours, feeling his strained cock in his sweats against you. “Jesus…” he whispers again, eyes fluttering closed. He buries his face in your neck while you rock slowly against him, the pressure and friction against the underside of his erection sending low volts through his body. “Mm-mm,” he grunts, shaking his head ‘no’ while mumbling, “It’s supposed to be about you.” “Well stop dangling it in front of me then,” you giggle quietly, he giggles too. The smile sends you reeling, his pretty teeth, the way his nose scrunches. He leans forward again to kiss, he just can’t stop kissing, can’t stop tasting your lips, feeling you against him. Steve’s hand reaches down to pull himself out of his sweats, pushing the waistband to the tops of his thighs while he uses the other to push one thigh out off the couch. “You ready f’me?” he asks huskily, tip dragging slowly from the pool of slick at your opening up in between your folds. He lets his thumb run in slow circles over your clit while he waits for your answer, your slow nod while you lean your head back on the arm rest gives him the okay. He eases himself in slow, the tip pushing past your opening with some resistance. “Open up a lil’, honey,” he mumbles quietly while he guides the tip in again, “Open up for me.”

Your little gasps float out of you and into the fuzzy part of his brain, gliding down his spine. You angle your hips upward, one thigh up against the couch cushions and the other dangling over the edge, spread as wide as you can. He holds himself above you with one arm, the other aiding in pushing himself further in, the tip finally breaching your core. He keeps guiding, slow back and forths while you ease open for him – taking him in, inch by inch. “Oh yes, mhm,” he groans to himself softly, “Thass–hmm-that’s it, angel.” He let’s go when he’s three fourths in, crowding over you, forearms on each side of your head while he strokes slowly to start – getting you used to him, accommodating his size. “That’s good?” he breathes. “Ye-yeah,” you breathe back to him. His mouth latches to yours again, feeling him guide your hands up beside your head, lacing fingers while he presses you deeper into the couch cushions. He keeps his strokes slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of you inside, how you suck him in and hug him tight in place – but how he feels isn’t nearly as important. It’s the way your brows contort, the way you bite your lip, your whines into his mouth while he kisses you. Each slow thrust makes you coat him in a new flow of slickness. “C’mere,” he says into your jawline, letting go of one hand to sneak behind you at the waist, pulling you flush to him. The new angle makes you let out a whine while he hits a spot deep inside you, he grunts at the reaction, the feeling of you taking him in. His pace picks up the smallest tick, face centimeters from yours – your noses brush, lips barely touching while his amber eyes keep steady on yours. You let out short huffs, little whimpers every time the head of his cock pushes deeper with every roll of your hips. “S’nice, hm?” he asks, brows slanting, softening. “Mhm,” you squeak back, “S-so good, honey.” Your legs pull in again, socked heels resting on the top of his butt while he sighs at the change in pressure. “Thassperfect, god,” he hisses out, head dropping down to your chest, pressing sloppy kisses above your breasts while he gathers himself. He groans into your neck while wet warmth tightens over him, soft velvet walls coaxing him closer and closer to the edge.

Steve’s shoulders flex while he balances on his forearms above you again, your forgotten hand taken by his, fingers interlocked. His face inches from yours while he looks at you, the way your eyes flutter, the soft parting of your lips, the high pitched ‘Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn,’s coming out of them — you’re so beautiful.

“So pretty,” he says to you, huffing a breath into a smile, “So pretty, baby.”

You kiss him a thank you. You see him swallow when he breaks away, his eyes getting glassy.

“S’gonna be okay,” he assures, nodding down at you, nose to nose, “We’re gonna be okay.” Slow thrusts between statements.

“Gonna get married,” he says, a groan flowing right down into your mouth while he kisses you, “Gonna be just like Ed and Nance, right?”

You nod while his thrusts get more passionate, deeper.

“Yeah? That’s nice?” he asks, “Marry you? Take you just like this after the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you gasp back, “Yes, Stevie.”

“Give you a baby?” he asks in a low whisper into your skin, lips pressing against your cheek, his strong nose dragging against your cheek bone, “Give you so many babies. You want that?”

“I want that,” you nod, face pinching while you feel yourself building up and up in a slow churn.

“You want that?” he asks again, coming back to hover over you — tears in his eyes, “You want that with me?”

You nod to each other while he embraces you in an old movie kiss, wrapping himself around you, pressing him to his chest while his thrusts get purposeful, controlled.

“I love you,” he pants into your ear, “I’m yours, m’all yours.”

“I love you, too,” you rasp back, free’d fingers interlocking in his hair. He gets leverage on his knees, the leather of the couch squeaking under him while he repositions. Soft smacks of skin between you echo in the living room against the backdrop of the low stereo. “Oh my god, Steve,” you moan out, “You’re – oh god you’re so deep.” “So deep, angel, Christ–” he huffs, trying to make a mental note of this position so he can remember it for October – really make it stick. His thought process stifled when your nails drag down his back, making his passionate thrusts quicken – a signature cocky smirk flick across his lips. “Mmm, that feels good honey?” he asks – he knows the answer. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, tears glazing over your eyes while he feels you pulse over him. Thank god the couch was leather. Watching you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm he works you toward the second with ease, chasing his pleasure with each soaking thrust into you – so nice like this, so pliant – his little ragdoll. When he cums it’s deliberate, spilling inside you with your eyes on each other. You give one another breathless kisses, bodies interlocked, sticking to the couch in new found exhaustion. The phone rings. Neither of you get up to answer it. ‘BEEP. You’ve reached the Harrington residence – Did you forget my last name isn’t Harr– If you’re calling before October 1997 then it’s not just the Harrington residence yet but – whatever you know what I mean. Leave a message, we might call ya back.’

“Hey Harrington it’s Munson, um, just making sure you’re okay, man. Sorry I disappeared for a little bit there. Love you, call me back when you can. Bye.”

thanks for reading. <3

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic

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anexperimentallife · 4 months

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Interracial US family w/ disabled autistic dad and toddler needs to get to the US for medical treatment

(New post because the old one was getting LONG with the updates. Details are under the "read more" to save your dash, with updates in the notes.)

TL;DR: If I'm going to live long enough to watch our daughter grow up, we need to get back to the US and get set up in a disability-friendly place where I can use my medical benefits.

Although I was already disabled (autism, adhd, and spine, joint, and head injuries), my health was stable--until four bouts of COVID left me immunocompromised, and utterly destroyed my health (including damage to my heart, blood clots that damaged one eye, neurological and joint issues, etc.), and although we started off fine, we've been hammered with one crisis after another, both medical and financial, that no one could have predicted.

Until we have enough to get back to the US, a chunk of whatever comes in has to go towards medical care that can't be put off, so the sooner we can reach critical mass on that, the better.

If you can help, or reblog, or share the links on other platforms, we'd be grateful!

The "Donate to Little or None" Paypal donation link takes the lowest fees, I think. (Kept the same link from when we were fighting to get our daughter's birth certificate fixed so we could get her citizenship affirmed.)

Then there's Ko-Fi:

And my little sister started a GoFundMe for us!

EDIT: The donation links above still work, but I removed the GoFundMe link.

IF YOU WANT ALL THE DETAILS SEE THE "READ MORE."

(There's more in my "rob gets medical" tag if you want a blow by blow account of how we got to this point over the past few years, but this is the gist.)

HOW IT STARTED:

I moved to the Philippines six years ago, after the deaths of my adult sons, in part to make my disability payments stretch further. Shortly afterwards, I was joined by my now-wife @thesurestthing (also from the US) for what was supposed to be a visit, but which turned into a permanent arrangement.

After I got a contract to license an old story for a mobile game (which tripled our income*), we found out we were having a baby, which was fine, because despite my disabilities (autism, adhd, two spine injuries, traumatic brain injury, a herniated esophagus, joint issues, etc.), my health was stable, and thanks to the contract, we were fine financially as well.

HOW IT STARTED GOING DOWNHILL:

Zoey's pregnancy was complicated, requiring two hospitalizations, and our daughter's birth was complicated, too--requiring a C-Section--which tripled our hospital bill. A few weeks after our daughter was born, the aforementioned contract was canceled without warning. THEN, when we tried to register our daughter's birth with the US embassy, we discovered an error on her birth certificate that left her stateless, and which took nearly two years, all our savings, and a fundraiser (thank you, generous people!) to resolve. Combined with medical expenses, that left us in a lot of debt.

A brief summary of went else wrong (leaving a lot out for brevity's sake):

I got COVID three four times during all this, became immunocompromised, and developed a slew of other medical issues (heart damage, eye damage and temporary facial paralysis from blood clots, persistent infections, a worsening of my joint issues, neurological issues, etc.) as a result of Long Covid.

I've had to be hospitalized a couple of times, undergo surgery, and was on an oxygen machine twice--once for an entire month, while I was bedridden. As of 24 January, 2024, I'm still recovering from my fourth bout of covid, which started at the beginning of October 2023.

There's a lot more, but you get the idea. COVID has completely wrecked my health, including tearing up my immune system.

And yes, I'm as fully vaxxed against COVID as one can be in the Philippines, with all available boosters, but again--I'm immunocompromised, plus they don't have the vax for the newest variant here yet. Zoey is vaxxed, also, and as a result, her bout with covid was extremely mild. El isn't vaxxed yet because they won't give the covid vaccine to kids under five here, but she's been able to share Zoey's antibodies from breast-feeding--which is apparently a thing.

The only way we can see for me to stay alive long enough to watch Eleanor grow up is to get back to where I can use my Medicare and VA benefits**.

WHY SO MUCH MONEY?

First, while we're still here, we need to pay for whatever medical care can't be put off. Plus, since I'm now immunocompromised, we have to get LOTS of vaccinations before we have to spend 24 hours or so in crowded planes and airports.

Second, we're going to be arriving with only what we can carry with us on the plane, and we'll need to get into a place near a VA hospital that I can easily get around in while I'm recovering from surgeries and getting various treatments. We'll need to pick up some secondhand household goods, and some kind of used transportation (because, you know, it's the US, where you kind of need a vehicle to get around).

We'll also need enough on top of my and El's disability payments to get by for a couple of months while Zoey looks for work. And all this is while we're still paying off the debt from the stuff I mentioned above.

So we're figuring that unless we catch some very lucky breaks, it'll probably cost between 20K and 36K altogether.

(We can't simply stay with friends when we get back, because literally every single close friend we have in the US with extra room and who lives close to a VA hospital has cats--to which I have a severe anaphylactic reaction. As in my entire respiratory system shuts down, and I have to be rushed to the ER to keep from dying; this has happened more than once. The only way I can be around cats is if I'm on immunosuppressants, and my immune system is ALREADY compromised, so I CAN'T do that.)

So again, if you can kick in, or reblog, or post our crowdfunding links (or the link to this post) on whatever other platforms you use, we'd appreciate it.

(*When I told social security about it, they said I could keep getting disability, too, because licensing IP rights didn't count as work income, and since it was a Moldavian company, it also fell under a special tax clause for getting paid by a foreign company while living overseas, so no taxes on it, either. )

(**VA benefits--I was a cold warrior in 1980s Germany. It was less than forty years after WWII, there was a lot of sabre-rattling--some of it nuclear--and we were there as a deterrent to prevent in Germany the kind of thing that's happening in Ukraine right now. Disclaimer because I'm tired of people accusing me of "invading" folks in the early 1980s when I was a dumb, heavily propagandized pre-Internet kid fixing generators in Europe. I wouldn't join today even if I could.)

#rob gets medical #mutual aid #medical fundraiser #long covid #repatriation #my face #baby el #zoey

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highladyandromeda · 1 month

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Shadows of the Heart

Part 2

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of blood, but nothing particularly graphic

[Prologue], [Part 1]

Another four days passed, a week having finished as Y/n continued to sleep. Madja checked in multiple times a day, but she didn’t find any other problems.

“Apart from her loss of blood, her body’s naturally healing itself. And it even seems as though once Mor recovered, her magic was able to repair her wounds.”

Azriel observed how the deep cuts on her arm and leg closed to form thin raised scars, marveling at the process, and pushing back the discomfort of seeing her skin marred.

“So why isn’t she awakening?” Rhys broached, having left his place by her bedside, only to convert the room next door into a temporary office, checking in every hour according to his shadows.

“It’s most likely exhaustion.” Madja contemplated before continuing, “We’re still not sure of the magic she used to teleport herself and Morrigan here, but it was enough to take a toll on her body. Time is most likely what she required the most.”

Azriel nodded along, the images of the blood circle ingrained in his mind. The crimson runes were still left on the balcony, no one had the heart to ask the house or the stomach really, to wash them off. Rhys hadn’t said a word about it either, perhaps afraid that touching it could somehow affect Y/n’s recovery.

On the dawn of the fifteenth day, as the first rays of sunlight spilled into the room, bathing it in a warm, golden hue, something shifted. Azriel, who had taken to keeping watch that morning, noticed the change first. The steady rhythm of Y/n's breathing altered and became deeper, more purposeful. Her fingers twitched and as Azriel crept closer, he could see her eyelashes flutter.

Then, in a moment that seemed to suspend time itself, Y/n's eyes opened. The vividness of her gaze, a striking contrast to the pallor that had claimed her features for days, searched the room, disoriented yet aware.

As if sensing the shift in the air, Rhys appeared at the doorway, his presence commanding yet wreathed in silent anticipation. Feyre was close behind him, with Madja appearing along her side. Y/n’s gaze, clear yet clouded with confusion, swept across the room before settling on Rhys with a dawning recognition.

Rhys stepped forward, his voice a gentle anchor in the sea of confusion that likely swirled within her. "Y/n, you're safe. You're in the House of Wind, in Velaris."

"Rhys..." her voice was a whisper, fragile as the morning light, but it carried the weight of countless unspoken words. Azriel felt his shadows quiver at the sound of her voice, agitated that she said only that.

Madja approached with a gentle smile, her presence a reassuring beacon. "You've had us all holding our breath," she chided softly, a twinkle of relief in her eyes. "How do you feel?"

Struggling to sit up, Y/n's arms trembled with the effort, unable to support her weight. Quickly, Madja and Rhys were at her side, gently guiding her back against a fortress of pillows arranged for her comfort.

"I—how long—" she began, her voice barely a whisper. Gesturing towards her mouth, she mimed the action of drinking. Rhys, understanding immediately, handed her a glass of water, which she accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Fifteen days," came the response, surprising even Azriel, who hadn't expected his voice to fill the silence.

Y/n's gaze snapped to Azriel, her crimson eyes locking with his in confusion. Then, turning back to Rhys, she sought confirmation, her eyes laden with unspoken questions.

"Yes," Rhys affirmed, his tone carrying a blend of seriousness and warmth. "As Azriel, my spymaster, mentioned, you've been asleep for fifteen days, Y/n."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, prompting Rhys to add with a light-hearted chuckle, "You've never been one to enjoy your sleep, so, I must say, this time you've outdone yourself."

The room filled with soft laughter, which quickly turned into a series of coughs from Y/n.

With a firm command, Madja ushered everyone out, emphasizing the need for Y/n to rest and recuperate in solitude. Rhys, with a promise of returning bearing books and introductions, and Feyre, with an offer of her gentle company, reluctantly departed.

Azriel, ever the silent observer, melded back into the comforting embrace of the shadows. He lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Y/n as she settled back, her magic, a soft luminescence against her skin, began to weave its way up her arms once more. And as he retreated into his room. It was the vivid scarlet of her eyes that imprinted itself on his mind, a beacon that refused to be extinguished even in the depth of shadows.

------------------------------------- x --------------------------------------

Y/n paused at the top of the grand staircase, her hand resting lightly on the polished banister. Each step below seemed to stretch further away, a challenge laid out before her. She drew in a deep breath, bracing herself against the lingering weakness that clung to her limbs like the remnants of a bad dream. Halfway down, her breath came in shallow drafts and she leaned against the banister for a moment, closing her eyes. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the state of her body, she couldn’t remember the last time such small movements pained her.

Finally reaching the bottom, Y/n paused, gathering herself. The familiar scents of breakfast—a medley of sweetness and warmth—wafted through the air, grounding her. She stepped forward, each movement measured, as she refused to collapse here. Her pride could only take so much more of a beating, after sleeping for 16 days now.

As her presence filled the doorway, a hush fell over the room, every eye turning towards her. It was Rhys and Mor who reacted first, their chairs scraping back against the polished floor as they sprang to their feet, propelled by a mix of concern and elation. Mor, having sat closer to the doorway on purpose, reached Y/n first, her arms enveloping Y/n in a hug that was nothing short of bone-crushing.

"Y/n!" Mor exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion, as she finally allowed her grip to loosen slightly, mindful of Y/n's recent ordeal. “What were you thinking?!” she yelled. Her eyes, bright with unshed tears, scanned Y/n's face as if to reassure herself that she was truly okay, that she was really there.

Rhys, following closely behind, wore an expression of deep relief mingled with a hint of his usual charm. He extended his hand, but then, deciding against it, pulled Y/n into a gentle embrace, mindful of her recovery.

"You've been missed, Y/n. More than you know," Rhys murmured, before stepping back to give her some space, before ushering her into a seat.

Y/n hesitated, her gaze sweeping across the familiar faces now turned towards her with varying expressions of curiosity and concern. "Actually," she began, a trace of her old confidence threading through her voice, "could I speak with you—just you and Mor...in private?" She added at their shared look of surprise, "It's urgent."

Before they could respond, Cassian tried to lighten the mood. "Sure, but not before you try some of this breakfast. We've all been waiting for you." His attempt to guide her towards the table was met with a small, knowing smile from Y/n.

"You must be Cassian," she remarked, “You’re just as I remember”, amusement lacing her tone, sparking a ripple of surprised laughter around the room. Deciding that she wouldn’t win this argument, Y/n gracefully conceded, taking the seat next to Azriel. As she settled into the chair, Azriel's shadow drifted towards her. They moved with an almost sentient awareness, coiling gently around her arms and weaving through her hair with the softness of a whispered secret.

Azriel caught between concern and embarrassment, hastily retracted them. "Sorry," he muttered, cheeks tinged with a rare blush.

Y/n shook her head, hiding her surprise with a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I don't mind. Really."

She turned straight to Rhys and tapped on his mental shields, watching his eyes unfocus as his talons gave way to the spirals of her crimson magic.

How much do they know? She asked.

Just the basics. Rhys responded. I wanted you to decide on the rest.

And you still trust them?

With my life. Y/n, why don’t you stay–

Before Rhys could finish, Y/n closed their link, looking around the room before revealing, “As you know, my name is Y/n. I was raised alongside Rhys and his sister in Moonstone Palace.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, “I left after her…after her death.” A pained glance shared between her and Rhys, with Mor resting her hand on her shoulder.

"I’ve seen and heard of Cassian and Azriel during visits to the Illyrian mountains, but it was so long ago. I'm not surprised no one remembers."

Azriel felt his heart stutter, wanting to know more about this enchanting faerie. How could she remember him, but he didn’t recall her? Before he could muster the courage to turn to her, to ask her what she thought, no, what she remembered of him, Y/n didn’t let the revelation sink in.

With the weight of her next words pressing down upon her, she continued "I can't stay for long. I have to return to Vallahan."

She raised her hand in a stopping motion, insisting on continuing before Rhys grabbed her hand and pulled her up and into the house’s study. The slammed door echoed the shocked faces around the table.

Finally, when it seemed as though they would continue past lunchtime, Y/n and Rhys emerged, both looking surprisingly frazzled as Y/n huffed up the stairs. Rhys announced to the room, now with the addition of Amren and Elain, that they would have renewed introductions during dinner.

Azriel tried to focus on the joy of seeing Y/n again for dinner, trying to swallow down the bit of jealousy he felt at her acknowledgment of Rhy and Cassian, and her subsequent engagement with the others. It wasn’t a new sensation, this feeling of being overshadowed by the more charismatic presence of his brothers. Historically, he had resigned himself to the background, comfortable in his silence, a watcher amidst the revelry. Yet, with Y/n, it felt different; though he had just met her, he wanted to be seen, to be the one she sought out, the one whose company she desired.

A/N: Hi everyone!! Thank you so much for the support -- I wasn't expecting so much interest and joy when I first posted! I hope that I can write something that makes you all feel as entertained and encaptured as fanfic authors have made me feel!

I just created a tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the previous parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar

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cleolinda · 11 days

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I’ve read a few of the umpteen thousand upset comments about the paid Watcher service, and I’ve read comments angry about the upset comments. There’s one thing I want to point out, and it’s that this isn’t, or shouldn’t be, “You’re saying people don’t deserve to earn money for their work.”

The Watcher guys do deserve to earn money. I already give them money. I give them $5 a month on Patreon, not because I think they do or don’t give me $5 worth of media, but because I want to support them. I canceled Netflix for pissing me off with its price hike/ad tier, but I give Watcher Entertainment money.

They’re saying now that the Patreon will be solely about the podcasts, and they understand if people leave. I’m perfectly happy to switch the support I can afford to the streaming service. With the early adopter 30% discount, I’d actually save money. In fact, I tried to subscribe, but the site didn’t work.

Watcher wanting to profit from their shows isn’t the problem. It’s that they’re now discovering that their fanbase is young and broke in a terrible economy, judging by tens of thousands of comments on multiple platforms. I can throw them $5/month, so I do. But the Patreon only has (checks notes) 5874 paying followers, and there’s a reason for that. $60/year upfront would not be “accessible.” Patreon is literally patronage from the people who can afford it.

If the guys had said up front, “ONLY new shows and episodes will be exclusive to the service,” I think we’d be having a different conversation right now. But at first they did say, “We’re pulling all our content from YouTube,” to the point where Variety had to issue an update. Like, that’s in print and I’m pretty sure it was on video. Now they’ve backtracked to ONLY new etc.—but most people haven’t heard, and they feel crushed. And the trust is probably gone regardless.

So now four years of back catalogue will stay public. And now, you’re paying $6.99 a month for one episode, maybe two, of something a week, and now, not an exclusive back catalogue. I would pay for Watcher shows before I’d pay for anyone else, but I just don’t think the company is big enough yet for a SVOD at that price. They’re not Dropout size. They needed to build more programming and get a higher follower count first, or at the very least, charge less.

The international price/exchange rate situation is a nightmare and I don’t know what it is they’re not doing to make it… not… be like that.

I don’t know what they should have done instead of a full streaming service, but surely there were alternatives? I’ve seen comments from people suggesting they GET a Patreon. Lean on that more! Do the shows exclusive for a month and then let them roll onto YouTube! I don’t know! Anything but One More Fucking Streaming Service, which enraged me, and I was willing to move my support to it!

And I shouldn’t say this, but I will. In the “Goodbye YouTube” video the guys posted, they say that setting up the streaming service has allowed Steven to do a remake of Worth It where he and his cohosts travel the world and eat expensive food. This is the first new show they announce. Not “We have always been committed to diversity and we’re now able to bring on new creator(s) to expand our programming.” No, a redo of an old show that by definition has got to be expensive. Commenters are saying they can’t pay for the streaming service because they can’t make ends meet in this economy. The optics are terrible. I genuinely question what the thought process even was here.

I love the guys and I still watch their shows. I want to see Watcher succeed. I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved in 2018 while recovering from surgery—as with a lot of people, their shows got me through a tough time. I’m as attached as anyone. If I can continue to afford monthly support—this is not a certainty—I’ll give it to them. I’m not a ~hater who doesn’t want Watcher to make money. But I am absolutely BAFFLED by every single decision here. I want them to figure out how to turn this around and go in a better direction, because right now, this ain’t it.

#long post #I hope nobody hates me for this but like #this is someone supporting you #this is the best I can do #and that should tell you something #watcher

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hayakawalove · 23 days

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A Spoonful of Medicine

Summary: After recovering from a brief bout of illness, you find yourself craving sex. Of course Satoru and Suguru come to your rescue.

A/N: I would definitely try to get myself to be sick so they could take care of me. Also cause I want them to fuck me but that's not the point.

CW: Smut, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Sick, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Spit Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Top Suguru, Switch Gojo, Creampie, Fem Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 4,018

Soft.

Soft fabric greets your skin as your body rouses awake. You were certain that you were laying on clouds among the gods until your eyes open. Your room fills your vision, your eyes slowly coming into focus.

You check the bedside clock, the time being 11:00 am.

Fuck.

You had slept for 13 hours.

You turn back to look at the ceiling, slowly waking up fully. Trying to recollect memories from the previous night you find yourself coming up empty handed. The farthest you got were bits and pieces of Suguru and Satoru, their warm hands gentle as they cradled you while you drifted in and out of consciousness. While your brain tries to gather the pieces together, a soft scent floats over to you, a mix of meat and spices.

Wait.

You can smell?

It had been days since your nose worked, but now it felt suddenly clear, the scents of the room overwhelming you. You were able to smell Satoru’s cologne on the tshirt you wore, along with the detergent of the sheets below you. In addition to that, you were able to smell something coming from the kitchen.

Suguru must be cooking.

Where was Satoru?

You had been sick for the past four days, nearly bedridden with a cold that hit you like a freight train. The two boys had been at your beck and call the entire time. You almost felt smothered by the amount of love they poured into you. It felt good though, to be cared for.

You sit up and throw your legs off the side of the bed while stretching them, your joints cracking as you shake off the nearly day long slumber. Turning to the nightstand, you grab the thermometer that Suguru had left. With a beep you shove the stick in your mouth, pulling it out when the time is up. 99 F. No fever. You didn't feel sick. In fact, you felt refreshed. Better than you have in a long time.

You crumble up the front of your shirt, bringing it up to your face. Several large whiffs later you feel your head swoon. It had been days since you were able to smell him.

He preferred to wear woody colognes, the addicting cedar scent covering you entirely.

Satoru comes in wearing a face mask, holding medicine in his hands.

“Wake up bunny, it’s time for your next-“ he slides in the room, looking at you.

“You’re up.”

“I’m up.”

He walks over to you, inspecting your face.

“You don’t sound like a 70 year old smoker anymore.”

“And you still sound like an idiot.”

Satoru chuckles at your feistiness. He missed it. He knew to start getting worried about you when you didn’t bite back.

Satoru sets the medicine on the bedside table. Now that he was up close, you were able to get a good look at him. He looked good. He usually did. Okay, he always did. His white hair was fluffy, with bright blue eyes poking out above the mask. He was wearing a black shirt and boxers. Fuck, he looked…

“Hello?” Satoru’s bending over, waving in front of your face.

You get even more flustered once he’s up close. The smell of his shampoo and body wash, an intoxicating mix, over flows your senses. You weren’t freezing from a fever anymore. No, you were hot. Undoubtedly, earnestly, hot. It was almost hard to breathe under the heat of his gaze.

He lifts up a hand and grabs your chin, long fingers splaying on the side of your face. He tilts your head side to side, inspecting something, before facing you forward again. Your stomach burns with need, fingers tingling at the close proximity. You had been so sick you almost forgot what it felt like to be anything but ill. Even if you could forget it, your body hardly did. A familiar sensation builds up between your legs as your eyes lock with Satoru’s.

Something comes over you, and you’re ripping off his mask.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise but he doesn’t have time to ask you what you’re doing as your lips are on his in an instant. You hold his shoulders tight, your lips melding to his. If you could fuse with him, you would. Satoru hums against your lips before pulling away, looking deep into your eyes.

“What, are you trying to infect me? That’s low, even for you.”

“Want you.” Your voice comes out soft.

Satoru audibly swallows, face flashing as if he’s considering it.

He always did give in faster than Suguru.

“You need to rest.”

“No, I need you.”

It’s hard to not pick up on the desperation in your voice. If it were any other time, Satoru might make fun of you. He couldn’t bring himself to make a quip this time though. Not with the way your eyes dragged across his body, your mouth twisting and turning.

Your pussy tingles, your body finally catching up to four days without sex. Yeah sure you were hungry and thirsty, but more than that you were horny.

Satoru wets his bottom lip, stepping closer. His lifts his knee between your legs, towering over you. He was even more beautiful up close.

“Yeah? Careful what you wish for, bunny.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. Lips lock and tongues dance. He tastes like cereal, sugary goodness embedded in the plush of his lips. You move backward, allowing him more space. His body inches closer to yours as he crawls on the bed, his large body covering yours. Even though there are only centimeters between you two, you make up your mind that he isn’t close enough. Satoru is pliable, body easy to move as you throw him on his back, crawling on top of him. There’s a hunger deep in his eyes as he watches you take control. Your chest heaves as you stare down at him, not knowing where to start but knowing you needed to begin somewhere.

You smash your lips against his, anticipation pouring from you. It had been days since you touched him, days since you tasted him. The second he opens his mouth, your tongue curls against his. You groan in response to the flavor of his spit. He feels like heaven beneath you, his muscles perfectly molding against yours. You grind your hips, searching for some sort of friction and his cock begins to harden underneath you. Satoru’s hands take hold of your hips, easily gliding you back and forth over him.

Satoru didn’t think you were sick anymore, but even if you were he wouldn’t care.

Each time the pressure of his cock nudges your clit, you let out a moan. There were layers of fabric between you two, but it almost didn’t matter. Your entire body was overtly sensitive, your skin tingling with excitement. You buck your hips back forth over him while your tongue explores his mouth. Satoru lets out soft grunts whenever your lips parts from his.

You don’t pay any mind to the door creaking open, much rather focusing on the man below you.

Suguru walks in the room with a tray of food in his hands, his long hair flowing down his back.

“Is that your way of getting her to take her medicine? I guess that makes sense for you Satoru.”

Satoru tries to pull away to bite back a smart remark but you aren’t having it, chasing after his lips with yours.

Suguru walks in the room, setting the tray of food on the beside table. He didn’t feel like he was interrupting anything, so he made no move to rush out. If anything he was curious. Last night you could barely get up to go to the bathroom and now you were devouring Satoru. Above all else, he wanted to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself.

The presence of Suguru didn’t deter you at all. You only had the man below you on your mind. Lips lock as you move your hips faster, the pleasure beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

Suguru slowly walks around the end of the bed, choosing to sit at the edge next to Satoru’s head.

He speaks your name in a reprimanding tone, eyes narrowed in on your head. You whimper against Satoru, refusing to part from him until Suguru says your name again.

It forces you out of your stupor, making you raise your head up to him. He looks weary, his eyes hollow with dull hair. Suguru hadn’t been sleeping much this past week. He wanted to be awake in case you needed anything. It was so very him. A pang of tenderness shoots through your heart at the sight of your other boyfriend. They were wearing themselves thin taking care of you. But all you could focus on was taking more. Your lungs pant as you look at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A stupid question at best, he knows what you’re doing.

Your teeth dig in your bottom lip while you try to move against Satoru again.

“You’re sick.” The way he says it makes it sound like it’s the end of the conversation.

“No I’m not, I feel okay.” Your voice catches him by surprise.

You did sound better.

He lifts a hand up and places it against your forehead, trying to check for any signs that you were still burning up.

“Do you?”

“Mhm.” You fidget beneath his watchful gaze.

The way he was looking at you made you to feel so exposed. Like a live wire laying next to a puddle of water.

“Alright I guess, as long as you don’t get Satoru sick too. I can’t handle two sickly babies.”

It’s an attempt at a joke, one that would normally get you. You’re too needy to laugh, instead choosing to resume ministrations on Satoru. You press down until you feel his cock against you again. The pressure against your clit forces a moan from your throat. He felt so fucking good beneath you. You bury your face against Satoru’s neck, your breaths coming out in quick succession. Suguru places his hand on your head, stroking your hair while you rub against Satoru. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself. It was instinctual really, to keep his hands on you at all times. Satoru was the same way. Goosebumps crawl over Satoru as he feels your breaths against his skin.

Your body moves faster, your moans sounding more salacious. Up and down. Up and down. You slide your pussy against Satoru, setting the perfect pace. Satoru’s hard cock presses against your nub, your soaked underwear clinging to you.

More, just a little more…

Satoru holds your waist, his long fingers digging into your tender skin as he drags you back and forth. It was almost embarrassing how fast you were able to make his cock hard. Honestly, he didn’t know how much longer he would last with the way you were going. Your whimpering floats over to his ears, immediately breaking any cogs that might have been working in his head.

It doesn’t take long until you’re pushed over the edge, reaching a breaking point as you cum fully clothed rubbing against his cock. Your movements still while the noise dies down.

“Did you just cum?” Suguru asks, disbelief highlighting in his tone.

The boys know exactly what you sound like when you cum, they were just surprised as it had never happened so fast before.

You nuzzle further into Satoru’s neck, trying to soak up his warmth. You groan against his skin, feeling the aftershocks rush through your body.

“Felt good.”

Your words are almost inaudible against him. Pushing yourself up on your hands you stare down at Satoru. His cheeks are flushed, eyes blown out.

“Get on my face.” Satoru says, his words breathless and almost pained.

You mean to question him, but there’s no room for debate, not with the way his eyes are trained on you.

You shimmy off his body, swiping your clothes off. Even though you just came, your body was still hot, lust burning your skin as each second passed by. Suguru watches as you crawl on top of Satoru’s face, sticky cum covering your pussy. So swollen and needy, Suguru could feel his mouth start to water. Satoru sticks his tongue out and pushes it through your slit, relishing in the moan you let out.

Suguru’s eyes are hazy when you look at him, desire pooling in the depths of his caramel gaze. Your pussy clenches when you meet his eyes. Satoru definitely noticed, as he lets out a groan into you. You look down and see Suguru’s cock beginning to harden in his pants. Fumbling with the zipper, you slide his cock out.

Beautiful, every part of him was beautiful.

It’s hard in your hand, drops of precum pouring from the tip. You wrap your hand around him, sliding down his cock. Suguru shudders at the motion, his abs tightening. He and Satoru didn’t get up to anything while you were sick as they were too busy doting on you.

He didn’t realize how much he needed this until it was actually happening.

Euphoria washes over him as your hand slides along his cock. He throws his head back with his eyes closed, enjoying how your skin feels against his. He loved Satoru’s skin and hands as well, but there was something different about the softness in your palms. He lowers his head and spits on his cock, body tensing once your hand pushes the spit down.

“Just like that baby.” Suguru coos, lips barely parted as he stares down at your fist.

You whimper, watching as Suguru’s spit covers his cock. It’s a filthy sight, the way his saliva spreads around. Heat rushes to your core as Satoru swipes his tongue through you. When you came in your pants, Satoru really had no other choice but to clean you up. His large fingers press into the soft skin of your thighs, leaving you no room to squirm around. His tongue grazes against your clit, forcing you back down when you try to jump away from the contact. Normally he would chuckle at your sensitivity. But he was incredibly serious right now. You started all this, so you were going to take it.

Suguru groans softly as your hand glides against his cock, he was hard as a rock as your hand tightens around him. He really wanted you to rest all day today but fuck, he couldn’t complain with the way your fingers swiped his tip.

You did seem better, he reminds himself.

“Satoru, I can’t take it.” You murmur, his tongue dragging out a slew of moans from you.

“Don’t focus on him baby, focus on me.” Suguru asks, trying to keep his composure.

He tilts your chin to look at him, staring deep into your eyes while your hand strokes him. You had been with the two men for years, and been in love with them for even longer, so why did the intensity of Suguru’s gaze knock you off your feet every time? You dig your teeth into your bottom lip while letting out a whine, the suction on Satoru’s mouth only increasing as time passes.

Suguru watches your face morph from pain to pleasure and back over, and he briefly thinks about asking Satoru to slow down. He doesn’t though, he would never admit it but he secretly gets off on the cruelty they show you. He likes the way you push them away, only to be begging for more moments later.

Satoru isn’t prim and proper as he eats you out. Your room is filled with the sounds of his mouth laving your pussy, the noise embarrassing you.

“So fucking noisy Satoru.” Suguru murmurs, reaching a thumb up to glide across your bottom lip.

You grind your hips harder against Satoru’s tongue, letting out a moan once his lips wrap around your clit.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Suguru speaks lowly, hypnotized with the way you were using Satoru.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

Suguru hums at your answer, clenching his teeth while you rub his cock.

“Think you’re ready for more?”

You’re at a loss for words so all you can do is nod, very desperately. Suguru cracks a grin before deciding he can’t wait any longer, standing up and moving you off Satoru’s face. Satoru looks delirious under you, your cum smearing across his lips and cheeks. He looks like he wants to complain, but he keeps his mouth shut. Whatever Suguru says, goes, and Satoru is aware of that.

Suguru lays you down on the bed, spreading your legs so wide it almost borders on painful. He slides in between your legs, giving you no time to catch your breath while he rubs his cock down your pussy.

“You scared us princess.” He murmurs, pushing his cock inside you.

Your eyes roll back in your head as you feel him stretch you out.

Suguru’s face pinches as he bottoms out, your pussy giving him little to no room to move. You hadn’t been sick for that long, but it felt like it. His cock had begun to forget the shape of your walls. It seemed you did too, your pussy stretching far more slowly than normal. But that didn’t matter, he would mold you once more.

Satoru pouts behind Suguru, briefly appreciating his form before scooting up beside you. He slides his clothes off and grabs your hand, guiding it towards his hard cock.

Your body moves on impulse as you squeeze him, thoughtlessly guiding your hand up and down his cock. The both of you look like a wreck, while Suguru looks like he’s only getting started.

Suguru watches the minuscule changes in your expression as he pulls out, before slamming himself back in. The moan you let out is pornographic. He almost blames you for how fucked you’re gonna get because honestly you gave him no choice looking and sounding like that.

Your eyes feel droopy, but you refuse to shut them. The sight of the two men before you makes your mind run, your body already so close to cumming.

Satoru, his head rung low, bangs obscuring his beautiful eyes as you pump his cock. His stomach tightening each time your fingers reach his tip before gliding back down.

Suguru, whose face was the definition of sinful in the way he watched you, pressing his cock deep inside your pussy.

It’s almost impossible to divide your attention between the two. Each time you slow down on Satoru, he lets out a begging shaking breath, but whenever you lose focus on Suguru he’s fucking into you faster.

It’s like they were competing for your attention.

Suguru grips your other hand and brings it to his mouth, pushing your fingers past his lips so he can suck them. The feeling only increases your sensitivity, making your moans come out louder.

He pulls them out and you throw your head back when you notice the saliva dripping from your fingers. He was so fucking hot, and he didn’t even try. He guides them to your pussy, resting them against your clit. Your pussy was soaked already between your cum and Satoru’s spit, but that didn’t matter. You would gladly accept whatever Suguru gave you. You try to circle your clit, but you can’t. Not at the pace that would get you off.

Suguru slams into you, tilting your hips in a way that makes his cock rub against your gspot. He notices that you’re having a hard time focusing on rubbing your clit so he slows down, pulling his cock out before pressing it back in.

Cute, he thought. Your poor little head could hardly focus on everything at once.

Your legs trap his hips in, fingers starting to move faster. Both men have their eyes on you as you moan, body contorting as you inch closer to the high.

Fingers skip along your clit as you feel yourself clench around Suguru. Desperate moans fall from your lips as your vision goes dark. It comes on suddenly, your body shaking beneath Suguru as you cum. They let out moans watching you, their bodies reacting to the way you sound.

It hits Suguru harder than it hits Satoru. He can feel the way your pussy clings to him, the way your body trembles beneath his large frame. There’s no reason to take it easy on you anymore so he starts fucking into you more at a rough pace. His cock pounds inside you, teetering between pleasure and pain. Your hand flies up to grip his chest, fingers slippery from your cum.

“Come on baby you can take it.” He finds himself saying, noticing the way you try to back off.

“No I- it’s too much, it’s too much.” You plea, his cock penetrating you.

He loves how pathetic you sound.

Your pussy clings to his cock as his hips slow down, his cock jumping as he cums inside you. It almost feels like he’s suffocating with the way you grip him. He stills completely, relaxing in content. It felt like a weight was lifted off his chest when he came.

Satoru shakes you both from your post sex bliss. He’s a mess beside you, body slick with sweat with a jutted out lip.

“Aw, poor baby.” Suguru says, eyes glazed over as he watches Satoru.

“Shut up.” Satoru has no bite to his tone.

Suguru’s eyes narrow at the comment. He leans over, cock still plugging you up, and grabs Satoru’s face.

“Watch your mouth.”

Your pussy clenches at Suguru’s tone. His lip quirks up at your reaction before he trains it down. Your hand rubs Satoru’s cock faster now, body trembling at the idea of making him cum. The noises he lets out were a mix between hot and cute. He liked acting all tough, but you knew whenever he was in the sheets his voice betrayed him.

Your hand tightens around his cock, brows furrowing when his hips jump to meet your hand. You were so eager to watch him fall apart in front of you.

“F-fuck.” Satoru’s delirious as he murmurs to himself.

His cock was so hard it hurt. From the taste of your pussy on his tongue to him watching Suguru fuck you, he could hardly take it anymore.

“F-fuck, hah, I,” Satoru groans your name.

Suguru watches your slippery hand tug Satoru’s cock. He did feel a little bad that Satoru hadn’t finished yet. Suguru leans down and lets his teeth dig into Satoru’s throat, sucking lightly. The mixture of sensations causes Satoru to hurl closer to the edge. He humps your fist pathetically as he grabs onto Suguru’s hair.

“G-gonna cum.” It’s hard to hear him over the sound of his cock in your hand.

Suguru reaches a hand down, covering yours, and starts to rub Satoru’s cock. The feeling of his palm pressing into yours makes you squeeze Satoru harder. He groans at the pressure, his stomach flexing.

Satoru cums hard in both your hands, the white silky liquid overflowing your fingers. Suguru removes his hand first, licking his fingers as he slides out of your pussy.

It’s hard not to complain at the feeling but you keep it in. You use a towel that Suguru provides to wipe up Satoru’s cum. Your body feels way heavier, sinking into the bed after everything. Satoru flops beside you, always extremely needy after sex. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his body.

Suguru stares at the tray of food, his brows pinched.

“Guess I’ll have to heat that up.”

You chuckle. Eventually you would eat, but for now all you wanted to do was lay down with the both of them.

“You don’t need to feed me anymore, I’m feeling better.”

“I can tell.” Suguru murmurs.

The boys laugh at you as you all push together, fitting together like a perfect puzzle, warmth spreading between you.

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